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Guests For Dinner

(ANOES)

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(A/N: This is a part two to my ‘What You Wanted’ ANOES fic, inspired by the show Wandavision! Suggested by my lovely Tumblr Wife @caddy-crystal-queen !)

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In a remote little corner of America lies Springwood, Ohio. Springwood was a town like any other, with loving, Ordinary families making their homes there.

One such family was having guests over for dinner.

“Honey! I really don’t know what you’re so upset about. I invited Mr. And Mrs. Smith over for dinner, not to move in. They have a little boy the same age as the twins, you know.”

Mr’s. Krueger flitted around the kitchen preparing for their guests, and Mr. Krueger watched with annoyance. He contemplated what his wife had said for a moment.

“Well I still don’t like them. They’re…Nosy. And Obnoxious.” He grumbled.

Mrs. Kreuger chuckled, kissing him on the cheek.

“Play nice. It’s only for one evening.”

…

Later, with dinner ready and the table set, the doorbell rang. Mrs. Kreuger brushed imaginary dirt from her light green dress, answering it.

The neighbors, Nancy and Quinten Smith, were a strange pair. They both seemed anxiety ridden, and even a little manic. Their eyes were just a tad too wide, with matching touches of darkness under them, as if they were sleep deprived. But they seemed very kind and even Artistic. Their son was the spitting image of his parents, quiet and innocently strange.

“Hi! It’s so nice to finally get to meet you properly. Your home is beautiful.” Nancy smiled kindly.

“Thank you so much! It’s nice to have new neighbors with a kid! Our twins have been anxious to meet your son.”

Mrs. Krueger called the two little girls down from their room upstairs. The pair appeared silently, sitting at the table without introducing themselves.

“They’re Quiet.” Mr. Krueger said, leaning in the doorframe.

He ushered the Smiths into the dining room with a smile that did not meet his eyes.

…

A little while later, they were all sitting around the table, Mrs. Krueger chatting away, seemingly oblivious that there was an awkward air in the room. Mr. Krueger drummed his fingers absently in annoyance. The Smiths just seemed lost.

Suddenly, the young boy screeched in delight, pointing at something through the back window.

“Mommy! It’s a doggy!” He exclaimed. “Can I go play with him?”

The formerly silent twin girls snapped their heads up to stare at him in unison.

“No. Rufus is mean. He bites.” They said, again in unison. “He bit Daddy. We saw it.”

“Shut up, you little brats. I should have never gotten that stupid dog for you in the first place.” Their father said angrily.

“We hate you!” They screeched back.

There was silence. For a long, long moment.

“Go to your room.” Mr. Krueger said quietly.

The twins didn’t obey, glaring defiantly. After another moment, their father huffed angrily, waving his hand toward them.

And that was when all hell broke loose.

The twins flew into the air, hitting the ceiling and falling down again, all the while screaming in anger.

“I said go to your room.”

The twins were flung up the stairs by an unseen force, the slam of the bedroom door behind them.

“Honey, don’t do that. They didn’t mean any harm. They’re just adjusting to the new house.” Mrs. Kreuger said soothingly, coming behind him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders soothingly.

“They’re tough. They can handle it.” He grumbled back.

The Smiths were dumbfounded, their son now crying from the commotion.

“I think… I think we’re going to go. It seems like you have your hands full.” Mr. Smith said as his wife helped their son with his jacket.

“Oh I’m absolutely devastated.” Mr. Krueger muttered sarcastically.

Nancy sent her son to wait by the door, shooting a look at her old enemy.

“What’s your game? Are those little girls-“ she began, a look from Freddy telling her everything she needed to know. “And who is she? Does she even know-“

It was Mrs. Krueger who looked angry now.

“I am his wife, thank you very much, and I think You all need to tell me what’s going on!” She said sternly, her eyes wide and confused.

“Your husband is a murderer. He haunts peoples dreams, and drives them crazy. And then he kills them. You’re dreaming. We all are. He’s tricking you!” Nancy blurted.

Mrs. Krueger blinked a few times, looking dumbfounded. Something in the earnestness of Mrs. Smith’s words made Mrs. Kreuger feel uneasy.

“She’s lying.” Fred Krueger glared daggers through the Smiths.

“What do you remember? Do you remember how you two met? Your wedding? Getting this house? Anything?” Quinten asked Mrs. Kreuger.

She looked to her husband warily. He stepped between his wife and their neighbors.

“Get out. Take your kid, take your… wife… and get out of my house.” Mr. Krueger said through gritted teeth.

“Please, just come with us, we can prove everything we’re saying.” Nancy said to Mrs. Krueger.

She didn’t have time to respond before her husband flicked his wrist, sending the front door flying open and all three of the Smiths flying out of it by force before it slammed shut.

“Oh my God.”

Mrs. Krueger had tears streaming down her face.

“She’s right, isn’t she? Who are those people? Why do they know you? And why can’t I remember anything before moving in here?” Mrs. Kreuger demanded.

Thinking back, Mrs. Kreuger remembered a feeling. A deep, burning ache in her chest and the feeling of utter betrayal.

“Don’t do this.” Her husband pleaded.

“You… you died. You died… and I was distraught. I was crying. You were… you were burned. You had that awful thing on your hand. Oh my God. Tell me you didn’t…”

Warm, inviting hands held her face now.

“It’s alright. Look at me. Don’t worry about that. You’re not supposed to remember that. I should have never let them in this house.” Freddy murmured soothingly.

“You don’t get to decide what I do and don’t remember!”

Mrs. Kreuger’s words were cut off by lips pressing into hers firmly. The feeling of warmth melted through her confusion and fear for a few moments and by the time their lips parted, she didn’t even really remember what they’d been talking about.

“….. What was I saying again? Oh, yeah… it’s such a shame the new neighbors had to leave. They seemed nice.” She smiled up adoringly at her husband. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, honey, I’m just tired. How about we get the girls tucked in and go to bed?” He replied.

“I’ll go get them into Pajamas and tuck them in if you pour me a glass of

And with that, the evening had become a blur, and everything was exactly the way it should be.

-/-

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What you wanted

(Pairing: Freddy Krueger X Reader)

(Synopsis: Mourning the loss of a love never requited, A young Teacher is tormented by nightmares. Perhaps some old flames keep burning for longer than intended.)

(Warnings: Violence, slight body horror, cursing, mention of both murder and suicide)

—/—

“They’re saying he locked himself inside an abandoned building and set the place on fire.” Gwen Holbrooke said, conspiracy in her tone. “He was… a very disturbed man. They’re saying he might have something to do with those twins going missing…..”

He set himself on fire.

It hit her like a ton of bricks. The man she’d been too shy to carry on any lengthy conversation with, but whom she’d spent countless hours fawning over like an idiot. Just… gone.

Sure, she knew he was a little eccentric, if not completely hopeless at any social interaction. And he was a lonely man, with nobody and nothing he really had any attachment to other than his work. But it broke her heart to think he’d so such a thing, much less because he was running from something wrong he’d done. Not when she’d been so close to finally getting close enough to him to break through his strange outer shell and get to know him.

“…I have to go.”

Hanging up the phone, tears were already streaking down her face.

Nothing could have prepared her for this strange sort of grief. The grief of knowing so little about someone, yet loving everything she did know about him so completely and effortlessly, and then finding out it was all a lie. That he was never as kind, or as thoughtful, or as gentle as she’d let herself believe. He was a monster.

After what seemed like an eternity, eyes red and puffy, a sound broke through (Y/N)’s morbid train of thought.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of pretty when you cry?”

A voice, small, almost but not quite quiet, with the ghost of an accent lost in his childhood. But this voice was colder. Deeper. More condescending.

Standing in the doorframe was something that might have once been Fred Krueger. It stood taller, prouder than she’d ever seen him stand, and on his hand was a glove fitted with long, Vulgar looking razor blades. It wore Fred Krueger’s hat, pulled lowly, almost shadowing its face.

Or rather… lack thereof.

Two piercing, blue eyes glimmered playfully from within the hollow, burned, and bloody shell of a face.

“What? Do I have something on my…” it felt its face gingerly, feigning confusion, then enlightenment. “Oh! I can fix this.”

It then started peeling flesh off of its face and head and dropping it onto the floor in pieces.

(Y/N) watched in horror as this thing ripped off it’s Face, and then scalp, and slowly, agonizingly and disgustingly, morphed itself back into a perfectly live looking Man. Into a perfectly live looking man who had previously been dead.

“Better?”

Seeing him like this terrified her. She could still smell the burning flesh… or what had been left of it.

“What happened to those little girls? Did you do something to them? What did you do? Did you kill them?” But (Y/N) already knew the answer.

Freddy laughed. It was then kind of wheezing, baffled sort of laugh that meant “Are you serious?”

(Y/N) could hardly breathe, the sound of boots stepping forward like a death march echoed in her head.

“Of course I did. They would have grown up to be awful, ugly little things. Trust me. I saved them. I gave them their youth, and their little curls, and their cute little fucking dimples forever. They’ll never know what pain really is. They never even felt it.”

His tone softened one of reverence.

“Let me show you. Death is so easy. It’s just like falling asleep. It’s like dreaming.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t want to die!”

The smell of smoke invaded (Y/N)’s nose as fingers covered her lips gently. The feeling of his skin against hers was making her head swim.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?”

He shifted himself onto the couch above her, tangling their limbs so she couldn’t go anywhere. Her eyes squeezed shut, her face red and burning.

“Didn’t you want me? Like this? With you?”

Soft, unbelievably soft lips trailed along her jaw to her own lips, turning her mind into a puddle.

She had wanted this. For a long time. And so what if it was a little different than she imagined? It felt good. It felt right.

And suddenly, she saw red. A sharp ache burst through her chest like a bomb. And then that bomb burst into four separate tiny bombs ripping through her ribcage. Hot, thick blood drenched them both as she gasped.

A voice, cold as ice, and sweeter than any honey she’d ever tasted murmured softly in her ear.

“…Say ‘hi’ to the girls for me. They’ve been asking for a new Mother.”

—/—

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Slow burn but it's written by an impatient person

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in other news, writing fanfiction still takes a lot longer than i expect it to.

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please remember you are writing fanfiction for fun. please remember you are writing fanfiction for fun. please remember you are writing fanfiction for fun. please remember you are writing fanfiction for fun. please remember you are writing fanfiction for fun. please remember you are writing fanfiction for fun. please remember you are writing fanfiction for fun. please remember you are writing fanfiction for fun

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A Nightmare on Elm Street: Sleeping Brutal: Part 2:

Part one

(A/N: This is a Script style concept piece, but I’m DEFINITELY skimming through my ideas for the best bits!)

——

Int: Nancy’s Bedroom; later that Night

Nancy is sleeping peacefully.

Cut to The Hospital, dimly lit and vacant

Nancy stands at the end of the main hall, looking confused. She walks to the break-room, calling out.

Nancy: Hello? Anybody in here?

There is no answer.

Nancy enters the breakroom, finding Both Security Guards dead, slashed open. She screams, turning to run. Freddy stands at the end of the corridor, looking dazed and covered in blood. He wears the signature razor glove. It looks to be fashioned together partly from scalpels.

Nancy goes quiet, her eyes still wide and fearful. Freddy stumbles forward, clearly still under the effects of the sedatives.

He stumbles a few steps down the hall, quietly singing to himself. His movement is slow, but constant and fluid, as if he is throwing himself down the hall limb by limb.

Freddy: I could while away the hours… conferrin’ with the flowers… consultin’ with the rain…

Nancy: Please don’t do this…

Freddy: ..And My head I’d be scratchin’ while my thoughts were busy hatchin’… if I only had…

Freddy stops singing, his voice cold.

Freddy: … a brain. A heart. A home. The NERVE.

Freddy straightens up with a grin. He doesn’t stumble or sway. He runs directly at Nancy. He catches her by the hair, throwing her to the ground. She tries to scramble away but Freddy catches her, pulling her flush against him.

Freddy: I hope you brought your ruby slippers, Dorothy. Because that’s the only fucking way you’re leaving me now.

——

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The stuggles of being a writer.

A shame that I have to actually finish my book before I get to read it. I enjoy writing it just as much but I am looking forward to finishing my first book and getting to read through it, even if I do know what's going to happen.

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A Nightmare on Elm Street:

(A/N: this is the start of a conceptual draft of my Re-Remake of ANOES, with Freddy being written to be played by Kyle Gallner convenience I’m going to be tagging it ‘Sleeping Brutal: ANOES’ but this is ALL Fanfic and none of it is real although I’d love to fuck around with the idea here as I seriously write it off tumblr. This is written like a script, not exactly like a book or fic!)

——

Cold Open: Exterior; Springwood Mental Hospital; Day

*Close up of a Street Sign reading ‘Elm St.’, Zoom into the window of the hospital*

A man can be heard Screaming, first seeming far away, but getting louder.

…

Interior; Hospital Room

A man wearing a dingy Striped Red and Green sweater is being cornered by two Nurses. (Rooney Mara or Heather Langenkamp cameo? Both?)

Nancy Thompson stands behind them.

The younger nurse puts her hands out in a peace offering.

Nurse One: Mister Krueger, I promise you, no one is going to hurt you. But you’ve been awake for Nine days, you must be exhausted.

There is no acknowledgement of her words. Freddy mutters to himself quietly, fidgeting anxiously. He slaps himself to stay awake.

The older Nurse is visibly done with his antics, leaning to Nancy.

Nurse Two: Go get Security. I’m not dealing with this again tonight.

She is extremely serious.

Nancy leaves the room, and we follow down the corridor of the hospital to the break room. (Possible Robert Englund and Jackie Earle Haley cameos?)

Nancy: Um… She said to come get you. He’s…

We hear Freddy continue screaming at the Nurses.

The Two security guards give each other a knowing look. They follow Nancy.

Security Guard One: I’m too old for this shit.

The other Guard pats his shoulder.

Security Guard Two: You and me both, man.

They return to the hospital room, and Freddy is further agitated by the guards.

Freddy: I’m not sleeping, you geriatric fucks.

Guard Two: Don’t make me manhandle you again, dude. These ladies are just trying to help you.

Freddy sees this as a threat, punching at the guard and missing. He struggles as the guard puts him in a safety hold. He still manages to start bashing his own head into the wall, drawing blood.

Nancy is shocked, seeing someone like this for the first time.

Nancy: STOP! YOU’RE HURTING YOURSELF PLEASE STOP!

Nancy rushes over, physically keeping him from hurting his head. He looks up at her for a long, quiet moment, bloodied and irate.

Nurse Two: Coming in with the Sedation.

Freddy starts screaming and thrashing.

Nancy and Guard Two shift to make room for Nurse Two and Guard One. Guard One pulls down Freddy’s sleeve, Nurse Two sticks the needle into his arm and pushes the plunger down before quickly moving away.

Nancy, still supporting Freddy’s head, watches him fight the sedative. His eyes soften, almost pathetically. He babbles softly.

Freddy: No, No, No, No…

Blinking, he manages a moment of clarity. He breaks out of the hold, grabbing Nancy. He is frantic and pleading.

Freddy: Don’t leave me there all alone again. Please. I can’t…

Another Needle is plunged into his arm, and Freddys hand leaves streaks of his own blood down Nancy’s face as he falls limp.

Nurse Two: Fucking redheads. They’re always a pain to sedate.

Nancy brushes a strand of dark red hair from his forehead as if realizing this for the first time. The nurses pull back the sheets, and The guards lift him into the hospital bed.

…

(Cont; Hospital room; Moments later)

Nancy is cleaning the blood off of Freddy’s unconscious face with a wet cloth. He’s now in hospital garb, and There is an IV and various machinery. Nancy places an oxygen mask on his face. She runs a hand over his hair.

Nurse Two: I’ve seen that look a hundred times before. No one forgets their first time dealing with someone like him in the field. You’re not leaving his side, are you?

A tear slips down Nancy’s cheek and se wipes it away with her hand before looking to the nurse.

Nancy: He begged me not to….Heather he was so afraid, and confused. What’s going to happen to him?

Nurse Two/Heather: They’ll sedate him a little further and then it’s a game of giving his system time to rest. In about a week we’ll wake him and start trying to balance his medications all over again. That’s the usual with this guy.

Nancy seems to ponder this for a long moment. She is deeply disturbed and sympathetic towards this man she doesn’t know.

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Contrary to popular belief, abandoned WIPs are crucial to the writer ecosystem, as they become the fertile soil from which completed works grow. Without them, the landscape would be sterile and barren

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i genuinely can’t think of any advantages to using ai in a creative space. personally i feel ai and robots should be used for manual labor, not creativity. why would you leave the humans to do the soulless work while leaving the robots (with no heart or feelings or just genuine emotion might i add) to do the things that need to have soul in them.

i am currently in college for business admin and after that i’m headed off to pastry school and then to open and own my own bakery (hopefully). Ai hasnt quite transferred over to the pastry arts and i hope it never will. i feel very strongly on this topic and actually wrote my public speaking final on ai in creative spaces. i concluded that there is only one advantage to ai and its speed. that’s it, nothing else. ai writing will pump out heartless and good for nothing media that will take all the joy out of consuming and creating art.

i will always support creatives and if there’s a moment i even think about using ai for creativity purposes my best friend (creative writing major) has full permission to slap me so hard across the face it bruises. and i extent that free slap to all writers.

i will be forever in awe and eternally grateful for creatives, and writers especially. <3

-🍁

AI has its uses and its place, but the creative space is not one of those. If you can't be bothered to take the time and make the art yourself with your hands, then art is not for you. Same with writing. If you can't be bothered to come up with your own ideas, then writing is not for you. That's fine. There's nothing wrong with that.

It's like that Instagram comment that's being circulated about how AI art made them value the human soul because they've seen art without it. Like sure, it's cool that you can put a bunch of words into a computer and have it spit out art, but that doesn't mean it's ethical or it should be used. A computer will never be able to take the trauma of the bombings in Japan during World War 2 and turn them into a 50-meter tall amphibious dinosaur that breathes nuclear fire. AI will never be able to emulate the soul-wrenching emotions of paintings like Anguish by August Friedrich Schenck or Nāve by Janis Rozentāls among many others. Art requires soul and passion and emotion, and there will never be a computer that can emulate that.

It's like the post I just reblogged. I want AI to clean my house and cook meals for me so I can pour more time and energy into the things I enjoy doing, like writing and crochet.

Fuck AI and support creative people.

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Me with my story In the Heart of Winter

Was wishing there was a positivity post for original fiction writers since I see so many about how fanfic writers are doing so much for their communities even when they're not actively writing, and then I thought:

Be the change you want to see in the world.

So this is a positivity post for the writers out here who are working very hard on stories with no established community. Who can't talk about their blorbos and plot lines and brainstorming to anyone and expect them to know what any of it means. Who don't have much to share publicly, but are hoping they will one day.

You're doing a lot of hard work, and I recognize and appreciate what you're putting into the world, even when you're resting.

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Reblog if you write fic and people can inbox you random-ass questions about your stories, itemized number lists be damned.

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yes my favorite type of fanfiction consists of characters getting tenderly cared for and comforted after a lifetime of being forced to suffer alone in silence, no this doesn't say anything about me

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this is so mean but sometimes i see published writing and suddenly no longer feel insecure about my own writing ability. like well okay that got published so im guessing i dont have much to worry about

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Tips for writing those gala scenes, from someone who goes to them occasionally:

Generally you unbutton and re-button a suit coat when you sit down and stand up.

You’re supposed to hold wine or champagne glasses by the stem to avoid warming up the liquid inside. A character out of their depth might hold the glass around the sides instead.

When rich/important people forget your name and they’re drunk, they usually just tell you that they don’t remember or completely skip over any opportunity to use your name so they don’t look silly.

A good way to indicate you don’t want to shake someone’s hand at an event is to hold a drink in your right hand (and if you’re a woman, a purse in the other so you definitely can’t shift the glass to another hand and then shake)

Americans who still kiss cheeks as a welcome generally don’t press lips to cheeks, it’s more of a touch of cheek to cheek or even a hover (these days, mostly to avoid smudging a woman’s makeup)

The distinctions between dress codes (black tie, cocktail, etc) are very intricate but obvious to those who know how to look. If you wear a short skirt to a black tie event for example, people would clock that instantly even if the dress itself was very formal. Same thing goes for certain articles of men’s clothing.

Open bars / cash bars at events usually carry limited options. They’re meant to serve lots of people very quickly, so nobody is getting a cosmo or a Manhattan etc.

Members of the press generally aren’t allowed to freely circulate at nicer galas/events without a very good reason. When they do, they need to identify themselves before talking with someone.

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DONT BE AFRAID TO COMMENT ON OLD FICS DONT BE AFRAID TO COMMENT ON FICS IN A FANDOM THE AUTHOR MAY NO LONGER BE ACTIVE IN. IF THE STORY IS STILL UP LET THEM KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS IT MIGHT JUST BE THE REMINDER THAT MAKES THEIR DAY.

SINCERELY SOMEONE WHO JUST GOT A REPLY THAT MADE ME WANNA MAKE THIS POST