#original stuffs

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: Stay Out of the Basement [Yandere Monster x Reader]

Title: Stay Out of the Basement [Yandere Monster x Reader]

Synopsis: There's something in the basement and it wants you so bad.

For Horrorfest request:

“Theres something in the basement” trope

Word count: 671

Notes: yandere, monster

There’s something in the basement. 

There’s something in the basement, and you don’t think it’s human. 

There’s something in the basement, and you think it’s in love with you.

--

You don’t know exactly when your thoughts on the thing in the basement went from “It wants to kill me and possibly eat me” to “It’s fallen in love with me and probably doesn’t want to eat me.” 

Maybe around the time that you started finding scraps of plants--vegetation and dirt with hints of flowers, scraggling things that barely saw any light--on  your kitchen counter, complimented with a telltale track of dirty footprints leading to the basement stairs. Yes, that was around the time that you began to think whatever was in the basement had feelings for you. 

The flowers (and dirt); then came trinkets. Little rocks, sometimes jagged, sometimes smooth. One morning, there was some sort of black stone, shined and polished. You didn’t want to touch it--something about it made your mind absolutely forbid it. You scooped it into the trash with a paper plate and took it to the curb that morning. 

If the thing in the basement minded, it didn’t let you know. It only left more gifts. More footprints. More--and you swear this must be what it’s doing--signs that it exists and it likes you. Tapping noises from behind the doorway leading to the basement stairs--tap-tap, tap; jars of long-forgotten canned goods left in front of the door, black-mud streaks on the bases. 

You haven’t seen it, but you know it’s there. And you know this won’t last forever. You know it won’t be satisfied with leaving gifts and trinkets and tap-tap, tapping to get your attention. 

No one believes you. Not your parents, not your friends, not the police. Not the therapist you called out of desperation. 

You’re alone--only oh, how you wish that were really the case. 

--

There’s something in the basement. 

There’s something in the basement, and it wants you. 

There’s something in the basement, and it’s coming up the stairs. 

--

Your fingers grip the edge of your comforter, but you don’t dare bring it up over your face.  You want to see it coming. 

And you know it’s coming. It’s only a matter of time now. You can hear it. 

You first heard it coming up the basement stairs--thudding, thudding, thudding--and now you hear it coming down the hall. It’s not the steps of a person. It’s a heavy sound, almost dragging and--oh, someone help you--slightly damp. Like the basement. Like the sweat on the back of your neck, staining your pillow beneath you.

Like the stupid tears pooling at the edge of your eyes. What good would they do you? None. 

They fall anyway when the half-closed door creaks open.

Your bedside lamp is on, and if you were smarter, you would have turned it off 10 minutes ago. It would be must easier to face this reality in the dimness of the night, if you couldn’t see exactly what was standing in front of you.

It’s tall and broad shouldered. 

It has a mouth and eyes and a face, yes, and you might be tempted to call it humanoid. There are two arms and two legs, heavy and covered in something black, like it’s painted itself with dirt and mud. Its skin is splotches of green, dark and faintly damp, like moss growing at the edge of a swamp. Two yellow eyes blink at you and you don’t think you’re imagining it when your brain interprets its gaze as… fond. Loving. Wanting. 

It opens its mouth and there are teeth--sharp--and you think it must be trying to smile. Trying to smile and then say something to you.

What finally comes out, warbled and deep, is your name. 

You do pull the covers over your head, then.

Not that it does you any good.

--

There’s something in the basement.

There’s something in the basement, and you’re there with it now. 

And neither of you will ever leave again.

[everymariogalaxy]

hey everyone! whilst i'll still be posting the odyssey pieces about once a week, i wanted to let y'all know that i'm starting work on my webcomic! its an original story, but if y'all like my art, i'd really appreciate you checking it out!

i have a summary on the comic blog (which i'll link below!) but the jist is that its about a worn, jaded person travelling back to their peoples home and learning to love the world again and find beauty and connection along the way! (i plan on having lots of nice landscapes ehehe)

here's the link! this is something im very passionate about, so i'd really appreciate people giving it a chance! im hoping to get the first scene up by the end of the year!

[cardworksartblog]

Look at this magical girl i made in a picrew adn then drew. She'd be the antihero type girl who uses Incredible Violence instead of friendship to beat the bad guys and makes a fun moral dilemma for the protagonist polycule to deal with as a conflict.

She blasts you with her umbrella attack btw. Thats how she kills you. Im also like 40% sure she's blown up a public restroom with homemade C4 before.

[xalicemadnessx]

i make animation! rlly shitty short animations but its animation!!!!

[embraquil]

A design I never got around to finishing

[puppyeared]

filipina miku!! my mom helped me with her outfit ^_^

[charbroiledchicken]

"you're the writer, you control how the story goes" no not really. i wrote the first sentence and then my characters said "WE WILL TAKE IT FROM HERE" and promptly swerved into an electrical fence.

[t0ast-ghost]

Can’t explain it but they’re really cunty in this photo

[oneandocey]

To be seen is not to be loved. But to be loved is to be seen and understood completely.

[artsybi]

heyyyyy reminder for other cane users.

don't forget that cane tips need to be replaced.

i've been using my cane for almost two years on a near daily basis and i JUST switched out the tip and

[image IDs in alt text]

the new tip versus the old tip. i'm not sure how clear it is but, YEAH, there's like. half a millimeter of tread left on the old tip, if that

the replacement was LITERALLY 2 dollars. i bought two to justify the four dollar shipping but. TWO BUCKS.

i had noticed that i was having slipping issues on linoleum recently, but i did not realize how bad the issue had gotten until the new tips came so. PLEASE check your cane treads and if they're notably worn out PLEASE get yourself a new tip they're SO cheap and the grip i get on the new one is INSANE

please don't forget to replace your cane tips!

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: Through the Night, In the Dark [Yandere Shadow x Reader]

Title: Through the Night, In the Dark [Yandere Shadow x Reader]

Synopsis: There is nothing following you in the dark.

For Horrorfest request: “You’re just being paranoid.” for a yandere/stalker shadow creature?

Word count: 868

Notes: yandere, stalking

There is nothing following you, on the street, through the night, in the dark.

No unspoken-for shadows flickering against the buildings, dancing in and out of the light cast from the street lamps; no footsteps, so quiet they might as well be whispers, echoing your own as you hurry home. From work, from the bar, from the friend’s house where you lingered so long in the doorway that they offered to walk you home.

You said no, of course–

Because there is nothing following you, on the street, through the night, in the dark.

You’re just being paranoid. Being crazy. Letting your over-active imagination and too many mixed drinks get to your head. 

Who would be following you, anyway? How could they do it? You’ve checked on so many nights. Whipped your head behind you, called out “Hello?” like some girl about to be gutted in a horror movie; talked so loudly on your phone that it would scare away any would-be abductor; stood perfectly still under the blazing street lamp and waited for that mysterious person to show their face.

No one did. Because you’re wrong about this, like you are about a lot of things; your decision to work late nights, your choice in walking shoes that look great but pinch your toes, and your addled brain’s conclusion that some who must be following you. 

What, your mind whispers. You forgot about the whats.

Oh. Oh those–those are harder to account for, aren’t they? Those whats that might exist at the corner of your eye, in the corner of a building, in some dark corner of the world. Those whats everyone swears they see in their childhood, waiting in a closet or under the bed, waiting for–something you can’t understand when you’re young. 

Waiting for you.

Only waiting is different from following, isn’t it? A monster under the bed does not tip-toe along the street, passing Thai restaurants and boarded up video rental stores and shady ATMs. A monster resting against the piled-up laundry in your closet does not have a shadow that follows you from block to block, flickering in a dirty window one moment, bracing itself against an alley the next.

A monster lurking in the basement does not whisper in your ear, a breeze that you discount as simply hearing things, that it loves-you-loves-you-loves-you.

It’s all just a trick of the light. A trick of the shadows. A trick of the booze burning in your stomach. A trick of your nerves and the wind. Surely, surely. 

You swallow tight against your throat and bring your purse tight against your chest and your shoes pinch tight against your toes, as you hurry along. Hurry to get home, away from these street lamps and the shadows they cast. 

Away from the thoughts that begin to pound in your head as loudly as your shoes against the pavement.

What is following you, what is following you, what is following you–

“Please don’t run anymore,”  a voice whispers. 

It’s not your voice. 

There is a human instinct to whirl your head around and find the source of the sound. There is a deeper instinct, an animal thing, that keeps your head rooted forward.

Because the voice is right behind you–pressed up against you, tickling your ear. If you turn around and see it, really see it, you don’t know what you’ll do. 

“I’m tired of chasing,” it says again. And with your gaze kept firmly forward, you see a shadow lengthen impossibly in front of you, coming from behind your ear to stretch along the sidewalk. It’s not a shadow that should be cast underneath the flickering lamp up ahead; it’s not reflecting a person standing in front of you.

It’s too tall, too malleable, like it can’t decide what shape to take. It’s legs–they must be legs, your mind can’t comprehend otherwise–stretch long enough to join a patch of darkness in front of them. 

Your eyes flick up, taking in the street lamps. Light is a protector, isn’t it? It’s what you did when you were scared of monsters under the bed as a kid, what you still did sometimes as an adult, leaping up your stairs two at a time so you could flick your bedroom light on just in time to avoid being eaten. 

The shadow, the what, is trapped within the light. It must be, slinking from pool of brightness to pool of brightness. Against buildings and sprawling down in half-lit gutters. If the lights stay on, if you can just get home–

Pop.

The street lamp down the road explodes in a shower of sparks.

Pop.

The next one.

Pop.

The next.

Pop.

The one in front of you.

Pop.

The one behind-and-the-one-behind-that-and-the-one-behind-that-and-and-and–

Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop.

“You’re tired of being chased, aren’t you?” The voice asks, and it’s almost kind, almost wrapping itself around you like the darkness borne out of the broken street lamps.

You lean into it, then away from it, and you wish your friend had walked you home. But he didn’t, you’re alone (but not alone) and there’s nothing you can do anymore. 

You trip, you stumble–you’re shoved?--and step forward into the darkness.

Nothing is following you, on the street, through the night, in the dark.

Not anymore.

[peaceishim]

[cardworksartblog]

Hi. Some character design stuff for u guys. I was messing around in picrews and made this funny guy. Sorry abt dying for awhile lol

[curatorotl]

I think one of the weirdest side effects of being a writer is that while I'm reading, I'll just start subconsciously editing the book. Like, if a sentence sounds odd or off to me, I'll fix it in my head and continue reading as if that were how it was written.

Does anybody else do this?

[tearlessrain]

please help me- i used to be pretty smart but i’m having so much trouble grasping the concept of diegetic vs non-diegetic bdsm!

gfkjldghfd okay first of all I'm sorry for the confusion, if you're not finding anything on the phrase it's because I made it up and absolutely nobody but me ever uses it, but I haven't found a better way to express what I'm trying to say so I keep using it. but now you've given me an excuse to ramble on about some shit that is only relevant to me and my deeply inefficient way of talking and by god I'm going to take it.

SO. the way diegetic and non-diegetic are normally used is to talk about music and sound design in movies/tv shows. in case you aren't familiar with that concept, here's a rundown:

diegetic sound is sound that happens within the world of the movie/show and can be acknowledged by the characters, like a song playing on the stereo during a driving scene, or sung on stage in Phantom of the Opera. it's also most other sounds that happen in a movie, like the sounds of traffic in a city scene, or a thunderclap, or a marching band passing by. or one of the three stock horse sounds they use in every movie with a horse in it even though horses don't really vocalize much in real life, but that's beside the point, the horse is supposed to be actually making that noise within the movie's world and the characters can hear it whinnying.

non-diegetic sound is any sound that doesn't exist in the world of the movie/show and can't be perceived by the characters. this includes things like laugh tracks and most soundtrack music. when Duel of Fates plays in Star Wars during the lightsaber fight for dramatic effect, that's non-diegetic. it exists to the audience, but the characters don't know their fight is being backed by sick ass music and, sadly, can't hear it.

the lines can get blurry between the two, you've probably seen the film trope where the clearly non-diegetic music in the title sequence fades out to the same music, now diegetic and playing from the character's car stereo. and then there are things like Phantom of the Opera as mentioned above, where the soundtrack is also part of the plot, but Phantom of the Opera does also have segments of non-diegetic music: the Phantom probably does not have an entire orchestra and some guy with an electric guitar hiding down in his sewer just waiting for someone to break into song, but both of those show up in the songs they sing down there.

now, on to how I apply this to bdsm in fiction.

if I'm referring to diegetic bdsm what I mean is that the bdsm is acknowledged for what it is in-world. the characters themselves are roleplaying whatever scenarios their scenes involve and are operating with knowledge of real life rules/safety practices. if there's cnc depicted, it will be apparent at some point, usually right away, that both characters actually are fully consenting and it's all just a planned scene, and you'll often see on-screen negotiation and aftercare, and elements of the story may involve the kink community wherever the characters are. Love and Leashes is a great example of this, 50 Shades and Bonding are terrible examples of this, but they all feature characters that know they're doing bdsm and are intentional about it.

if I'm talking about non-diegetic bdsm, I'm referring to a story that portrays certain kinks without the direct acknowledgement that the characters are doing bdsm. this would be something like Captive Prince, or Phantom of the Opera again, or the vast majority of bodice ripper type stories where an innocent woman is kidnapped by a pirate king or something and totally doesn't want to be ravished but then it turns out he's so cool and sexy and good at ravishing that she decides she's into it and becomes his pirate consort or whatever it is that happens at the end of those books. the characters don't know they're playing out a cnc or D/s fantasy, and in-universe it's often straight up noncon or dubcon rather than cnc at all. the thing about entirely non-diegetic bdsm is that it's almost always Problematic™ in some way if you're not willing to meet the story where it's at, but as long as you're not judging it by the standards of diegetic bdsm, it's just providing the reader the same thing that a partner in a scene would: the illusion of whatever risk or taboo floats your boat, sometimes to extremes that can't be replicated in real life due to safety, practicality, physics, the law, vampires not being real, etc. it's consensual by default because it's already pretend; the characters are vehicles for the story and not actually people who can be hurt, and the reader chose to pick up the book and is aware that nothing in it is real, so it's all good.

this difference is where people tend to get hung up in the discourse, from what I've observed. which is why I started using this phrasing, because I think it's very crucial to be able to differentiate which one you're talking about if you try to have a conversation with someone about the portrayal of bdsm in media. it would also, frankly, be useful for tagging, because sometimes when you're in the mood for non-diegetic bodice ripper shit you'd call the police over in real life, it can get really annoying to read paragraphs of negotiation and check-ins that break the illusion of the scene and so on, and the opposite can be jarring too.

it's very possible to blur these together the same way Phantom of the Opera blurs its diegetic and non-diegetic music as well. this leaves you even more open to being misunderstood by people reading in bad faith, but it can also be really fun to play with. @not-poignant writes fantastic fanfic, novels, and original serials on ao3 that pull this off really well, if you're okay with some dark shit in your fiction I would highly recommend their work. some of it does get really fucking dark in places though, just like. be advised. read the tags and all that.

but yeah, spontaneous writer plug aside, that's what I mean.