#sociopathichero

"I gotta admit, I was a little nosy.", Nele pouted at Danila.

PTSD Memes || @sociopathichero

"Hmm?" Henry looked at Danila, the question having pulled him out of his vision.

They were sitting around smoking, drinking, and bullshitting in a corner booth of the club. Henry idly chatting as well, doing whatever he thought a guy like 'Riff' would do; when he saw a drip of something come down from the ceiling.

It was clear and thick, and immediately obvious it was visible only to him as everyone else had no clue, or brought attention to it. For a moment, he hesitated to look upwards. How many people had died here, he wondered, beaten or tortured out back?

But of course, he looked up anyway. The apparition was on all fours, head twisted around, mouth open, and the viscous liquid that had dripped down in from of him was drool. Ugh, disgusting, Henry thought, not frightened or surprised. He kept giving the thing glances as it crab-walked in a contoured way across the ceiling tiles.

"Why- it's always guns, you all have guns, why do you get such easy access- put that down," Giacomo has been gesticulating wildly and with much displeasure and the soft hissing of a man who tries to whisper but keeps accidentally pitching his volume in the occasional mid-word shout for the better parts of however many minutes they'd been stuck here.

Well, 'stuck' is a bit of a generous word. They could move if they wanted to, but as far as Giacomo is concerned, there is no better place in the world right now than this corner. If he'll have to, he'll make this stupid abandoned construction site his new summer home. Beats having to go back out there and figuring out who is hiding where.

But 'stuck' nonetheless he feels. His complaints, rattled down in progressively more accented English, seem to land crudely on ears with less proficiency in the language than his own have, and words are starting to slip him as his frustration builds.

Mistakes were common. Someone forgets to lock their door. Someone happens to accidentally put pickles on your burger when you asked for none. But this? Was a bad one.

Wrong place wrong time as the doctor holds a scalpel against the man's exposed throat. His eyes narrowed and angry. Though the emotion was well faked. This man walked in on him. For as mentioned he forgot to lock his door to his house. And thus this man had wondered into his abode unannounced and unwelcomed.

@sociopathichero 😵  to  find  my  muse  half  dead  in  an  alley.

It was the feeling of her body slamming to the ground that made Mia snap out of her episode. The wind was knocked out of her and an intense pain shot through her. It was hard to determine the source because her entire body felt like it was broken and throbbing.

Doing her best to sit up, she reached to her side and pulled out a large shard of glass. It clattered to the ground and she groaned in shock and pain. There was shattered glass scattered all over the ground around her. Did she throw herself through a window? Mia didn't get a chance to investigate further because her vision was darkening and her body slumped to the ground once more.

It was hard to tell how long she laid there. She was in and out of consciousness. Mia could barely make out the voice of someone speaking to her. It was as if she was underwater. She tried to open her eyes to see who was with her but her vision was blurry and it hurt to keep her eyes open for too long.

"It...hurts..." She managed to say in a small, pained voice. That was the only response Mia could get out

❝ Is this Danila I'm speaking to? ❞ The woman asks, speaking softly while still keeping a firm and level tone with the man on the other end of the line. ❝ Danila, my name is Sophia. Can you tell me what's happening in there? ❞

Starter for @sociopathichero

Getting off from work late seems to be the latest trend for the woman, eyes casted downwards as she’s approaching the shabby apartment complex she resides in as she’s digging through the purse strapped over her shoulder for her keys. The lighting around the front of the building was dim as half of the lights surrounding the building here burned out or flickering in and out. And though she hasn’t quite grown comfortable with the odd beings that linger around the outskirts of the building: a mixture of stray prostitutes, drug addicts and dealers alike: she’s learned to brush past them and ignore them. They were all just a reminder of her life before and in some strange way, they almost somehow motivated her to work harder to save money and get out of this place. Though her job was relentless and her life seemed to be a never ending cycle of poor luck.

It only took a second for the much larger man to approach her and leave her no time to react as he gripped her arm tight enough to bruise her skin and violently shove her against the wall. Her feet stumbled along with the motion, one of the red pumps she wore slipped off her foot along the way and a loud gasp escaped her as she stared up to the stranger in sheer terror. “P-please-” she sputtered out before a large, dirty hand clasped tightly over her mouth. The man leaned in closer, murmuring low threats to her in which she nodded in response to- reluctantly agreeing to whatever he said before he removed his hand to grasp her other writs firmly and pull her from the wall so that he could begin to guide her towards a nearby alley. She’s defenseless and terrified, eyes darting around before landing on a stranger nearby: a man who looked like he was approaching the pair. And she didn’t know if maybe he was an innocent bystander or one of this guy’s friends- all she could do was look at him with a pleading, pitiful look of desperation as the rims of her eyes swelled with tears: a silent plea for help. 

@sociopathichero​

Running away. 

They were running away. 

Well, technically they were moving, but it was all the same to Kveta. She was so tired of that woman always coming around her home. 

Atria. 

There wasn’t a lot that scared her. She’d grown up on the streets. She’d faced drug dealers, pimps, other homeless people, and many other adversities out there. But this woman had come into her home and violated any feeling of being safe. She’d harrassed Danila. And she’d tried to take Kveta away and teach her to kill. 

That wasn’t any sort of life she wanted for herself. Or to put Danila through. Kveta was scared that if she didn’t do something soon Danya would get tired and walk away. 

So she’d proposed moving. Not just to a new home, but out of the city. Away from her. 

Now she stood in the middle of their new living room filled with the few pieces of furniture they owned and boxes stacked up around her. It was a strange feeling. Because for the very first time in her life, the place felt like... hers. Theirs. Before she’d been living with Danila in his place. Now, though, they’d moved into a new place together. 

She placed a hand on her belly. Atria had suggested Kveta might be pregnant before the move. It’d been a scare only, though. Her period had been late-- not that she understood how Atria could possibly have known that-- but had shown up later... Apparently, stress could affect it... 

Kveta wasn’t ready for a baby-- not right now, at least. 

Still, seeing Danila walking into the apartment with the last of the boxes made her smile. She crossed the floor and wrapped her arms around his neck, nuzzling in close.