Hidden 12 days ago
Zeroth Post

Present Day

It’s not so unheard of for people to go missing in Blacktown. The suburb is host to a variety of sordid misfits from junkies, drug dealers and prostitutes, to street gangs and vagrants - but let’s not forget those struggling working-class folk. One could say that a variety of crime is to be expected around these parts. A person or two going missing is hardly something most folks would even bat an eyelid to, but the recent tally of disappearances, young ladies in particular, is starting to provoke a little concern.

Kind of hard to know when it started. Six months? A year? Chief of police for the City of Davis, Lukas Rise, released a statement to the press three days ago, stating that the rapid rise in young women going missing in Blacktown and surrounding suburbs, is believed to be the work of a single individual, although no solid leads have yet been established. What the press doesn’t know, however, is that the perpetrator is now believed to be residing in the suburb of Blacktown itself.
Hidden 12 days ago 12 days ago Post by Hokum
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Hokum The man in the moon

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‘You’re hurting me.’

‘Just hold still.’

‘I can’t. You’re really hurting me – there’s something wrong.’

‘Hold still. There’s nothing wrong. Just relax and let it happen.’

‘Please, it really hurts, can you stop?’

I can’t stop now. I’m almost done!’

‘No. Stop, please. Please just sto–’

‘I told you to fucking. Hold. STILL! …Now look what you’ve done, you stupid whore.’


Reservoir Lane was near the heart of Blacktown, comprised of several rundown houses and apartment blocks. No less than typical for the region. But there was a house on the street, number 7, that stood out among the rest of the residential properties. It was renowned as the well-kept house for miles and therefore hard not to notice. This house was owned by a single man that most in the neighbourhood were aware of, but no one actually knew. By what was mostly snide remarks and snickering mockery, this man was referred to by most as Mr Perfect. Nobody knew his real name, how long he had lived there, or even what he did for work.

The yard of his property was immaculate, the trimmed lawn was soft, even fluffy looking, with no variance in the lush shade of green. Two oak trees stood in the yard, the trunk of each one girded perfectly, as if a ruler had been used to ensure the trunk was perfectly centred in their allocated patch of dirt. The bleach white concrete path was stainless and lead up to the front porch of the house between the Oak trees directly from the footpath off the street.

The house itself was a single story. Again, in immaculate condition with what appeared to be a fresh coat of beige paint. The tiles of the roof were a rich clay colour. The frames of the windows and doors were a deeper shade of brown. The windows were tinted very dark, allowing no one to see inside.

This morning, inside the house, was Darrel. A lean yet strong man of very upright posture, standing a little over six feet tall with square shoulders, a straight neck, and a chin held that little too high.

In public, or even so much as exiting the front door of his quaint little house to do a little gardening, Darrel wore a suit and tie. Nothing expensive, of course, any high roller would know at a glance he certainly didn’t shop at Dolce & Gabbana. But that didn’t matter to Darrel. He wore the suit like a man of unequalled integrity – and that is all he would ever wear; a black suite, black polished boots, white shirt and black tie. Seven of the same attire hung in the second-hand redwood wardrobe of his bedroom. One for each day of the week. One extra for good measure. On his wrist, Darrel wore an imitation silver Rolex analogue watch, a plain silver ring on the middle finger of his left hand. Combined, they were the sum of accessories he would ever be willing to wear.

Inside was another matter. He rarely wore clothing at home, not so much as underwear. With the exception of when he was entertaining the occasional guest, during which times he would dress in a plain grey T-shirt, grey cotton tracksuit pants cut off at the knees, and plain grey socks. Nothing more. This outfit too was also duplicated seven-fold, immaculately folded in his dresser drawers. One for each day of the week, and one extra for good measure.

This morning, alike many a morning of late, Darrel was cleaning. Naked, with dustpan and brush in hand, he finished sweeping away the last remaining traces of dust from his bleach-white bedsheets. After which, he removed said sheets, dropped them in the washing machine along with detergent – the amount of which he had perfected – and set the wash to Full Cycle. He would likely need to repeat the wash several times for good measure throughout the day and possibly into tomorrow. But that was okay, he did have seven more sets of the same bedsheets immaculately folded in the hallway closet.

Once the sheets were in the wash he shit, shaved and showered. Then the first cycle was done. Setting the wash to another full cycle he cooked one perfectly poached egg, one perfectly browned toast, and one glass of orange juice. No salt and no pepper. No butter. No added sugar. After breakfast, he started the second washing cycle, dressed in his suit and attended the bathroom where he carefully and meticulously combed his short black hair, then commenced removing even so much as a shadow of lint from his suit coat with a lint roller.

After several minutes of antagonising over his appearance, he came to accept everything was perfect. His tie, perfectly straight. His suit, void of marks. His clean shaven face and strong jawline, clear of blemish. His intense translucent blue eyes, as always without flaw. Black boots could have been used as a mirror. His hair… remarkable.

‘You are the perfect man,’ He told himself, ‘She is out there, somewhere.’

Once another cycle of bedsheets was complete and the fourth cycle started, he was ready to exit the house and start his day - but first, there was one other thing to do:

He arrived in the lounge room, furnished only with a stereo system. The low budget stereo was centred in the otherwise empty room. He touched the play button as if touching a priceless gemstone. The music began to play. And there he stood swaying to the music, eyes closed, a faint smile riding his face.
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Hidden 11 days ago Post by MissCapnCrunch
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MissCapnCrunch Pᴏʟɪᴛᴇ & Pᴇᴄᴜʟɪᴀʀ / Pɪʀᴀᴛᴇ Pʀɪɴᴄᴇss

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A rattling of the flimsy screen door and a distinct pounding of a heavy fist on the front door woke Dustynn Knight from her hazy slumber from the living room couch. "What?!" she exclaimed groggily, but loud enough to be heard through the thin walls of the home she rented on Reservoir Lane. The pounding continued, and obscenities spewed from the young woman's mouth as she got up from the couch and practically stomped over to the door. Fumbling with the lock she flung open the front door, the chain lock spread across leaving just a few inches of space. Looking down only slightly she was met with the face of a snot nosed kid from the block, "Can I mow your lawn for twenty bucks?" Dusty slammed the door, unlocked the chain and flung the door back open revealing herself to the kid.

Dustynn stands very petite at five foot two and weighing less than one hundred and fifteen pounds. Closer to one hundred during her months of "I'm trying hard to cut back man.." which is a nice way of putting: not drinking alcohol and eating fast food every night. She has a head full of naturally curly black hair, that she keeps long and often leaves down. Her eyes are dark brown which can appear to be black when in the evening lighting. Dusty's enjoys being dolled up, but doesn't put too much effort in to her appearance, clearly displayed in the raggedy band tee shirt and the bicycle shorts she wore to sleep. She usually enjoyed lipsticks, eyeliners, and eye shadows when appropriate. Her body is littered with many scars and often bruises from her escapades of the past and present. Her ears are pierced in several places, mostly done in the bathroom of friend's houses and very uneven.

Another hole is just another hole after all.

"What did you say?" she questioned as the kid took a few step backs. Dusty was not intimidating by any means, but she was reckless and when you don't know what to expect next you had to keep light on your feet. "I asked if I could mow your lawn cause it looks bad." he said boldly. The two looked around the yard, it did look pretty pitiful. Was she supposed to do the yard work or were the people she was renting from do that? When she lived with her Mom a few years ago prior to moving out she always took care of the yard work and even took some pride in making the front of their trailer look habitable. Dustynn smirked, this little kid had some nerve but he wasn't wrong. You little shit." she stated, her palm reaching up and rubbing the front of her face. "I don't have a lawnmower or twenty bucks." she commented between gritted teeth. The boy guffawed as he took a few more steps back from the front step, "Fucking loser." he said as he bolted down the walk.

Dustynn took off running after the kid out the door and through the grass. He was too fast, and she was out of luck. A huff of breath escaped from her mouth, her hands going up to her hips as she watched him run away to the set of apartments that were further down on the block. She grumbled to herself as she reached up to her ear, a half smoked joint from the previous night sat delicately. Pleasantly surprised she took it from the nook and walked back into her small one bedroom home to get herself a lighter.

There wasn't much to look at in her residence, furniture was minimum. The place was not messy, but by no means clean either. Drug paraphernalia and traces of alcohol could be seen littered around the living room and kitchen area. Her bedroom on the other hand was a sanctuary, welcoming and clean although littered with way too many clothes. Dusty's style is comfort with a splash of grunge. When not in pajamas she is always seen in some type of denim, whether it be skinnies or daisy dukes- she has jeans on. Not too picky with whatever her top is, as long as it doesn't smell too bad from the last time she washed it. She tends to not wear a purse or any type of bag with her, so don't be surprised if she asks you to place her stuff in your pockets or your own bag. Wears accessories often, but nothing worth more than a couple dollars. Wears a watch sometimes, but the battery has long been dead.

Speaking of which-

What time was it?

Too early.

A moan of distaste came from the young girl's mouth, she worked nights at one of the seedy bars in Blacktown and so her mornings were meant for sleeping in. She wouldn't be falling asleep again any time soon, too awake from the burst of energy she received from chasing off the con artist in the body of a ten year old. Grabbing a toasted bagel for herself she smothered butter on it and took back to outside with her lighter and bagel in tow. The weather was just starting to change, which Dusty loved- she enjoyed fall the most out of all the other seasons. The warmth of her bagel hitting her lips, and then in rotation with drags of the last bit of weed for the week. Enjoying the moment as best she could, she pulled her legs up and under her shirt to contain some warmth as she watched the neighborhood begin to stir awake.
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Hidden 10 days ago 9 days ago Post by Pyxis
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Pyxis in search of a goth gf

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Mornings were the end of Lilith's day where she would often change her heels to a pair of comfy Birkenstocks, wiped heavy makeup off her face, and changed from the lace underwear to a loose crop top and black sweats. Every morning her muscles ached, and her ears rang from a night of dancing at the local gentleman's club, one of the few that seemed to be close to a high-class strip club.

Lilith was one of the few dancers in the club who actually knew how to spin and dance on the pole, so she was often booked for a private room to show off some of her upper body strength to men who didn't think of her pole dancing as a skill. No, most of them just saw her almost exposed tits and ass as she twirled with grace on a pole. If those men were to try some of the tricks she was able to pull off on a pole, they would most certainly fall flat on their asses. But it didn't matter to Lilith-- most of the days. Tips from those private bookings were enough to get her through a whole week. More so if the men in the private rooms sported some brand clothing or watches, Lilith was sure to give them extra attention to receive more tips from those who had to offer.

Tonight, she had been lucky enough to get booked for two private rooms. The first had gone without a hitch. Just a bunch of men trying to have fun while she sweated her ass off on the pole and smiled like her arms were not on fire. They had tipped her generously by tucking in a few twenty-dollar bills in her lace panties as she gave each of them a lap dance. One of the men had gotten brave enough to touch her, which on a stern slap on the hand from Lilith. She didn't mind them watching her shake her ass or dance half-naked on the stage, but the touching, she never allowed that. Ever.

The second booking hadn't gone as smoothly as the first. Since the beginning, one of the men had tried to touch her on several occasions. And while Lilith tried to smile it off and dance away from him, he continued his advances. With that creepy smile that gave Lilith the chills, she had to cut the session short. She had been in this type of job for three years now. She was used to creepy men who didn't take the hint. Creepy men that didn't stop staring at her. But this one was different. He didn't seem interested in her body. He didn't stare at her chest or her ass but her eyes. Just her eyes.

Even now, as the sun began to rise and Lilith made her way to her car behind the club, she couldn't shake off the cold feeling from her mind. Turning her car on, locking the doors, and turning the radio on, she tried to get those cold eyes away from her mind. She had more things to worry about. Like breakfast and the much-needed nap, her body was demanding.

Breakfast first.

Nice hot tea and pancakes sounded heavenly right now. So with the determination to get some food in her, Lilith turned up the radio and drove her way to "Emily's Family Diner" to get her much needed pancakes hoping to put those cold stares in the past.
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Hidden 5 days ago 5 days ago Post by vertigh0st
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Mateo Jones

The insistent buzz of an alarm clock was enough to awake Teo from his slumber with a suffering groan. "Alright. Alright I'm up." He grumbled sitting up from the bed and hitting the clock's off switch with probably a bit too much force than necessary. It was 5:30am. Way to early to be awake in his honest opinion. Mateo took a moment to rub what sleep he could from his eyes before getting up. If he didn't get out of bed now then there was a good chance he wasn't going to get up at all. In a matter of twenty minutes he managed to take a quick cold shower, brush his teeth, and over all freshen up for the day. Feeling more awake, the ravenette manged to locate his work uniform, pulling his diner issued polo over his head. Not really his style but he supposed it wasn't too bad. He thought checking his reflection in the mirror one last time. ....Well he didn't exactly look like death at least.

Mateo being neither exceptionally tall nor not quite short guy stands at an average height at 5'9'. He has a lean build sporting lean muscles, firm shoulders, and a thin waist. His hair is made up of short black locks that are styled in a short fluffy mohawk with the sides being buzzed. Below thin black brows sit a pair of ocean blue eyes that seem to have a perpetual sleep deprived hollow look about them. Working two jobs didn't help much either. His skin tone being a natural tan in color is marred with a few scars here and there. The most noticeable being an old bullet wound in his left side.

Checking the time once more, he grabbed his car keys made it out the door taking a moment to lock it behind him.Thankfully his car started without much of a fuss. That was a blessing in itself. Usually it took a couple of attempts and a bit of pleading to even crank. It helped that 'Emily's Family Diner" wasn't that far of a drive and at this hour traffic was not an issue either. He pulled into the diner's parking lot with the familiar rattle his car always seemed to make. Teo walked into the diner giving his fellow sleep deprived co-workers a nod in greeting feeling a bit of energy hit him as the smell of freshly brewed coffee hit him. He supposed the upside to opening for the diner was the free coffee that was always provided by the cooks. He slipped off his jacket in favor for his waist apron and grabbed the necessary cleaning supplies to bust tables. A glance at the clock, the diner would open soon and if he wanted to be done in time he'd need to get started soon. Today was gonna be a long. He could just feel it.

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Hidden 1 day ago Post by Witryso
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Eric Barclay

College classes were starting soon, so making a habit out of getting up early would be beneficial. Of course, that's what his parents told him; the same parents who were down in Fort Lauderdale partying the night away. Whatever. As long as they were there and not here to hassle him about fucking everything, he didn't care. Honestly, he preferred the simplicity of Blacktown over the hectic tourism trap that was Florida.

By 7:00, Eric was out the shower, the last of his grogginess having been washed down the drain. As he brushed his short, dark brown hair, he took in his appearance. Being alone and responsible for himself had taken a toll on his body. Where he once had a slight paunch, there was now a developing potbelly. His hips had widened as well, leaving some stretch marks that thankfully no one would be able to see. Despite this, he generally still retained a rather skinny shape. His face, dotted with stubble, remained as it always had; slightly rounded cheeks, blue eyes and all.

His shower finished, Eric took some time to tidy up his apartment. Brendon Urie's voice pulsed through his earbuds as he vacuumed the main "living" area. There was something satisfying about the independence that came with moving into his apartment building. Perhaps it was the sense of accomplishment he had whenever he finished menial housework. It really made him feel like he knew what he was doing.

Next was breakfast, and Eric knew just where to get it. Yes, this would be the day he finally tried "Emily's Family Diner." He'd heard plenty of locals recommend it, but he preferred to have breakfast in his own home. It was just more comfortable that way. Not today, though.

Traffic was light due to the hour, but Eric could tell it was going to pick up pretty quickly. There was a good chance it'd be a nightmare by the time he was done with breakfast. Oh, well. He could probably kill time by wandering around the nearby shops until things cleared up. The diner in question was pretty empty when he arrived. He quickly snagged himself an empty table, pulling out his phone to browse while he waited for a server to come by.

Pancakes, or French toast? Maybe I can get both with one as a side. Could I even eat all that?
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Hidden 1 day ago Post by Zaxter996
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Marcus Ainsworth

A heavy sigh left the lips of the disheveled looking young man as he stepped off the train, onto the all too familiar train platform of his home neighbourhood. It had been a couple of years since Marcus had stepped foot on home turf, and honestly he would have been happy if it had been even longer. He wasn’t exactly eager to get home, and he was sure that “home” wasn’t too eager to have him back either. He started walking away from the train platform, down a set of stairs, in the direction of his family home, casually glancing around the familiar surroundings. The place hadn’t changed a bit since he left.

Once he had left the train station, he took a second to stop and think. Setting his duffel bag full of clothes, laptop bag and guitar case down beside him, he retrieved his phone from his pocket. It was old, with several cracks in the screen, but it still worked. Brushing his long, messy, dark brown hair from his face with his other hand, he called the contact in his phone that was listed “Dad”, for the 10th time in the last 2 days. The call went straight to voicemail this time. Marcus gritted his teeth, grumbling to himself softly. “Why the fuck won’t anyone answer..?” He mumbled under his breath, sighing heavily again. He had been trying for days to get in contact with anyone in his family, with no luck. Well, looks like they were gonna get a surprise.

Marcus wasn’t looking forward to returning home. He didn’t exactly have the greatest relationship with his family, and did a good job of burning that bridge when he left for college, so it was no surprise that no one in his family was returning his calls. If he could avoid it, he wouldn’t go back, but after being expelled from school, he didn’t really have any other options. Hesitantly, he picked up his things again, slinging his bags over his shoulder and holding his guitar case in his other hand, before starting down Reservoir Lane.

It was quite a nostalgia trip for the young man, walking down the street where he grew up, albeit one he would rather not have. He had very few fond memories of his time growing up in this neighbourhood. It was never the nicest of places, and it seemed like it had only gotten worse. Rumours of increasing amount of people going missing from the area had been circulating recently, and the crime rate had definitely gone up. It wasn’t exactly the most pleasant time to be returning home.

Marcus stopped as he reached his family home. If anything, it looked more rundown than ever, and it never was in good shape to begin with. It almost looked abandoned, with boarded up windows, and not a single sign of inhabitation. Marcus raised a brow as he noticed a “For Sale” sign in the front yard. “...The fuck…?” He mumbled to himself, before approaching the front door, tentatively knocking a few times. “Hello? Anyone home?” He called out, with a tinge of worry colouring his voice. No response. If there was anyone home, they were doing a damn good job of hiding.

“Fuck!” Marcus exclaimed at no one in particular, kicking the door in frustration. It definitely seemed like his family had up and left, without so much as a text message to let him know. He didn’t exactly blame them, especially after he had left things, but still. A little heads up would have been nice. Another heavy, frustrated sigh escaped him as he set his things down and sat on the front step of his abandoned family home. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now…?” He pondered to himself, staring blankly out into the street.
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