// me: -logs on to write- also me: yeah but prolly not right now. ugh. what is creativity anymore? idek.

The person I reblogged this from is awesome as fuck.

hello, darlings!

// i’m here to murder @brightprofiler​ for some grins. hope y’all are having a fantastic evening! come say hi if you wanna. :D

Oh, my sweet angel, stop fighting it. You aren’t guarding the heavens any longer, drop your cloak of purity and sin with me.

                                    INDEPENDENT && SELECTIVE                     MALCOLM BRIGHT  && THE PSYCHE OF MALCOLM BRIGHT                                      WRITTEN BY: MONROE && DIXON

**RP BLOGS INTERACT ONLY** 

2019 is almost over!

With the final month of the year here, it’s your chance to send the mun or muse something you’ve wanted to tell them! Whether you haven’t had the chance to or you’ve been too shy, now’s the time to say what you feel, and don’t hold back!

brightprofiler‌.

no big deal. me and @notbornbroken just out here effin each other up with malcolm’s poor broken mind. 

when she right? she right. what can i say?

brightprofiler‌.

the grip is RED HOT coiled around his wrist  ,  so much so that he SWEARS once fingers release him their will be handprints BURNED into his skin  .  teeth clench together and malcolm hisses while struggling to get away  .  shouldn’t he be just as strong as himself  ??  that breath  .   the FEEL of it is so real that he can smell the very breath mint he ate earlier  .  

its cool and warm at the same time  , however  , that might be  ,  but it still forces goosebumps and pure FEAR to wash through him so quickly that he can’t do anything but STARE wide eyed  .   ❝  stop …❞ the hoarsness in his voice is merely from having to CHOKE out the words  .  please… please STOP .  but it doesn’t  .  instead  ,  the grip is replaced with a cuff that does it job in UNRAVELING the profiler in an instant  .  HE’S TRAPPED  !!  a gut wrenching SCREAM leaves him from deep down in his chest as he fights with the chains that BIND him in place.  NO…   NO …. STOP  !! 

malcolm is too busy trying to free himself and he feels the STICKY liquid dribbling down his arm  ,  ❝  what do you WANT from me  ??  i’m not like him  .   i’m not  .  ❞ malcolm is struggling to keep whatever composure he has  ,  if there is any to be had since both hands grip at the all too heavy chain  .  the weight matches the burden of all the worries he’s EVER had  .  he can change his fate  .  HE DID  !!  

❝   PROMISES CAN BE BROKEN  !!❞ 

stop?

they’ve barely begun their visit for tonight. he has no plans on leaving any time soon. so says the never ending sway of joined hands and the chain that dangles heavy between them. they’re both so weighed down. malcolm with pretending so many sides of himself aren’t there. the good ol’ boy truly deserves an emmy for the performance he puts out in front of the mirror every time he’s not there. the scream twists the image’s stomach. it’d be so less painful if he stopped FIGHTING. covered himself with who he was. blood. rage. the TRUTH.  rather than suffocating because his head is firmly buried in the sand.

malcolm always makes it harder upon himself. fighting day in and day out. tonight’s no different but the chain doesn’t break. doesn’t disappear. tomorrow there will be a bruise on his wrist across delicate bone and pale skin. “what do i want from you?” he repeats back with a severe arch of his brow and a look of shock so mocked and overdone that it’s damn near cartoonish. 

all at once, the facade breaks. he’s screaming and it’s pitched, wild and feral. “I WANT YOU TO BECOME YOURSELF!” the record scratch noise inside his head is almost close to the real thing. back to smiles, back to holding hands. back to the soft, almost sing-song way he spoke to him at one point in time or another. “your father always keeps his promises. doesn’t he? every single one. this particular promise? it’s unbreakable. why? because it’s who you are. it lives and breathes. you can only pretend i don’t exist for so long. dreams? those always break. promises? are forever..”

“change your fate?” he grins. maniacal. there’s nowhere to hide in your own head. “it’s not fate. it’s your DNA..”

Hallucinations 

This is such an interesting idea! I really love this, and you’re writing is incredible.

// thank you so much!! it’s been a blast plotting with @brightprofiler (as always!) and i am really excited about this whole concept! it’s nothing we’ve ever done before and it’s a feels central! lol! 

you are so sweet for the compliment. it means the world to me to hear you find my writing incredible and that you sent this. we can all get critical of ourselves from time to time but notes like this truly make me giddy inside and just sends a rush of inspiration right to my heart. :D thank you, thank you, thank you! i hope you have a beautiful everything! 

                                    INDEPENDENT && SELECTIVE                     MALCOLM BRIGHT  && THE PSYCHE OF MALCOLM BRIGHT                                      WRITTEN BY: MONROE && DIXON

**RP BLOGS INTERACT ONLY** 

Just found your blog and had to let you know that I got actual chills reading your writing. It's chilling in the best way possible and I cannot wait to see more of your exploration of the inner workings of Malcolm Bright's mind!

// oh my gosh! this is so sweet! thank you very much for coming by to drop this message. i was really nervous digging in tonight and this is just so kind to hear! i’m looking forward to digging into this concept so much! in spite of what it does to poor monroe (this is where the evil grin should be) and my feelings?? it’s gonna be a fun ride!

again. thank you. it’s truly an honor to give you some chills and to have someone like you visit my blog! hope you have a wonderful day/night/both! 

brightprofiler‌.

that voice  .  it sets a chill through his veins that runs through the entirety of his spine  .  malcolm glimpses down at his hands to the expected tremors  ,  mouth parted in shock and eyes clenched so tightly he sees nothing but WHITE  .  through gritted teeth a muttering of no.no.no.no can be heard but he doesn’t want to turn around to only be confronted with what he already knows is THERE  .  ❝  it’s not real  .  it’s not real  .  ❞ he says barely above a whisper as fingers grip into the couch both as an anchor and security  .  

                “did you really think you could escape?”

he flinches just as if he’s been STRUCK physically but finally  , malcolm slowly turns his head over his shoulder to gaze behind him HOPING that he doesn’t find what he knows to be there  .  there stands himself still in those prison clothes but they are not STILL in the prison  .  in his hallucination they were at least there  where it made SENSE  !!  malcolm can’t comprehend this  .  eyes dart around the room for anything he can use to jar himself awake  ,  as he scrambles to the floor ,   an arm outstretched towards himself  . this HAS to be a dream  .   ❝  you’re NOT real  .  i did escape  .  you can’t be HERE   !!  ❞

cold gaze watches malcolm struggling to tell himself this isn’t real. that they aren’t about to have the conversation they both know they are. that he’s dreaming. but not sleeping. hallucinating. on the verge of becoming something less than who he wants to be. something less than who he thinks he is. but he has, seriously, cut himself short. less? no. no. more. something more than delusions. something more than what’s been drilled into his skull by therapy and pills and the never ending voice of his mother keeping him in check with distant affection made by secrets, pill bottles and liquor to ease her guilt. 

he’s becoming HIMSELF.

as though he’s supposed to be thought of as a friend, the cold stare dissipates and turns warm. humored. an old friend greeting an old friend. not one that’s been told he isn’t real. but one who is welcomed with open arms. in this malcolm’s head? that’s exactly how it’s happened. he approaches the couch, hands slapping down on the back of the cushions before his fingers indent the cushioning as they clench down. (there will be imprints later...)

“escape what? escape where? here? your home? i know the colors can be quite drab from time to time and the sunlight seems to seep in through the windows,” his finger wrenches up and he wriggles it back and forth, “just like it does where we first met.” eyes squint. “guess it’s homey. if you call it that.” he sighs, chin dipping down and eyes going round. imploring. “can’t be here. but am here. now who is being the logical one? me? who would have thought? oh wait. no. i did.” and so it begins.

❛i’m  everything  you  can’t  control.❜ 

fingers coil around malcolm's wrist holding him in place. they're closer than they've ever been. so much that his breath is warm across his cheek. it's real. it's tangible. air. life itself. brushing over paled skin and rustling a fallen strand of hair. endless blue deep and dark. an ocean of suffering boils in on itself as it stares into a round, seafoam stare. a grin twists into place. 

see it. see what you are.

words come jumbled. whispered inside an ear by a set of lips that still remain in a sickeningly sweet uneven curve. the touch disappears, replaced by something heavy. cold. metal. the thick, ghastly chain binds them together. the lock is heavy, bolted in place and the image doesn’t seem to mind. no. he prefers it that way. a pinch of heavy wool between the links brushes against the delicate skin on the side of malcolm’s wrist. something so soft shouldn’t belong on such a being. just. like. his. father. “sooner or later? you’re going to see who you are. it wasn’t a warning, you know? those words as they lead him away.” oh, it’d be so nice to listen. so nice to fall. wouldn’t it?

a twitch of his lips. he nearly laughs. instead, their hands swing causing the chain to rattle and bits of rust to fall to the floor. “it was a promise”

@brightprofiler​ (prompt taken from your meme tag)

“Sorry… i thought i saw a bug. I hate bugs.”                 requested by: anonymous

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