#ashethetics

Your life sucks... Let me make it worse ♡

Hey, you can call me Buzzard. I'm a violent obsessive douchebag who wants your body and attention but not you. So.. AroYandereblog.

I drink, I smoke pot, I talk about h*rny and g0re stuff. No minors or vanilla people allowed.

Character ref/About me 🥩

Current obsession: 🍏

Claimed anons: 🔪💖

╔═*.·:·. ﹏﹏𓂁🍒𓂁﹏﹏.·:·.*═╗

║ ⟼ My posts: #maskedmumbles

║ ⟼ My vibes: #Ashethetics

║ ⟼ Answered asks: #buzzanswers

║ ⟼ In character Journal: #littleblackbook

║ ⟼ Don't open that! : #stay outta the basement!

║ ⟼ Father's account @bring-me-back-a-dog

╚═*.·:·. ﹏﹏𓂁🍒𓂁﹏﹏.·:·.*═╝

Yes: Hybristophillia, Pecattiphilia, Dadson(Fauxc35t), Masks , Captor x victim, Intoxication, Dacryphilia, Breeding(No preg) Stalking, Yanderes, Bl00dG0re&Snvff, Dub-con, k1dnapping, light N3cr0, cannibalism , forcemasc/forcepup , drool , bondage , kn1feplay , voyeurism, Omorashi, Abasiophillia, Auralism, manipulation.

No: Scat, Vomit, Diapers, Bugs/Maggots, Rotting n3cro

Follow your own DNI

The blackness Ashe wants doesn't come, instead he's greeted by a night sky lit entirely in cyan stars and an area blanketed in fog.

Indeterminable whispers fill his senses and make him cover his ears with a grimace– It feels like something trying to burrow its way inside to nest and show him truths he's not ready for, nor ever could be.

When he opens his mouth to backtalk the noise it's not there, he reaches down to touch his face.. His mask is stuck on.

A familiar silhouette much deeper in the fog beckons his attention, far deeper than Ashe is willing to wade through... And it looks troubled as it holds its hands over the mouth.

He takes a step forward, then another, soon enough he's pushing through the absurd whisperings despite their sudden raised volume.

It feels like he knows them... If he could just speak!–

The fog becomes too thick to breathe and Ashe now understands why the figure has his mouth covered.

By the time he gets close enough he's doing the same and covering his mask holes; But only because his mouth has pooled full and a fresh hunger is gnawing at his insides.

Ashe takes a hand off his mask and reaches out to touch the man's shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, to hopefully take away or share the burden of these hunger pains–

The man turns around and looks at Ashe without moving his own hands, a flicker of recognition passing behind his deranged gaze.

the whispers get deafening and cause the figure to cover his ears, blood pooling out of his mouth when he speaks; "It's never enough, is it."

Ashe isn't entirely sure if the man can even see him, It's like he's being looked right through– and he'd answer if he could! But is he even being spoken to? Does the man know what he's saying or is it just tumbling out like the endless blood on his tongue?

All he can manage is to shake his head no and let his hands rise to cover his own ears as well; the whispering threatens to consume them both in it's volume.

The man gags and has to cover his mouth again when the fog tries entering through his lips, a desperate look passes his features as if he's asking Ashe to save himself and flee.

So he tries; Ashe tries stepping back and turning heel to run but an inky appendage whips out from the mire to grab his ankles and drag him into the fog with ease. He still can't scream so he claws at the muddy ground and tries slowing the inevitable-

The figure watches with a sad knowing expression as Ashe is swallowed whole by the open maw of unknowing, straight into the thickest part of the fog where the stars do not reach.

Eyes stare down upon Ashe and the whispers have reached their crescendo as his mask is removed, pried off like a glued down bauble instead of something precious to the man.

I don't care, everybody's gotta be somewhere...

I've got five fingers on each hand for every mistake that I've made,

Cause my tongue is tied to tonsils and I need to sh*t and shave; I'm a shade too pale for handsome and have habits I can't shake but if you try to take that from me well I'll never be the same