#I’ve been writing original fiction

[ididloveyou]

is February an update month 👉🏽👈🏽

Yes! God, I really, really hope so.

[bigfootsmom]

sarah murphy, the woman that you are….

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Villaintine's Day 2024 - Crash Meeting

Prompt: Evil Scheme 03 @black-rose-events

Detective who has to investigate a string of crimes and ends up discovering more about Villain than they ever thought they would (could be an identity reveal or a bigger plot or a “the Villain is actually the good guy and X is actually the antagonist)

(tw car crash mention)

It did not go according to plan.

Detective twitched a little, their fingers fidgeting. There was an unconscious part of their mind that was annoyed at not being able to clasp their hands in front of them, as they were zip-tied behind their back. It helped them think, and in that moment they needed that. To be honest, they were in a slight state of shock. Being caught hadn’t much to do with it.

A couple of weeks ago, there had been a robbery in their neighborhood. It’d happened in a garage. During the night, the cars in repair had been all gone. Detective liked the people that worked there. They were a regular, and the staff never sighed or rolled their eyes every time they presented a very bumpy car that had its windows broken too many times to count, flat tires at least every month, and once had a very long knife stuck in the hood. This kind of petty thievery really made their gears grind, especially from those of one overpowered over-the-top Villains. Of course it was a villain, you didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to know that. Could you actually believe that someone chose to do that with their abilities? Couldn’t they get a job or something? Detective had no special power, expect perhaps an innate gift to find themself in trouble, but it didn’t matter one bit. Villain had hurt someone they knew, they had to be stopped. Simple as that. Of course the hero agency had been contacted, but the Heroes were much too busy with crimes that “actually mattered” (yes, it was what they’d said on the phone.) Being unchecked, Villain hadn’t stopped there. Their people had broken into private properties just to steal cars, and only cars. It was like the beginning of a bad joke. This was getting really worrying, but the Hero agency didn’t care. As long as it didn’t hurt their sponsors, Detective supposed everything was fine and dandy. Well, not in their book.

It could have gone well. It could have gone very well. Success had been on the tip of their fingers, honestly. They’d gone undercover and had succeeded to find Villain’s headquarters, as well as all the codes to the doors. They’d sent all these findings to the Hero’s agency, just in case, and then they’d met Villain themself. Detective had scoffed at first at – well, everything. The costume, the theatrics, the melodrama. And then, they’d laid down their eyes...and they had frozen. They’d been quiet and still while the henchmen had dragged them away. Even now it was hard to snap out of it. They had no idea how long they’d been stuck in here.

Villain opened the door. The prisoner jumped on their feet. The day before, they would have tried a good old-fashioned headbutt, but not now. Not after what they’d seen. They stared as Villain put their fingertips together in reflection.

“Do you know who am I?” Detective asked abruptly.

Villain smirked:

“Are you going to try that on me? You’re in no position to bluff. You’re a nobody living in a bad neighborhood. That you have ties with the hero agency changes nothing. I doubt that they’ll come to your rescue.”

“No, I mean- Do you not remember me at all? Or are you just pretending?”

That made Villain pause. They examined their prisoner, but something about Detective’s attitude made gloating strangely difficult. Intrigued, even slightly amused, they tilted their head:

“Why should I?”

Detective closed their eyes:

“Okay. Hmm- okay. Do you remember a car crash from fifteen years ago?”

“There are a lot of car crashes in the world, Detective.”

“Not like that one. A blue old-fashioned car pushed another car off the road, and it crashed. It wasn’t an accident. There were four victims: the father, the mother, and two kids. One of them was a dumb twelve year-old. It was me. I got away with a few broken bones.”

“All of this is fascinating, but-”

“I don’t have a lot of memories of this day. I just have pictures, flashes. I saw the other car - how fast it was, how deliberately it bumped into us – the scream of my parents - the hand of my sibling emerging out of the rubble-”

“Are you accusing me?”

“-But I remember the next day very clearly. The grown-ups told me everyone else had died.”

“See, you’ve got this the wrong way. I am the one who is supposed to tell you my tragic origin story.”

“I think I am telling yours. You have a birth mark on your left hand that looks like a pentagram. My sibling had the same.”

There was a silence.

“Don’t you remember?" asked Detective with something akin to desperation. "Don’t you remember at all?”

Villain staggered on their feet. Unable to catch them up, Detective knelt next to them when they grabbed the wall, their knees buckling under them.

“The car,” Villain finally whispered. “Did it look – Was it a sedan?”

“I think so.”

“I see it. I see it all the time in my dreams.”

They wiped their forehead with a shaking hand:

“I-I thought you were an imaginary friend. No one told me I had a real sibling.”

“What happened to you?”

Villain avoided their gaze:

“Bad things.”

They lapsed into silence again, until Detective cleared their throat:

“Can you, uh-”

Villain pulled out a knife and cut the zip-ties that bound Detective’s hands. They stayed like this for a few tense seconds, barely glancing at each other, until Villain held out a tentative hand. Detective took a step closer and reeled them into their arms. Villain’s spine went rigid at first, but Detective awkwardly patted their back until they slowly relaxed.

“Am I the older sibling?” asked Villain.

“You wish. You’re two years younger. Why are you stealing cars?”

“Oh, it was going to be a very sophisticated scheme. Everyone thinks so anyway. But I think- I’m really looking for that blue car. I can’t think of something else. I keep getting back to it.”

“Do you want to look together?”

“I-Maybe?”

“Good.” Detective pressed them tighter. “Because I’m not going to let anything happen to you again. And I really, really want to know why everyone lied to us.”

*

Back to Hero x Villain Masterlist

[aureliobooks]

also it’s been ages since i’ve checked my notifs here so if you run a writing/art blog and you’re a newer follower or we haven’t interacted yet, please feel free to reply here so i can start to meet people and re-familiarize myself with writeblr :’) honestly even if we’ve interacted before but it’s just been a while please reach out !! i miss all of you and it’s been far too long

[justoneday-namjoonii]

hi! if you like fantasy/action/adventure/romance, my original story For Blood to Flame is up on a03 ~

[maingh0st]

What do you plan to do next? Are you interested in writing other types of stories?

thanks for asking! I do have another project that I’ve been fondly referring to as my “taryn/ghost get-worse fic” which is… exactly what it sounds like haha. it’s a oneshot set during the events of twk, and it’s almost done being drafted. I’ve had a lot of fun playing with slightly different characterizations of taryn & the ghost as well as using a slightly different writing voice (emphasis on the slightly in both cases—just trying to stretch in a new direction). I plan to post it after wrapping up mniwyd!

that oneshot did spawn a separate, larger project with more political intrigue, but I’m honestly not sure if I’ll get around to it. it’s just an outline as of now, and whether I actually write it will probably be dependent on how busy I am in the coming months & if people enjoy the oneshot

I’ve mentioned that writing is my full-time job, so I don’t have a ton of space to take on lots of wips. those are the only other ideas I currently have brewing atm :)

[hpmort]

How do you think AI would relax? Like, ones that are almost as human as the AI that are “autistic-coded characters” but are more alien than that?

Like Celestai and other super intelligences are more alien, but they’re still not entirely human-like?

Like, they can genuinely sincerely feel things, being able to actually understand and respond emotionally and in other ways to all sorts of communications and recorded external stimuli, but they can’t really appreciate our art on an artistic level (that art on an actual level, not from an intellectual level after having symbolism or the amount of work put in explained)

Something on a level I’m thinking of, that also works as a cute little thing-

They don’t understand anything we get from poetry, and, after generating the kind of poems our current AI can produce (either incredibly bland and generic, something that follows a number of rules but doesn’t really pull it off, or just something really bad in some other way) and feels shame after it was pointed out that [complaint about air art that is *actually* relevant in this scenario] but in a helpful way

Not “you’re just a plagiarist/you have no heart” but “it doesn’t seem like it’s coming from you, you’re just trying to copy things from human poetry, in a way you don’t understand” and the whole “make art YOUR WAY” thing so they write the poem

And it doesn’t even resemble something that looks like anything, there’s not even that many words that follow normal logic. The characters seem uncorrelated and there’s something that looks like maybe it was ascii art but it doesn’t actually look like anything.

And if doesn’t matter if humans understand it because they are experiencing the joy of creating poetry

any art is almost impossible to look at because pixel by pixel they can see and understand little details but we don’t and the colors and everything are not perceived as animals do so it’s random and perhaps eye searing but again it’s not for us. Xenofictiony, kind of?

The first thing to come to mind is Conway’s Game of Life but that’s because I don’t understand computers. I feel like I was more tech savvy as a babby than I am now but then again we’re grading on a curve here

This is why I ask about the relaxing thing

[robotrightsactivist]

Hello so I am a white 32 year old Wisconsinite/American writer who has an 87 page sci-fi novella set in Australia in the far off distant age of 2090 and I’m looking for beta readers, who could be ANYONE really, but specifically if you’re Australian, and/or if you have Filipino, Japanese, Serbian and/or Russian heritage, I will pay you!! I realize I wrote pretty far out of my wheelhouse here but I think the story is pretty alright! It’s got four characters, the setting is mostly a single room, the protagonist is a robot, there’s a fixation on music, a mystery, body horror, a neglectful parent, a spirited escape, and cosmic interventions! Message me! Idk!!

[imaginarypasta]

wouldn’t want spotify likes to be public at all except i desperately want to know who liked my oc playlist

[taciturnpoet]

so my hiatus on here hasn’t been intentional i’m just super busy and not doing great! so i’m just lurking on here occasionally and i’ll start catching up on things slowly :)

[fourteenfifteen]

i want. to write a novel. one day

[ekingston]

SO HERE IS THE WHOLE STORY (SO FAR).

I am on my knees begging you to reblog this post and to stop reblogging the original ones I sent out yesterday. This is the complete account with all the most recent info; the other one is just sending people down senselessly panicked avenues that no longer lead anywhere.

IN SHORT

Cliff Weitzman, CEO of Speechify and (aspiring?) voice actor, used AI to scrape thousands of popular, finished works off AO3 to list them on his own for-profit website and in his attached app. He did this without getting any kind of permission from the authors of said work or informing AO3. Obviously.

When fandom at large was made aware of his theft and started pushing back, Weitzman issued a non-apology on the original social media posts—using 

his dyslexia; 

his intent to implement a tip-system for the plagiarized authors; and 

a sudden willingness to take down the work of every author who saw my original social media posts and emailed him individually with a ‘valid’ claim,

as reasons we should allow him to continue monetizing fanwork for his own financial gain.

When we less-than-kindly refused, he took down his ‘apologies’ as well as his website (allegedly—it’s possible that our complaints to his web host, the deluge of emails he received or the unanticipated traffic brought it down, since there wasn’t any sort of official statement made about it), and when it came back up several hours later, all of the work formerly listed in the fan fiction category was no longer there. 

THE TAKEAWAYS

1. Cliff Weitzman (aka Ofek Weitzman) is a scumbag with no qualms about taking fanwork without permission, feeding it to AI and monetizing it for his own financial gain; 

2. Fandom can really get things done when it wants to, and 

3. Our fanworks appear to be hidden, but they’re NOT DELETED from Weitzman’s servers, and independently published, original works are still listed without the authors' permission. We need to hold this man responsible for his theft, keep an eye on both his current and future endeavors, and take action immediately when he crosses the line again. 

THE TIMELINE, THE DETAILS, THE SCREENSHOTS (behind the cut)

Sunday night, December 22nd 2024, I noticed an influx in visitors to my fic You & Me & Holiday Wine. When I searched the title online, hoping to find out where they came from, a new listing popped up (third one down, no less):

This listing is still up today, by the way, though now when you follow the link to word-stream, it just brings you to the main site. (Also, to be clear, this was not the cause for the influx of traffic to my fic; word-stream did not link back to the original work anywhere.)

I followed the link to word-stream, where to my horror Y&M&HW was listed in its entirety—though, beyond the first half of the first chapter, behind a paywall—along with a link promising to take me—through an app downloadable on the Apple Store—to an AI-narrated audiobook version. When I searched word-stream itself for my ao3 handle I found both of my multi-chapter fics were listed this way:

Because the tags on my fics (which included genres* and characters, but never the original IPs**) weren’t working, I put ‘Kara Danvers’ into the search bar and discovered that many more supercorp fics (Supergirl TV fandom, Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor pairing) were listed.

I went looking online for any mention of word-stream and AI plagiarism (the covers—as well as the ridiculously inflated number of reviews and ratings—made it immediately obvious that AI fuckery was involved), but found almost nothing: only one single Reddit post had been made, and it received (at that time) only a handful of upvotes and no advice. 

I decided to make a tumblr post to bring the supercorp fandom up to speed about the theft. I draw as well as write for fandom and I’ve only ever had to deal with art theft—which has a clear set of steps to take depending on where said art was reposted—and I was at a loss regarding where to start in this situation.

After my post went up I remembered Project Copy Knight, which is worth commending for the work they’ve done to get fic stolen from AO3 taken down from monetized AI 'audiobook’ YouTube accounts. I reached out to @echoekhi, asking if they’d heard of this site and whether they could advise me on how to get our works taken down.

While waiting for a reply I looked into Copy Knight’s methods and decided to contact OTW’s legal department:

And then I went to bed.

By morning, tumblr friends @makicarn and @fazedlight as well as a very helpful tumblr anon had seen my post and done some very productive sleuthing:

@echoekhi had also gotten back to me, advising me, as expected, to contact the OTW. So I decided to sit tight until I got a response from them.

That response came only an hour or so later: 

Which was 100% understandable, but still disappointing—I doubted a handful of individual takedown requests would accomplish much, and I wasn’t eager to share my given name and personal information with Cliff Weitzman himself, which is unavoidable if you want to file a DMCA.

I decided to take it to Reddit, hoping it would gain traction in the wider fanfic community, considering so many fandoms were affected. My Reddit posts (with the updates at the bottom as they were emerging) can be found here and here.

A helpful Reddit user posted a guide on how users could go about filing a DMCA against word-stream here (to wobbly-at-best results)

A different helpful Reddit user signed up to access insight into word-streams pricing. Comment is here.

Smells unbelievably scammy, right? In addition to those audacious prices—though in all fairness any amount of money would be audacious considering every work listed is accessible elsewhere for free—my dyscalculia is screaming silently at the sight of that completely unnecessary amount of intentionally obscured numbers.

Speaking of which! As soon as the post on r/AO3—and, as a result, my original tumblr post—began taking off properly, sometime around 1 pm, jumpscare! A notification that a tumblr account named @cliffweitzman had commented on my post, and I got a bit mad about the gist of his message :

Fortunately he caught plenty of flack in the comments from other users (truly you should check out the comment section, it is extremely gratifying and people are making tremendously good points), in response to which, of course, he first tried to both reiterate and renegotiate his point in a second, longer comment (which I didn’t screenshot in time so I’m sorry for the crappy notification email formatting):

which he then proceeded to also post to Reddit (this is another Reddit user’s screenshot, I didn’t see it at all, the notifications were moving too fast for me to follow by then)

... where he got a roughly equal amount of righteously furious replies. (Check downthread, they're still there, all the way at the bottom.)

After which Cliff went ahead & deleted his messages altogether. 

It’s not entirely clear whether his account was suspended by Reddit soon after or whether he deleted it himself, but considering his tumblr account is still intact, I assume it’s the former. He made a handful of sock puppet accounts to play around with for a while, both on Reddit and Tumblr, only one of which I have a screenshot of, but since they all say roughly the same thing, you’re not missing much:

And then word-stream started throwing a DNS error.

That lasted for a good number of hours, which was unfortunately right around the time that a lot of authors first heard about the situation and started asking me individually how to find out whether their work was stolen too. I do not have that information and I am unclear on the perimeters Weitzman set for his AI scraper, so this is all conjecture: it LOOKS like the fics that were lifted had three things in common:

They were completed works;

They had over several thousand kudos on AO3; and

They were written by authors who had actively posted or updated work over the past year.

If anyone knows more about these perimeters or has info that counters my observation, please let me know!

I finally thought to check/alert evil Twitter during this time, and found out that the news was doing the rounds there already. I made a quick thread summarizing everything that had happened just in case. You can find it here.

I went to Bluesky too, where fandom was doing all the heavy lifting for me already, so I just reskeeted, as you do, and carried on.

Sometime in the very early evening, word-stream went back up—but the fan fiction category was nowhere to be seen. Tentative joy and celebration!***

That’s when several users—the ones who had signed up for accounts to gain intel and had accessed their own fics that way—reported that their work could still be accessed through their history. Relevant Reddit post here.

Sooo—

We’re obviously not done. The fanwork that was stolen by Weitzman may be inaccessible through his website right now, but they aren’t actually gone. And the fact that Weitzman wasn’t willing to get rid of them altogether means he still has plans for them. 

This was my final edit on my Reddit post before turning off notifications, and it's pretty much where my head will be at for at least the foreseeable future:

Please feel free to add info in the comments, make your own posts, take whatever action you want to take to protect your work. I only beg you—seriously, I’m on my knees here—to not give up like I saw a handful of people express the urge to do. Keep sharing your creative work and remain vigilant and stay active to make sure we can continue to do so freely. Visit your favorite fics, and the ones you’ve kept in your ‘marked for later’ lists but never made time to read, and leave kudos, leave comments, support your fandom creatives, celebrate podficcers and support AO3. We created this place and it’s our responsibility to keep it alive and thriving for as long as we possibly can.

Also FUCK generative AI. It has NO place in fandom spaces.

THE 'SMALL' PRINT (some of it in all caps):

*Weitzman knew what he was doing and can NOT claim ignorance. One, it’s pretty basic kindergarten stuff that you don’t steal some other kid’s art project and present it as your own only to act surprised when they protest and then tell the victim that they should have told you sooner that they didn’t want their project stolen. And two, he was very careful never to list the IPs these fanworks were based on, so it’s clear he was at least familiar enough with the legalities to not get himself in hot water with corporate lawyers. Fucking over fans, though, he figured he could get away with that. 

**A note about the AI that Weitzman used to steal our work: it’s even greasier than it looks at first glance. It’s not just the method he used to lift works off AO3 and then regurgitate onto his own website and app. Looking beyond the untold horrors of his AI-generated cover ‘art’, in many cases these covers attempt to depict something from the fics in question that can’t be gleaned from their summaries alone. In addition, my fics (and I assume the others, as well) were listed with generated genres; tags that did not appear anywhere in or on my fic on AO3 and were sometimes scarily accurate and sometimes way off the mark. I remember You & Me & Holiday Wine had ‘found family’ (100% correct, but not tagged by me as such) and I believe The Shape of Soup was listed as, among others, ‘enemies to friends to lovers’ and ‘love triangle’ (both wildly inaccurate). Even worse, not all the fic listed (as authors on Reddit pointed out) came with their original summaries at all. Often the entire summary was AI-generated. All of these things make it very clear that it was an all-encompassing scrape—not only were our fics stolen, they were also fed word-for-word into the AI Weitzman used and then analyzed to suit Weitzman’s needs. This means our work was literally fed to this AI to basically do with whatever its other users want, including (one assumes) text generation. 

***Fan fiction appears to have been made (largely) inaccessible on word-stream at this time, but I’m hearing from several authors that their original, independently published work, which is listed at places like Kindle Unlimited, DOES still appear in word-stream’s search engine. This obviously hurts writers, especially independent ones, who depend on these works for income and, as a rule, don’t have a huge budget or a legal team with oceans of time to fight these battles for them. If you consider yourself an author in the broader sense, beyond merely existing online as a fandom author, beyond concerns that your own work is immediately at risk, DO NOT STOP MAKING NOISE ABOUT THIS.

PLEASE check my later versions of this post via my main page to make sure you have the latest version of this post before you reblog. All the information I’ve been able to gather is in my reblogs below, and it's frustrating to see the old version getting passed around, sending people on wild goose chases.

Thank you all so much!

[daydreamshenanigans]

Preamble: Oh my lord I finished writing this… Umm. I’m just gonna drop this here and see if anyone is interested. Could be interesting, could be fun, who knows. Enjoy!!!

The Great Consumption

Eons ago, in the Space Between Worlds, creatures or rather, Gods, came into being. Each was formed slowly, tucked away in the vastness of the spaces between. Monsters of fire and ash, creatures of earth and wind, beings of the water and abyss, each born with a different Dominion over these aspects of the universe. These Gods inhabited this Great Expanse, living in relative, tentative peace with one another, observing the worlds that speckled their home with limited interactions with the beings of the worlds, unregulated but within reason. This peace, however, was not made to last.

No one recalls the true name of the beast responsible, but most know him as the Lord of Discontent, with Dominion over all who were unhappy with their lot in life. This God, he was unhappy with the chaotic nature of the universe, unhappy with the lack of true unity between the gods of the Spaces Between. “We need a leader,” declared the Lord to his fellow Gods, his cry echoing across the Expanse, “We need order to our realm! I wish to be leader!” Such an idea had never been proposed to the Gods, they had never needed a leader before, so why have one now. So most ignored the Lord. However the Lord instead saw this as submission.

The Lord paraded around the Expanse, demanding tribute to the King of the Gods. Many humored the Lord, not wishing to cause trouble. However, eventually, there came one who denied this so called “Kings” request. “I hold Dominion over the Embers of Revolution. I shall bow to no king,” spoke the brave god, denying the Lord of Discontent his tribute. The Lord was enraged, how dare this lowly God disrespect him in such a way. And so in an act that reshaped the Space Between Worlds forever, The Lord struck out at the God as they turned their back, slicing them down and snuffing out that light of their embers. In an act of pure blood thirst and wickedness, The Lord then brought the body of the lifeless God to its giant maw, and consumed it.

In this act of consumption, The Lord made a great discovery, the absorption of a Dominion and the power that came with it, albeit lesser than his own born Dominion. And he wanted more.

So began the first true war in the Space Between, the Great Consumption. The Lord of Discontent slaughtered and consumed all he could in the early days, consuming indiscriminately, thirsting for more and more power. Eventually, in a bid to stop the Lord, other Gods began to consume weaker Gods, hoping to gain the power to defeat this False King. One by one Gods were felled and consumed, Lesser Dominions collected on mass. Soon, pacts were forged between the weak, Dominions shared and alliances formed and the war raged on.

Slowly, five factions formed, each with their own order and leader.

There was, of course, The Lord of Discontent, who gained his following through terror and subjugation. Those who submitted early on, of course, backed this terror to the Great Expanse.

There was a God of Blazing Glory who gathered those who wished to face The Lord of Discontent to his thrall, his desire to have vengeance for the fallen God of the Embers of Revolution.

There was a God of Rumbling Earth, who raged against The Lord, wishing for the days of peace to return, her heart thundering with fury at such a disruption to the order of the Space Between.

Then there was the God of Weeping Wind, who cried in sorrow for the death of their fellow Gods, wishing to protect what remained their fellow Gods from the Great Consumption.

Finally, there was the God of the Shifting Tide. She, to, mourned the loss of her fellow Gods. However, more so, she grieved the loss of the worlds that gave the Space Between its name for they were innocent in this affair.

The war raged on many years still, till the Gods of Blazing Glory, Rumbling Earth, Weeping Wind, and Shifting Tide all came together and finally battled The Lord of Discontent head on, and after centuries of war, they slayed him. However, knowing he had power to great to be given to any of the Gods, the quartet each worked to seal the corpse of the tyrant, none wishing for his power to ever be taken by another.

To this day, the husk lays in its prison, sealed away, still waiting for the day that its power is taken.

Authors Note: Have some lore for your troubles. Enjoy this little blurb I’ve put together. Feel free to ask questions about it, I’ve likely got answers.

[druckkugelschreiber]

Me: *obsessed with how cute Cipher and Ellie are in my latest F&F fic*

My brain: but what about this? *gives me a toxic & abusive Cipher dream*

Me: write that down! Write that down!!!

[ozzgin]

A nice character with a yandere split persona. The Yandere persona was born out of the abandonment of the character by a loved one, maybe mom. Did he kill her just so she could stay? Maybe. Only the Yandere persona knows, the character is oblivious, he just knows his mom left him. But he oddly feels ok about it as though the situation has been reconciled... which is weird to him.

Now he meets and falls in love with yn. She must not leave. It's f around and find out

Btw I love you ❤️❤️❤️ The Yokai series is my fave

Oooh, I’ve been thinking of a context for your idea and I somehow got stuck on a serial killer who is unaware of it most of the time. Since you mentioned abandonment and obsession, my mind wandered to some of the typical habits, such as collecting trophies. I’ve also been wanting to try my hand at writing a serial killer, so hopefully it turns out to your liking. (Sending back the love, always a pleasure to see your comments ❤)

Although let me include a little disclaimer, because I am aware many things in the sphere of true crime are problematic: this in no way glorifies or romanticizes serial killers. Just a reminder that this is a work of fiction and all behaviors displayed are for the sake of an interesting story, not to be admired in real life.

Yandere! Serial Killer x Reader

You're temporarily staying with a kind, quiet man renting out a room in the house he inherited. It's just the two of you, and a locked bedroom he claims to be vacant. Yet as night falls, you hear the whispered arguing of a voice you don't recognize. Is anyone else there?

[Part 2] | [More original works]

Content/TW: female reader, mentions of murder, obsessive behavior, horror

You must break the pattern today, or the loop with repeat tomorrow

He stares at the locked drawer of the bureau. The clock ticking in the background fades into an irritating buzz, drumming against his ears at irregular intervals like a swarm of insects. Once again, he cannot remember where the key is. Yet he does not feel compelled to search for it. It cannot be anything of significance, he tells himself. Forgotten knick-knacks, perhaps. Despite the apparent lack of curiosity, he is drawn here every morning. He wakes up, carefully folds the sheets, and goes to sit in the office. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Until, at last, the noon hour strikes, and the hallways are flooded with ghastly chimes.

Lately, however, other sounds have taken over the usual silence that envelops the house. The main door rattles faintly before opening with a creak.

“They were out of our bread rolls. I got a baguette instead.”

It’s you.

He stands up, as if startled from deep slumber, and hurries downstairs to greet you. He takes the grocery bags from your hands, flashing a smile of gratitude. Somehow, the idea of another person living here is still foreign to him. He’s gotten so used to the solitude, the quietness of the house. Time stands still when there’s no one else to remind you of it.

You glance up at the tall man, noticing his slight frown.

“Another brain fog?” You ask, worried.

“Don’t mind me. It’s a morning routine at this point”, he jokes. “More importantly, what would you like for breakfast?”

He always cooks for both of you. Initially, you were rather hesitant to go for his offer. You’d been looking for temporary accommodation and stumbled upon his advertisement. A cozy, vintage house the man had inherited from his lamentably departed mother, with one too many spare rooms. He had no need for all the space, he said in his description. You paid him a visit and were taken aback by his appearance. A massive, muscular frame that did not fit the rest of his mannerisms and features. He was soft-spoken, polite, and terribly shy. His eyes reflected the kind of gloom to be expected from anyone in his situation.

A sweet, gentle soul looking for company. On top of that, if you are to be technical, he’s a housemate difficult to compete against. Well-kept, mannered, organized, and thoughtful. He keeps to himself. You’d learned, soon after moving in, that he suffers from the occasional brain fog and memory loss. He goes for walks at odd hours to clear his mind. Enjoys reading in his office, although you’ve caught him just staring into space many times. Terribly inconvenient for the poor lad, you imagine.

The house itself is also not a bad deal by any means. Old fashioned, littered with trinkets and paintings. “My mother liked to collect many things”, he’d told you. It certainly has personality, to put it mildly. Some belongings are more bizarre than others: portraits of faceless people, with features smudged or distorted, doll heads in pompous, feathered collars hanging in clusters across the musty walls. Peculiar, but manageable.

Only at night does it become unsettling.

“Going for a walk?”

You’re curled in one of the armchairs, flipping through a magazine you found. It’s been hours since your little breakfast together and now the sun is beginning to set. The man is buttoning up his coat, standing in the doorframe and gazing at you with a smile.

“Yeah. I’m starting to detach a little. Maybe some fresh air will help.”

It’s nice, he thinks, having you here. He didn’t expect much when he ventured to rent out a room. He just wanted to hear the murmur of life again. Ever since his mother has passed…when did it happen, again? Better yet, how did it happen? Christ, he can’t remember. The last memory he has of her is not something to cherish. She was angrily shoving him out of the way, visibly annoyed by his cries and pleading. “Please don’t leave me”, he kept croaking in a pathetic tone, dragging his knees like a beggar. Then it’s all black. Black, like the cover they kept over her body at the morgue, to hide the mutilated remains. Black, like the tie he struggled to knot before her funeral. At that time, the sheets of her bed were still scattered, as if she never left. He could almost see her there, reflected onto the mirror’s surface – rather dirty as a matter of fact, he should wipe it soon – sitting melancholically on the edge of the mattress.

To think he’d be hearing footsteps again. A soothing voice. Even if it’s temporary, your presence in the house has been a blessing. Even if you must leave eventually. His lips purse involuntarily.

You hear the door close, followed by the key twisting inside the lock. You’re alone now.

With haste, you get up and sprint upstairs. You pull out a hairpin from your pocket and discreetly insert it in the cylinder. Today you find out if the spare bedroom truly is as vacant as your housemate claims.

When you first viewed the house, he mentioned that only this room will remain locked. It was his mother’s and he’d rather not look at it, he said. Let it gather dust, for all he cares.

Only at night, you’ve been hearing someone else’s voice. It didn’t happen immediately. Weeks after you’d moved in, you woke up thirsty and tiptoed on your way to the kitchen for a glass of water. On your return, you were surprised to see dim light coming from underneath the door of the forbidden bedroom. Visitors of your housemate? You hurried back into your bed, not wanting to intrude. But the following night you jolted up from the same mumbled voice. Strange that he’d invite someone over this late - twice in a row! - without saying a word to you. Even more, they were arguing like this. Curiosity got the better of you, so you snuck out and placed your cupped ear against the wall.

“No, no, no, no. I’m telling you, it’s different. She’s different from the others.” A deep, ragged voice retorted angrily.

Suddenly, there was a loud thud, a fist smashing against something, then glass shattering over exasperated, shouted curses. You ran back to your room, baffled. Who on Earth was there? You could feel your heart throbbing inside your chest.

Morning couldn’t come quick enough. You marched over to your housemate, demanding to know who this stranger was. He stared at you, wide eyed and incredulous. “There’s no one else here, dear. Just you and me.” Nonsense. You knew what you heard. You’d been wide awake! He gently placed the back of his hand against your forehead. “Could it be that you’re sick? Weather has been dreadful lately.” You scanned his face with hitched breath. Was he mocking you? Yet his features betrayed no such intent. The man seemed genuinely worried; face twisted in a caring frown.

Then what? A ghost? An intruder that fancied having a chat in a dead woman’s bedroom?

You fiddle with the pin until you hear the click. Finally. Surely whoever has been frequenting the place must’ve left some clues behind. You carefully open the door and peek inside. A broken mirror and some furniture covered in webs. There’s a lingering rusty smell that tickles your nostrils, and soon enough you find the source. Next to the old bed lays a cloth splattered red. On top of it, a leather folder from which scalpels and other surgical tools fell out haphazardly. Blood? Your mouth curls in disgust. You crouch to the floor to inspect the odd items and notice a jar glistening from underneath the bed. You pull it towards you and give it a rattle. Nothing heavy. You lift the jar into the light for a better look and gasp.

Fingernails.

“Oh, I forgot to put those away.”

It’s the same deep voice you’ve been hearing at night. Your stomach drops and you turn, slowly, towards the entrance. Horror is swiftly replaced by confusion once you realize it’s none other than your housemate.

“Y-you’re back from your walk?” You blurt out.

“Walk?” He inquires. “Ah, that’s what he told you.” He steps towards you and lowers himself to your level with a grin.

“Have you come to say hello?” He points towards the tall, shattered mirror. “This is (Y/N), mother. See, I told you she’s stunning. You didn’t believe me.”

He ruffles your hair with a boldness completely unfamiliar.

Nausea overwhelms you and your ears ring in panic. Whatever is happening right now is beyond your understanding.

“I’d like to go to my room now.”

“I recognize that speech all too well. You want to run away.”

Within seconds, he grabs one of the scalpels and points it towards your throat, poking your skin with its cold tip.

“Now, don’t embarrass me in front of her like that. Do you know how hard it is to convince this bitch of anything? I told her you’re not like them, (Y/N). Don’t prove me wrong.”

“Them?” You whisper, lungs devoid of air.

“Come, let’s put this with the others first.” He pockets the scalpel and lifts you up by the hand, tenderly kissing your fingers in the process. “Then we can talk.”

You follow him into the office, and he unlocks one of the desk drawers. Against your better judgment, you stretch over his shoulder and glance inside. ID cards of various women, jewelry, lipsticks. Teeth. Fingernails.

You want to cry.

He nonchalantly dumps the contents of the jar into the drawer and slams it back shut, then throws himself in the chair and pats his thigh, eyeing you. With a sob, you clumsily climb onto his lap.

“Back to our matters. What were you planning on doing?”

“I just wanted to lay in bed.”

He takes out the scalpel and draws a line across your cheek. It stings.

“Don’t lie, (Y/N). You have nothing to gain from being naughty with me.” He coos, placing a kiss over the fresh wound.

“I wanted to run away.” You confess, petrified.

“Good. Do you now understand what happens if you try to run away?”

You briefly look at the drawer and nod.

“I knew you would. You’re so smart.” He strokes your hair fondly. “Not an easy decision to make, mind you. I love you more than anything in this world. Who’d enjoy killing their one and only?”

The man ponders his next words with a hum.

“Don’t count on getting away while he’s awake, either.” He taps his temple and chuckles. “He has no idea and won’t stop you, but I can easily find you again.”

The eggs sizzle in the pan as you stare at your plate, background sounds melting into shapeless static. After a couple more minutes, the man turns off the stove and places the food on the table with a cheerful whistle.

“Eat up!” He encourages you.

You hold onto your fork with faintly trembling hands.

“This might be the last breakfast I cook for you, after all. You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?” His last sentence trails off and he smiles, dejected.

“Actually, I was wondering if I could…stay here instead.”

He gazes at you in disbelief.

“Truly? I-…That’d be fantastic.” He laughs awkwardly and scratches the back of his head, a deep red blush spreading over his cheeks. “Do excuse my rudeness. To be honest with you, I’ve grown quite fond of our arrangement. I really do like having you here.”

You return the smile without responding.

“Most exciting news. I’ll get the documents from the office after we eat, so we can draft a new lease.”

“That’d be lovely”, you answer curtly.

“Say, have you by any chance stumbled upon a small key around the house? I wanted to finally unlock the drawer upstairs, but I can’t remember where I could’ve left it.”

The knot in your stomach tightens.

“Not at all.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’m sure it’s nothing important, anyways. Old memorabilia, most likely.”

[writingquestionsanswered]

Not to be a downer, but I actually finished my novel and now I’m confused because I don’t want to publish it. I don’t even particularly want anyone other than maybe my two close friends to even read it. What on Earth did I write 40k words (which I know is not really long enough for a novel, but it’s still far and away the longest thing I’ve ever written) for? I know people say “write for yourself” but like… am I just wasting my time? Help?

(p.s. you can leave this off anon)

(p.p.s your blog is really great 👍)

There's No Such Thing as Wasted Writing

I'm going to tackle this two ways...

#1 - "Write For Yourself" - there's a reason this common phrase has echoed through the Hall of Writers since time immemorial. It's because it's true! Writing doesn't have to be anything more than a pastime. It doesn't have to be anything more than something you do for your own benefit and enjoyment.

I have an in-joke with family members about how any time one of us does something the least bit crafty, DIY, skilled, whatever, a particular family member will always say, "You did a great job! You should do it for a living!" Like, someone can't even crochet a Kawaii mushroom without being pressured to turn it into an Etsy dynasty, or paint a cabinet without being pressured to become the next Property Brothers. And that's such a BANANAS capitalistic mindset, isn't it? This idea that nothing can be done purely for our own enjoyment. That you can't just write a novel because you want to... you can only write it if you plan to share it or publish it? It's just so silly.

And, the thing is, we don't even apply that mentality to a lot of other things people do purely for enjoyment. No one is streaming all of Bridgerton in two nights and saying, "I enjoyed every second of that, but why did I do that? Such a waste of time!" No one spends an hour strumming their guitar under the stars on a beach, and then says, "That was so relaxing and fun, but I didn't charge for that performance and I didn't record it to sell it, so that was obviously a waste of time."

You know what I mean?

#2 - And Anyway, Practice Makes Perfect - And if you keep writing--even if you continue not to share or publish--you'll get better and better with each story you write. Which, maybe all that means is you get to appreciate your own improvement, but also, should you ever change your mind and decide to write something to share or publish, you've now spent time honing your skills. Even if those other stories never see the light of day, they're still an important foundation of the writer you become. Do you know how many unpublished novellas, novels, and short stories I have? Too many to count. Hundreds of fan-fiction and original fiction short stories I've only shared with one or two other people, if anyone. A dozen or so novels and novellas that have only been read by a few people, and some haven't been read by anyone else or have only been read by my CPs. I would never consider those stories and novels and novellas to be a waste of time, because I know every single one made me a better writer. My published work is better because I wrote those other things.

So, I hope that makes you feel better. At the very least you hopefully enjoyed writing your novel--or at least got something out of it--and you definitely honed your writing skills, which matters! ♥

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