#female psychological thrillers

[hadesoftheladies]

FEMALE MOVIE/TV RECS (PART 5 / HORROR & CRIME DRAMA)

got inspired from a recommendation post so decided to make a list of movies and shows with female-centric stories/female protagonists. since i can't post all of the genres in one post, i'll split it into multiple posts and y'all can save or add to the list as you wish. (disclaimer: i have watched most of these, but i only know about the existence of others. not every movie/show on these lists will be my recommendation. my recommendations will be beneath the list with reasons. also some of these are way better than others in terms of storytelling/performance--which is why i'll list my faves separately):

Common Themes:

-Dangerous girls (they ain't innocent)/ girlhood as violent

-Stressed out and melancholic female detectives and authors (lots of drinking/smoking)

-Mothers who've seen too fucking much to play games/I'm a good mother until it doesn't let up

-Women handling shit/getting shit done

-Mothers who didn't want to be mothers but here we fucking are so might as well handle shit

-Evil women who are also unfortunately hot

-Female sociopaths (not always negatively portrayed)

HAVEN'T WATCHED

The Royal Hotel

The Silent Twins

The Kitchen

The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart

I'm Thinking of Ending Things

Sharp Objects

Killing Eve

Abigail

Heavenly Creatures

A Quiet Place Part 2

Panic Room

Alice, Darling

Blood Red Sky

Rust Creek

The Marsh King's Daughter

Pearl

GOOD STUFF (NEVER WATCHING AGAIN THOUGH!)

Bad Sisters (8/10) (sisters plan to kill their sister's abusive husband)

Yellowjackets (9/10) (love as cannibalism)

Candy (7.5/10) (she's just a killer lol)

Cruella (6.5/10)(help my mom is a narcissist and it's hereditary)

Jennifer's Body (7/10) (boys aren't people lmao)

Bird Box (8/10)

Under the Bridge (8/10)

PERSONAL NOTES

I watched Tragedy Girls years ago, and I remember being grossed out and having a lot of fun as well. If you like Jennifer's Body, you'll probably like Tragedy Girls, too. And if you like Tragedy Girls, you may also enjoy Thoroughbreds. All three have a twisted sense of girlpower.

The Call isn't scary so much as its nerve-wracking and upsetting. It's not gory (although there is violence), but it deals with heavy subject matter. I can, however, promise a satisfying ending. Even though I doubt it would put you at ease.

Horror is my least favourite genre so bear that in mind. I just hate jump scares (because I hate being startled) and I don't like gore though there are times where it doesn't bother me so much. So this is definitely not an exhaustive list on horror recs. Crime is as close as I usually get to such dark stuff so I put the dark crimes, psychological thrillers and horrors together. I don't even want to talk about these that much because I'm nauseous already.

Watch at your own risk.

[ariadnethedragon]

THE GIRL ON THE TRAIN (2016), Dir. Tate Taylor

[fearofahumanplanet]

Karma Killer - Out This Halloween!

Pre-order eBook now on Amazon & other digital stores!

eBook and Paperback available this Halloween, October 31st!

First three chapters (56 pages) FREE TO READ on my website!

Happy Friday the 13th! Blurb below...

In the troubled mountain town of Lake Leer, Colorado, a bullied high schooler by the name of Kora Lynch becomes the latest in a long line of local killers when she ends up drowning herself to escape her persecution. Rescued from herself by a goddess of mysterious whims known only as Ira, Kora is offered a choice - to die alone and wither away forever, or to become a "Vision of Vengeance" and do away with all who bring harm.

Choosing to become Ira's latest slasher, Kora is given a weathered kabuki mask and the gift to see anyone's every sin with a glance. Eager to seek revenge on those who drove her to die in the first place, Kora takes the name of "Karma" and begins slaughtering her classmates in a misguided attempt at justice, disguising her descent in a gruesome homage to her favorite slasher movies. As she further disconnects from the real world and loses grip of her moral compass, the woman that broke her rallies the town into defiance, and the ensuing conflict tugs all of Lake Leer into irreversible carnage.

[daisyvramien]

Cold cases are the ghosts that haunt the corridors of justice, their ethereal presence a constant reminder of the sins of the past. Each one whispers its tale of forgotten victims and unsolved mysteries, their voices echoing through the halls of time. But beneath the surface lies a deeper truth, a truth that festers like a wound left untended. Guilt is the specter that rots and festers within the hearts of those touched by these cold cases. It gnaws at the soul like a relentless beast, devouring every shred of peace and sanity. With each passing day, it grows stronger, its tendrils reaching deeper into the darkest recesses of the mind.

Sometimes, the doors of the past are best left locked, their secrets buried beneath layers of dust and decay. Within those forgotten chambers lies a darkness that knows no bounds, a darkness that consumes all who dare to venture too close. Curiosity is a dangerous thing, a voracious beast that devours all in its path. It gnaws at the edges of reason, tempting the unwary with promises of truth and enlightenment. But beware, for behind every locked door lies a truth more terrible than any lie...

[cinemagal]

DON’T WORRY DARLING (2022) dir. Olivia Wilde

[rodyassock]

just wanted to post the book I'm working on now aesthetic (I'll probably make a few more posts like this) (I'll post the aesthetics of the main characters - Lunaria, Katarina and maybe Rodion, he's not main but important)

[theaskew]

[cinnamon-desire]

as lana del rey once said ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

“i don’t wanna live”

[zaramonzel]

Cats

Just one last delivery for tonight. The night air is crisp as I hurry down the quiet suburban street, pizza box in hand. Pulling up to the address, I notice what seems like a dozen—maybe even more—bright, piercing eyes of cats roaming around. Never seen this many all in one place before.

I ring the doorbell, hearing muffled footsteps before the door creaks open. A petite elderly woman stands before me, her thin frame swathed in an oversized cardigan. A faint smile crosses her wrinkled face as she peers up at me.

“You must be the pizza boy," she rasps. "Please, come in while I get your change.”

“I’ll just wait at the door, ma’am,” I say. It’s certainly unusual to be invited into a home for a pizza delivery. 

“Oh, don’t be silly, dear. Come in, it’s a cool night. I’ll only be a few minutes.” 

I hesitate for a moment but she ushers me in, clicking the door shut behind me. Immediately, I’m overwhelmed with the thick scent of cat litter and stale kibble. 

“Have a seat. I’ve prepared a glass of milk for you,” she said, now guiding me over to the couch. Cats of all shapes and sizes swarm around me, weaving between my legs and meowing softly. 

I have no choice but to plop myself down on the cat-hair-covered couch after she—Mrs. Barlow, as the address label indicates—shuffled off down a dimly lit hallway, leaving me alone with her feline companions. 

I glance around the living room. It's a cramped, cluttered space, every available surface covered in cat toys, scratching posts, and bowls of food and water. 

A sudden movement at the top of the stairs catches my eye. I turn to see a young girl peering down at me, her expression unreadable. She stands motionless, her gaze deadpan, before vanishing back up the staircase. An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. Must be her granddaughter, but what a strange little girl.

Mrs. Barlow returns, a small metal box in her hands. "Here we are," she says, setting it on the coffee table. "Please, help yourself to the milk and I'll get your money."

"Actually, Mrs. Barlow,”  I say, addressing her to be polite, “I think I'll just take the cash and be on my way. The milk is very kind of you, but I really shouldn't."

She doesn’t say a word in reply, but her insistent gaze leaves me with little choice. 

I glance down at the milk, an uneasy feeling in my stomach growing. Somehow, it feels...off. But the woman's expectant stare compels me to reach for the glass, the cool liquid sliding down my throat. 

As I swallow the last of the milk, a strange heaviness settles over me. My eyelids grow unbearably heavy, and I blink rapidly, fighting against the rising tide of drowsiness. The room seems to sway, and I grip the arm of the couch to steady myself. The cats around me seem to sense my distress, their meows taking on a mocking, taunting quality. Something's not right. 

"What...what did you do to me?" I slur, panic rising in my chest.

Mrs. Barlow's smile widens. "Oh, don't worry, dear. You're going to be just fine." She reaches into her cardigan pocket, producing a large syringe filled with a cloudy liquid.

I try to stand, to run, but my limbs feel so heavy, it’s as if I’ve been tied to the couch. The young girl I saw earlier is now standing at the bottom of the stairs, silently watching the scene unfold.

"Please," I beg, my voice weak. “help me.”

But the girl merely blinks, her expression betraying no emotion. Mrs. Barlow advances, the syringe glinting menacingly.

The last thing I see before everything goes dark is the her twisted, triumphant grin and the syringe hovering dangerously close to my arm. 

"Don't worry, dear. This won't hurt a bit." 

When I finally regain consciousness, my eyes take a moment to adjust, and I realise that I’m still in the living room. Naked, disheveled people, their eyes vacant and their movements languid.

One of the captives, a young woman with matted hair, turned to face him. She blinked slowly, her mouth curving into a lazy smile, and then she leaned forward, her head tilting to one side and I spot the collar around her neck. A soft, purring sound rose from her throat, and she began to rub her cheek against his arm.

Mark recoiled in horror, feeling his supper rise up to his throat. They move with such feline grace, bodies contorting unnaturally, their limbs shifting and twisting in sickly way.

Suddenly, the door creaks open, and Mrs. Barlow enters, a twisted smile on her face. She carries a tray of bowls filled with what appears to be cat food and water. 

“You're awake. I was beginning to worry,” she says, her voice dripping with false sweetness. She sets the tray down, the captives immediately swarming around it, lapping up the contents like famished felines.

"What have you done to them?" I ask, my voice trembling.

Mrs. Barlow's smile widens. "Why, I haven’t done anything to them. They are my collection.” She produces a syringe from the pocket of her cardigan, the contents glinting ominously. "And you are the new addition.”

"Stay back!" I cry, pressing myself against the wall. 

But Mrs. Barlow advances, her grip on the syringe unwavering. I glance around the room, desperately searching for a way out, but the captives remain oblivious, purring and rubbing against one another. I spot the young girl standing silently in the corner again, her eyes fixed on me.

"Please," I plead, "you have to help me. You can't let her do this to me."

Mrs. Barlow draws closer, the syringe poised to strike. I try to scramble further away, but my body is still refusing to cooperate from the drugs. I'm trapped, at the mercy of this deranged woman and her unspeakable experiments.

As the syringe pierces my skin, I let out a cry of anguish. The cold liquid burns as it courses through my veins, and I can feel my consciousness slipping away once again. The world begins to blur, the faces of the captives growing indistinct. 

The cluttered space feels warm and inviting as I blink awake, the scents are no longer offensive but comforting.

I glance down at my own naked form, the collar around my neck a tangible reminder of my captivity. A part of me wants to resist, to fight against the overwhelming urge to surrender to this twisted new reality. But the alluring scent of the cats, the warmth of their bodies, proves too tempting. A strange, primal instinct is compelling me to join them.

I hesitantly reach out and set my paw on the soft fur of the nearby cat. It turns to me, eyes bright with awareness, and begins to rub against me, purring.

The world seems more vibrant, sounds and smells more vivid. 

A small part of me is crying out, worrying that this isn't right. But it's getting harder to hear that voice now. I'm getting pulled deeper into how things are in this reality.

[thiswillhurtbooks]

The Feathers of Adam (Adam's Legacies Book 1)

Enter the shadowy world of The Feathers of Adam, where friendship is tested and a conspiracy unfolds. Explore the experiences of Vallery, Clara, and a cast of characters as they face the dangers of New York City and become embroiled in its criminal underworld. This haunting tale delves into themes of abandonment, survival, and the consequences of our actions, leaving a lasting impact on all who dare to enter.

[lov3lyl0vr]

sooooo deeply in love with movies that make me so out of it like Black Swan, Dont Worry Darling, Midsommar...

god they just make me fucking insane

[daisyvramien]

Welcome to SPIRE, where the corridors echo with the whispers of centuries past and every brick holds the weight of history. Nestled amidst ancient oaks and looming spires, our school stands as a beacon of knowledge in the heart of mystery. Here, in the hallowed halls of our Gothic architecture, students delve into the arcane arts, unraveling the secrets of the supernatural and mastering the occult sciences. From cryptic libraries to candlelit study nooks, every corner of SPIRE exudes an aura of scholarly pursuit and intellectual curiosity. But our curriculum extends beyond the pages of dusty tomes and into the realms of practical application. Under the guidance of esteemed faculty, students embark on thrilling investigations, honing their skills in paranormal research and haunted exploration. From deciphering ancient runes to uncovering long-forgotten relics, every day at SPIRE is an adventure into the unknown. Yet, amidst the shadows and specters, camaraderie thrives. Within our ivy-covered walls, friendships are forged that withstand the test of time, and bonds are formed that transcend the mortal realm. Together, we stand as guardians of knowledge, united in our quest for truth and understanding. So join us, dear seeker of knowledge, and step into the world of SPIRE. Embrace the darkness, embrace the mystery, and unlock the secrets that lie within.

"Hic Occultum Sempiternum Timorem"

S.P.I.R.E._ Ophelia's Hall Announcement, n°I. Project H.

[fluoxetinegreen444]

Things have gotten worse since we last spoke by Eric LaRocca

Back once again with another book review!

This time I read Things have gotten worse since we last spoke by Eric LaRocca. It was actually a Christmas gift and I read it under an hour since I was super excited about it.

The book discusses a fictional police case over Zoe Cross' involvement in the death of Agnes Petrella, two young women who meet and fall in love over the Internet. The two share an intense relationship before things go south and harmless talk turns into gory actions.

The entire book is composed of emails and instant chat messages, at the beginning a post on a Queer forum. It was an interesting format that kept me turning every page incredibly fast since I HAD to know what happened next. Usually I have an issue connecting with the characters in books with these kinds of formats but the connection and concern I felt for Agnes was instant. She's an incredibly relatable character and someone who the reader only wishes good for, but things turn slowly as the book progresses.

To be quite honest, I had expected more gore and more disturbing content. With that in mind, there were scene people can see as disturbing but in my experience they were quite mild compared to other things I've read or seen on screen. I had expected to be thoroughly disturbed but was only a little grossed out by a particular scene involving insects. I've heard people online name it "disturbing" and "crazy", which seems a bit extreme in my opinion. It was uncomfortable at times but nothing traumatising. In fact, it made me a bit disheartened as I've encountered similar themes in my own life.

Regardless, the book was an absolute joy to read and a strong recommendation if you aren't that sensitive to psychological thrillers. I'll probably re-read it and it will stay on my mind for a while. It gives off a weirdly safe feel despite the contents, that beings said, be warned and make sure to Google TWs.

[clownxgirl]

The Rules of Decomposing

||MDNI || TW: Gore || Word Count: 1,415k ||

Airy brown particles sweep my face as I lay here paralyzed, inside my body but not in control. My chest hurts as each clump of dirt is thrown onto my body, the cold muck blanketing me inside of this hole. I watched my family cry over the top of me through the service, my lip twitched and my nose flared as I tried to get their attention, but to no avail. My heart raced as I knew my real end was coming, suffocation from the Earth’s dust that I’ll bite once more. I can almost feel the saliva in my throat burble up into a bubble shriek as it pops on the brink of my lips. I can already feel a worm graze my wrist with an unbound collection of what my body and mind are up to, alive and still warm. But not in reality, no, but in my soul that is still trapped here. Is this what hell feels like? Watching your body still move on with this Earth without you speaking, breathing, moving? I suddenly feel pain in my chest as the dirt compresses onto me, the weight of the world and dying all over again conflicts my thoughts.

To my surprise, I still laid here somewhat alive even after the dirt was stacked six feet above me, a wall to the outside or the wall to me is what I sit here debating. I reflect on my life as I lay here, my daughter’s laughter over the years fades into her tears dripping on me at the casket I was open to. I felt beautiful with the layers of foundation they filled my pores with, the eyeshadow my husband never let me wear, and the lipstick that made the dirt stick to me now. I wonder why they put me directly in dirt rather than my comfortable coffin, was it to defile me? To restrict me and continue my vulnerability to the elements as I did before in my life? Sitting here conflicting my thoughts over horrible theories after the last revolve around my husband, his desire to defile me even in death comes to mind. But my daughter would never allow me to be this way, to be put into the ground to meld with the elements. I felt this pressure in my stomach continuously through this, but to my surprise I remember not feeling it in the warm casket. It melded with me when I gained consciousness again to be hoisted by the cloth crane into my grave. I felt curious about this feeling, it felt like a foreign object and my curiosity killed me until I felt movement inside, a small wave so singular and small. I felt a wave of nausea as I felt more of those singular and small movements become a hive mind, wiggling and squirming along the inner part of my stomach with that pit, that seed, that.. And it hit me. My daughter came to me when she was sixteen, showing me a post online about having trees planted with your body so it can thrive off of the nutrients your body gives and it’ll blossom into a cherry tree. Her eyes were bright blue as she said this, feeling relieved from beauty beyond death that she can leave behind made my heart at the time feel content. But now, it was my biggest nightmare. The anxious pit in my stomach was not a pit at all, but a sapling of a tree sewed into my body and whatever remains it had of its prior existence outside of it. Worms, leaves, anything surrounding that plant was dug into my body like vines leeching off of a brick house. I’d grow roots through my throat, animals will take refuge in my womb as I continue to feed this tree into a child more life-sucking than a human baby. The mania racing around in my mind faster than the wiggling in my stomach can writh and strike with their movements. I’m not going to live through this, I won’t see my daughter again. The dirt continued to settle until it clogged my ears, sealed my eyes and my nose shut. The only sense I can comprehend is touch and internal hearing, my heartbeat and occasionally the settlement of the dirt rings through my head the loudest. I want to hear anything of music, anything of laughter, but the worms are somehow loud here but are silent above.

It’s been a few days now, I imagine. Not by my anticipation for the end, but by the resolution of how I can now smell my body through the dirt caked under my nose. My body is now stiff and getting colder and colder, the blankets of dirt now feel like the walk-in freezer at my first job, they insulate me with more muck than I can conjure in my head. My eyelids are now completely shut against the dirt and I’s will, but the rigor mortis I learned about in high school. I loved high school, but despised biology class. I remember dissecting the formaldehyde soaked frogs, feeling pity for them as I stuck my tweezers into their open chest. I wonder if that would hurt less to be alive for that instead of this slow aching demise.

The dirt has so much pressure on my body as I continue to expand. The pressure holds against my body ever so still which makes it that more painful. I could feel myself getting close to popping, to hitting that climax that I prayed for even when I was alive, fingering myself in the bathroom after my husband finishes. I can only think about the anger boiling and bloating in my heart and the rest of my body, simmering like an airtight mozzarella chunk in the Arizona sun. I can feel the air inside of me begin to release itself through every orifice. My ears constantly pop, I flatulate and excrete foam from my mouth with every involuntary sigh from my chest. Something is bubbling inside me far worse than the sapling, I can feel the warmth and movement grow faster and hungrier than my pregnancy with Rose.

I was completely wrong about being buried six feet, or being alone. I saw sunlight for the first time as I laid in the dirt. The white pumping friends I’ve obtained this past month can enjoy the sunlight with me as I’m met with the face of my savior. A patchy dog with vacant eyes unearths my leg first, nibbling on it for a few hours hacking at my flavor but not denying its virtues of protein. My whole body twists and turns internally as he feasts, but I relish in the pressure relief of my lower torso. As the day goes on, I’m accompanied by his friends again and again the more potent and light absorbed I get with each passing day. I’m of use again, giving back to nature even through my sorrow and my inevitable unwillingness to do so still enlightens me to keep looking forward to my future experiences. It’s easier for my skin to slough off the longer I’m in the sun. I find myself imagining a sunburn at a beautiful beach with each blister that boils like a cooking egg on a stove on my skin. It pops and gives me relief once more, like a cesspool orgasm producing liquids beyond my comprehension.

I’ve been unearthed for awhile, but the friends stopped coming after my discoloration came. I noticed my texture isn’t as delicious as before, my patchy friend attempted the other night to lick my calf clean of its contents but was met with a waxy texture that didn’t pick up any taste. My useful ability has halted for the ones I didn’t mind, and has now released back into the writhing white maggots that befriended me first. I’m becoming what my baby used to call dry skin ‘rasiny’. Her memory continues to ring in my head as I suddenly feel sleepy, as if I can rest for the first time in a little while. I feel the sensation of my eyes being closed as I lay there in the rain which moisturizes my body back to comfortability. The tightness of my skin dies down into a warm slushy, the dirt uncakes from my nose and I take my final physical breath into plunging into a deep sleep that takes me from my body.

[fringeexistence]

[jordyvix]

Motherhood Is a Nightmare in BABY RUBY

Starring Noémie Merlant and Kit Harington, BABY RUBY is a disorienting psychological horror-thriller that perfectly captures maternal fears and mental battles new parents can face.

A new mom’s postpartum journey is anything but picturesque. While her husband endures the same sleepless nights as she does, her experience contains horrifying visions that loosen her grip on reality. Starring Noémie Merlant and Kit Harington, Baby Ruby is a disorienting psychological horror-thriller that perfectly captures maternal fears and mental battles new parents can face. Adored blogger…