#scary stories x reader

[honehonn3honey]

What happens to this empty place, waiting for my arrival...

Rook in my heart. You can read the monster list here @lustlovehart

[Alt under the cut]

This is the original version but God, I don’t see anything else and I didn’t want others to get hurt watching

Now here I put my thoughts as I drew him:

I think our beautiful creature doesn't really have a human anatomy, his limbs are long and with very little muscle covering. Their bones could click together if it fully manifested. Claws replacing part of the bony fingers and nails. You could feel the long ribs behind that thick sack

He doesn’t need beyond his big and cool gothic sack to cover his abnormal appearance, after all the is no more shadows and fog for everyone’s eyes

The darkness consumes you from the pores, in each puff of lungs, you could become one with him and he would be delighted

I feel that it is detached from all worldly, but I would keep a thing or two of those who most appreciate... like the feathers of Neige or a brooch of Vil

[redz0nez9]

We most def love the red blind fold Colby..

[elryuse]

It Should Be Me

Yandere Yooyeon Triples X Male Reader

Requested by my dear friend on discord. Hope you like it bruh.

I can't remember a time when Yooyeon wasn't there. We were practically attached at the hip from preschool. She was always the older, wiser one, even if by a year. I remember her pulling me away from a particularly nasty sandbox fight, her small hand gripping mine with surprising strength.

"Don't fight, Y/n," she'd said, her voice firm for someone so young. "It's not nice."

I pouted, but I listened. There was something about the way she looked at me, with that intense focus, that made me feel safe.

As we grew older, our bond deepened. We'd spend hours lost in our own world, building forts in the woods behind my house, sharing secrets, and dreaming about the future. Yooyeon was my confidante, my protector, and my best friend.

Then Nakyoung came along. She was a whirlwind, a burst of sunshine that lit up every room. I was drawn to her energy, her laughter. It was like she brought color into my world. I remember the day she confessed her feelings for me, under the old oak tree in the park. My heart pounded in my chest as she poured her heart out. It was overwhelming, but there was something about her sincerity that made me realize I felt the same way.

We started dating, and it was like a dream. Nakyoung was everything I could have asked for in a girlfriend. She was smart, funny, and incredibly supportive. We spent countless hours together, holding hands, sharing secrets, and making plans for the future.

But somewhere in the back of my mind, there was always Yooyeon. She'd been there for me through everything, and I cared about her deeply. But our relationship had changed. The closeness we once shared had drifted apart. She seemed quieter, more withdrawn.

Now in high school, with Nakyoung by my side, I tried to ignore the growing distance between Yooyeon and me. It was like she was watching from the sidelines, a silent observer of our happiness. Sometimes, I'd catch her looking at me with a longing that made me uncomfortable.

I pushed those feelings aside. After all, Yooyeon was my best friend, and I trusted her completely. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Yooyeon was changing, and I didn't know how to help her.

Little did I know, the darkness that was creeping into Yooyeon's heart would soon consume her, and our lives would be irrevocably changed.

The cafeteria was a cacophony of noise, a sea of students jostling for space and food. Nakyoung was perched on my lap, her arms wrapped tightly around my neck as she giggled into my ear. Her laughter was like a warm sunbeam, chasing away the shadows of my worries.

"You're such a dork, Y/n," she teased, her breath tickling my skin. I grinned, squeezing her a little tighter.

"Only for you, princess," I replied, my voice muffled by her hair.

Just as I was about to steal a kiss, a crash echoed through the cafeteria. My heart skipped a beat as I turned to see Yooyeon standing there, her face flushed with embarrassment. A tray of food lay shattered on the floor, the remnants of Nakyoung's lunch scattered everywhere.

Nakyoung's smile vanished, replaced by a scowl. "WTF!!! Watch where you're going, idiot!" she snapped, her voice sharp.

Yooyeon's eyes widened in shock. "I-I'm so sorry," she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.

A wave of anger washed over me. It wasn't Yooyeon's fault. Accidents happen. I reached out to take Nakyoung's hand, trying to calm her down. "It's okay, Nakyoung," I said softly. "It was an accident."

But she was beyond reason. Her anger was a wildfire, consuming everything in its path. "Don't defend her," she hissed, her eyes flashing with fury. "She's always been clumsy."

My blood ran cold. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Yooyeon was my friend, and Nakyoung was being incredibly unfair. A surge of protectiveness for Yooyeon ignited within me.

"That's enough, Nakyoung," I said firmly, my voice low and dangerous. Her eyes widened in surprise. I'd never spoken to her like that before.

Without another word, I grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the cafeteria. We stormed out into the hallway, ignoring the stunned stares of the students.

I dragged her into a small café on the corner, the bell above the door jingling softly. We sat down at a quiet corner table, the soft jazz music providing a much-needed respite from the chaos of the cafeteria.

I ordered two dalgona coffees and a small plate of brownies, trying to calm my racing heart. Nakyoung sat across from me, her arms crossed, her face still flushed with anger.

"I can't believe you defended her," she said finally, her voice laced with venom.

"Yooyeon is my friend, Nakyoung," I said calmly. "She didn't mean to spill your food."

"She's clumsy," she retorted.

I sighed. "Accidents happen, Nakyoung. We all make mistakes."

She glared at me, but I could see the anger slowly fading from her eyes. I took a sip of my coffee, the sweet and bitter taste a comforting contrast to the turmoil inside me.

*sighs* "I-i'm sorry for overreacting," she said finally, her voice softer.

I smiled. "It's okay. But please, try to be a little kinder to Yooyeon. She's been there for me since we were kids."

She nodded, her expression thoughtful. "I know. She's your noona, right?"

I chuckled. "Yeah, she's my noona. Even though we've grown apart a bit since high school, she's still my senior. I look up to her."

Nakyoung smiled, and for the first time since the incident, her eyes held a genuine warmth. "I'll apologize to her tomorrow," she promised.

Relief washed over me. I reached across the table and ruffled her hair. "Good girl," I said, grinning.

As we left the café, hand-in-hand, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. The tension between Nakyoung and Yooyeon had been a constant source of stress, but for now at least, it seemed to have eased.

Meanwhile, In Yooyeon's POV

My heart pounded in my chest like a trapped bird. The sting of Nakyoung's words was a physical pain, a sharp knife twisting in my gut. To be dismissed so casually, to be seen as nothing more than a clumsy idiot, it was almost too much to bear.

I watched as Y/n and Nakyoung walked away, their hands intertwined, their laughter like a mocking melody in my ears. They were a perfect match, a fairytale couple, and I was the unwanted extra in their story.

A wave of despair washed over me. I'd loved Y/n for as long as I could remember. I'd watched him grow from a shy little boy into the handsome young man he was now. And yet, I'd never had the courage to tell him how I felt.

I pulled out my phone and found a picture of Y/n from our high school yearbook. His smile was as bright as the sun, and my heart ached with longing. I traced his features with my finger, tears blurring my vision.

"Why didn't I tell him?" I whispered to myself, my voice trembling. "Why didn't I have the courage?"

The answer was a bitter taste in my mouth. Fear. Fear of rejection, fear of losing his friendship. I'd let my fear dictate my life, and now I was paying the price.

But as the tears continued to flow, something else began to stir within me. A dark, twisted feeling that was both terrifying and exhilarating. A part of me wanted to lash out, to hurt Nakyoung for what she'd said. To make her pay for stealing Y/n's heart.

And another part of me wanted to possess Y/n completely, to be the only one who saw him, touched him, loved him. I wanted to be the center of his world, the only person who mattered.

A dangerous smile crept across my face as I stared at the picture of Y/n. This wasn't the Yooyeon I knew, the shy, quiet girl who was always in the background. This was someone new, someone dark and twisted.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside me. I knew what I had to do. I had to get Y/n back, no matter the cost.

And as I looked into Y/n's smiling face, I made a promise to myself. I would have him, even if it meant destroying everything in my way.

The cafeteria was buzzing with activity, a sea of students chattering and laughing. I took a deep breath and walked in, bracing myself for whatever Nakyoung had planned.

To my surprise, she approached me with a look of genuine remorse. "Yooyeon Unnie, I'm so sorry about yesterday," she said, her voice sincere. "I was out of line."

I was caught off guard. I hadn't expected an apology, certainly not such a heartfelt one. I forced a smile. "It's no problem, Nakyoung. It was my fault for being so clumsy."

We stood there for a moment, an awkward silence hanging between us. Then, she nodded and walked away, joining her friends.

As the day wore on, I tried to focus on my classes, but my mind was racing. Nakyoung's apology had thrown me off balance. Part of me wanted to believe that she was sincere, but the other part was wary.

During my last class, I caught a glimpse of Nakyoung and her friends huddled together, their voices filled with laughter. I couldn't help but eavesdrop.

"And guess what?" I heard Nakyoung say, her voice excited. "I'm going to steal Y/n's first kiss!"

The room seemed to tilt on its axis. My heart pounded in my ears as I processed her words. She was going to take Y/n's first kiss? How could she be so heartless?

My vision blurred as anger and jealousy consumed me. I couldn't breathe. I had to get out of there.

I stood up abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor. My classmates stared at me in confusion, but I didn't care. I grabbed my bag and rushed out of the classroom, ignoring the teacher's calls for me to stay.

I ran out of the school and into the fresh air, the cold wind doing little to cool the fire burning inside me. I stumbled upon a park bench and collapsed, my body trembling.

How could I have been so stupid? I'd let Y/n slip through my fingers, and now he was about to be taken by someone else. I was a failure as a friend, as a woman.

Desperation and hatred warred within me. I had to do something, but I didn't know what. All I knew was that I couldn't let this happen.

Nakyoung was going to pay for what she was planning to do.

Back To Y/n's POV

I was buried in textbooks, trying to absorb the dense material for the upcoming exam. A sharp rap on the door startled me. Assuming it was Nakyoung, I quickly got up to open it. To my surprise, it was Yooyeon, standing there with a hesitant smile, holding a bag and a glass of soju.

"Yooyeon Noona? What are you doing here?" I asked, confusion evident in my voice.

She chuckled nervously. "I brought you dinner. And... well, I thought we could use a drink."

I stepped aside, inviting her in. The sight of her, standing in my small apartment, felt oddly intimate. We settled on the couch, the bag of food between us. The apartment was filled with an awkward silence, a stark contrast to the usual noise of our high school lives.

"So, how have you been?" I asked, trying to break the ice.

Yooyeon's smile faltered slightly. "I've been... okay, I guess. Just dealing with the usual final term stress."

We talked for a while, about school, friends, and the future. It felt like we were reconnecting, like we were back in those carefree days of childhood. As the soju warmed my insides, the conversation turned more serious.

"Y/n," Yooyeon began, her voice trembling slightly, "I need to tell you something."

I nodded, my heart pounding. "What is it Noona?"

She took a deep breath. "I saw Nakyoung with another guy today. They were... pretty intimate."

My world seemed to stop. Nakyoung? Cheating? It couldn't be true. I knew her, I trusted her.

"Y-you're lying," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

Yooyeon's eyes filled with tears. "I wish I was. But I saw it with my own eyes."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My heart shattered into a million pieces. I felt betrayed, deceived.

"N-no," I whispered again, shaking my head. "It's not true."

Yooyeon reached out and took my hand. "I know it's hard to believe, but it's true. She's been cheating on you."

Tears streamed down my face. I couldn't stop them. I felt like a fool, a complete idiot for trusting her.

Yooyeon pulled me into a tight embrace, her body trembling against mine. "I'm so sorry, Y/n," she whispered. "I know this must hurt you"

I clung to her, finding solace in her warmth. In that moment, she was the only person in the world who understood my pain.

"You're the only one who's ever really cared about me," she said, her voice muffled by my hair.

I looked up at her, my vision blurred with tears. She leaned in closer, her eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and desire. And then, she kissed me.

It was a gentle kiss, filled with a tenderness that surprised me. In that moment, the world disappeared, leaving only us. It was my first kiss, and it was perfect, or so it seemed.

But as our lips parted, a cold dread washed over me. I had been betrayed, not just by Nakyoung, but by my own heart.

I was lost, adrift in a sea of confusion and pain.

Nakyoung's POV

My heart pounded in my chest like a frantic drumbeat. It was almost midnight, and Y/n hadn't answered any of my calls or texts. A wave of panic washed over me. Something was wrong.

I raced to his apartment, my mind a whirlwind of worst-case scenarios. I pounded on the door, my knuckles aching. "Y/n! Open up!" I shouted, my voice trembling.

The door creaked open, revealing Yooyeon standing in the doorway. She was wearing a little piece of clothing, Her hair was disheveled, her eyes filled with a strange intensity. My heart skipped a beat. What was going on?

"Yooyeon Unnie? " I stammered, my voice barely a whisper.

She stepped aside, revealing Y/n sitting on the couch, looking pale and drawn. My relief turned to horror as I took in the scene. Yooyeon was wearing Y/n's shirt, and there was an undeniable intimacy between them that made my blood run cold.

"What the hell is going on?" I demanded, my voice rising.

Yooyeon's lips curled into a sinister smile. "It's simple, Nakyoung. Y/n is mine now."

I felt a surge of anger. "You're crazy! He loves me!"

Yooyeon laughed, a cold, hollow sound. "Love? That's a childish notion. Possession is power, and he belongs to me now."

I lunged forward, ready to confront her, but she held up a hand to stop me. "Don't even bother," she said, her voice dripping with contempt. "It's too late for you."

She turned to Y/n, her eyes softening. "Darling, why don't you show her how happy you are?"

Y/n looked at me with a vacant expression, as if he were a sleepwalker. He stood up and walked towards me, his movements slow and deliberate.

Terror gripped me as he approached. I backed away, but there was nowhere to go. I was trapped.

Yooyeon stepped in front of me, her arm around Y/n's waist. "He's mine now, Nakyoung," she whispered, her breath warm against my ear. "So go home. This is our life now."

I tried to fight, to break free, but it was useless. Yooyeon was stronger than I thought, and Y/n was like a zombie, following her every command.

As I was dragged out of the apartment, I looked back at Y/n one last time. The man I loved was gone, replaced by a hollow shell controlled by a deranged woman.

A cold despair settled over me. I had lost everything.

The world seemed to darken as the door closed behind me, leaving me alone in the cold, unforgiving night.

The End

[ghost-proofbaby]

never love an anchor (e.m. x reader)

"On some level, I think I always understood that a ship could never really love an anchor."

warnings: severe hurt/brief comfort, suicidal ideations, severely depressed reader. again: detailed recount of suicidal ideations. dead dove: do not eat.

wc: 5.8k+

an: i cannot emphasize this enough - this fic deals with a severely depressed, and blatantly suicidal reader. it is extremely heavy. it is extremely triggering. it is extremely self-indulgent. the romance aspect is ambiguous and the comfort aspect at the end is brief. this is a genuine, and sincerely personal piece of writing. it is an outline of how suicidal ideations may present themselves to some people. of these 5k words, 4k is deeply littered with reader's ideations without sugar coating. please, please, please do not read this unless you're in the state of mind to read it. you've surely heard it before but i'll say it just to be sure: it is a permanent solution for temporary feelings. and, just in case no one has told you, i'm glad you're alive. if you're reading this, i'm glad that you're alive. you're enough.

if you find yourself feeling like reader, i urge that you find resources such as those linked. hotlines, therapists, friends, your doctor, your family - please. i do not wish these emotions upon anyone, and they should never be taken lightly.

that being said, here are my guts from a very vulnerable moment, spilled out across the page. please handle them with care if you choose to read.

Technically speaking, the pressure that the human body is capable of handling almost seems infinite. When introduced slowly, and time is given to adjust, there is no pinpointed amount of pressure that dooms the human body. Like a crab in slow boiling water, your body should be theoretically able to handle a steady increase, bit by bit, and never truly notice. 

So why does it currently feel like you’re dying?

The pressure was never an overnight thing. It was a conglomeration you’d gathered, piece by piece, collecting little souvenirs of all the responsibilities you can’t currently remember if you’d ever agreed to along the way. It hadn’t been sudden, it hadn’t been with lack of adjusting, it hadn’t been a pressure suddenly unloaded upon you all at once – you’d done this, brick by brick, all with your own two hands. 

Keeping up with friends, keeping up with work, keeping up with expectations. Always trying to run ahead of the curve, always trying to be better. You should be fine. You shouldn’t even notice. You shouldn’t be sobbing on your bathroom floor, clutching the edge of your porcelain tub, every single breath a labor of survival. 

It feels like every bone in your body is splintering. It feels like the world has cracked open your ribs, one by one, just for show. You don’t feel poetic like the movies, you don’t feel like a valuable lesson learned in the books. You feel as though you’ve become nothing more than some crude display in a contemporary art gallery, and you were the one to hang yourself on the wall. 

Needles prickle across your skin with another heaving sob, as if you can feel the push pins you’ve used to spread yourself out for consumption. 

We still on for tonight? 

The text from Eddie glares at you from your phone discarded on the floor mere inches away. You’re lucky the screen hadn’t broken when you’d thrown it down on the ground on your way to the toilet, dry heaving through all your tears. 

He wasn’t a part of the issue. If anything, he was part of the solution. 

A shining clean slate, pristine whites and a scratch-free surface for you to press your cheek to when it all got a bit much. An abyss of freedom and openness for when the world was all a bit smothering. An anchor to cling to, a rope to tie around your wrists to keep from floating too far. The willow tree in a graveyard to rest your back against, the caress of a warm sun even if only momentarily as you stared out across headstones of all the pieces of you that you can never get back. Every version of you that has long since buried, a few even with newly churned dirt resting upon them. Something soft, something sacred, to rest your hands upon. 

Why does he still let you rest your bloodied and dirtied palms on his shoulders? Did he ever agree to that to begin with? 

You can’t remember. Or maybe your brain is simply refusing to recall. 

I hate to cancel, but I’m sick. I don’t think I can come out tonight :-( 

What? Is everything okay? Are you okay? Do I need to bring you anything? 

Please don’t.

The please is what gives you away. You should have forgone it, should have offered him a lighthearted response instead. 

But there is a pit in the bottom of your stomach, and seeing all the question marks across his text only made it more terminal. Only gave it more reason to swallow you whole. Only gave it more reason to grow and to tangle up and to restrict each stuttering breath of yours that you can’t seem to steady. 

Another buzz comes from your phone, but you don’t look to read it. You resort to resting your forehead against the lip of your toilet, all attempts at a deep breath futile as you finally taste the salt across your lips. 

Were you too much? Were you not enough? Was it possible to be an odd juxtaposition of both? 

A harrowing thought crosses your mind, and you know if Eddie could read minds across the intricate webbing that connects cell phones, he’d grab you by your shoulders. Maybe shake you until you see sense, or maybe cling to you until the thought has faded into nothingness. As if he could squeeze you hard enough to press together all the splinters that are left of your bones, forming a new body – a better body. One that can handle the pressure. One that isn’t imploding upon itself. A more durable mind, a more capable suit of skin to occupy. 

Does it even matter anymore? Would it even matter if I simply vanished? 

Would it be so bad to let the pit finally consume you? To just give in, to let it erase you from existence. To finally wave your white flag and let the awfulness inside of you finally win the battle, erasing you from existence and leaving behind an empty space in the world that could be filled with someone better.

Someone who could be a better friend. Someone who could be a harder worker. Someone who wasn’t choked up on their bathroom floor, beginning to contemplate if the painful gasps were even worth it. 

Were you worth it? Were you worth the air in your lungs? Or could it better serve someone who could handle all the pressure? 

And it wasn’t even that much pressure to begin with, if you pick it apart thread by thread. It was the natural weight of the human experience, and you were still crumbling. 

There was a full bottle of ibuprofen in the cabinet. There was a busy street not far from your home. There was a bathtub that could easily be filled with water – you’d never been good at holding your breath, unless someone counted the last few months, in which that seemed to be all you were good at. 

There was even a bridge, 5.27 miles away from your house exactly. You could already envision the patch of grass you could park your car at, feel the drop in temperature as you stood and overlooked the tame waves of a man-made lake.

Maybe your feet didn’t even have to leave the pavement. Maybe it would be enough to just stand in the silence and see the jump with your own two eyes. 

You felt like nothing more than a ghost of yourself, yes, but maybe. Maybe, just maybe, there would still be a broken shard within you that could stir awake at it all. Maybe if you got up off the bathroom floor and set yourself into motion, it would open its eyes just in time to scream no. 

Ghosts don’t just appear. They were a vibrant soul once – they were somebody once. 

But it’s hard to imagine that you ever were. When it gets like this, it’s hard to push through all the tumultuous thoughts and loathly emotions to remember that. A version of you vibrant, a version of you that might have been worthy, if only for a moment. 

A version of you that wasn’t insulting to compare to others. That was capable of progress, of earning your blip of existence. 

You don’t want the bottle of ibuprofen. You don’t want the busy street. You don’t want the overflowing tub. You don’t even want the calm of the bridge. You just want it to stop. 

There’s a knock on your front door that echoes through the entire apartment. You dread that you already know who it is, but you can’t get up to answer. 

You can’t move from this very spot. You’re terrified of what will happen when you do. 

Will your bones collapse into ash upon the floor? Will you make one wrong move, and in a fit of pressure, make a terribly permanent decision for what feels like a terribly permanent feeling? 

Maybe you were born with the pit in your stomach. Maybe you were born with that black hole inside of you. Cursed to always be yearning, always be a juxtaposition, always be a ghost of what could have become. 

You think you hear the click of your front door opening. You think you hear heavy footsteps across the hardwood floors. You think, you think, you think. That’s the issue. 

The tears are still coming and going in erratic tides. The salt is drying out your lips, your cheeks, the corners of your eyes. You’d thought you’d been incapable of any more emotions like this, but your tear ducts have managed to prove you wrong. 

Does it even matter anymore?

You’d left the bathroom door wide open. 

Were you worth it?

You’d been home alone – past tense.

A more durable mind, a more capable suit of skin to occupy.

A soft gasp of your name has you microscopically lifting your head from the toilet seat. You know what the scene looks like; it looks like nothing more than the excuse you’d used. You look as though you’re ill, like you’ve been spilling your guts across the bathroom floor all night. 

If you had been, would it all feel a little less heavy? 

“Hey, Eds.” 

You’re tired. You’re exhausted. Your voice is nothing more than a drag of a whisper as you look up at your anchor standing in the doorway, his face painted with concern. 

Maybe you were an anchor – maybe being an anchor wasn’t a good thing. After all, what use does an anchor have beyond weighing down the ship? 

“Jesus,” he mutters as he rushes to your side, falling to his knees carelessly as his hand flies out to brush back tendrils of your hair, “You look like shit.”

You felt like shit. 

Selfishly, you lean into his touch, desperate for comfort. Desperate for those caring palms to soothe the ache you’d carried since birth. Desperate to hear him tell you that you’re wrong – hands to promise you that you’re worthy, fingers to wrap around your bones rather than these burning ropes. You’re bloodied and raw, fully on display, and you just want to be okay. 

You don’t want the bridge. You want Eddie. You want him to magically make it okay, and that’s unfair. 

You’re not his weight to carry, not his burden to shoulder. 

After far too long of a silence, one in which he sits patiently in with you, all you can really reply is a broken, “Yeah.” 

Immediately, he knows something is wrong. Because of course he does. 

Because he’s a good friend. He’s a good person. He has the right words more often than not, and his hands were always formed to heal rather than injure. Create rather than destroy. Those warm palms are made to hold the space he’s earned in the grand scheme of the Universe, and it almost makes you nauseous as the jealousy spreads. 

He’s good. 

And you’re simply rotten.

You used to lie to yourself and say it was simply one rotted bit amongst plenty of good, but tonight, it all seemingly comes to clarity. You can’t dig out the bad, cleanse yourself of the rot, because it’s all decay. 

You don’t have to let the pit consume you – it already has. You were born with it, and it had swallowed you whole from the first cry that had ever left your lips. 

He makes himself a bit more comfortable, and you almost feel bad for reducing him to nothing more than the bathroom floor, “You wanna talk about what’s really wrong?” 

“I’m sick.” 

“This isn’t just some stomach bug.”

Your throat begins to tighten again, and suddenly, his gentle touch across the crown of your head burns. Your eyes water ferociously, and your chest caves into itself.

You can’t make a better body or a more sound mind out of the mess you’ve become. You can’t pull gold from tarnished rubble. 

Confessing to him will only be handing over something heavy, something terrible, that he shouldn’t have to struggle with as well. But not offering him a sliver of the truth almost feels more dishonoring. 

“Do you ever feel like a waste of space?” you croak, leaning back, finally accepting that the small space of the toilet that had been cooling your face has gone warm. Another thing you’ve ruined, in hindsight, “Like, this world is filled with great people, and I just… I just, I’m taking up the space- I’m wasting the space-” 

You can’t get out the proper words. You don’t know how.

How do you say you want to cease to exist when you’re not really sure if that’s the truth? You’re miserable, and you’re selfish, and you’re not entirely sure your feet would have ever left the pavement if you had driven yourself to the bridge. You’d be too scared to do it.  

Too scared to miss the day that science announces it’s found a cure to all your rot, a miracle drug to erase the pit, a way to reverse all the damage you’ve been comprised of your whole life. 

His brows furrow and his hand stops all the calming movements, “What? Are you- are you saying you feel like a waste of space?”

It feels silly to admit it to other people. To try and describe how it all feels. Like a child trying to convince their parents the Boogeyman is real, you have to make him see that you’re right. You have evidence, you have proof, and it’s not just a feeling. 

“I don’t feel like I’m a waste of space,” you finally correct, both yourself and him, “I know I’m a waste of space.” 

“Bullshit.”

“Eddie, don’t-”

“No,” he cuts you off. And somehow, in only a way that he’s capable of, it’s not offensive, “You’re not. I’m not going to sit here and listen to my favorite person claim they’re wasting space-”

“I am!” It’s your turn in the cycle of interruption. You pull away from him entirely, chest heaving with the weight presenting itself once more, tears starting to fall all over again. You can’t even distinguish where the old tears stop and the new ones begin, “I really am. All I seem to do lately is just exist. And that’s such a- such a- that’s such a waste. I can’t read any of the things I should enjoy these days, I can’t even write. All of the words feel like they just come out wrong. I’m letting everyone down left and right, I’m never living up to whatever pedestal you’ve put me on. I don’t even know what I’m doing with my life. I don’t even know where I’ll be in a year from now – I can’t even see that far in the future.”

Heaves become sobs, and the crumbling has begun once more. A cycle of breaking, a cycle of demolition. Even leaving behind the rubble feels like a crime. A waste of space. 

“I don’t think I’m a good person,” you manage to spit out between all your visceral reactions, “Every year, I tell myself the same thing – I’ll be better, I’ll be kinder, I’ll be worth it. And every year, I fail.” 

Can he see it? All the fractures and splinters and pits and metaphors? 

Can he smell it? All the rot and the destruction and hopelessness?

Can he feel it? All the pressure? 

Through your sniffles, you press your back to the tub, knees to your chin as you wrap your arms around your legs, desperately trying to shrivel up. To take up less space. To waste less space.

“I used to think I could make up for it,” you whisper, “I could offer people things that made them forget I’m… so useless. But I don’t think I’m even capable of that anymore.”

If he’s about to respond, it’s drowned out by your cries. You press your eyes hard into your kneecaps, until you see stars, and you try to swallow down all the embarrassment. Try to stop all the hurt from spilling out, to stop all your guts from painting the bathroom walls. 

He could simply sit there, let you wallow in your misery alone. Sit and stare as the artwork finally serves its purpose to the visitors of the gallery. Maybe jot down some commentary on how with your bones all spread out like this, the point the artist was attempting to make becomes oh so clear. 

And yet, he doesn’t. 

You know it’s his arms that are wrapping around you, pulling you from the chill of the tub and into the warmth of his chest.  And you let yourself smother within the fabric of his shirt the same exact way in which you’ve convinced yourself you smother everyone around you, let yourself breathe in drugstore cologne and his last cigarette rather than think about all the thoughts that had been spiraling you into dismay over the last twenty four hours – over the last twenty four years. 

He’d probably been smoking while waiting on your call tonight. Probably riddled with anxiety, if the shake of his hands pressing into your back are anything to go off of. An anxiety and waiting game that wouldn’t have to exist if you didn’t exist.

The thought makes you cry harder. 

If a ghost dies, can it even still return back as itself? Can it still find it within itself to haunt empty hallways, and watch the ones it once loved find peace?

“You’re not useless,” it sounds as though Eddie might be crying as well, if not just a little choked up, “You’re not- I swear- You’re not useless, okay? Never have been, never will be.”

His murmured words are nice, but they fuel an unimaginable guilt. It was supposed to be a nice night. A night of movie marathons and midnight coffee, of trying to remind yourself why you still stick around. A moment of incomparable joy and sweet reprieve as your stomach ached from laughter, your cheeks swelling with an infallible grin that Eddie always seems to pull out of you.

There’s no smiling, no giggling, right now. Just his favorite band shirt from the show you two had attended a few years before, soaking with a fast-growing stain from all your tears. 

When you don’t answer him, only manage to wrap your selfish arms around his waist, he continues, “How long have you felt this way, sweetheart?”

And if you hadn’t already been shattered previously, that would have finally broken you. 

You can’t pinpoint when it started. You can’t clear the smoke of memories and find an exact moment that you can point to and say, there. That’s where the hurt starts — that’s where the rot starts. 

“I don’t know.”

In your mind, it’s a wail. Loud and ferocious, efforts of all it has taken to withstand the pressure of your undoing screamed out loud. 

But on this quiet bathroom floor, it can’t even be considered a whisper. Nothing more than the spoken words lingering from a ghost who can’t give up the haunt. An echo of a memory, an echo of the piece in you that can’t let go, not yet.

Not of existing, and not of him. Your fists hold him so firmly against you, you’re scared that you’re going to bruise him. Hurt him just from the sheer effort of trying to show that you love him. 

The only way you know how to love – a violent dog who will always bite the kindest hands. Leaving behind bloodied knuckles even if you hadn’t so much as snipped this time. 

You take a sharp breath, aware of the levity of the words you’re about to say, “I don’t want to exist anymore, but I wouldn’t even make it off the bridge if I tried.”

It’s not about the bridge anymore. In all likelihood, it wouldn’t be the bridge you turn to. There’s a grand metaphor somewhere in the admittance, but your mind is just too tired to try and paint a prettier picture of it for him. 

Because exist is just a placeholder. And there’s a bigger, scarier word that should stand in its place. 

He starts to break the hold, and you nearly sob out again just at that. Losing the warmth of his chest and arms strike pain somewhere deep within you, just north of the pit that’s devoured all that’s left of you. 

“Bridge?” Phrased as a clarifying question, but when you see his face, it’s clear he knows. There are no good words left to say about it, “Sweetheart, no.”

There are worse reactions to be had. More scenarios that end in slamming doors or deafening silent treatments. Realizations that you’re right and it’s not worth it – defense mechanisms that involve them leaving first. 

“I couldn’t do it, even if I want-” 

Even if I wanted to. The words you can’t speak, dying on your tongue. 

Do you want to? Where does the pain begin? And where could it end?

“You really don’t see it, do you?” he laughs humorlessly, his hands still gripping your biceps in a death hold, “You… you just…” 

He doesn’t know what to say, and you don’t blame him. You knew this was heavy; you knew this isn’t the type of bomb to drop on someone you love. 

But if you didn’t, where would the bomb have gone? You’re not equipped to detonate it. You’re not equipped to survive the explosion. You wouldn’t want to survive that explosion. 

“I’m sorry,” your words pour out, beginning to shake beneath his palms, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

Dry, cracked lips feel as though they nearly split from the apologies. More violence, more devastation, more of what you always knew you were. You can see it in his eyes – you’re dragging him down with you, right down to the bottom of the ocean. You’re being an anchor. 

He’s all stutters and harsh breaths, panic filling the space with your own as his eyes search yours, “Don’t apologize. You don’t have to apologize. Just-”

He cuts off and is pulling you close again. Slamming your bones into his, wrapping up around you as if he might be able to keep you safe from the world. From your own mind. 

“I don’t need apologies,” another squeeze of your closer to him, another attempt to pull you away from the dangers that lie within, “I don’t- I just… Can I help? How do I make it better? Just say the word. I’ll do it.” 

It’s not your job. That’s not your job. 

You don’t realize you’ve said the words out loud until he’s squeezing you so tightly that you now can’t breathe. Until all you are is him. All his old t-shirts he’s lent to you that hang in your closet, all the nights spent with tangled legs as you sit across from each other on your couch, all the phone calls in which he refused to be the first one to hang up. Cologne that is too cheap to be able to cling so ferociously as it does to all your surroundings, chain-smoked cigarettes you always chastise him for because they’re gonna kill you one day, the smoke of his latest blunt resting in an ashtray as his head finds home in your lap. 

All the inside jokes. All the hugs. All the simple texts, if for nothing more than to just check in on each other. The broken reminders of having someone out there that cares. That loves you. 

How can such rotten hands pull such love from others? How have you yet to infect him? 

“I know it’s not my job,” he finally says, and you know for a fact he’s crying along with you before the first of his tears have wet the crown of your head, “It’s never been a job. You’re not a job. Okay? Get that through your head. There’s- Fuck, there’s plenty of things I wanna drill in that pretty little head of yours right now, but I know I can’t, so just get that.”

He’s trying. A little trill of his tongue that falls a bit flat when he refers to your pretty little head, a brief squeeze of your shoulders as he tries to relax a little. He wants to make you feel better. He wants to make it better. 

But he’s still holding you like he’s terrified. You did that – you instilled that fear. 

“I’m a mess,” you whisper in bitter realization, ash on your tongue as you process what you’ve done. You’ve already apologized, but you’re seconds away from doing so again, “I’m- I’m a mess, and I’m dragging you into it, and I’m sor-”

“Stop being sorry.” Definitive words, no room for argument. The smallest of shifts as things click into place. He isn’t budging – he isn’t letting go, “Do you remember when I first met you?” 

You can’t tell if the question is meant to have a point, or if it’s meant to be a distraction. You let it grow into the latter.

“Yeah,” you breathe out against him, melting into his chest, trying to focus on his voice rather than the ones in your head, “But tell me about it anyway?” 

“Two years ago. Technically, two years and seven months,” he starts in the same voice he used to take on during Hellfire sessions, before the members had scattered from coast to coast and his D&D club only became a rarity when the stars aligned. There’s still a crack to his voice from his tears, but that doesn’t stop him, “We were in some cursed fucking diner we don’t even go to anymore, in the dead of the night, and all the servers knew your name and order,” he paints the picture with a humor that should feel out of place, but it settles some of your breathing. Omitting all the vivid details, opting for triggering the memory with words you’d just get. You can feel the stick of the plastic beneath your thighs, you can smell the grease of the kitchen. You can see the cloudy night out of the oversized windows. He’s a natural born storyteller in the most subtle of ways, always knowing his audience, “You were sitting all alone in that booth, and all of Hellfire had just left. Gareth had just told us how he was going to college in California – did you know that?” 

“I didn’t.” 

“Well, he did,” his chin presses against the top of your head, a huff of a laugh escaping him, “Dropped the bomb it was our last summer as a club probably. We were happy for him, though. Real fucking happy. Got milkshakes to celebrate and made plans to get drunk off our asses the next night to keep the party going. It was dumb, and I’m getting off track, but…” 

Baited breath, you’re waiting for him to continue. No thoughts of the bridge. No thoughts of your failures. Living in a small memory with him on the floor of your bathroom. 

“Anyways, you were sitting there all alone, with a plate of fries and ranch.” 

“Oh, God,” your nose scrunches and you try to pull away, suddenly remembering how embarrassing this memory ends for you. It suddenly didn’t seem like the best way for him to make you feel better by any means, “No, I remember how this story ends, and-”

“I’m not done,” he locks his arms around you, and you can feel the whisper of a smile as it brushes against your temple, “Obviously you know where I’m going with this, but I’m not done, sweetheart. Because all the other guys had just left, and I’m sitting there, realizing the only other customer was some random person over across the diner, scribbling away in some notebook. Thought you looked cute when you were all focused like that, y’know? But then you were so focused that it became distracted, and you spilled that ranch all over yours-” 

“Please, stop.”

You’re laughing through the words, weakly, the air of desperation in the word please being far different from earlier in the night. No bridges, no failures. 

“I was probably being a weirdo, trying to run over and help you or whatever the fuck I was trying to do. I probably made it worse, right?” 

You’re there, remembering a version of Eddie that was a stranger, taking napkins to the knees of your jeans and smearing the ranch rather than really helping you clean it up. “Yeah, just a little bit.” 

“Sorry for that, by the way,” he airily apologizes before continuing, “But I just remember thinking about how focused you were on that notebook. And how you laughed with the waiter. And how you were just… lost in your own little world. And how you were so cute. You were so nice. The type of person I wanted in my life. Took one look at you with that ranch all over your lap and thought, huh. I want to get to know that person.” 

“Nice? I was not nice, I was-” you cut off, heart all but stopping as you recognize the point of it all. It wasn’t meant to just be a distraction. He was making a point. “I was a… a mess that day.” 

“Exactly.”

He pulls away again, and this time, it’s a little easier. The world has put a pause on its ending and you can handle the weight of his arms lightening for a few seconds, just so he can get a good look at your face. 

“You were a mess the day that I met you, and I still wanted you in my life,” he says each word deliberately, not breaking eye contact. Fear has broken through to determination. “And even if you’re still a mess today, I still want you. Nothing changes. You get that?” 

No bridges.

No failures.

The weight of it all had been heavy. The type of sorrow you thought was never meant to be carried by more than your own two hands. But he had taken it in his palms, lifted it from you entirely, even if it would only be temporary. One day you’d have to endure the pain again, get to the root of the problem. Figure out if all your ailments had been something wired into you since birth, or things you’d picked up along your way. But for now, you could breathe again. You could hear the drumming of your heart in your ears, and you could hear every single one of both yours and Eddie’s breaths in the silence, and that was enough. 

“I don’t want to die,” you finally quietly admit. Saying one of the bigger, scarier words. The thing you’d been too afraid to let slip off your tongue originally. “I just- sometimes it all gets a bit loud, you know? And I know you said don’t apologize, but I am sorry that I scared you. And I’m sorry that you have to take the bad to also get that little bit of the good with me.” 

His hand leaves one of your arms for the first time since he’d first wrapped you up, and it finds its way to cradle the side of your head. Holding you as if you’re porcelain still. You know that won’t go away, not tonight. “I’d rather have your bad days than have nothing at all,” he chokes up once more, and you can see tears threatening to welt in his eyes, “You get that, too. Alright? You’re worth it. Bad, good, funny, sad – give it to me. I’m asking for it. Just don’t… don’t leave me with the nothing.”

You’re worth it. 

He’s found a worth in you attached to nothing at all. He’s sitting here with you, on the bathroom floor, and his perception of you has nothing to do with what you can only offer. 

It just has to do with you. He sees you, and he’s decided you’re worth it. Even now.

He smiles softly, as if he can see the realization dawning upon you, “You wanna get up off the floor now? We can go sit on your couch or bed or something.” 

You’re quick to shake your head. Your knees are partially digging into his thighs, your breaths are matching his. 

“Okay,” his face falls slightly, but not entirely. Not entirely, “That’s okay. Do you want me…. Do you want me to go?” 

Another shake of your head. But this time, you need to offer more than just the motion of your head, especially when you can feel tears returning as your throat tightens up, “No. No, just- Stay with me? Please?” 

Your hands reach out without you even processing it, gripping his wrists, desperate and clinging and still verging on the edge of violent. The thought of being alone is terrifying, but the thought of having to watch him walk out of this room is even more petrifying. 

He doesn’t even flinch as you sink your claws in. His smile only returns, and he shuffles to pull you both to hold your backs up against the wall across from the toilet, “Of course. I’ll stay, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere – wouldn’t even dream of it.” 

His words shake just a little less than they had when he’d first entered the room. 

He can’t fix it all magically. That isn’t his job, isn’t his role, isn’t his choice. But he can sit here with you, on the floor of the bathroom, endlessly patient and tragically caring as he urges you to lay down. He stretches his legs out and pats his lap once before hovering his hands over your shoulder, guiding you until your temple is flush with his thigh. 

He can choose to not hesitate as his fingers immediately push through the baby hairs by your temple, a soft hum in the back of his throat that sounds exactly as you feel.

Hesitantly content. Just for now. It’s enough. 

The storm is receding. As hours pass by, and noises of uncertainty become more confident hums of a song you faintly recognize, it all settles. He stays. You stay. The storm passes for the time being, and the hole tempers itself for just the night. 

It’s enough for now. You’ll worry more tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that. You’ll talk more about why you feel this way, and he’ll offer better solutions. The weight won’t simply be passed into his waiting hands and forgotten – one day, you’ll find a way to lighten it through dissipation rather than through catastrophe. 

One day, the seas will calm, and you’ll find yourself the ship rather than the anchor. 

And the captain can be the boy who sits on the floor with you through the sadness, content to wait out the storms with you until you find the worth he sees in you.

[violentdelightsproductions]

Amanda Harper (ft Soldier Boy) - Suspirium

Vought+ Presents Amanda Harper in Susspiria. A woman plagued by horrifying visions travels to West Berlin and joins a dance Academy hoping she will find the answers she is looking for. There she meets a US soldier on duty and she feels instantly connected to him. Soon the secrets she keeps and the secrets that are hiding withing the walls of the Academy begin to unravel leading to an explosive finale. With Soldier Boy.

"[…] predating all Christian invention. Pre-God, pre-devil. Mother Tenebrarum, Mother Lachrymarum and Mother Suspiriorum. Darkness, tears, and sighs."

Suspiria is a horror story story about witches and dark magic. It's also a story about the horror of the past that persist as hauntings and monsters in the basement. It can also be seen as a story about madness as a symptom of being a woman. As it's often the case in the horror genre, madness magic and womanhood are linked together. “When women tell you the truth, you don't pity them. You tell them they have delusions!"

"Love and manipulation, they share houses very often. They are frequent bedfellows."

Find our new Halloween videos and edits here! Our Halloween edits throughout the years!

[spookypete-94]

Halloween Stories for Simon Riley

Spirit of Halloween Simon Riley

Take a Picture

Take a Picture NSFW

I Know you

Cemetery Ghost

Rest of Simon Riley Masterlist

This is the most wonderful time of the year. Our Ghostie deserves to be celebrated!

I return back to work Tuesday from maternity leave, and plan on busting out a few more stories for Simon then before returning to Nightmare's Wasteland!

🎃👻

[kyemna]

Hunting season

TW: Chasing, Gore (kinda detailed), Blood, Alastor gets his own warning.

I apologize for any possible grammar mistakes.

Enjoy!

---------------------------------------------------

The hotel was quiet.

93% of the guests had left yesterday, so there really was nothing to do.

You were bored out of your mind, when Angel came to you with an idea; "What if we go camping for a few days? Just the two of us, you know? Get some fresh air, and take a break."

You had no reason to say no, so you agreed and started packing a bag, grabbing all the essentials. You eyed your gun.. you two would be staying in the woods and you'd need proper protection if anything were to happen, right? ...

No probably not..

You grabbed your bag and walked out of your room. You hesitated, looking back at the gun on your dresser. No. Don't be ridiculous, what would you need a gun for? Your going camping for Satan's sake.

You made your way downstairs where everyone was waiting to bid Angel and you a safe trip.

You gave everyone a hug, and felt Charlie was hesitant to let go.

She pulled you aside.

"Y/n, it's hunting season for all the predators, are you sure this is a good idea?" You frowned. "Yeah, why wouldn't it be? We're going to be fine, don't worry Charlie." You said, patting her on her shoulder and making your way to angel, who was already in the car. You got in and started the engine.

Charlie was visibly worried, but gave you a smile regardless.

It was a long drive to your destination, and there was an comfortable silence in the car.

"Hey Angel? What do you know about Hunting Season?" You asked, keeping your eyes on the road.

"Well, once a year all predators get a week to hunt for food or.. just for fun. During that time most shops won't allow predators in, for the safety of their other customers. Therefore most of them leave the city for a week, and retreat to small villages that border the forest or the ocean-"

You processed his words.

"-why? Something botherin' you Toots?"

You shook your head.

"It's nothing, forget it."

When you two finally arrived at the place of destination, you immediately set up camp. The sun was setting.

But something felt.. off. Like you were being watched. You tried to shake it off and told yourself that you were just being paranoid. I mean, Angel wasn't acting any different from his usual self, so it was just in your head, right?

After dinner you two crawled into the tent, and put on a movie.

"How about.. the conjuring?" Angel suggested.

"HELL no." You shook your head.

"Why not? We could stir the pot a little~ c'mon toots." He pleaded.

You gave in. "Fine.. put it on."

30 minutes into the movie and you heard the leaves cracking. It sounded like.. footsteps?

You paused the movie. "Did you hear that?"

He looked up at you. "What?"

"Nothing.. nevermind."

You guys finished the movie and decided it was time to get to bed. You brushed your teeth, said your goodnights and dozed off.

----------

2:56 AM:

----------

You woke up to the sounds of creaking, rustling..

You turned to Angel, when you realised he wasn't there, and the tent flaps were unzipped.

'Maybe he just went to pee' you thought.

10 minutes passed and he still wasn't back.

You got an eery feeling. So you grabbed your flashlight, a jacket, a red marker, put some shoes on and stepped out of the tent, shining the flashlight into the dark woods.

You started walking, stopping every so often to mark some of the trees with a big red cross , incase you got lost.

"Angel?!" You whisper yelled.

Footsteps.

You quickly turned around to see... nothing.

"Angel come out, this isn't funny!" You whispered again.

You felt a wet substance dripped on your cheek.

You wiped it off with your finger and looked at it. 'Blood?'

You frowned. Another drop fell, quickly followed by the next.

You stepped back and looked up, to find a fresh corpse. You point your flashlight at it to see it's no other then.. Angel. He was hanging by his neck, a piece of his throat was ripped out, and his arms were missing. His face showed pure horror..

Your mouth fell open in shock as you gagged. You felt sick.. you needed to get out of there, yet you couldn't get yourself to move.

"He didn't taste as good like he always said he would.." A voice said behind you.

You slowly turned your head towards the psychopath who murdered your best friend.

A chill went down your spine.. Alastor.

"You really shouldn't go out camping somewhere in the woods when it's hunting season, my dear." His usual sadistic smile was plastered on his face.

"Now.. i'm going to give you a 10 second headstart, so start running."

With no hesitation you sprinted out of there, zigzagging through the trees.

"8..7..." His voice echoed.

You were lost. Your head still at Angel's corpse, the image ingraved in your memory.

"4..3..2...." A long silence. "1."

You stumbled over a big branch, falling down and hearing a bear trap close on your leg.

You screamed, covering your mouth.

The sharp spikes of the trap impaled your leg. You were loosing to much blood.. at this rate you'd bleed out before he'd find you.

You tried to open it, to no success.

"Aw.. look what we have here. A little bunny stuck in a bear trap."

Alastor said, as he emerged from the darkness.

He kneeled down infront of you, tracing his finger across your calf and licking the blood off.

"Now you on the other hand, taste exquisite." His grin grew.

He opened the trap with ease, earning a scream from you.

You tried to crawl away, but he grabbed your ankle and pulled you back.

"Your loosing all your flavor.." he said eyeing the puddle of blood painted across the leafs. He sighed.

"I suppose I can't play with you any longer.. what a pity. Now, hold still my dear. It'll only hurt for a second." He said, grabbing a handful of your hair and pulling you up. He shoved you against the nearest tree, grabbed a knife, and slitting your throat, as your vision quickly faded to black.

You opened your eyes and jumped up, panting and sweating heavily. Confused, you looked around. You were in your room.

A nightmare?

You heard a knock on your door.

"Hey Toots!" Angel smiled. "Most of the guests left so charlie said we could take a break. How about we go camping? Just the two of us."

Thank you for reading!!

[loveoaths]

i can’t stop describing maul as innately predatory, radiating silky danger and watchful teeth even when he appears at ease. the man has lived his entire life as a tiger in a cage; he does not do soft, because soft gets you killed, and he refuses to die.

i love writing him feline, elegant and animal bound together. there is something about him that innately triggers the primal in all who encounter him: the hair on your body pricks up, every sensory nerve kicking to life as that ancient evolutionary awareness that something is watching you, and it is hungry settles too-tight on your skin. his presence is paranoia, it’s that inner prickle when you whip around because you can feel someone watching you, but no one’s there. uncanny. unnerving. unwanted.

even when he’s caught and locked in a cell and you are separated by bars and force-blocking cuffs and solid walls, watching him watch you back feels like seeing a caged tiger for the first time, comes with the rapid onset feeling of, “oh.” this person, this thing is so much bigger, so much more dangerous, so much more unknowable than you ever anticipated, and for a split second you do not believe those cage bars will contain him. but then you think, no, metal is metal and you’re safe here. you’re safe. you are. and maul looks at you, contained, padding his cell carefully, knowing exactly when to turn without looking, golden eyes aglow and fixed on yours, and you can almost hear, in the menacing rumble unfurling inside his chest, an ancient word, one your animal ancestors knew but you’ve since evolved too far past to recognize, that feels a lot like “for now.”

[libraryledge]

Only Human (A Suspenseful School Story)

A/N: In honor of Halloween, someone challenged me to craft a story about a character having a scary encounter with a teacher. As I was writing it, the images of Timothee Chalamet on the set of Marty Supreme came to mind because his attire reminded me of a college professor. Although my story has no relation to the film, I used the photos as inspiration for what this professor would look like. Enjoy the final piece!

Everyone was scared of him. He was the substitute professor that no one wanted to be left alone with. He filled in for teachers when they couldn't make it to class or were feeling under the weather.

He would drop in on a random Wednesday morning, and the dreaded sound of his brown loafers clinked upon the marble floor of the hallway. He always carried a black briefcase, whose contents remained a mystery. The rumor was that it housed a black list of all the students that clashed with him. Others suspected that he had dirty secrets stored within the confines of his case. There were even a few rumors were too foul to recount. Whatever the case may have been, there came the fateful day when I found myself sitting in front of him as he stormed into the classroom and slammed the dreaded briefcase onto my absent English professor's desk.

Upon first entering the room, I placed myself toward the back, where most of my peers were seated, but he wasn't having it.

“No. No. None of that,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “Come to the front. How do you expect to learn anything if you're hiding back there?” 

His look was unreadable, but one could only infer the pleasure that he felt by having such control over the room.

“Turn your books to page 394,”  he announced to us, with an indifferent air. “Clearly you haven't made much progress since the last time I was here, which to be fair wasn't quite long ago.”

He said this as if he was annoyed at our teacher for falling ill once more. Working at a university was a hotspot for contracting a nasty virus, so it wasn't unheard of for teachers to miss class due to illness. However, I had to agree with him that it was happening more often than not.

“So, Dr. Frankenstein. Was he a villain or a hero?” the man said, thumbing through the pages of our assigned reading book absent-mindedly.

Someone at the back of the class scoffed and replied, “How could he be a hero when he very clearly released a monstrosity upon the world?” 

Still flipping through the pages of his copy of the book, the professor looked at him over the rim of his wired glasses.

“Okay, so he's the villain then?” he prodded. The way he stared intensely at my classmate brought a chill down my spine. 

“Maybe…” the student replied, clearly stumped.

The professor's eyes roamed the classroom, looking for the next victim to call upon. Desperately not wanting to be singled out as the next target, I took the leap myself and I raised my hand.

“Yes? The young woman in the front,” he said, motioning toward me.

That was another thing about him that was so obscure. Despite being only a couple years older than us, he always referred to the students as “young man” or “young woman”, which made it seem like he lived many more lifetimes than us.

“I’d say that Dr. Frankenstein was neither a hero or a villain. He was simply a human who contributed something into the world that he could no longer control,” I said, slowly making contact with his green eyes.

The professor nodded slowly. “Alright. Can you elaborate upon that perspective?” he asked, as he thumbed through the novel. 

I took a deep breath and continued, “Well… it's like when you bring a child into the world. Yes, you’re responsible for teaching them and shaping them into a productive member of society, but you're only responsible for them to a certain extent because then they turn into individuals with minds of their own.”

I heard the sound of indifferent murmuring coming from the back of the room. I shrugged and quickly added, “I don't know, it's just my opinion.”

The professor looked at me with an unreadable expression upon his face. He looked as if he was mulling over how to respond. 

Eventually, he broke the difficult silence and said, “That's just your opinion?” he repeated.

I couldn't tell if he was mocking me or not so I nodded hesitantly.

“I have the strong belief that our thoughts are not “just opinions. Instead, they are the foundations of ourselves, but if we're too afraid to own them proudly..." he said, looking at me. “...or voice them out loud at all..."  he continued, his gaze trailed across the entire classroom towards the students who were clearly not interested in the lesson, “...then will we ever make any progress at all?” 

“Whether Dr. Frankenstein is a hero or a villain is irrelevant. What matters is how you approach your perspective of him. Humans are unique beings with individual minds and points of view, but if we're all so close-minded and afraid to be wrong, how will we ever learn?” he said as he closed the book and placed it on the desk with a sigh.

I shrunk in my seat under his gaze. Tears prickled at the brim of my eyes from the intensity.

“You both clearly have a strong perspective on the topic, but you need to own those views. Have confidence in them,” he said to the other student and I.

I heard my classmate mumble obscenities under his breath at the professor. Whether the man heard them or not was unclear. Regardless, I figured that it was best that the teacher didn't respond.

The professor sighed and took a seat behind the desk. 

“For the rest of class time, I want you all to write about why people are afraid to speak up for their opinions,” he said. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he directed the final word at me.

I slouched further into my seat in frustration just as my classmates began to protest.

“That's not fair! You can't assign us work that is not part of the curriculum!” protested a girl to my right.

“Oh, but I can if it will help you understand the material better,” he countered, his eyebrows twitching with obnoxious amusement.

Turning to face the entire class he continued, “So I suggest you begin writing. Class concludes in thirty minutes.”

A collective groan filled the classroom as I reluctantly began to write.

It wasn't fair. I was the only one who actually gave him a decent response, and he still managed to pick on me. I studied the teacher intently. With his old fashioned sweater vests and oversized blazers, it wasn't as if he was the image of perfection.

Therefore, I began to write. I wrote non-stop for the next half hour as I listened to the sound of the clock overhead, ticking down the minutes. After what seemed like an eternity, I heard the professor clap his hands intensely to gather our attention.

“Alright. I hope that by now we’ve found a response to this calamity of confidence,”  he proclaimed.

I rolled my eyes and was certain that he saw me, but he didn't acknowledge the gesture.

“I need someone to share their writing aloud with me,” he said. “Any volunteers?” Unsurprisingly, no one raised their hand.

I held back a smirk as he stared back at the class, which ironically hadn't learned from his so called lesson.

That's when I raised my hand. I'll show him, I thought.

Seeing my hand in the air, he responded with the hint of a smile as he nodded and said, “Ahhh! One Brave soul. The floor is yours.”

I stood up and began to read from my paper.

“As a society, we are afraid of being wrong. We don't want to be seen as strange for having views that are different from the rest. There are certain people who are so intimidated by others around them and are afraid of making a fool of themselves in front of them. They don’t realize that others are just as afraid as they are, but they are simply better at masking it," I said.

“For instance, like I mentioned before, I believe that Dr. Frankenstein is neither a hero or a villain. He's just a man who is afraid to face the repercussions that his ideas brought into the world. I firmly believe that. Although it might be intimidating to say this in front of an audience whom it may seem knows better than us…” I looked at the professor dead in the eyes as I read this part. 

“...this is clearly more than “just my opinion”. It showcases my views of how humans are more than right or wrong. We’re nuanced, and no one is exempt from learning from their experiences,” I concluded.

The professor began to clap slowly. “Impressive,” he said. “Glad to know at least one person took something away from today's exercise.”

The clock struck the top of the hour, and everyone was anxious to get out of the classroom, which was evident by the rustling of backpacks and shuffling the feet.

“Okay. I know you are all in a hurry to leave, but don't forget to finish the reading tonight. Your professor will know if you don't,” he said.

I picked up my copy of Frankenstein and stuffed it into my bag. I was in a hurry to get out of that classroom. I did not want to spend another moment with that obnoxious professor.

Just as I got out of my seat and headed toward the door, I heard a voice call out to me.

“Uh…miss?”

It was the professor.  I grimaced internally. Couldn't he give me a break? I turned to face him with a blank look upon my face, and he motioned for me to come closer. My classmates exchanged weird looks amongst themselves over his sudden action. 

“Good luck!" one of them whispered sarcastically in my ear, as he headed out the door.

I ignored him and walked towards the teacher. 

“Yes?” I asked, with an arched eyebrow, uncertain of how to respond to the summoning.

“I want to thank you for your honesty today. I really appreciate when students take the lesson to heart,” he said sincerely.

“You're welcome. I only spoke what I felt was my truth,”  I replied with a shrug. I observed him anxiously, uncertain of his ulterior motive for calling on me.

“That's important,” he said, with a nod.  At this point, we were the only two people in the classroom.

“I know you and your peers must hate me for being so uptight all the time,” he said as he gave me a wry smile. “I don't blame you because believe it or not, I'm only a few years older than you all, and I've had my fair share of professors that I’ve butted heads with.”

I stared at him, contemplating how to respond.

“Then why pick on us? On me? I'm the only one who bothered to respond to your lecture properly, and you still humiliated me!” I exclaimed.

 A look of guilt crossed his face. “I'm sorry that you felt that way. I'll admit that sometimes I take it too far, but it's only because I see potential in students.”

I was surprised by his apology. I'd never seen him so… Dare I say human?

“I've overseen many classes of students, and it's always the same. They're consumed by the fear of being incorrect and don’t speak up for themselves. I see that in you, and that's why I wanted you to gain confidence in your views,” he continued.

“You're right. Most people are simply better at masking their fears from others. Ironically, I preach about self-assurance as a manner of coping with my own fears,”  he said, as he adjusted his glasses upon the arch of his nose.

“What do you mean?” I questioned, almost incredulously, at this man who I found it difficult to believe was intimidated by anything.

“Something most students don't stop and think about is perhaps how anxious professors are. All those eyes staring at them, lessons to prepare for, and the constant judgment from fellow staff members, especially when someone is at the beginning of their career. Perhaps students may not see it this way but instructing them in the power of courage and confidence not only helps them, but it gives me a purpose as well,” the professor replied with a shrug. “Kind of strange, huh?” 

I'd never witnessed the professor be so honest and vulnerable. In a way it was quite touching to see him be so truthful with me.

“I guess it's not so strange," I admitted. “Going back to my opinion on Frankenstein,”  I said, emphasizing the word “opinion” which prompted a smile from him. “We're all just people learning from our experiences. Sure things can be scary, but not everything or everyone is what meets the eye.”

The professor chuckled, and that was the first time I'd ever heard him release such a genuine laugh, which in turn made me smile.

“Well, I don't want to keep you any longer. I appreciate our little chat,” he said as he began to pack up for the day.

He opened the famed black briefcase, and I held my breath at the realization that I would finally be able to see what was inside.  As he did so, a glob of something sticky spilled onto the counter.

At first I was surprised, but then chuckled as I realized what it was: a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. 

The professor rolled his eyes with a slightly abashed smile and said, “I guess you know my secret now. This briefcase is just what I use to store my lunch in. It makes it less of an easy target for prankster students. Trust me. I'm not going back to the days of having my sandwiches stolen.”

I chuckled. As we stood there in comfortable silence for a moment, I couldn't help thinking how I misjudged him. Here he was teaching us about the power of self-worth where he was struggling to get by himself. He had a tough love way of teaching and building us up, but his heart was in the right place. Deep down, the professor was just one of us. Not good or bad. Only human. This was one belief that I would stand my ground on because that was nothing to be afraid of.

[junepingu]

Maybe i should have made his head more longer and turned a Little more on the left but I love the final result

[warm-love-darkness]

♡Obsessed Loki boyfriend who demands you know who you belong ♡

As you gently climb on top of his engorged shaft.. excited to ride The God of Mischief. You wore a sexy thin thong & pushed it to the side so it would be easy for him .Loki grips your waist so damn hard. Making sure you slip deep into him.

This feels like a love spell of pure winter mist.

Him slightly biting his lips, " Who do you belong to darling ?"

You trying to keep yourself focused on his gorgeous eyes, " fuck... I belong to you!"

You can feel his entire length pumping you magically. The energy of a God who could easily destroy your pussy.

Loki as his pace gets wet & rough..., " I asked you who the fuck do you belong to...."

You moaning between heavy breaths.." You!....always..!"

How tightly you squeezed his shaft each and every movement.

Loki pushing you forward and back until your numb pussy can't take it anymore, " I REQUEST YOU TO ACKNOWLEDGE MY WRATH OF ENDLESS UNHOLY PAIN. SO LOOK AT MY LIPS PRECIOUS .....WHO DO YOU BELONG TO "

You rolling your eyes and letting go so he can power pound you endlessly, "....you my darling...GOD".

Loki angry and brusing your waist, " that's right princess...you belong to me.. your sweet pussy...if you leave me I swear I'll hunt you down...if you fucking try I'll make sure you get this thick cock in your throat next time".

You were so close to climax it was insane. His cold shaft warming up by your intense heat. Your nails clawing the fuck out of his waist.

Loki hushing out his groans.." That's my good girl keep riding me...I love you".

𝓜𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓒𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓶- 𝓕𝓵𝓪𝓿𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓭𝓿𝓮𝓲𝓷𝓼

[prefect30]

At The Heart Of It All

Warnings: DARK short story, death, blood, cannibalism, toxic freind, grotesque scenes, and one slightly suggestive scene. Please read with caution! This is a DARK SHORT STORY, if any of these warnings are triggering to you, then don't read this. Your media consumption is choice. This is all FICTION.

In the slums of California, where trash was mountain high, the rats living in the streets saw them as castles. However, stay clear of these rats, for you don’t know if the one you end up finding could talk or not.

It was clear to see that living in the slums of California was not ideal. The kids living there could be seen wearing worn out clothes, hand-me downs, and those in the worst cases, rags. Surrounded by trash everywhere, the putrid smell of dead rats (most kids chose that those dead are the non-talking ones to help keep their days going good) and just straight up trash could be smelled from all the way in Washington.

With its crime ridden streets, many riots, robberies, and on the occasion, murders, no one, even the many rats that would help in these events, were safe. The police have tried to stop at least some of  the crimes and bring the crime rates down, but it has gotten so out of hand that they have just given up. But to begin with, they never really were good cops. With most of them having a beer belly and almost all of them being over 50, most were in due time to retire or just give up. But the younger ones, the ones more fit for the job, well they gave up too once they realized they could make more money being one of the rats. Letting most rats out of the cage by “accident” because what is a reward with no risk?

However, the lucky ones, like Lilith, could be seen living off in the distance, in her pristine, castle-like home. She was one of the few lucky, rich families that could afford proper protection from the rats living in the slums and shelter. Spending most of her time in her Victorian themed bedroom, she truly was living like a princess. Her light pink drapes, hanging high from her windows, brought much darkness into her baby pink room. Her blush pink canopy would lull her to sleep as it would gently dance to the wind singing to her every night.

Her hair was rich as dark chocolate and skin as pale as snow. Her pearly white smile shone as bright as day. Towering over all her peers, she stood at a lofty 5’9, ever the long stick she was. However, it was her eyes that were the main attraction. Her bright, sapphire eyes always captured people’s attention, always shining like the true gem itself. 

The beautiful eyes could always be seen. Wherever she was, whoever she was with, her cerulean eyes would be the first thing one would see even in the darkest of places.

Her mother taught her from a very young age to always be polite, sweet, kind, and everything a boy could want in a wife. With her mother, drilling it into her head with a jackhammer, she would never forget what she taught her.

The voice of an angel, soft and delicate could only describe as she was to the ones she talked to. She seemed to float as she walked and would glide across the stage when she would dance, yet another thing her mother thought was needed to increase her feminine traits. She could sit at your normal Chick-Fil-A and eat as if she were dining with the Queen of England.

So here she was, eating lunch with her friend, Nelly, at Chick-Fil-A as if she were at a fancy tea party.

“Did you watch the newest Scream movie yet? I know that you’re a huge fan.”

Ah, yes. Scream. It was Lilith’s favorite movie of all time, with American Psycho coming in as a close second. 

“No. I didn’t get the chance to go to the theater yet to see it. I don’t think my mother would be too fond of me watching the film anyways.” Grabbing her lemonade, Lilith took a sip after answering.

“God, why do you always talk like you got a stick up your ass?” Nelly reached over and grabbed a fry from Lilith’s nicely splayed food on the tray the food came on.

Incompetent pig.

“It’s just proper English. Now come on, we should go now, it’s almost supper time.” Lilith gracefully jumped down from her chair as she started to clean up her area.

“Supper time. I mean, really! Who even talks like that.” Nelly exclaimed, waving her hands around like a lunatic.

“Proper English, my friend. Proper English.” Lilith patted Nelly’s back, subtly pushing her out of her chair.

“Supper time. Phh. Old lady talk.” Nelly muttered, pushing her chair in and throwing her food onto Lilith’s tray.

Lazy ass.

Walking out of Chick-Fil-A, the sun was slowly saying goodbye, leaving pink and yellow skid marks across the sky. God, how Lilith hated sunsets.

I mean, what’s the point of having someone come and leave their mess everywhere, just for someone else to clean it up. The moon should be the one that everyone loves, oh so much. She’s the one doing all the work.

“Remind me again why you can’t come over tonight?” Nelly looked up at Lilith.

“I need to prepare supper for my mother and me. We are having chicken and I need to cook it before she gets home.” Lilith answered, looking down on Nelly.

“But we just ate? Why would you eat again?” Nelly gave a confused look to the tall stick.

“Because Nelly, my mother didn’t eat yet and I only ate my fries. You’re the one who truly ate.”

Like a damn pig.

“Oh.” Nelly looked down at her shoes.

Fuck.

“However, it was near supper time, so of course you ate. You were hungry, as one should be when it’s time to eat.” Lilith saved face, grabbing Nelly’s left hand.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right!” Nelly exclaimed, swinging both of their hands.

Continuing their walk to Lilith’s house, Nelly started to skip a bit, slightly dragging Lilith along with her. Anyone walking by could see just how uncomfortable Lilith was. How she looked as though bugs were crawling out of her. Piercing her skin, leaving tiny, maggot shaped holes, with small streams of blood, slowly oozing down her arm, covering her in her own dark red blood. As if the bugs, now at her feet, slowly start to gnaw at her shoes–like carpenter ants–and make their way up her legs, leaving deep bites, right down to the bone. As if they made their way all the way up her mangled body just to seep into her eyes and mouth, slowly choking and blinding her.

That is how Lilith felt right now, just from a simple hand holding that she, herself, initiated.

Finally reaching her house, Lilith tried to pull her hand away from Nelly, but she held on tighter and then pulled her into a hug.

“Bye Lily! See you tomorrow!” Nelly beamed at the girl.

Lilith swore she could feel the bugs on her backside now, slowly going down her body and stopping at her legs again. She could feel them bore deeper into her eyes and choke her harder at the close proximity and nickname. No one, and I mean, no one, called Lilith, Lily. It had the complete opposite of her name. The complete opposite of her.

“Lilith. See you tomorrow, Nelly.” Lilith grumbled.

“Right. Sorry, Lilith. Bye!” Nelly apologized, giving Lilith finger guns and she backed away.

Lilith gave her a fake smile and watched Nelly as she turned around and started to walk away, wondering how someone so simple-minded could get on someone like Lilith’s nerves so much.

Imbecile.

Turning around, Lilith picked the key out of her pocket, unlocking the door. Walking in, she looked at her beautiful castle like home, smiling. She took a minute to look around the living room. There was a small mug resting on the short, crystal living room table. Raising her eyebrows, Lilith slowly walked over to the mug, resting her dainty hand on the mug.

Warm.

Her mother must be home. Why was she home so early, Lilith didn’t know. She did know, however, that she hoped her mother didn’t want to spend bonding time with her. She couldn’t stand the woman. Thought that she was a wasted body. The female Frankstien, born without a brain. Though Lilith swore that even he had more brains then the woman could ever have.

“Hey honey! How was the walk with Nelly?” The woman gently asked, walking towards her daughter.

However, to Lilith, it sounded like the murderous siren calls. The one sailors would hear right before the sirens would show their true nature. She would give that to her mother. She was beautiful, but in the old timey way. Where you knew that she was once a beautiful woman, one filled with joy and hope. Now she just looks like a rose that someone tried to preserve in time, but it dried out much too quickly. Slowly rotting away.

“It was fine, mother.”

“That’s good. Did you have fun? Where did you guys go?” Her mother asked, trying to keep the conversation going, while moving closer to Lilith. Her mother thought that their conversations were always cut so short. She loved her daughter very much and while she always tried to make sure that she would always present herself in a very feminine way, it was her way of showing her love. Besides, she was helping her daughter. If this little girl is what took away her beauty, she was going to protect hers at all cost. She didn’t want to see her only daughter rotting away just like her.

Lilith, however, thought that her mother was asking too many questions and was way too close.

“I had a wonderful time, mother. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to prepare supper. I think that I’ll be fine by myself in the kitchen. Goodbye.” Lilith answered, putting her mother down before she could even ask a question to help her.

“Ok. I love you!” Her mother hollered to her as she watched her daughter walk away from her.

Rolling her eyes, Lilith walked into the kitchen and her eyes found the dead chicken right away.

Smiling, Lilith let out a quick sigh. She walked over to the kitchen counter and bent down to open up the middle drawer and pulled out her baby pink, flora design apron.

Bunny looping it around her waist, she grabbed the flour, breading, eggs, and knives. She got to work preparing the chicken.

Lilith loved preparing food, specifically meat. She loved how she could just let go and relax.

Digging her hands into the chicken, she gently pulled out the liver. Looking at the slimy, red liver, she wondered how it differed from a human liver. If it were to be stabbed, would it react the same way a humans’ would? She could know her answer to the chicken’s, but not the humans.

This angered Lilith. She hated not knowing things, especially when the things she had to do to attain what she wanted could be done, but just frowned upon by society.

Deciding not to linger on this, knowing it would only anger her more, she moved on to taking out the gizzard. Pulling it out rather quickly, she couldn’t wait to get to her favorite part. The heart. Gently taking the knife to her left, she cut open where the heart should be and sliced through the skin. She knew how to fix it up for her mother so she wouldn’t know she did this. As she put her dainty hand into the chicken, she delicately wrapped her hands around the heart and pulled out the heart.

The heart was still a bit bloody, but Lilith didn’t mind. As she looked at the heart more, she started wondering again.

What would it taste like?

She had tried it cooked before, but never raw. Her mother always talked about how she could get Salmonella. But she never cared and each time she was told that, she never was talking or thinking about the chicken’s heart.

Putting the heart onto the counter to her left, she started to really get to work on the chicken. She cracked the eggs and poured the breadcrumbs into a medium sized bowl. Then she got to the chicken. She worked her way from the bottom up, meticulously getting rid of any imperfections.

While doing this, she reflected on her actions towards Nelly today. She knew she had gone a bit too far with the food comment, but thankfully was able to save herself.

So naive.

She needs to be more careful, Nelly is overly sensitive and will burst into tears at any given moment.

However, Nelly is a simple girl and so easy to manipulate. With her being a short, plump girl, she didn’t have many friends, and the ones she did have, she cherished. Friends like Lilith. Lilith knew the day she met Nelly that she would be annoying, but useful. Nelly came from a wealthy and influential family. So while Lilith was rich, Nelly was richer. And while Lilith held some power with her “ranking,” Nelly held more, even if she didn’t know it.

So whenever Nelly had a big decision to make, Lilith would always be there, to help her decide what to do. She needed Nelly to be dependent on her, and as annoying as the girl was, it would only benefit Lilith. She needed to get it into Nelly’s head that Lilith was the only one who would be there for her. The only one whose opinion mattered. The only one she needed for anything. 

Lilith was so deep in thought that she didn’t realize that she had completely gutted the chicken until she heard her mother’s shriek.

“Lilith! The chicken! What did you do?!” Her mother came barreling in and pushed Lilith out of the way and stood in front of the chicken, examining what her daughter had done to it.

While her mother was distracted by the mangled chicken, Lilith sneakily grabbed the chicken heart and put it into her pocket.

“What was the-why would?” Her mother took a deep breath. “Why did you do this Lilith?” Her mother said, finally looking up at Lilith.

“I was not paying attention. I got distracted, mother.” Lilith replied.

“You can’t get distracted when you are using knives Lilith! Just, just go to your room. Now.” Her mother said, looking back down at the chicken.

“Ok.” Lilith answered, taking off her apron and turning to go to her room.

Her mother just sighed. The chicken had been completely torn up and gutted. Lilith had taken the knife and sliced the chicken from the bottom up, opening it cleanly. She had put her hands inside of the chicken, completely ripping out its insides. What little blood was left on the chicken now covered its entire body, smeared everywhere. It was on the chicken, knives, and the counters.

Lilith couldn’t help it though. Of course she didn’t mean to, but her mind and hands had separate plans. Once she got her hands inside the warm chicken, she completely let go.

Oh well.

Reaching her room, Lilith quietly closed her door and locked it. She moved to sit on her beautiful cherry blossom colored bed. She sat down and just started at her baby pink walls.

Oh!

Then she remembered. The heart. The chicken heart.

She pulled it out of her pocket and looked at it attentively. It was covered in blood from the gutting and was dripping a bit onto her white carpet floors.

Still warm.

She slowly brought it up closer to her face, a mere few inches away from her lips. She stared at it, mesmerized at how the blood seemed to glisten in the sun’s lowering rays. She brought it closer to her face, deeply inhaling its scent, her eyes fluttering in the pleasant smell. She then slowly lowered it to her mouth, lips caressing the heart as she thought about what she was about to do.

This is wrong. It is so very wrong. Sadistic even. Right?

As she heard her mother coming up the stairs, she quickly bit into the heart, eyes closing in pleasure. She heard her mother come closer to her room and she took another bite, moaning in delight from the taste.

“Lilith?” Her mother knocked on the door.

Of fuck off and let me enjoy this.

Lilith didn’t answer, instead she continued to scarf the heart down, getting its blood and juice all over her face, her bed, and carpet.

“Listen, I get that you don’t want to talk. I just-I’m sorry for yelling, but you can’t get distracted like that, Lilith. What if that were to happen with your husband? Who knows what he would do?” Her mother tried to reason with her.

Lilith just ignored the woman, too caught up in the heart she was almost finished. Besides, Lilith had heard this lecture before. Her mother would always “apologize,” but then right after would bring up how her future husband would react and how it was not very “ladylike.”

As Lilith continued to ignore her mother, her mother put her ear up to her daughter’s room and was horrified by the noises of squelching and moaning. Of course her mother thought the worst, but Lilith wasn’t doing that. No. She was simply just eating something delicious.

“Lilith, what are you doing?” Her mother whispered shakily.

Lilith, too caught up in eating the heart, missed the way her door handle jiggled and slowly opened as she finished the heart.

Her mother screeched in horror as Lilith looked up at her like a deer in headlights.

Shit.

“Oh, oh my Go-” Her mother started, but was cut off as she started to throw up all over her daughter’s carpet. Lilith grimaced in disgust watching her mother throw up.

Ew.

As her mother realized that she wasn’t going to stop throwing up, she quickly moved to Lilith’s bathroom and sat in front of the toilet, trying to aim the yellowish, pungent smelling fluid in there.

What am I going to do now?

Lilith didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t have her mother calling her crazy just because she wanted to try something different. And God, if the woman even tried to put her into therapy, oh, then Lilith would kill herself. She thought therapy was so stupid and only weak people had to talk to someone about their feelings and thoughts just because they couldn’t handle them themselves. And Lilith was not weak.

Maybe? No! That’s crazy. I can’t.

I shouldn’t.

I could.

…

Yes.

Lilith quickly picked the pen to her right–the same one she used to write in her diary–and carefully walked to her bathroom.

I can do this. I am not weak.

However, as Lilith got closer to her bathroom, she heard gurgling.

Quick. I need to be quick.

But when she entered, pen raised, she saw her mother lying down on the ground, choking on her own puke. Her mother was gagging, unable to sit up for some reason.

Why can’t she sit up? How are you able to find the strength to try to stay alive, but not sit up?

Lilith watched as the woman was gagging, unable to get air into her lungs from the puke blocking the way. As her mother reached for her daughter’s hand, Lilith stood still, unmoving or caring.

She watched in awe as the woman before her fought so hard to stay alive, but the odds were not in her favor.

She was going to die either way, either by the hands of nature or me. So why not let her choose the surprise option of her own hands?

Lilith stood watching for a few more minutes, waiting for her mother to die. She watched as each minute went by, something new would happen to her mother. The first minute, her face contorted into a pained expression while her face slowly turned all different colors of the rainbow, from red to indigo. The second minute, the puke started to bubble up around her mouth, pouring down her sides and she tried to coax it out without success. Lilith watched as her mother would sputter the puke around, causing it to land all over the floor of her bathroom, her mother’s clothing, and her mother’s face. By the third minute, Lilith knew that her mother would soon be dead. Her eyes had started to bulge from her socket–almost looking like they were about to pop out–and dark red tears started to fall from them. Slowly running down her face, mixing with the puke all over her face, making a red-orange, disgusting looking fluid. Her lips had turned an icy blue. When the fourth minute occurred, it was like Cinderella’s carriage had turned back into a pumpkin. Her mother’s body had caved in on itself, her hands turning in towards her body, looking broken. Her eyes had rolled to the back of her head and her body started to violently shake. Then, it all stopped. The blood tears, the puke sputtering everywhere, the bulging eyes, and the shaking. She was dead.

Well shit.

Lilith looked at her mother, tilting her head in curiosity. Was she really dead? Would it be like in Scream where the killer comes back to life for one last scare before they really die?

I mean, she was her own killer, so maybe she will come back to scare me one final time.

As Lilith waited for her mother’s final scare, it never happened. She truly was dead.

Lilith slowly walked out of her bathroom and saw how disgusting her room looked. There was blood and puke everywhere. Deciding to deal with her room and bathroom later, she went to her mother’s bedroom and walked straight to her bathroom. She looked at herself in the mirror. There was blood all over her face and mouth, speckles of puke on her chin that her mother so graciously gave to her, and her clothes and hands were drenched in blood.

Lilith didn’t even bother taking her clothes off as she stepped into the shower and started to wash herself. She felt a shock as the cold water flowed down her body.

She watched as the blood came off of her body and ran down the drain. She steadily started to pick her clothes off one at a time, starting with her socks and working her way up. Once she eventually got clean and got rid of all the blood and puke off her body, she stepped out of the shower and dried herself. She didn’t bother going to her own room to get clothes for herself, but rather grabbed what she needed out of her mother’s drawers.

When she was changed, Lilith walked downstairs to find that her mother had completely cleaned up the mess she made.

Mother.

Her mother was still up in Lilith’s room.

What am I supposed to do with her body? Call the cops? No. Well, I didn’t kill her, but I also didn’t try to help her. Whatever, I’ll figure it out later.

Lilith decided that she wouldn’t ponder on her mother’s dead body for longer, but instead she decided to call Nelly. Lilith needed to get out of the house for a few hours, and while she hated Nelly, this would only be a way to strengthen their friendship.

The line rang twice before Nelly’s mother picked up.

“Hello?” Lilith heard her say.

“Hello, Mrs. Hunapo! This is Lilith.” Lilith responded.

“Lilith, yes dear! How are you?” Mrs. Hunapo asked.

“I’m doing great. I was actually wondering if I could come over to spend some time with Nelly. I know we hung out earlier, but I just wanted to hangout with her again. And forgive me for sounding, one might say, clingy, but I kind of miss her.” Lilith finished her sentence trying to sound nervous, really making sure that she would let Lilith come over.

“Oh, my dear. Of course! You know, I was actually about to call you! Nelly just left a few minutes ago to come over to yours. She said something about being invited over for dinner.” Mrs. Hunapo told Lilith to her surprise.

What?

“Oh my goodness! I completely forgot about that! I am so sorry for bothering you, Mrs. Hunapo! I guess I’ll see Nelly soon then. Goodbye!” Lilith hung up before Mrs. Hunapo could even say goodbye. Lilith didn’t understand why Nelly would lie about her asking Nelly to come over for supper. Lilith never, and would never, invite Nelly to supper. She already has to spend the whole school day and most weekends with her, so why would she want to be around her for supper as well?

Then there was the even bigger problem. Her mother’s dead body.

Well, I guess I have to worry about that now.

Just as Lilith was about to try to somehow hide the carcass of her mother, the doorbell rang.

Dammit!

Lilith quickly collected herself and opened the door.

“Hey Lily!” Nelly said, giving Lilith a big hug.

Lilith, deciding that the nickname was the least of her problems right now, cautiously hugged Nelly back.

“Hey Nelly.” Lilith gritted out.

Nelly let go of Lilith and walked right into the house. As Lilith turned to close the door, that’s when she noticed that Nelly had a bag with her. A night bag.

She can’t be serious.

Nelly saw Lilith staring at her night bag with confusion.

“Oh, yeah. I hope you don’t mind, but I kinda might have told my parents that you also said I could stay over. Sorry.” Nelly said, looking down at her feet.

I do fucking mind you lying bitch.

“Of course not, Nelly! But why did you lie to your parents in the first place? I don’t remember inviting you to supper or over at all for that matter.” Lilith tried to joke, but it just came out bitterly.

“Oh. I-I thought that you wouldn’t mind, since we’re such good friends and all.” Nelly whispered.

“No. It’s fine Nelly. You know what, why don’t we just go to bed?” Lilith sighed, trying not to yell at Nelly.

“Ok! But, you don’t want to eat or anything?” Nelly asked, concerned for her friend.

“No. I’m fine. Besides, we both already ate earlier, remember? You can't possibly still be hungry?” Lilith said, trying to get Nelly shut up and just go to bed.

“Y-yeah, You’re right. Could I get changed maybe?” Nelly asked.

“Yeah, first door on the left.” Lilith told Nelly.

Lilith watched as Nelly walked into the bathroom to get changed and let out a sign of relief.

I just need to make it through the night. Then I can figure everything out. God, why do you always have to make everything so complicated, Mother?

Lilith waited patiently for Nelly to get dressed, but she was starting to get annoyed as the girl was taking forever. Every so often, she would hear a clank!

Did she fall or can she not get her fatass into her pants? It’s probably the latter.

Finally, Nelly came out of the bathroom.

“Hey, sorry I took so long, I was washing my face and teeth.” Nelly said, looking up at Lilith brightly.

“It’s fine.” Lilith forced out.

“Hey, um, where is your mom, if you don’t mind me asking? I thought she would be home by now or something.” Nelly asked.

Shit.

“She, um, she went on a date. Yeah, she uh, she met this new guy and has been spending a lot of time with him. She left right after supper.” Lilith quickly came up with, trying to sound sad to earn Nelly’s sympathy.

“Oh! I am so sorry for asking, Lily. I didn’t know. Why don’t we go to sleep now.” Nelly asked, trying to comfort Lilith.

“Lilith. But yeah, ok. Let’s sleep.” Lilith quickly said.

As Nelly tried to go upstairs, Lilith quickly stopped her, insistenting that they sleep downstairs in the living room. Nelly, of course, agreed.

The girls got adjusted on the floor, surrounded by blankets and pillows. Nelly had insisted that they sleep in a fort. Lilith reluctantly agreed, doing whatever she needed to make sure that Nelly stayed downstairs.

Lilith was looking at the top of Nelly’s Hello Kitty blanket, which she so kindly brought with her, and was trying to figure out how to deal with her mother’s body. She knows she shouldn’t think about it right now, not with Nelly over, but she couldn’t help it.

She couldn’t go to the police, she had already crossed that out earlier. She can’t just leave her there, she would start to rot soon and that would leave a dreadful smell. She can’t put it in a lake, there are none close to where she lives and she was not walking around California, holding a dead body.

As Lilith kept thinking of options, she got distracted by Nelly shuffling in her sleep out of the corner of her eye.

God! Lay still!

Lilith thought about burying the body in the backyard, but that would be too obvious. Plus, she would have to start a garden to cover up the dirt patch and Lilith did not like dirt.

Nelly kept shuffling and every so often, Lilith would hear her whimper.

Must be having a nightmare. Well, I’m living in one, you can just wake up. Granted, I did make my own nightmare, but still, she can wake up! Crybaby. Oh!

Lilith had done it! She had thought of the perfect plan. She would burn her mother in the fireplace, then she would convince everyone that she left for a lover, leaving her only daughter to live alone. She would get rid of her mothers body, get pity and sympathy from others, and her mother’s money. She would not be an orphan for long. No, she was almost eighteen. The second she would get out of that orphanage, she would get her money, house, and freedom. No one would know.

Lilith, closing her eye’s in sweet victory. Everything would go the way she wanted. She would get away with everything. With the money. With the house. With her freedom. Hell, even with the murder that she didn’t even commit! She could feel it in her heart. It was throbbing at a high rate, excited. She could feel it pumping blood all over her body from the exhilarating feeling she was getting right now. Her whole body just felt so warm right now.

Then it hit her.

Her heart wasn’t throbbing from excitement. No, it was from the hole she could feel in it. Her heart wasn’t pumping blood all over her body from the exhilarating feeling. No, her heart was pumping blood on her body from the cavity left behind in her heart. She was warm because of her blood.

What th-

Before Lilith could even finish her thought, her body started spasming from the loss of blood and the hole in her heart. She shakily opened her eyes, not understanding what was going on. As she opened them, she was graced with a face covered in blood. Her blood.

Nelly.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?! GET O-” Lilith quickly shut herself up with a scream after Nelly pushed her 9 inch filet knife deeper into Lilith’s heart.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Nelly said, smiling sweetly at her.

Lilith knew that she was losing blood, and fast. A pierced heart does that to you.

“I know, I know! Why, Nelly? Oh, why!” Nelly said dramatically, laughing to herself. Lilith just looked at the crazed girl expectedly.

“Well, how about I just really wanted to see your fucking insides.” Nelly whsipered, taking the knife out of her heart and slicing her way down through Lilith’s body, finishing at her lower stomach.

Lilith just laid there, confused on how Nelly was getting to do the things that Lilith wanted to. She gutted the chicken, she won that one, but Nelly got to gut a person! A living person! She got to gut Lilith.

That’s not fair.

As Lilith watched Nelly worked her way through her body, she couldn’t help but wonder what brought this on. She was always so nice, innocent, and easy to manipulate. Maybe Lilith rubbed off on her too much.

Lilith let out a scream as Nelly ripped out part of her large intestine, getting blood all over her abdomen and Nelly’s hands.

“You know, I always wondered why you were so weird. I mean, who goes into the shower with clothes on?” Nelly said, as she looked at Lilith’s ripped up and bloody intestine.

What. God, even when she is literally killing me, she is so random. I mean, just shut the fuck up and finish the job. I already gave up, I know I’m not making it out of here.

Wait a fucking minute.

How the hell does she know that?

“What?” Lilith gurgled as she felt blood start to pool up in her mouth.

Like mother, like daughter.

“I mean really Lilith? Water and clothes don’t mix. Well unless it’s a swimsuit and you're in the pool or an ocean. Oh! In a hot tub too.” Nelly said, starting to rant as she threw her bloodied right hand around as she talked.

“Nelly! Ho-how did you know that I went into the shower with my clothes on?” Lilith asked in shock and confusion. She didn’t understand how Nelly could possibly know this and it was starting to worry her, more than gutting her. Did that mean she also knows about her mother as well?

No. She can’t. She never went upstairs.

Nelly smirked, “Well, I didn’t. The recording device stopped working and I figured that you had got it wet. I just assumed that you took a shower with your clothes on.” Nelly stated as if it was the most obvious thing.

“Recording device? Ne-” Lilith started, but was cut off by Nelly, “And really Lilith, you need to clean your bathroom. Smells horrible.” Nelly joked, looking Lilith right in the eye as she started to slurp Lilith’s intestine down as if it was spaghetti, getting blood all over her mouth.

The second Nelly said that, Lilith finally realized. She realized that she did feel those bugs on her legs, crawling right into her pant pocket. She realized that she didn’t feel a shock from the cold water, but from the electronic getting wet. She remembered that the vent in the spare bathroom downstairs went straight up to her bathroom, and realized that the clanking was from her removing and putting the vent back on to put her airhead in to see her mother. Her dead mother.

Lilith looked at Nelly in shock. How could she have missed all of the signs?! Lilith felt so dumb right now and she did not like that. Nelly just bared her teeth to her like a wolf after a kill, with blood smeared all over her face and little pieces of the intestine stuck in her blood stained teeth.

“What? Feel dumb?” Nelly laughed in her face.

Now that. That pissed Lilith off. Lilith weakly brought her hand up to hit Nelly, but Nelly was faster and stronger. She cut Lilith’s wrist, right to the creamy white bone. Lilith bellowed in pain. As she was distracted, Nelly set her knife down and shoved her hand into Lilith’s chest, ripping her heart out. Lilith let out another howl of agony.

Lilith’s eyes were barely staying open when she saw Nelly take a huge bite into her heart. She watched as her own blood splattered all over her, Nelly, and the blankets. She watched as Nelly's eyes fluttered close in pleasure, just like Lilith’s did when she bit into the chicken heart.

Nelly saw that Lilith was staring at her and her own heart intently. She smiled, licked her fingers off of the blood and said, “It tastes marvelous.”

Lilith just nodded.

“And don’t worry Lily, I’ll get rid of both yours and your mothers body for you. I’ll take that off your plate for you.” Nelly smiled, like she was actually helping.

“H-how?” Lilith stuttered, knowing that her time was up.

“I’m gonna feed you to the rats.” Nelly smiled, taking another bite into Lilith’s heart.

As Lilith's eyes slowly fluttered shut and her body gave out, she had only one thought left on her mind.

Which ones?

Thank you for reading my friends short story!

[djljpanda]

Wednesday Is A Stephen Kings Fan

Change My Mind

And As A Kid, Her Favorite Book Was Coraline

And Don't Tell Me She Didn't Have, Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark

[elryuse]

Yandere Oneshots

Joy To My World (Yandere Joy X Male Reader)

Red Birthday (Yandere Irene X Male Reader)

The Bitch In Bali (Yandere Ahin X Male Reader)

Mother (Yandere Yoona X Male Reader)

Pain, Torture, Acceptance (Yandere Nana X Male Redhood Reader)

Hurt (Yandere Jessica Jung X Male Reader)

Love Is Weird Isn't It (Yandere Seo Hyunjin X Male Reader)

Dangerous Game (Yandere CL X Male Reader)

My Crazy Ex Gf Is Driving Me Crazy (Yandere Ex GF Sohee X Male Reader)

Thirst (Yandere Heejin X Male Reader)

Jealous. (Yandere Idol Gaeul X Childhood Friend Male Reader)

Sadistic Lovers (Yandere Asylum Patient Irene X Male Reader)

Don't Go (Yandere Rosé X Male Reader)

Cursed Fate (Yandere Minju X Male Reader)

ISOLATED (Yandere Sana X Male Reader)

Desire To Love (Yandere Lisa X Male Reader)

Remembrance Yandere Ex Wife Chaewon X Male Reader)

Pray And Worship (Yandere Yoona X Male Reader)

Forbidden Boundaries (Yandere Stepsister Yeseo X Male Reader)

My Personal Butler (Yandere Princess Wonyoung X Male Butler Reader)

Forbidden Desire (Yandere Older Sister Chengxiao X Male Reader)

Caught In The spider's Trap (Yandere Sub Karina X Male Reader)

Total Submission (Yandere Dom Jihyo X Male Reader)

The Dark Descent Into Madness (Yandere Stepsister J X Male Reader)

Manager Oppa Is Mine (Yandere Rei X Male Manager Reader)

Cold Skin (Yandere Mina X Male Reader)

Slave 4 Life (Yandere Vampire Princess Giselle X Male Reader)

Deadly Classmate (Yandere Classmate Takara X Male Reader)

Broken Wings (Yandere Younger Sister Kazuha X Male Older Brother Reader)

Devil In Disguise (Yandere Xiaoting X Male Reader)

A CEO Stole My Boyfriend (Yandere CEO Minji X Male Reader X Hanni)

The Predator Within (Yandere DOM FWB Haewon X Male Reader)

The Arranged Marriage (Yandere Winter X Male Reader)

Her Idol Crush (Yandere Yunjin X Male Reader)

My Savior (Yandere Rich Girl Karina X Male Reader)

The Devil Within Her (Yandere Eunbi X Male Reader)

My Obsessive Female Mentor (Yandere Jiheon X Male Reader)

Our Perfectly Normal Lovely Relationship (Yandere Mina X Male Reader)

The Debt-Collector (Yandere Debt-Collector Ahin X Male Reader)

Ruined Photos (Yandere Hanni X Male Reader)

Punishments (Yandere Chaeryeong X Male Reader)

Order Up Anyone? (Yandere Bahiyyih X Male Reader)

Dangerous Melody (Yandere Lily X Male Reader)

Stuck With The Ice Cold Princesses (Yandere ITZY Ot5 X Male Reader)

Injured (Yandere Rei X Male Reader)

Hello Neighbor (Yandere Hayoung X Male Reader)

Want You Back (Yandere Winter X Male Reader)

Classroom Troubles (Yandere Sana X Yandere Sullyoon X Male Reader)

Make U Mine (Yandere Gahyeon X Male Reader)

Snap! (Yandere Gaeul X Male Reader)

My Sassy Senior (Yandere Ryujin X Male Reader)

Perfect (Yandere Xinyu X Male Reader)

Where You Belong (Yandere Aespa Ot4 X Male Reader)

Under Her Guidance (Yandere Professor Arin X Male Reader)

Stuck With U (Yandere Sohyun & Hyeju X Male Reader)

His Innocence (Yandere Mina & Kazuha X Male Reader)

Attention (Yandere Student Danielle X Male Teacher Reader)

Lose My Breathe (Yandere Aespa Ot4 X Male Reader)

As It Was (Yandere Idol Chaewon X Male Idol Reader)

Answer Me (Yandere Yujin X Male Reader)

Odd Atelier (Yandere Jennie X Male Idol Reader)

Nobody But Me (Yandere Seoyeon X Male Reader)

My Stepsisters Is Obsessed With Me (Yandere SNSD Ot9 X Male Reader)

Scared To Lose You (Yandere ILLIT Minju X Male Reader)

More Than Friends (Yandere Jisoo X Male Reader)

21st Century Vampire Princess (Yandere Vampire Princess Karina X Male Reader

It Should Be Me (Yandere Yooyeon X Male Reader)

Guardian Angel (Yandere Haewon X Male Reader)

Here With Me (Yandere Isa X Male Reader)

Mafia's Lover (Yandere Mafia Rosé X Male Reader)

Fuck It, Your Ours Now (Yandere Bae & Lily X Male Reader)

The Fallen Seraphims (Yandere Le Sserafim X Male Reader)

Dangerous Game (Yandere Yujin X Male Reader)

My Boss Wants Me Like... Really Really Bad (Yandere CEO Jisoo X Male Reader)

Life Goes On, Unless When It Doesn't (Yandere Ahyeon X Male Reader)

My Chaebol Bully Is Crazy Over Me) Yandere Sohyun X Male Reader)

Not The Same. (Yandere Eunbi X Store Owner Y/n)

Her Fountain Of Youth (Yandere Taeyeon X Younger Male Reader)

[queenofallerdalehall]

MUST BE THE SEASON OF THE WITCH (ANOTHER FALL UPDATE VOL. 3)

October is here!! Halloween has officially begun! Spooky season is upon us again. The season of horror movies, demons, ghosts, ghouls and serial killers.  Our favorite season ;) 

So another Halloween Project, our third one, is in the works. Storyboards have been created, drafts have been filled, and songs have been selected.

In the upcoming weeks leading up to Halloween, we are gonna be posting our gifsets, edits, and videos. All of which are horror-themed and inspired by various horror films and scary stories. From the first week of October until Halloween, we will be posting 2 videos a week on our channel TheViolentDelightsProductions . As some of you know our original channel got taken down by youtube recently and we are working on rebuilding it. So we are very excited to be posting more stuff and we hope that you will check them out and like what you see. And in the meantime, we will be posting edits and gifsets over here on our blog @violentdelightsproductions

Finally, consider this update a blanket content warning. Most of the upcoming works include graphic themes such as horror, blood, violence, murder or attempted murder, flashing lights, death, bodily harm, self harm, guns, knives, strong language, suggestive or mild sexual content ( but not sexual violence),flashing lights etc.

Hope all of you gals and ghouls have an amazing spooky season and hope to see all of you around as we celebrate the best time of the year. 

Stay tuned. More spooks to come soon~~

 -A

[violentdelightsproductions]

(Teen) Dean Winchester x (Teen) Ellie Spencer - In Search Of Darkness (80s Horror Movie AU)

"Growing up it was nice to check out A.S.D every once in a while. I like to watch movies where I know the bad guy's gonna lose"

Halloween is here and it's the perfect time for scary movies. But what's better than watching a scary movie? Being in one of course! All it takes is a simple spell. A cursed object. A machete wielding serial killer. A dream demon.

Unfortunately Horror films have their own set of rules and playing by them is crucial for one's survival:

Rule #1: Never have sex

Rule #2: Never drink or do drugs

Rule #3: Never ever say, “I’ll be right back”

But! Rules are meant to be broken (or at least bent). It's not like anything stays dead for long around here.

Time to Slice and Dice

Find our new Halloween videos and edits here! Our Halloween edits throughout the years!