the cunt you married
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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@herrgone
the cunt you married

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Ladies and Gentlemen, the Fabulous Stains (1982, dir. Lou Adler)
@boundedbygrief / joe.
in a book, this would be the turning point. the big magical moment where the protagonist overcomes evil & triumphs the bastards! things are different in this story, though. i’m making sure of it because, guess what! this is my story! nick dunne is no longer allowed to be a star in this story. he’s used me enough ; he’s used me for my money, my pride, my pussy, everything i had to offer & now, i’m going to leave him with a parting gift. a prison cell & an electric chair with his name scribbled across it. it’s a process, but it’s bound to happen. it has to happen. if i’m going to frame my husband for my murder, i need a list. one of the items on that list is for friends to leak things to the media. what do you do if you don’t have friends? you make friends with the dumb idiot across the way. you make him cry for you & stare at you as if you’re the pitiful, dumb whore of a wife that you portray yourself to be. men have egos & they jerk off to the content i’m about to provide to him. so when my husband goes off to work at the bar that i bought him, i put my plan into effect. i find myself walking across the street & taking the adventure to him ; the neighbor across the street who is going to be my friend, whether he likes it or not. arms crossed tightly over my chest, a sign of insecurity & potential anxiety, a smile spreads across my face.
❝ hi — i’m amy. my husband & i just moved in across the way. ❞ i gesture to the eggshell paneled house behind me ; it takes two to tango, as they say. i’m a good dancer / are you? ❝ i figured i should come introduce myself. make friendly with the neighbors, you know? ❞
@boundedbygrief / peach.
dear diary, do you want to hear a story before lance nicholas dunne had came into my life & murdered me from head to toe? no? well, you’re going to get one anyway. i can hear the tumbleweed panning across your brain like we’ve just stepped out of an old western movie, as if you’re ready to draw your gun out & shoot me on the spot — it’s laughable. i know, you want the nick & amy story, but to hear that, you need to know a little about me! this is my story & to understand everything, my dear readers, we need to go back to new york city! to before i was amy elliott-dunne: wife to nick dunne, rape victim & kidnapping survivor of a college boyfriend-turned-stalker, role model to feminists across the united states & a sign women need to destroy the patriarchy. instead, i’m amazing amy, poster child to kids across the globe who is relatable to everyone, daughter to rand & marybeth elliott who capitalized my entire childhood. so, picture this: amazing amy, sitting with a group of new york female socialites with tight pussies & who giggle over every stupid joke whispered at this table, drinking a glass of white wine as i complain about the latest addition to the amazing amy franchise, everyone laughing as we keep up a miserable, meaningless conversation none of us want to endure. [amazing amy gets her first boyfriend! meanwhile, i’m still holding back my friends hair while they vomit in the bathroom. what a fucking job. it’s actually pathetic.] i stay true to my new york roots, though. instead of continuing with the whole group, i play nice for once. i focus on someone else & give them their own turn — let them complain about their life as i down my glass, pretending to listen when the reality is, i wonder how much of a cunt they sound like versus me. [i don’t know the girl, just that she’s a frequent party-goer & her name is something of a fruit, only her attitude resembles that of a half-baked lobster!]
❝ i’ll stop complaining, though — how are you? it’s been awhile since we’ve last seen each other! ❞ i can play the part of caring amy well. i can laugh at hoi polloi that have real jobs & drink my wine. i can do it perfectly.

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I’ve killed for you. Who else can say that?
Gone Girl (2014) Dir. David Fincher
“ stop pretending. ” @abouteven.
dear diary, tra & la! i am smiling a big adopted-orphan smile as i write this. i am embarrassed at how happy i am, like some comic of a teenage girl talking on the phone while twirling her hair! my husband is going to jail for my murder! [not literal murder, but the police don’t know that.] at this very moment, amazing amy is missing. gone, no trace leading to me ; nick dunne, my cheating, shitbag of a husband, is going to prison for my murder & will get the death penalty. i know what this looks like. i know it’s rather extreme framing your husband for your murder, but nick isn’t an ordinary husband. my smug husband is stupid, a user, a murderer. he took every part of myself until he sucked me dry. [ & here i thought i was the best sucker.] i won’t lie, the first two years, everything was okay. nick loved me. he loved the version of me he wanted me to be. i was pretending, the way i often did, pretending to have a personality. what can i say? i can’t help it.
& yet, here i am, being told to stop pretending from some man who already makes me want to slit my wrists & bash my head on the concrete outside. it’s tempting for some like me, who likes to win, to bash his head against the concrete outside. besides ; amy dunne is dead, right? it would be nancy doing the crime & participating in the leering strange activity. but these thought have to stop, amy! everything will all start collapsing upon me, the investigation involving my disappearance will end ; nick dunne will walk free & be the winner. i will be the loser. would i let my scumbag husband win again? no fucking way. i am no longer game for that bullshit, honey. fuck you.
❝ i don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. ❞ i’ve gotten good at perfecting my southern accent ; portraying myself as nancy from new orleans, the woman running from her abusive cheating husband. i let the pain & sadness linger in my eyes, just for the added theatrics. my eyelids click once & then twice, giving the tiny shake of my head, as if to rid myself from the conversation. nancy, the pathetic damsel in distress.
“ i’m going to go benadryl myself to sleep. ” @androtten / dani.
you’re probably asking how did i get here? how did i end up having an orphaned college student living in my house, eating my food, & ruining everything i had planned for nick & i. the answer is: nick. nick has a soft spot for kids who he can see pieces of himself in & once again, here i am, losing to the man who continues to murder me, day after day. that fucking prick. we were supposed to be pregnant! we were supposed to be going to monthly doctors appointment, looking at the embryo of our baby ; everything i had ever wanted for us. this little cunt has ruined everything. walking around the house with her empty fucking eyes, void of any type of emotion, the periodic weeping from our guest room seeping through the walls. [oh boohoo, i’m an orphan whose family was gassed by my sister. shut the fuck up.] if this was another story, i might entertain her & who knows, we might have even became friends. [i might have been a little more open to nick’s monologue explaining how he was offering to let her stay with us while attending our local college. he didn’t learn his lesson, fucking asshole. i might have even felt sorry for her.] this is my story, though. i am the protagonist & i won’t let this little runt ruin that.
what would you do if you ended up having a traumatized, orphaned, little cunt living under your roof, winning the heart of your darling husband who has promised the world to you ; he knows the knife at his back & pulls the rug from right under you.
A. KICK HER OUT! TELL HER TO FIND SOMEWHERE ELSE & THROW HER & HER BENADRYL OUT!
B. PRETEND TO BE NICE, ONLY TO TURN AWAY LATER TONIGHT & THREATEN YOUR HUSBAND. DON’T DISAPPOINT ME, NICK. YOU KNOW WHAT I’M CAPABLE OF.
C. CALL THE POLICE. INSTIGATE A SCENE, AWAIT FOR NICK TO COME HOME FROM THE BAR, & BLAME HER FOR EVERYTHING. YOU’LL SLIT YOUR WRIST, BE TAKEN TO THE HOSPITAL, & SCOLDED BY YOUR IDIOT HUSBAND. HE’S AN IDIOT BUT HE’LL KNOW.
D. DO NOTHING & RELUCTANTLY LET YOUR HUSBAND WIN FOR THE MOMENT, & MAKE HER SOME TEA FOR HER BENADRYL.
ANSWER: d.
❝ i’ll make you some tea real quick. ❞ let’s get one thing straight: i hate her with everything i’ve got. i think she’s a cunt & not worth my time. ungrateful little bitch. but like the books say, marriage isn’t easy! i fucking hate it. maybe i should have let my husband rot in an electric chair. i would’ve been happier in the bottom of the ocean, too.
i can tell you more about how i did everything, but i’d like you to know me first. not diary amy, who is a work of fiction, [and nick said i wasn’t really a writer & why did i ever listen to him?] but me, actual amy. what kind of a woman would do such a thing? let me tell you a story, a true story, so you can begin to understand.
to start: I SHOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN BORN.
No way, baby. I’m it.

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“ i’d never hurt you. i do need you to participate though. that’s fair, right? ” @raedler
nick dunne is a cheating, lying, sack-of-shit. i know what you’re thinking: i’m extreme & a psychopathic bitch. i need you to know that nick dunne is not the victim. he has taken everything from me. he has killed me & destroyed everything i ever wanted to be. i played the part of the wife he wanted ; i was the girl of his dreams. i drank warm beer, i ate cold pizza, i even learned football plays for him & was the cool wife for when his friends would visit. what did he do in return? he got lazy. he became a slob & sat around, jerking off to porn while i was still the stupid, useless-yet-still-devoted housewife of his dreams. i fucking hate him.
if i’m going to disappear & frame my husband for my murder, i need to start planning. i need friends who i spilled my darkest secrets to. people who gasped in shock of nick’s horrible actions & nod their heads while listening to my sob-story. everyone loves a damsel in distress, especially men. i know how to play them like the violin ; i’ve only been doing it with nick for years. [amazing amy would be so proud of me!] so instead of nodding my head at his words, i choose the dramatics, taking a long sip from my wine glass & take a deep, shaky breath. ❝ i – i don’t want to bash on my husband. ❞ you’d never hurt me? i can respect the bullshit. a bullshitter recognizes a bullshitter, right? let’s see if you can spot one.
❝ he put his hands on me earlier – before he left. ❞ a dramatic pause, making sure my lip quivers enough to represent sadness. remember, you still love your husband, amy! no matter how scared he makes you! ❝ he makes me scared to be in my own home. ❞
ELLIE!!!!!!!!! come out and say you're amy dunne already, because every reply you're posting is blowing my mind and so in character, it gives me goosebumps!
SIGHAIGHGIRHGOIHIH, thank u 🥺
“ so tell me, ames. who are you? ” @leadlock
well if that isn’t a million dollar question. who am i? you fucking tell me. i’m nick’s wife, the cool girl, who waxes her pussy dry & keeps her waist small for him. [a nice little pocket for my darling, beautiful, amazing, crooked-smile, missourian husband!] i am the woman he wants to spend the rest of his life with, whether he realizes it or not. he can try & divorce me, find himself a normal boring life with no excitement & a boring shitty job with his laptop for laptopping, but he’ll never stop thinking about me. he loves me ; he loves having his hand between my thighs because it fits perfectly & everything i do to stay a cool girl just for him. that fucking asshole. that fucking murderer. i keep my part going & you’re supposed to keep yours going, nicholas. yours is falling so i’ll let mine fall for a moment, asshole.
❝ i’m amazing fucking amy. ❞ if the feminists were here, they would be chanting for me! realize your worth, amy! leave your worthless scumbag of a husband who's currently shoving his cock into a college girl’s cunt. i’m still awaiting for my academy award, hollywood! i can continue this conversation without hesitating, making the pain in my eyes evident. i can gape my mouth, nod my head as some realization washes over me that makes me want to punch my husband into the ground. i’ll become the woman every middle-aged mother of three wants to be after realizing how miserable her life is, before aiming the gun at her forehead & squeezing the fucking trigger. [that could never be my brains splattered across the wall!]
❝ he’s the love of my life, but i’m tired. tired of him treating me this way. ❞ i pause, plastering my doe-eyes & looking over at ashe, ending my scene perfectly. ❝ i deserve better. ❞
NICK + AMY : MARRIED ON JULY 5TH. [character analysis]
do you take amy to be your lawfully wedded wife? IF SO, ANSWER I DO. do you take nick to be your lawfully wedded husband? IF SO, ANSWER I DO.
* gone girl [gillian flynn] / sleeping through [e. kristin anderson] / i shall eat you alive [monica aasprong]
“ that’s the most disgusting thing i’ve ever heard. ” @adeloes
❝ it was horrible. humiliating. disgusting. ❞ i’ve gotten good at painting myself as a damsel in distress. everyone loves a sob story & an under-dog. they love a final girl, the one who survived it all. the police don’t question my story anymore, instead they remain adamant in making sure i’m okay. making sure i’m sleeping at night, even sending bouquet of flowers to add to my newfound comfort. [the halls of the house are full of them from women who feel sympathy for me, spilling their guts to a random stranger who can relate to their lives. news flash: i don’t relate to them ; their stories almost make me laugh & feel sorry for how moronic they sound. they fumble around with their lives & mope because they don’t feel a single thing but sorry for themselves. me & them are not the same. they’re losers ; i never fucking lose.] people find my story to be noir: the dumb & weak cunt who suffered behind the image of a cheating scumbag excuse of a husband, only to get kidnapped by the man who had almost ruined her life in the past in college. the story bites hard & bares it teeth, it reels in the angry feminists & stay-at-home moms who watch ellen abbott all fucking day, & it makes them feel horrible for me. give me my fucking oscar, hollywood. i deserve it.
❝ i’m just happy to be home. to be alive after everything. ❞ i begin to chisel myself out of the conversation, the game of chess falling in my favor once again. i keep the story going until i’m satisfied. [i’m satisfied ; you can get the fuck out of my house now, adelyn.]

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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androtten.
sharp objects novel sentence starters.
@herrgone· : 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞, 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐚. 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐞.
your rust dipped tongue curls around a haphazard sigh, a vagabond soul itching for another shot of fleeting adrenaline. normalcy was never enough to satiate you, was it? tuck away your wounds now & masquerade with too much bravado ( they rot wetly in the crevices betwixt bone ; bleeding decay into your veins, tying your spine into knots. & how you ache ! not just once, but for evermore. ) ❛❛ i thought you liked games. ❜❜ tongue clicks against the backslop of ivory teeth. you sink ever comfortably into your chair, interest peaked.
❛❛ what’s the matter, amy? not clever enough to keep up? ❜❜ alabastrine visage cants sideward, raven brows quirked & lips pulled into a smirk to mirror your challenge. you’re bordering on cynicism, a weary & jaded cataclysm, the antithesis to your youthful appearance. inhale & exhale the stars you were born to carry in your lungs ; a collapse of impending supernovas. SHE IS AS OLD AS THEM. ( you know better than to let looks fool : you’ve always been a wolf in sheep’s clothing, an enigma waiting to be unravelled. to try now is sisyphean. ) ❛❛ i mean, seriously, i expected better from you. ❜❜
dear diary, my hands are going to wrap themselves around this woman’s neck shortly if she does not shut the fuck up. something in her is electric ; a switch has turned on & it makes me want to grab a fork, stick it into an electrical outlet, & burn myself to a crisp. [i don’t like her, i don’t like her bitchy attitude, & i want to kill her. i won’t, though. those days are behind me.] everyone lavishes me with attention. pillows. everyone wants to offer me pillows: we are all laboring under a mass psychosis that my rape & miscarriage have left me forever achy & delicate. i have a permanent case of sparrow’s bones ; i must be held gently in the palm, lest i break. not her, though. this pretentious bitch who believes she has the upper-hand by challenging me, as if her lungs are bursting with words about me, damning words. she acts as if she knows something, something that i don’t want her to know.
❝ my husband says i’m too serious & uptight. ❞ my beloved nicky, the piece of shit who destroyed & rejected the real me a piece at a time. he took away chunks of me with blasé swipes: my independence, my pride, my esteem. i gave, & he took & he took. i’ve been rebuilding him, morphing him into the man i originally married. somedays, it works. he’ll look at me with doe eyes, thinking about me. i actually believe somedays he loves me. he doesn’t / i buy into the fantasy, though. isn’t that what every girl wants? ❝ games tire me. i like actions ; that’s being clever. or uptight. whatever you prefer. ❞
anyways did you know that i adore your writing and am always flawed at the way you are with words, literal chef kisses to anyone you write
thank you so much, omg, this is so cool to hear from such a talent like yourself 🥺