#she’s part of a psychological horror story

[dovesick]

the seamstress

[the-blossica-fan]

Hear me out on this one okay? I'm having a big brain moment

Apocalypse AU in which Jessica is infected but is conscious and is in love with Blonney

Jessica was once Blonney's friend back in the day, watching, reading and writing horror stories together, but since Blonney's parents had to go, Blonney gave Jessica her beloved diary and then left Green Lake. Despite it being years since the last time they saw each other, Jessica could never forget about Blonney.

Now, during the apocalypse, Jessica had been infected rather quickly, but her consciousness stayed put. A non human in a lookout for her beloved friend.

Blonney came back to Green Lake because she claimed it would be safer since it's secluded and the town didn't have many inhabitants as far as she remembers.

Unfortunately, Jessica would be there waiting for Blonney.

[infiniteglitterfall]

know someone who enjoys horror stories? share this one! it's true!

hahahahahahahahahaha aarrggghhhhhhhhhh 3,000,000 deaths due to COVID-19 last year. Globally. Three million. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. The reason people are still worried about COVID is because it has a way of quietly fucking up your body. And the risk is cumulative.

I'm going to say that again: the risk is cumulative.

It's not just that a lot of people get bad long-term effects from it. One in seven or so? Enough that it's kind of the Russian Roulette of diseases. It's also that the more times you get it, the higher that risk becomes. Like if each time you survived Russian Roulette, the empty chamber was removed from the gun entirely. The worst part is that, psychologically, we have the absolute opposite reaction. If we survive something with no ill effects, we assume it's pretty safe. It is really, really hard to override that sense of, "Ok, well, I got it and now I probably have a lot of immunity and also it wasn't that bad." It is not a respiratory disease. Airborne, yes. Respiratory disease, no: not a cold, not a flu, not RSV.

Like measles (or maybe chickenpox?), it starts with respiratory symptoms. And then it moves to other parts of your body. It seems to target the lungs, the digestive system, the heart, and the brain the most.

It also hits the immune system really hard - a lot of people are suddenly more susceptible to completely unrelated viruses. People get brain fog, migraines, forget things they used to know.

(I really, really hate that it can cross the blood-brain barrier. NOTHING SHOULD EVER CROSS THE BLOOD-BRAIN BARRIER IT IS THERE FOR A REASON.) Anecdotal examples of this shit are horrifying. I've seen people talk about coworkers who've had COVID five or more times, and now their work... just often doesn't make sense? They send emails that say things like, "Sorry, I didn't mean Los Angeles, I meant Los Angeles."

Or they insist they've never heard of some project that they were actually in charge of a year or two before.

Or their work is just kind of falling apart, and they don't seem to be aware of it.

People talk about how they don't want to get the person in trouble, so their team just works around it. Or they describe neighbors and relatives who had COVID repeatedly, were nearly hospitalized, talked about how incredibly sick they felt at the time... and now swear they've only had it once and it wasn't bad, they barely even noticed it.

(As someone who lived with severe dissociation for most of my life, this is a genuinely terrifying idea to me. I've already spent my whole life being like, "but what if I told them that already? but what if I did do that? what if that did happen to me and I just don't remember?") One of its known effects in the brain is to increase impulsivity and risk-taking, which is real fucking convenient honestly. What a fantastic fucking mutation. So happy for it on that one. Yes, please make it seem less important to wear a mask and get vaccinated. I'm not screaming internally at all now.

I saw a tweet from someone last year whose family hadn't had COVID yet, who were still masking in public, including school.

She said that her son was no kind of an athlete. Solidly bottom middle of the pack in gym.

And suddenly, this year, he was absolutely blowing past all the other kids who had to run the mile. He wasn't running any faster. His times weren't fantastic or anything. It's just that the rest of the kids were worse than him now. For some reason. I think about that a lot. (Like my incredibly active six-year-old getting a cold, and suddenly developing post-viral asthma that looked like pneumonia.

He went back to school the day before yesterday, after being home for a month and using preventative inhalers for almost week.

He told me that it was GREAT - except that he couldn't run as much at recess, because he immediately got really tired. Like how I went outside with him to do some yard work and felt like my body couldn't figure out how to increase breathing and heart rate.

I wasn't physically out of breath, but I felt like I was out of breath. That COVID feeling people describe, of "I'm not getting enough air." Except that I didn't have that problem when I had COVID.) Some people don't observe any long (or medium) term side effects after they have it.

But researchers have found viral reservoirs of COVID-19 in everyone they've studied who had it.

It just seems to hang out, dormant, for... well, longer than we've had an opportunity to observe it, so far.

(I definitely watched that literal horror movie. I think that's an entire genre. The alien dormant under ice in the Arctic.)

(oh hey I don't like that either!!!!!!!!!) All of which is to explain why we should still care about avoiding it, and how it manages to still cause excess deaths. Measuring excess deaths has been a standard tool in public health for a long time.

We know how many people usually die from all different causes, every year. So we can tell if, for example, deaths from heart disease have gone way up in the past three years, and look for reasons. Those are excess deaths: deaths that, four years ago, would not have happened. During the pandemic, excess death rates have been a really important tool. For all sorts of reasons. Like, sometimes people die from COVID without ever getting tested, and the official cause is listed as something else because nobody knows they had COVID. But also, people are dying from cardiovascular illness much younger now.

People are having strokes and heart attacks younger, and more often, than they did before the pandemic started. COVID causes a lot of problems. And some of those problems kill people. And some of them make it easier for other things to kill us. Lung damage from COVID leading to lungs collapsing, or to pneumonia, or to a pulmonary embolism, for example. The Economist built a machine-learning model with a 95% confidence interval that gauges excess death statistics around the world, to tell them what the true toll of the ongoing COVID pandemic has been so far.

Total excess deaths globally in 2023: Three million.

3,000,000.

Official COVID-19 deaths globally so far: Seven million. 7,000,000. Total excess deaths during COVID so far: Thirty-five point two million. 35,200,000.

Five times as many.

That's bad. I don't like that at all. I'm glad last year was less than a tenth of that. I'm not particularly confident about that continuing, though, because last year we started a period of really high COVID transmission. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. Here's their data, and charts you can play with, and links to detailed information on how they did all of this:

Here's a non-paywalled link to it:

https://archive.vn/2024.01.26-012536/https://www.economist.com/graphic-detail/coronavirus-excess-deaths-estimates

Oh: here's a link to where you can buy comfy, effective N95 masks in all sizes:

Those ones are about a buck each after shipping - about $30 for a box of 30. They also have sample packs for a dollar, so you can try a couple of different sizes and styles.

You can wear an N95 mask for about 40 total hours before the effectiveness really drops, so that's like a dollar for a week of wear.

They're also family-owned and have cat-shaped masks and I really love them. These ones are cuter and in a much wider range of colors, prints, and styles, but they're also more expensive; they range from $1.80 to $3 for a mask. ($18-$30 for a box of ten.)

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Short Stories:

Always Watching, Done Waiting

Yandere Stalker x Terrified Fem Reader

TW: paranoia, psychological horror, STALKING, horror, yandere themes, unhealthy behavior that should never be romanticized, Your STALKER is not attractive

“Hush, little baby, don't say a word, Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird.” (Your name) wept into her knees when that haunting melody began to echo throughout her home. No doubt from the same radio it had played from countless times before late in the night…

The young woman trembled in the confines of her closet while heavy foot steps echoed down her hall. If she kept herself as small a possible, would (your name) be able to avoid being caught by this psycho?

For months she had been harassed by a mysterious man… a man who would not take no as an answer.

At first it was innocent! It was small bouquets of cheap flowers, the kinds that one could buy at a grocery store for under ten dollars. Then it was boxes of her favorite candies. Simple gifts that once brought her joy since she’s never really received such flattering attention… but then it quickly began to snowball into a darker matter. This was no simple puppy love, this was an obsession.

Notes made from magazine clippings for each letters so he couldn’t be recognized through his handwriting, dozens of intimate pictures of her placed in envelopes, and body parts of the local cats she fed all had littered her doorstep over the last two months. Each ‘present’ inspired dread within (your name).

Then began the break ins, the holes in her walls and ceilings that could fit an eye in there to peep, the notes delivered to her job, the isolation from all of her friends and family, and the paranoia. There was not a single place that felt safe to her any longer… and the police wouldn’t help since her stalker had never done anything to harm her.

What on earth could he possibly want from her? Her first born? Maybe he wanted to harvest her organs and sell them on the black market? No… even someone as dense as a rock knew this stalker was utterly obsessed.

“And if that mockingbird don't sing, Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring.”

The nursery rhyme continued to echo down her hall as her pursuer continued to explore her home with agonizing slow steps. (Your name) had gotten rid of her spare key so how was he able to get in? Had he been staying here prior? God, she didn’t want to think about what this sicko was capable of.

Creak!

(Your name) silently scooted herself into the corner of her closet when she heard her bedroom door creak open. The young woman placed her hands over her mouth to prevent any noise from escaping despite the desire to scream. Hot tears fell down her cheeks, her body trembled like she was in below freezing temperatures. Oh god… she was about to die.

And that’s when the door was swung open to reveal a greasy man around her age. His dark hair greasy and his face covered in stubble and acne scars. (Your name) had seen this man before… he was the guy she gave a few sandwiches to last year! He was so drunk and lost, she felt bad for him… oh god. Was that small act of kindness her catalyst to her fate?

“My darling girlfriend!” The man bent down in front of her and set the radio beside him. His hands snatched hers up in a tight grip. He brought her knuckles up to his chapped lips to press kisses on them. “You’re so skittish… it’s just me!”

“W-who are you?” The man threw back his head and laughed before he gave her a small smile.

“It’s me, silly. Malachi? Your boyfriend of a year?” (Your name) remained as still as stone. A million thoughts ran through her head while this mad man continued to ramble. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to fetch you sooner but money has been tight.”

(Your name) was suddenly pulled into a hug, the young woman tried her best not to gag from the heavy scent of musk and cigarettes that permeated from Malachi. “It was hard to stop drinking, but you were worth it! You were always so kind to me with your pretty smile and your sandwiches… I wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for you!”

“W-what-“ (your name) nearly fainted when her eyes met his crazed blue ones. How could someone hold so much emotion in their eyes?

“I got my life together and I found a nice place for us… it’s perfect!” Malachi pressed his nose against hers. “It’s away from all of the weird men that harass you in the convenience store and away from all those nasty animals. It’ll be our little safe haven!”

(Your name) snapped out of her stupor when he said that. She had to get away… she needed to run!

The young woman tried to pull away from Malachi but his grip on her was stronger than an anacondas.

“I know it’s a really big step, but it’s been a year now! And I’m tired of waiting for us to take bigger steps! I know you liked my gifts! You never threw any of them away!” Because she needed evidence to give to the police! The same people who wouldn’t protect her…

(Your name) gulped when she felt Malachi press his hips into hers. Something large pressed against her that made her stomach drop. “I’ve been watching you for so long… and I’m done waiting.”

[kaces-graham-crackers]

Stirring the Quiet - Quiet Signals

Jenna Ortega x Female Reader

Summary: A week after poetry night, Jenna and Y/N grow closer, leading to a movie night. After a bit of trouble at the theater and a quiet late-night diner, Y/N is left wondering if there's more to their connection than just friendship.

Word Count: 889

The following week at The Daily Grind, I was caught up in my usual routine when Jenna strolled in, her presence immediately drawing my attention. She smiled warmly, and I tried to play it cool, returning her smile with only a slight flush creeping into my cheeks.

"Slick, got a minute to talk?" Jenna asked, casually leaning against the counter with an easy smile.

She glanced at the menu momentarily, then looked up at me with a mischievous glint. "You know what? I think I'll switch it up today. How's that caramel macchiato? Any good?"

I raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Going off script, huh? Yeah, it's a solid choice, one of my favorites, actually."

Jenna grinned. "Then I'll take your word for it. Caramel macchiato, please."

As I made her drink, I couldn't help but tease, "Didn't take you for the adventurous type when it comes to coffee."

She shrugged, leaning against the counter. "Hey, you gotta keep life interesting, right? Plus, you make it sound like it's worth the risk."

I chuckled as I finished up, handing her the cup. "No pressure, but I might judge you based on whether you like it."

Jenna took a sip, her eyes lighting up immediately. "Okay, not bad, Slick. You might just know what you're talking about."

I smirked. "Told you. My recommendations are gold."

She laughed, and before I knew it, we found ourselves in a quiet corner of the café, conversation flowing as easily as ever.

"Read anything good lately?" Jenna asked, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of her cup.

I grinned, glad she asked. "Yeah, actually. I just finished House of Leaves. Have you read it?"

Jenna's eyes widened, her interest clearly piqued. "House of Leaves? Oh man, that book is a trip. It's one of those stories that just... stick with you. What did you think?"

I leaned forward a little, warming to the topic. "It's honestly one of the most unsettling things I've ever read. The house keeps shifting like it's alive, and the endless hallways that shouldn't exist... It's like a labyrinth that traps your mind as much as the characters."

Jenna nodded eagerly, her voice dropping slightly. "And the way it's written, with all the different footnotes and stories within stories... it feels like you're falling down the rabbit hole along with the characters."

"Exactly!" I said, feeling the excitement rise in my chest. "It's not just the story; it's how the book is physically laid out. The text starts spiraling or shrinking, and you feel claustrophobic like the walls are closing in on you."

Jenna smiled, clearly impressed. "It plays with your sense of reality. You're constantly questioning what's real and what's not. It's like the book becomes this haunted object you're holding."

I chuckled. "Yeah, I had to put it down a couple times just to clear my head. It really messes with you in a way no other book does."

Jenna's gaze was thoughtful as she sipped her drink. "I think the scariest part is that the horror isn't always in your face. It's subtle, creeping in through the cracks. That whole idea of a house being bigger on the inside than the outside? That freaked me out more than any monster ever could."

I nodded. "Right? It's the idea that something's not quite right, but you can't put your finger on it. That lingering sense of unease stays with you, even after you've finished reading."

Jenna leaned back in her chair, a smile playing on her lips. "You know, not a lot of people appreciate horror like that. It's all about tension and atmosphere, not just the jump scares."

I laughed softly. "Yeah, it's rare to find someone who gets that."

She tilted her head slightly. "Guess we're both a little obsessed with that eerie, psychological side of things, huh?"

"Looks like it," I replied, smiling. "We've got good taste."

Jenna smiled and nodded, taking another sip of her coffee.

"You know, speaking of that kind of slow-building tension, there's this movie I've been meaning to check out. The Hollow Reflection is coming out soon—it's kind of a psychological thriller. I've been dying to see it," I said, absentmindedly stirring my drink.

Jenna raised an eyebrow, leaning forward a little. "The Hollow Reflection, huh? What's it about?"

I shrugged, trying to remember the trailer I'd seen. "It's one of those films where you can't tell if the main character is losing their mind or if there's really something haunting them. A lot of creeping dread, weird symbolism, and by the end, you're just as confused and terrified as the characters."

Jenna's eyes lit up. "That sounds like my kind of movie. I love films that mess with your head like that. Maybe I'll tag along if you're going."

I blinked, caught off guard by her suggestion. "Wait, are you serious?"

She smirked, setting her cup down on the table. "Yeah, I've been meaning to see other actors' acting methods in horror movies. Seems like the perfect excuse."

I hesitated, still trying to wrap my head around that Jenna wanted to hang out with me outside the café. "Are you sure? I mean, wouldn't it be weird for you to go with—"

Jenna cut me off with a laugh, shaking her head. "Y/N, relax. I'm just a person who likes horror movies, too. Besides, it could be fun."

I nodded slowly, a grin tugging at my lips. "Yeah, okay. That actually sounds like a lot of fun."

We sat there for a moment, the weight of the conversation hanging in the air. It wasn't a date. It was just a casual hangout. Although there were implications, that this could be something more made my stomach flip.

Jenna stood to leave as she grabbed her bag from the back of her chair. She gave me a playful wave. "See you soon, Slick. And don't forget about that movie."

I watched her walk out of the café, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nerves swirling inside me. There was something in the air—something new. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but I knew one thing: I was looking forward to that movie night.

A few days passed, and the anticipation of movie night made me jittery. Whenever I thought about it, I had to shake the thought from my head to stay focused. It wasn't just the movie—I couldn't stop replaying our conversation in the café, Jenna's smile, her playful teasing. There was something... different about it.

On the night of the movie, I was already at the theater, standing in front of the giant neon sign that flickered "Now Showing. The Hollow Reflection." My hands were stuffed in my hoodie pockets as I shifted on my feet, nerves buzzing like live wires under my skin.

I rechecked my phone, my thumb hovering over the screen. It was just a movie. Not a big deal. Not a date. But then again…

"Hey, Slick."

Her voice cut through my anxious thoughts, and I spun around, spotting Jenna walking toward me. She looked effortlessly cool in a leather jacket and ripped jeans.

I smiled, feeling some of the tension drain from my body. "Woah! You're on time. Impressive."I smirked, lightly elbowing her arm.

She rolled her eyes, smirking as she came to stand beside me. "I'm punctual when I wanna be. Ready for some mind-bending horror?"

"Born ready," I replied, my voice coming out steadier than I felt inside.

Luckily, this theater was unpopular, so few people were there. We made our way into the theater, grabbed our tickets, grabbed some snacks, and found our seats toward the back, right in the middle of the row. The theater was dimly lit, the smell of popcorn filling the air. The excitement from the other moviegoers hummed softly around us. I couldn't shake the feeling that this night was more significant than it seemed.

As the trailers played, I found myself glancing at Jenna from the corner of my eye. She was focused on the screen, but there was this subtle energy between us as if we knew something had hung in the air.

Then the movie started.

The slow-building dread and tense atmosphere immediately set the tone. The psychological twists began creeping in early, and before I knew it, I was fully immersed in the story. Jenna leaned forward, completely engrossed. Occasionally, she'd make a small comment under her breath or give me a quick glance when a particularly creepy moment happened. I couldn't help but grin.

About halfway through, the movie hit a particularly intense scene—the main character was trapped in an abandoned building, the lights flickering ominously. The tension was almost unbearable, and I could feel Jenna tense beside me. I could hear her breath hitch as something moved in the shadows on the screen, the sound design making it even creepier.

The cool night air wrapped around us as Jenna and I stepped out of the theater. It should have been a peaceful moment, but I noticed a group of three guys hanging near the concession stand, their eyes lingering a little too long on Jenna.

One of them, a guy in a worn leather jacket, smirked as we passed. "Hey, isn't that Jenna Ortega?" he said to his buddies. He took a few steps forward, grinning at her. "You should come hang out with us."

Jenna gave a polite smile, clearly used to this kind of attention, "Hey, Thank you for the offer, but I'm exhausted, and I need to get home to get some rest." she continued walking. I could sense the shift in her posture, though—she was uncomfortable. I stuck closer to her side, hoping the guy would take the hint.

But, of course, he didn't. "Come on, don't be like that!" he called after us, voice rising as he moved closer. "We're just trying to be friendly."

Jenna's smile faded, and I could feel her tensing up beside me. The other two guys chuckled behind him, watching the whole scene like it was a show.

That's when I stepped between Jenna and the guy, blocking his path. "She's not interested," I said firmly. "Leave her alone."

Surprised for a second, the guy stopped before his expression turned sour. "What's your problem?" he snapped, glaring down at me. "We're just talking to her."

"No," I said, standing my ground. "You're bothering her. Back off."

Before things could escalate, one of the theater staff came over, noticing the commotion. "Hey, is there a problem here?" he asked, his voice calm but authoritative.

The leather Jacket guy sneered but didn't say anything. The theater employee stepped forward, pulling out his phone. "If you don't leave now, I'll call the police."

The guy looked like he wanted to say something, but after a tense moment, he scoffed and turned to his friends. "Whatever, man. Let's get out of here."

As the three of them walked off, grumbling, the employee nodded at me. "You two okay?"

I nodded, feeling the adrenaline still rushing through me. "Yeah, we're fine. Thanks for stepping in."

Jenna touched my arm gently, her voice soft. "You didn't have to do that."

I turned to her, my heart still racing. "Yeah, I did. I'm not going to let anyone treat you like that."

Jenna smiled, a warmth in her eyes. "Thanks, Y/N. I mean it."

As we exited the theater, I noticed two familiar figures waiting by the exit—Jenna's bodyguards. They straightened up when they saw us approach.

"Hey, Jenna," Greg, the shorter and more talkative one, greeted her with a nod. "Everything okay?"

Jenna smiled at them. "Yeah, all good. We had a great time until some jerks bothered us on the way out, but Y/N stepped in."

Will, the taller and more serious one, frowned slightly, his gaze flicking between Jenna and me. "What happened?"

I was about to brush it off, but Jenna jumped in. "Some guys trying to hit on me. Y/N got in between the leader following me and the theater staff taking care of the rest."

Greg grinned, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Slick here playing the hero, huh? Nice work."

I felt my ears heat up, trying to laugh it off. 'Aw man, even her guards are catching on,' I thought.

Jenna smiled and turned to me, clearly amused by the whole situation. "I told Will and Greg to stay outside tonight. I wanted a normal night out. But I guess I could've at least let Will trail us."

Will's brow furrowed, looking mildly frustrated. "Next time, just send us a text or call if something like this happens again."

Jenna shrugged. "Agreed. But no need to worry now; it's in the past, and Y/N had my back."

Greg gave me a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Thanks for the Backup, Y/N; we appreciate it."

I shrugged, trying to downplay it. "It's the sensible thing to do. I don't tolerate bullies or jerks of any caliber."

Will's expression softened slightly, and he gave me a nod. "Good to know. Thanks for stepping in."

As we walked toward the street, Jenna turned to me, her eyes bright with excitement. "Hey, do you want to grab a quick bite? There's this diner I love that is not too far from here. It's called "The Velvet Spoon."

I blinked, a bit surprised by the suggestion. "Uh, yeah, sure. I didn't realize you were still hungry."

She laughed, "Well, the popcorn didn't exactly fill me up. Plus, you've gotta check out this spot. Best secret diner in L.A."

"Secret, huh? I could go for a bite. I'll just catch the bus—"

Jenna cut me off, shaking her head. "You're not taking the bus. I've got my car. I'll give you a ride."

I paused for a moment. "I don't live far, and honestly, I didn't want to lose my parking spot at my apartment. Parking's a nightmare over there."

Jenna smiled knowingly. "I get it. City parking is its own level of hell. But don't worry, I'll drop you off later. You just have to see this place. It's worth it."

I didn't argue further. I wouldn't turn down a ride in Jenna Ortega's car. I followed her toward the parking lot; her sleek black car awaited us. The guards, Will and Greg, were already by the vehicle, giving us space but keeping an eye out. I climbed into the passenger seat, the car's leather interior far fancier than anything I was used to.

Jenna started the engine, the car purring to life as we pulled out of the lot. She shot me a quick smile. "So, have you at least heard of the name anywhere on the internet?"

"Nope, I don't think I've ever heard a place like that before."

"Good. People are doing well keeping the secret, then." Jenna explained. "It's got this super diverse menu, something for everyone. Breakfast all day, burgers, vegan stuff—whatever you're in the mood for."

"Sounds like heaven," I said, already imagining the food. "How'd you find it?"

"I used to come here all the time when I was younger, especially after shoots. The staff is super friendly, and the vibe is chill, despite who you might see there."

I raised an eyebrow, curious. "Who might I see?"

She grinned but didn't give any more details, leaving me hanging. We made small talk during the drive—about the movie, the rude guys from earlier, and Jenna's favorite spots in the city. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and I found myself laughing and chatting easily with her.

Before long, we pulled up to the diner. The neon sign flickered above, casting a warm glow over the front of the building. It looked like a fancy, retro-style joint from the outside, where you might expect to see velvet ropes and a waiting list.

"Wow," I said, glancing up at the sign. "This place looks… fancy. Am I underdressed?"

Jenna laughed, waving off my concern. "Don't worry. It just looks fancy on the outside. Inside, it's got this old-school, 60s diner vibe. You'll love it."

I stepped out of the car, Will and Greg already holding the door open. Jenna thanked them with a nod, and they hung back by the entrance as we walked inside. As soon as we stepped through the door, I was hit by the warm, nostalgic feeling of an old-timey diner. The red leather booths, checkered floors, and neon signs on the walls made the place look like it had stayed the same since the 60s. It was like stepping into a time capsule.

"Whoa," I whispered to myself. "This place is seriously retro."

Jenna smiled, clearly amused by my reaction. "Told you it's got charm."

As we walked toward our booth, my eyes darted around the room. Then, it hit me. The people sitting at the booths weren't just regular diners. They were celebrities—faces I recognized immediately. A-listers. My jaw almost dropped when I spotted actors like Zendaya, Timothée Chalamet, and even Florence Pugh casually eating at tables like this. It must have been their regular hangout spot.

I leaned over to Jenna, whispering, "Um, are those…?"

Jenna smirked. "Yep. Welcome to Hollywood's secret diner."

I tried to play it cool, but inside, I was freaking out. I was used to being around celebrities, but not all at once! Seeing all these big shot stars in this diner made me envious, 'I wish they were in The Daily Grind in these sorts of numbers.' The fact that Jenna was also one of them suddenly felt surreal.

We slid into a booth, and I tried to focus on the menu. Jenna laughed softly at my reaction but didn't make a big deal out of it, which I appreciated. Instead, we dove into a conversation. Jenna grinned as she flipped open the menu, her eyes lighting up as she pointed to a section near the top. "Okay, first things first—you have to try the pancakes here. They're ridiculously fluffy. I swear, they could probably double as pillows."

I chuckled, glancing at the menu. "Pancakes? At night? What a rebel, Ms. Ortega."

"Trust me," Jenna said, nodding enthusiastically. "This place has breakfast all day, and the pancakes are like a secret weapon. I always get them with their maple butter syrup. It's life-changing."

I skimmed over the menu, intrigued. "Maple butter syrup, huh? That sounds… dangerous."

"It is, but in the best way," she replied, leaning back in her seat. "They also have this burger that's a mix between a classic diner burger and something you'd get at a gourmet spot. It's called the 'Hollywood Hustler,' and it's got this bacon jam that I could eat by the spoonful."

I laughed, shaking my head. "Okay, gourmet pancakes and burgers. This place already sounds like it's on another level."

Jenna flipped to another menu page and pointed to a dessert section. "But honestly, if you're still hungry after that, the milkshakes are killer. They've got these over-the-top flavors, like peanut butter and strawberry cheesecake. And everything here is just… comforting. It's why I love this place."

I raised an eyebrow, glancing around the diner. "It definitely has that vibe, like one of those hidden gems you wouldn't expect."

Jenna nodded, a soft smile on her face. "Yeah, it's been around forever. It started as this little hole-in-the-wall joint in the 60s, just serving basic diner food. But over the years, it became a hotspot for actors and musicians who wanted a spot to hang out."

I looked around at the nostalgic décor, the retro booths, and the neon lights. "Makes sense. It feels like a time capsule."

"It really is," Jenna agreed. "They've kept the same décor since day one. I like it because it's not pretentious or flashy—it's just good food, good vibes, and no pressure. Even though some of the biggest names in Hollywood come through here, it still feels like a little secret hideaway."

I scanned the menu again, impressed by the variety. "Okay, I think I'm sold. But the real question is, do I go for pancakes or that burger?"

Jenna smirked, leaning in as if sharing a secret. "Why not both? Pancakes for the soul, burger for the stomach."

I laughed, feeling entirely at ease in the moment. "I think I like the way you think."

Jenna's eyes sparkled. "It's all about balance, Slick. You'll thank me later."

As Jenna continued to enthusiastically point out more items on the menu—everything from her favorite fries with truffle aioli to a buttermilk chicken sandwich that, according to her, "hits different"—I couldn't help but notice how blissfully happy she seemed. It was like watching a kid in a candy store, her eyes wide with excitement, the soft hum of the diner's retro vibe only amplifying the joy radiating from her. Every time she mentioned a dish, it was as if she were sharing a personal victory, proud and delighted just to be here.

I glanced over the menu, nodding along to what Jenna was saying, but my attention drifted. There was something magnetic about seeing her like this; she was so carefree and genuinely excited. I wasn't sure why, but it caught me off guard in the best way. Her enthusiasm felt contagious, making me want to experience this place through her eyes. She wasn't the famous Jenna Ortega here—she was just Jenna, enjoying a quiet night out, sharing one of her favorite spots with someone she trusted.

The buzz of the diner's ambiance faded into the background for a moment. My thoughts swirled as I watched her, caught up in her energy. It was rare to see someone so genuinely excited about the little things, and I found myself smiling, almost lost in the simplicity of the moment. How could someone who lived in the whirlwind of Hollywood seem so grounded, so at peace in a place like this?

Suddenly, I realized I had zoned out. Jenna's voice broke through the fog of my thoughts.

"Y/N? Earth to Y/N?" She was smiling, her head tilted slightly. "What's up? You spaced out for a second there."

I blinked, sitting up straighter, feeling my cheeks flush. "Oh, sorry. I was just… admiring your childlike enthusiasm about this place."

Jenna raised an eyebrow, her smile softening into something more curious. "Really? I thought you were getting bored with my diner ramblings."

I shook my head, feeling a little shy about being so honest. "No, it's not that at all. It's just that you're so excited about being here. It's kind of refreshing to see. You're like a kid in a candy store, Jenna."

She laughed softly, her eyes brightening even more. "I just love sharing things like this. I guess when you're used to so much… I don't know… noise, finding a place like this is grounding. It reminds me of when things were simpler, you know?"

I nodded, feeling the truth in her words. "Yeah, I get that."

Jenna smiled, reaching for her water glass, and I couldn't help but admire how at ease she seemed. "I'm glad you're here, Y/N. I wanted to share this with you."

Her words hit me in a way I hadn't expected. I felt a warmth in my chest, which made me feel like this might not be just a casual dinner with a friend. There was something more to this moment, something more to Jenna's need to share this part of her world with me.

"Me too," I replied quietly, and for a moment, we just smiled at each other across the table.

The waiter arrived to take our orders, and after some back and forth, I settled on Jenna's recommendation: pancakes with that famous maple butter syrup and a side of truffle fries. Jenna ordered her usual, which was the Hollywood Hustler burger with truffle aloi fries.

Once the waiter left, I leaned back in the booth, stealing another glance at her. She seemed so light, so free, sitting here under the soft diner lights, tapping her fingers against the table to the beat of the music playing in the background.

As the night went on, we fell into our usual easy conversation—laughing, teasing, and sharing stories—but it felt slightly different tonight. Maybe it was the nostalgia of the diner, or maybe it was Jenna's openness, but there was something about this place, this moment, that made everything feel… closer.

As Jenna pulled up in front of my apartment, the soft hum of the car's engine slowly faded. I unbuckled my seatbelt, still buzzing from the diner, from Jenna's energy and how effortlessly the night had unraveled into something unexpectedly perfect.

"Thanks again, Jenna, for tonight. It was… it was nice." I turned to her, meaning every word.

Jenna smiled, reaching over to give me a hug. "Of course, Slick. I needed this as much as you did."

I opened the car door, stepping onto the sidewalk, and just as Jenna was about to say something, she froze, her eyes widening.

"Oh. My. God!"

I whipped my head toward the building, alarmed. "What? What's wrong?"

Jenna pointed toward my apartment window with all the enthusiasm of a fan girl. "It's him!"

I followed her gaze, only to see Mr. Noodles perched on the windowsill, his paw pressed against the glass as he meowed. His tiny mouth moved in exaggerated yowls, clearly demanding attention.

"Mr. Noodles?" I raised an eyebrow, unsure whether to laugh or be concerned.

Jenna, however, had no such hesitation. "It's him, Y/N! Oh my god, I'm obsessed." She practically squealed, already making hand gestures, the usual pspsps sound that usually beckoned any cat.

I burst out laughing, my earlier calm completely thrown off. "You're fangirling… over my cat?"

"He's a star!" Jenna exclaimed, leaning across the seat. "Look at him! He's confidently taking center stage." She turned to me with wide, pleading eyes. "Can I meet him? Please?"

I couldn't help but chuckle, shaking my head in disbelief. "Okay, okay, sure. Come on up, but only if you're comfortable. It's just Mr. Noodles, though, not some celebrity cat."

Jenna grinned. "Please, Y/N. I'd love to meet the gentleman who's stolen my heart tonight."

We both laughed as we walked up to my apartment. I opened the door, and Mr. Noodles wasted no time, strutting over like he owned the place, 'which he did in all fairness,' immediately rubbing up against Jenna's legs.

"Oh my god, he's even cuter in person," Jenna cooed, crouching down to pet him. Mr. Noodles practically melted under her touch, sprawled out on the floor, purring like an engine. "You, sir, are a charmer." Jenna cooed.

An hour passed as we sat on the couch. Jenna had settled in, legs folded, Mr. Noodles curled up against her. I launched into a story about one of the celebrity bodyguards who frequented The Daily Grind. This particular bodyguard worked for a famous actor who was a regular at the café, and he was known for being extremely over-the-top when it came to protecting his client.

"So, this guy is like six feet tall, built like a tank," I started, setting the scene. "One day, a group of tourists sat nearby, trying to get pictures of his client. You could tell they were trying to be sneaky but were about as subtle as a neon sign."

Jenna leaned in, already smiling in anticipation. "Oh no, what happened?"

I chuckled. "Well, the bodyguard noticed, of course, and instead of just asking them to stop, he walks over, grabs a tiny spoon from their clients' cappuccinos, and holds it up to his ear like a phone. Then, in the deepest, most serious voice ever, he goes, 'Yeah, hello, police? I have a Code Flash Photo here. Unauthorized photos in progress.'"

Jenna's eyes widened as she burst into laughter, covering her mouth. "No way! Did they stop?"

"Oh, they panicked," I continued, laughing with her. "The tourists practically threw their phones back into their bags and bolted out of the café. Meanwhile, the actor didn't even notice anything was happening."

Jenna shook her head, grinning. "That's too funny!" I need to hire that guy just for the entertainment."

Before we could dive into another story, though, a loud voice interrupted the moment.

"Ken! You won't believe what kind of party we were just at!"

I froze, immediately recognizing the familiar voices of my brothers. Marcus and Caleb ran into the living room, out of breath from running.

"Please tell me it wasn't another one of Marcus's weird gym parties," I muttered.

Caleb, always a bit quieter and the more reserved of the two, smiled sheepishly. "Actually, it wasn't anything wild this time. It was a Sweet 16 party for one of our college buddies' daughters."

Marcus, ever the instigator, grinned and leaned on the doorframe. "Yeah, can you believe that? The guy's a serious family man now, but he was a party legend back in the day."

I raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Wait, so you two went to a Sweet 16? No wild parties this time?"

Caleb shook his head, laughing softly. "Nope, nothing wild. We stuck with our friends from college, and now most of them are family men. We didn't party hard; it was pretty tame. There were a lot of kids, and we mostly hung out by the snacks."

Marcus chimed in with a smirk. "Yup, no wild parties for us anymore. We're practically saints now."

Jenna smiled playfully, glancing between the two of them. "Saints, huh? I'll have to take your word for it… for now."

But before I could steer the conversation away from whatever embarrassing stories my brothers were about to unleash, Marcus clapped his hands together, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Hey, wait a minute! You're the Jenna Ortega! Y/N has been gushing over."

My heart basically dropped and crashed into a million pieces. "Don't you have something better to do!?" I yelled, throwing a pillow in their direction. Caleb chimed, "Y/N, why didn't you tell us we were having guests. We need to introduce ourselves."

I groaned inwardly as Marcus stepped forward, practically bowing as he introduced himself. "Marcus L/N, professional gym rat and Ken's favorite brother."

Caleb followed suit, though his introduction was more reserved. "Caleb, L/N. I'm the Quieter brother."

Jenna smiled warmly at them, but I knew that was just the beginning.

Marcus, never one to miss an opportunity, crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at me. "So, Y/N, did you tell Jenna how prone you are to spilling things on yourself when we were kids?"

Jenna's eyes sparkled as she turned to me, clearly intrigued. "Oh, really?"

"Marcus…" I warned, but it was too late.

"Yup! She'd knock over everything. Once, she spilled an entire Liter of soda all over herself at a family reunion. We thought she would slip and fall, but instead, she just stood there like a drenched statue."

Jenna, laughing so hard she had to hold her sides, added, "Oh, this is perfect. She spilled sugar all over herself when we first met."

Both my brothers stared at me in mock surprise. "Ken! You never told us that part of the story!" Caleb teased.

Mr. Noodles wasn't assisting in comforting me, as he was lapping up all the attention from Jenna away from me. At the same time, I was relentlessly being embarrassed by Marcus and Caleb. 'True to their word, they were gonna embarrass me. I'll have to repay them somehow.'  

It wasn't until 2:40 a.m. that I noticed Jenna yawning, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. She looked at me apologetically. "I'm sorry. I had such a great night, but I think it's time I head home before I fall asleep on your couch."

I nodded, then scolded my brothers with a playful glare.  "Okay, okay, enough roasting me. Leave the girl alone already. She needs to sleep."

Jenna laughed softly and whispered yelled. Don't worry; I'll see you guys again soon. I'm sure there are plenty more embarrassing stories to hear."

My brothers waved her off with mischievous grins as she stood up, stretching. "We'll hold you to that!" I blinked, still processing her words. She's coming back? My mind raced with the idea of a "next time," but before I could dwell on it, Jenna bent down to scratch Mr. Noodles' chin.

"Thanks for letting me spoil you with all my attention tonight, Mr. Noodles," she cooed, her voice soft as she petted him. He responded with a loud purr, rubbing his head against her hand before trotting back toward the living room where my brothers were still lounging.

"Traitor," I muttered under my breath, but I couldn't help but smile.

As Jenna's guards opened the car doors, she turned back to me, a soft smile on her lips. Before leaving, she stepped forward, pulling me into a warm hug. It wasn't just a friendly hug; it lingered, her arms wrapped around me with a closeness that made my heart skip a beat. I hugged her back, trying to keep my cool, but my pulse was racing. 'Damn, my heart. Hopefully, she can't feel it beating out my chest.'

"You know, Y/N, I had a really great time tonight. You're... different. And I mean that in a good way." 

Her words made my heart stutter, and before I could even think of a response, Jenna gave me a lingering glance—one that told me she wasn't just talking about our friendship. It was the kind of look that left you standing frozen, wondering if everything you've been feeling was suddenly becoming real.

"I'll see you soon, Slick," she said softly, her voice carrying a warmth that sent shivers down my spine. She gave me a small, meaningful smile before finally stepping back and climbing into the car.

I stood there, replaying her words and the hug over and over in my mind as the car began to drive off. My thoughts were racing, her look, her tone, and the way she said "different"—it all hit me at once like a wave.

As I watched the car disappear around the corner, I felt like I'd been hit by a truck, my heart pounding against my chest. Tonight was unexpected… The way she spoke, the way she hugged me, and the way she looked at me—it was more than just a fun night out.

Jenna was interested. Really interested.

And as I walked back inside, the realization hit me. This was the start of something more than I ever expected.

[toxicanonymity]

The cold, cold night. Left in Lincoln, part 3

6.9k | dark!dad's best friend!Joel x virgin f!Reader

story master list / joel miller master list

You slid under the quilt face-down, half on top of him, not waiting for him to make room. You kissed his cheek and he smiled with his eyes. His hair was messier, and you liked it that way, but when you touched it he bristled, then raked his hand through to straighten it. "I love it," you said. He sighed with a twinkle in his eye. "Well, if she loves it."

WARNINGS: I8+ mdni, slow-burn horror w/ disturbing (implicit) content, big girthy age gap, "plot," angst, pining, toxic fluff, gaslighting, manipulation, pressure, fingering, oral F receiving, unsettling P in V sex dream, use of pet names and praise, trapped animal. Very TOXIC, dark Joel (psychological dead dove do not eat). Too long but didn't feel I could break it up. Smut may have edging properties sry just wrote what felt natural.

You tucked yourself into bed and admired the special apple blossom from Joel's orchard. You slowly rolled the little stem between your fingers, feeling guilty for making Joel walk home alone. He was so patient with you. So understanding. All he wanted was to be close to you. You hoped he wouldn’t get the wrong idea. You wanted to be close to him, too. You weren’t sure what was holding you back.

You put the flower on your nightstand and stared at the spot on your ceiling, trying to feel Joel’s arms around you. Soon, you were thinking about his stiff cock against you, between your legs. You ran your hands down your sides and thought about his hands guiding you up and down. You could hear the echo of him talking you through your orgasm. You touched yourself but didn’t get there. You wondered if he could teach you. But more than anything, you wanted to feel him against you, then inside you. Maybe you could have, if you hadn’t sent him home. You drifted off feeling guilty and regretful.

-

You dreamed of Joel. You were back on top of him, straddling him with your arms around his neck. You moved yourself up and down, gliding slickly and firmly against his shaft, doing it all on your own this time. You were grinding against his hard cock, his hands resting on your back. But something felt off. His face was clean-shaven and vacant. Void not only of enjoyment, but of recognition. He was in a trance, looking through you. He didn't speak at all.

You dragged yourself up his shaft one more time, and his cock stayed upright as you claimed the head. His eyes watered, but he remained perfectly still. You sank down on him, sliding easily into his lap. It didn't hurt. You felt nothing but full of him, filled to the brim, and it felt so right. He didn't blink. You pushed yourself up and started riding him. He finally looked at you, just as a clatter shook you awake in real life.

Your heart pounded in your ears. You got up and went straight to the window. Finally, the stillness in the air was gone, replaced by a howling wind. The clatter was most likely nothing sinister. Anything could have been bowled over by the wind. Regardless, you looked forward to putting your mind at ease the next day by looking at the surveillance footage with Abe. You left the curtain open a little to avoid pitch black darkness.

You needed to sleep. This was becoming unsustainable. You couldn’t have every noise jolting you awake, making you look over your shoulder. This fierce independence, it was a valiant effort. Bill would be proud, but you were tired of torturing yourself. You considered asking Joel to stay over in the future. You told yourself next time, you'd at least let him tuck you in. But something still held you back. You could feel it, even as you told yourself you should do it.

-

You slowly blinked awake when light poured in between your curtains. The apple blossom on your nightstand was wilted and discolored, the edges dark, but you couldn’t bear to throw it away. You wished you had put it in water. It was the most special flower in the world and you just let it shrivel. If you let Joel tuck you in, he would've taken good care of it.

By the time you got dressed, It was almost afternoon. The wind brought with it a cold front. You put on jeans, a flannel shirt, boots, and a jacket to do some chores and groundskeeping. You stayed close to the house so you wouldn’t miss Abe when he came. You tended the garden, evaluating what you could harvest before protecting it from the cold. The cold brought other challenges, too. You were nervous about using the heater for the first time on your own.

You looked up at your bedroom window, curious how much someone could see from outside if you were to open your curtains all the way. As you were looking, you heard a similar sound to the rustling you heard at night. With a slight echo, yet somehow quieter. You tried to sense where the noise was coming from and spotted a vent on the back of the house, close to the ground.

You stood up and brushed the dirt off your knees as you slowly walked toward the house. The closer you got, the louder the sound. You crouched down and looked at the vent. The noise subsided. You laid down on your belly and inspected the metal, trying to look through the slits, but you couldn’t see anything. You would have to get a screwdriver if you really wanted to look.

You got back up on your knees and sat there listening for a minute, fingering the cool, metal flaps of the vent. You planted one foot on the ground to stand up, then the vent shook violently with an echoing crash. Your heart jumped and you instinctively hit back at the vent. The loud metal bang from your hand further startled you. Your heart raced. When you looked at the ground, there was a small, black feather. You went to the basement to get a screwdriver, but the door was locked. You darted inside but couldn’t find the key.

There had to be another screwdriver somewhere. Knowing Bill, the house was probably full of them, but you knew of one other place for sure. Since the noise had been tormenting you, the task felt urgent. So you went to the place you were sure of - a small, wooden storage shed next to the meat curing one. The shed was about the size of a small bedroom and there was something about it you didn’t like. Notably, one time you got a face full of spiderwebs.

It’s a vivid memory: You screamed and thrashed, even tore your shirt off over your head. Frank came running outside in a panic. You asked him to hose you down but instead he got you to calm down long enough for him to get all the webbing off. Then he held you still with his hands on your shoulders and told you to breathe. He took a big breath in with you then let it out. He said, “we’re gonna get through this, honey,” and he couldn’t finish the sentence without laughing. Once you could breathe again, you laughed too. All three of you referred to it as The Spider Shed after that.

The Spider Shed still wasn’t a happy place, despite the warm memory. Your palms were sweating as you got closer, and you wiped them on your flannel shirt. The door wasn’t all the way shut. There was a trick to shutting it and it came undone easily. It was on Bill’s list to fix. No spiderwebs in sight today, from the outside at least.

You were only a foot away from the shed when a big gust of wind made the door flap and creak. You took a deep breath, trying to slow your heart rate. Then you grabbed the metal handle and opened the door. Your breath hitched when you saw what looked like a thick cobweb. Once your eyes focused, you could see it was just a net trap. Fortunately, the tool box was right there, so you didn’t have to look around, much less go inside. You opened the box and got a screwdriver and flashlight. You pressed the button on the flashlight and it didn't work. You smacked the bottom and it flickered.

You went back to the vent, but the sound was gone. You unscrewed the corners of the metal plate anyway and carefully took it off. There were more feathers and a couple of sunflower seeds, but no sign of the bird. You weren’t sure what the vent was for, or how long you could leave the cover off, but you left it open while you finished the garden work, keeping an eye on any critters to make sure they wouldn’t meet the same fate. You were relieved to know the source of the sound.

–

You decided to make a little snack for you and Abe. Having company was so rare, and you wanted to show your appreciation. You sliced up some vegetables and homemade bread. You got out two glasses for drinks. It was too early for wine in your understanding.

You looked in the cooler and you were out of apple juice but there was still some cider left. The fact that it was from Joel made you want to taste it, but you weren’t clear on how strong it was. When you unscrewed the lid, it smelled weird which gave you your answer. No thank you. Maybe if Joel was there - you couldn't imagine you would have tried the whiskey without him.

Thinking about the apples made you feel warm and fuzzy for Joel. Thinking about the whiskey made you yearn for his touch. You badly wanted to go over there and make apple juice together, but you didn't want to miss Abe when he came by, so you stayed home. But as the day went on, there was still no sign of Abe. Even as it became late enough for wine.

-

You finally thought to turn on your radio. You turned it to Abe's station, and Call Me by Blondie was playing. It was on one of your favorite tapes. Frank always called it the gigolo song, which made you laugh. But your warm memory was soon overtaken by dread when you remembered the radio code. Eighties meant trouble. Someone might have breached the perimeter. You weren't sure which would be worse - Infected or people. Bill always said desperate people were more dangerous than anything, but Infected terrified you.

Next on the radio, the same song played again. Unsure if you forgot how long the song was, you brushed it off. But when it began to play a third time, your stomach turned. You opened the tape deck to make sure it was in fact the radio playing. The tape deck was empty. It was the radio, and there was no telling how many times the song had played before you turned it on. Twenty seconds into the fourth time you heard it, the music slowed down. Low and distorted, “Color me youuurr colloorrrrrr baaaaabyyyyy,” and your arms erupted in goosebumps. Then it abruptly cut off and there was silence. Just static. The hair on the back of your neck stood up.

You adjusted the antenna. Nothing. You checked the Boston QZ station to make sure there wasn't something wrong with your radio. You heard The Doors loud and clear. Then you put it back to Abe's channel and left it there. As haunting as the static was, it was your only way to find out what was going on - Unless you wanted to go out in the cold, dark night.

You wished Joel was with you. He would protect you. If Joel knew of any trouble, he would have come over immediately to make sure you were okay. So either he didn't know, or he couldn’t come. Your chest ached at the thought that something bad might have happened to him. You prayed he was okay.

-

You were tempted to walk to Joel’s house, but you tried to channel Bill. Bill’s voice in your head said you were already in the safest place possible, and you should stay put and arm yourself. The guns were in the basement, which was locked from both doors, inside and outside. You tried picking the outside lock first since the sun was going down. The air was chilly and your fingers were getting numb. You didn’t have any luck, but you remembered to put the vent back on. While you were on your knees doing it, you noticed a rock near the basement door. The key was underneath.

Once you got the door open, the basement was completely dark. None of the surveillance computers were on. Your heart went to your throat. Even though you hadn't checked the monitors, knowing they were there had given you comfort. You were convinced that the noises were harmless, but you were looking forward to seeing proof when Abe came by.

You turned on the light and looked at the wall of firearms. You got two guns, a long one and a short one, and brought the basement key with you.

-

You stayed inside listening to the dead leaves rustling loudly in the wind over the quiet static of the radio. And then finally, music. Cream, Sunshine of Your Love. You finally exhaled. Whatever trouble there was had been resolved, according to the radio code. And yet, it didn't resolve your nerves. You couldn't get the haunting, twisted version of Call Me out of your head. It drowned out the song you liked.

You got hungry and realized you hadn’t eaten. For a late dinner, you ate the snack you made for you and Abe. You hadn't seen any sign of trouble yet. You considered going to the basement and trying to fix all the surveillance, but the worst case scenario would be if a dangerous stranger ended up in there with you with a wall full of guns. So you kept it locked and stayed on the sofa, thinking about Joel. Worrying about Joel. Wishing Joel was there, until you calmed down enough to get sleepy.

You must have dozed off, because the sound of a vehicle jolted you awake. When you registered what sounded like Abe’s truck, you somewhat relaxed in relief, but by the time you reached the window, you couldn’t see it. At least he was okay. You went upstairs to bed and took the pistol with you. Tomorrow, in the daylight, you would walk to Joel’s house and find out what happened.

You were afraid of the dark that night and left your curtain cracked open despite the cold. You put the pistol on your nightstand and laid in your bed. Within minutes, the sounds started again. The flapping. The rustling. You let it fade into the background and focused on the sounds of the wind. The sound of dead leaves dancing around outside got louder and a chill fell over you. You got an extra quilt out from under your bed and bundled up, but it wasn’t just the weather. It was also the coldness of being without Joel. It was so cozy having his arms around you, you could hardly fathom how warm you��d be with him inside you. Your loins heated up at the thought of it.

-

You fell asleep, and it didn’t feel like you were asleep for long before you suddenly awoke. Your eyes adjusted to find a dark silhouette in the corner of your room. You nearly choked on your gasp, then sat up and grabbed the gun. You tried to steady your hands, hoping your eyes were deceiving you. You didn't aim it yet, hoping it was a shadow from outside.

"It's me, peaches." Joel cautiously stepped into the moonlight. He had his hands in a low surrender position, but was surprisingly calm. "You okay?” He looked at you concerned. “Can ya put that down for me?"

Your hand shook as you put the pistol back on your nightstand.

"Joel?”

"It's okay, baby. You're safe."

“What is going on?" Your heart raced, but you were glad Joel was there.

"Heard a car. Woke me up. Looked outside, saw someone walkin' over here." He stepped closer and put his hands down.

A pit formed in your stomach. He sat down on your bed and stroked the arm of your flannel pajamas.

"Came to check on ya.” He hesitated. “Don’t wanna scare ya, but your back door was open, darlin',” he said regretfully.

Your eyes hurt and all the skin on your head tightened. No wonder it got so chilly. You hoped he wouldn't notice what became of the apple blossom.

"Cleared the house. Had to see you were okay." You imagined him checking on you then being unable to pull himself away, so protective that he needed to quietly watch you all night.

"Thank you," you whispered, then told him, "The surveillance is down. Abe never came."

"Yeah," Joel whispered. "I dunno what’s goin’ on, but I can't leave you here alone, okay?"

You nodded. He took off his jacket, and you scooted over to make room for him, but he didn’t settle in. The rustling noise returned. Joel listened to it and studied your face. You didn't react, except to say “I think it’s a bird.”

“Hmm," he nodded thoughtfully. "Prolly so then, darlin’.” He squeezed your knee. He sat with you for a moment in silence, rubbing your arm comfortingly. “Goin’ downstairs, okay?" His voice was soft and reassuring. "So I can stop any trouble.”

“Don’t leave me,” you whispered.

He looked at you affectionately and his hand cupped your face.

"Please stay," you begged.

He looked conflicted. “Okay, baby. Just 'til you fall asleep.” He brought his feet up on the bed - his boots were already off. He settled in next to you. He stayed on top of the bedding but got under the top quilt when you offered it. He leaned on his side and put one forearm above your head on your pillow, draping his other arm over you. He smelled like clean laundry, and his hair was a little damp. “You okay?” he said in a smooth, near-whisper. “Bet that was scary.” He was so close to your ear, you could feel the wind and vibration of his voice and it gave you a chill of arousal.

“I’m okay now, yeah.”

"Soon as you fall asleep, I'm goin' down, k?" Joel’s head came closer to yours and you could smell notes of whiskey under his aftershave. He looked at you with concern. “I’ll be right downstairs.”

“Yeah.”

He pressed his lips to your forehead, then you looked at each other for a moment, and you lifted your head slightly off the pillow.

“Shhh,” he said, brow furled, and slid his hand under your head. You let your head down into his hand and watched his face soften. "You're safe, baby. I'm here."

His eyes closed as he put his forehead against yours. His nose brushed yours, then his lips pressed into yours and you pressed back. It sent a warm rush through your body, and you wanted more. He broke the kiss to look at you and his thumb brushed your temple. He kissed you again, tenderly on the top lip, then on the bottom, then pressed his lips into both of yours at an angle. His lips lingered there and parted, gently pulling at your mouth, not breaching it. He pulled away then planted one last, delicate kiss. “Night, peaches.”

He rested his head on the flannel of his bicep. You closed your eyes, but it took time to fall asleep. You slowed your breathing, and when you were almost asleep, Joel carefully got off the bed.

-

When you woke up, the house was warmer. Joel must have turned the heat on for you. You went downstairs and he was on the sofa. The poor guy stayed up all night keeping you safe. You sat on the edge of the couch and he stretched with a groan.

"Mornin', peaches." He set his hand on your lap.

In the light, you could see your flannel pants and button-up were similar to his shirt.

"Mornin'." You planned to ask him all about the night before, but once he was in front of you, you just wanted to be close to him. You could always ask him later over breakfast.

You slid under the quilt and laid face-down, half on top of him, not waiting for him to make room. You kissed his cheek and he smiled with his eyes. His hair was messier, and you liked it that way, but when you touched it he bristled, then raked his hand through to straighten it.

"I love it," you said.

He sighed with a twinkle in his eye, "well if she loves it," and stopped messing with it.

You smiled at him. He looked at you and his eyes darkened warmly. Then you felt a shape harden in his jeans and his hips lifted slightly. He hummed “Mmm,” as he looked at your mouth and brushed your elbow with his thumb.

"C'mere, gorgeous," he whispered and gave you a kiss, sending a rush through your body. He pulled back to look at you and he looked so tired. Your heart swelled at the thought of him staying up all night to protect you. Your desire swelled at the feeling of his arousal against you.

"You must be tired. Come take a nap with me," you urged. "It's warmer upstairs."

-

You got back on your bed and Joel stood at the foot of it, scanning your room. It was his first time there in the daylight. You could faintly see the thick silhouette of his dick in his jeans and you couldn’t take your eyes off it as he took off his jacket. He watched you watch him and his eyes darkened more. The mattress groaned under the weight of his knees. As he stretched out next to you, he sighed as if his bones ached, then laid his massive hand on your waist.

He looked from your eyes to your mouth and back then murmured lowly, "Nap really all you want?"

Your face burned as he watched your eyes expectantly. "Just wanna be with you," you answered quietly.

His deep voice became nearly a whisper. "Love hearin' that, baby."

He got closer with a sigh then pulled you up against him. With both of you on your sides, he tenderly pressed his lips into yours, then the kiss heated up. His hand traveled down from your waist, over your ass, to your hamstring, and you found your knee hooking over his hip, bringing your loins closer. He sucked your soft lips, then parted them with his tongue and sucked your mouth.

For several minutes, you held him tight with his arms over yours and your faces joined together. You felt so much better in his arms, under his hands, between his lips. You felt safe and cared for. He softly moaned as he kissed you and his arousal swelled against you. He slipped his hand under your flannel top and lightly brushed your lower back which was beading with tiny droplets of sweat.

“You warm?” he whispered. His cheeks were pink and his lips were flushed.

“Yeah,” you answered.

Joel backed up enough to access your clothes. He slowly unbuttoned your top, planting a kiss on your mouth between each button, the hungry look in his eyes not matching his slow and patient pace. Then, with all the buttons unfastened, he gently hung the side you weren't lying on behind your back and the collar fell off your shoulder but the sleeve stayed on. He inhaled sharply at the sight of your breasts.

“My lands,” he murmured, hypnotized by your body. Then he looked back up to your eyes and said, “You’re so pretty I can hardly take it, darlin’.”

He pulled you tight against him and kissed you hard, inhaling deeply through his nose. Then he rolled toward you and his chest against yours turned you on your back. As he kissed you, he worked one of his knees between your thighs and you opened them. He kneeled between your legs and lowered his hips, pressing his jeans against your flannel clad crotch. You sighed at the swell of his hardness and he moaned “Mmm,” then tore his lips away from yours.

He kissed your cheek, then your chin, and your neck, where he paused to suck and lick. He made his way down to your shoulder, where he nudged your pajama top the rest of the way off. You took your arms out of the sleeves obediently, leaving the sleep shirt lying under you. He kissed between your breasts where there was a fine dew of humidity, and looked up at you as he dragged his lips down to your belly button, where he stopped to plant a long, open mouth kiss. His fingers hooked into your flannel waistband. You squirmed uncomfortably, which he expected.

“Baby, you’re perfect. I’ve seen you," he said. "So perfect. . . Like a beautiful blossom.” He pleaded softly with desperate eyes, "just trust me."

“Okay,” you whispered.

-

He slowly lowered your waistband, and you lifted your hips for him to take it under your butt. As soon as your hair was exposed, he laid his cheek down on it and hugged you with his hands against your ass cheeks, fingers pressing hungrily into your flesh, breathing deeply. He gently kissed the crease where your thigh met your pelvis, then lightly dragged his tongue along the other crease. He buried his mouth in your mound, inhaling and moaning softly. Then he dragged his lips down and his mouth engulfed your clit, gently prodding it with his tongue. It felt so good, but you still couldn’t quite relax. You were too self-conscious.

"You don't have to do that," you told him.

His voice was quiet and low. “Course I don’t, darlin’, if you don’t want me to.” He looked up at you from between your legs with big, sad eyes. “Doesn’t feel good?” He caressed one of your creases with his thumb. "Is it my beard? Shoulda shaved."

"No, it's fine," you said. He was so careful, his facial hair didn't bother you, and after your eerie dream, you didn't want to see him unshaven.

He hooked his thick digits into your waistband again, now midway down your thigh, and finished taking the pants off you. He sat between your naked legs fully clothed and rolled up his sleeves, forearms flexing. You were still tense. “It’s okay, baby. You can tell me what you want.”

His soothing voice made it spill right out of your mouth. What you'd been craving so bad. What you couldn't stop thinking about.

“I want you inside me.” Your face burned as soon as you said it. You looked down, unable to suck the words back into your mouth. Then you hesitantly looked back up at him.

His eyes were wide and his face relaxed in wonder, but he was quiet for a moment. Still and quiet.

“Baby, I’d like nothin’ more,” he murmured. And yet he was saying no, you could tell. Your tear ducts felt weak. “You’re not ready yet, peaches. We'll get there, I promise.” He acted like the two of you had all the time in the world.

"What do you mean I'm not ready?"

He twisted onto his side. "Well, you're still shy with me, darlin'. Haven't even touched it yet." He firmly cupped the hard shape in his jeans. "Gotta make sure you really want it." He wet his lips. His breaths grew heavier and his forearm flexed as he slowly rubbed himself a few times, watching your disappointment.

"Puttin' our bodies together like that. . .It's somethin' real special."

He rolled back onto his stomach and returned his head to hover between your legs but kept his eyes on your face. "Means givin' each other everything. And you gotta be sure, ‘cause you can't get it back." He rested his cheek on your inner thigh, caressing your outer thigh with his calloused hand. "If ya don't want me down here, you're not ready for it, peaches. You're not givin' me everything."

You were dejected and confused. Surely he had given himself to someone before, but he made it sound like it was his first time, too.

"Haven't you already. . . given yourself?"

"No, darlin'.” He shook his head. “Not even close. This is different."

"'Cause I've never done it?" Your eyes felt weaker and weaker.

"No. Different 'cause I love you, peaches."

Your waterline was overtaken by a tear, but not the one you expected. Joel pried his head away from your crotch and moved upward on your body to hover over you, resting his forearms to the sides of your torso.

He rested his chest and stomach on you, but not all his weight.

"Hey, it’s okay. I told you we'll get there."

"I'm not - I just - hearing you say that."

"That I love you?" He kissed a tear off your cheek.

You swallowed thickly. "Yeah."

“I think ya knew that, darlin’.” He planted a chaste kiss on your lips, then your cheek, swallowing another tear.

You wanted to say it back, but you didn’t want him to think you were just saying it because he said it.

"I don't know anything," you said. “I’m sorry.” You swallowed your shame, not meeting his eyes.

He looked concerned. “For what?”

“Not knowing how to love you.”

He allowed a moment of silence, reading your eyes, then said, "You’re doin’ perfect.” He kissed you again. "Just take your time, baby. And let me love you."

He lifted himself up, reached down between your legs, and dragged his thick middle finger through your slick. Then he slowly stroked you with two fingers and gently nestled your clit between them.

“Okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you whispered. Opening your legs to him felt like the least you could do.

“Good girl.”

-

He paused on his way back down your body. He cupped a breast. His eyes took you in as he gently manipulated your flesh then planted a kiss just below the nipple. He did the same with your other breast.

His mouth returned between your legs, planting a kiss on your clit while holding eye contact. "Feel good?"

Your eyes closed and you took a deep breath. You were still tense.

"Talk to me, baby. What feels good? You want my hand?"

He reached down to your ankle and used three fingers to languidly trace a line all the way up to your knee, then down your thigh. He gave your thigh a slow squeeze, then brought his fingers between your legs. He slid the side of his index finger along your dripping seam, then began to caress your entrance without breaching it. He inhaled deeply, then gathered your wetness with several fingers and circled your clit gently. "You want this?"

You couldn't make words.

When you didn't answer right way, he took his hand away and silently sucked his fingers, closing his eyes in pleasure. He looked to you again for an answer, but didn’t press you for one.

He brought head down again. “Or you want it like this,” he murmured. He french kissed the spot between your clit and entrance, and you sighed. That was what you wanted. He perked up at the sound of your sigh and looked up at you with his mouth still occupied. He was determined to learn how to please you.

“Feels really good, but you don't have to do that,” you repeated.

He lifted his head and frowned. "Why wouldn't I wanna make you feel good?"

"Isn't it kinda gross?"

"Baby. Nothin' gross about havin' my face in the most special place in the world."

"Really?"

"Nowhere I'd rather be, peaches."

"You're just saying that."

"Feels good for me, too. Real good. It's s'posed to."

"You don't mind?"

"I love it. Turns me on. It’s s’posed to, darlin’, and it does. You got nothin’ to be shy about."

"Doesn’t taste bad?”

“Baby, you’re my favorite taste in the world.” He buried his nose in your clit and fingered the curls on your mound.

“You're not just doing it to make me feel good?"

He paused, then softly answered, “No. But even if I was. Long as you felt good, I’d love it.” He reached to massage your breast with one hand “But it turns me on a whole lot, you'll see.”

He pulled his head back, the bottom of his face shiny and pink, then got up on his knees, his eyes locked with yours.

-

He wasn’t wearing a belt. Your breath hitched as he unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans so quickly in contrast to how slow he was doing everything else. He left the back of his flannel shirt tucked in as he took his stiff member out of his boxers. He held it in his hand only for a moment with his shirt out of the way so you could see. You had seen it before, but seeing it again, he sure was big. For a second you even felt foolish for wanting him inside you when he wouldn't fit. Still, a mere glimpse of it made you tingle wildly.

With how wet you were getting, you'd be even more embarrassed for him to put his head back down there. Unless it really was his favorite taste in the world.

He didn’t stroke himself, simply set his length outside his jeans, forming a tent under his flannel. “Lemme really taste you, baby, then you'll see.” He got back down on his elbows.

“Okay,” you said. By then, you were dying for his touch.

He put your legs over his shoulders and rested his hands on top of your thighs. He kissed your inner thigh again with his mouth closed, then planted a wetter kiss on the other one. He kissed his way closer and closer, dipping his tongue, pressing the flats of his teeth against your soft flesh. By the time he got there, you were dying for his mouth, no longer worried about what you tasted like.

First, he buried his nose in your little curls again, this time more desperately. He made his way down to your clit where the touch of his nose made you twitch and moan. He looked up at you from under the shadow of his brow and his eyes sparkled. He inhaled deeply through his nose, closed his eyes, then sighed from the bottom of his throat.

He pressed his mouth against your clit, then opened his lips. His tongue extended then lapped upward and dragged down. He did it a few more times and hummed “Mmm.” His brows tensed and his eyes wrinkled as he tasted you. His hands slid to your ass. He sucked and lapped with dedication, and it was unlike any feeling you could have imagined. It made you want to be filled so bad. Almost as soon as you thought it, he plunged his tongue into your tight, wet hole, pushing a moan out of you. He thrust it into you rhythmically, and his fingers dug into your flesh.

He came up for air and said, “Swear you got the sweetest nectar, baby. Can’t get enough.”

You believed him from the look on his face. Then he came to his knees again. He dragged a finger through your slick and held it up to your mouth. You wrapped your lips around his thick digits and it wasn't bad.

"Good girl."

He took his cock in his hand. It was even stiffer, more commanding than just moments before. It really did turn him on. The veins bulged. The tip throbbed angrier and weeped with precum. You were desperate for it. Salivating.

He murmured, “Believe me now?” as he brought his cock to your warmth. Your breath hitched and your whole core throbbed desperately. He dragged the head through your slick just enough to get himself wet. Your body tried to suck him in, but he wouldn't allow it. He sat back on his knees and stroked himself slowly. He was looking hungrily between your legs, then up at your face. He raised his eyebrows pleadingly for permission. He wanted more.

“I believe you.” you said. Your clit twitched.

-

His chest rose and fell with your go-ahead to continue. He didn’t hold back at all. He was ravenous, burying his nose and mouth between your legs, his tongue matting your hair as he licked and lapped and sucked.

One expansive hand held your hips down as the other occasionally stroked his cock. And then he held you with both hands, abandoning his own pleasure. You watched him, so handsome, hair falling out of place from where he haphazardly fixed it earlier. It's so sexy when he lets it go, like you’re the only thing in the world at that moment.

“Can you take your pants off?” You asked and he did it in a flash without a word, never taking his head away for more than a second. He kicked them onto the floor. It was so hot seeing him be messy. With both hands back on your body, his hips began to slowly grind into your mattress, a sight that made you even weaker as he devoured your beautiful blossom.

He traced your petals with long licks, gently dragging his lips, then sucked your clit, teasing it gently. He fucked you with his strong, slippery tongue again and you moaned at the feeling of being filled by anything. He sucked and swallowed as much as he could get, moaning, sighing. Your hips briefly lifted, and your body tensed as you felt yourself about to come. Joel felt it too. He groaned into your body, and the vibration of his deep voice made you weak.

He tried to meet your eyes, but you could barely keep them open. He wanted to talk you through it again, but didn't want to take his mouth away. You could tell. He was saying it with his eyes. That's it, baby, you're almost there. Stay with me. Come on, baby.

His hands found yours, interlacing your fingers. You held on tight. Then your hips rolled into his face and he moaned into your clit as you pinched your eyes shut and arched your back, letting pleasure seize you completely. His mouth went slack and rested against your convulsing warmth. He watched, captivated as you squeezed his hands and came.

"Good girl. Gorgeous." He squeezed your still-trembling thigh and got out from between your legs.

-

As you caught your breath, he came up next to you on the bed with a shiny face and held his aching member in his hand.

“I wanna touch it,” you said. “Can you show me how?”

“Get your hand wet for me,” he said softly between heavy breaths with a nod downward. You gathered your slick and reached your hand hesitantly toward him. “All yours, baby.” His chest rose and fell as he held it for you.

“Go ‘head,” he encouraged, giving you confidence. You wrapped your hand around his cock. It was so smooth and warm. You didn’t know what to do next. You froze.

“It’s okay, darlin’. Let’s do it like this.” His hand engulfed yours and moved it gently as he lifted his hips and fucked himself with your fist at a moderate pace.

“Love your hand, baby,” he managed between grunts. He was sweating with his flannel shirt still on. You marveled at the way the smooth skin of his shaft moved along the stiffness. You memorized the texture of it and the sound of him grunting.

It wasn’t long at all until agony spread across his face, then he groaned. He took his hand away and watched your face as his cock pulsed against your palm and his cum spilled into your fist. He sighed long and low.

"Good, darlin'. Real good." He pressed a kiss into your mouth then looked at his cum all over your hand. "Sit tight for me." He tucked himself away and went to the bathroom.

Meanwhile, you sniffed it. You got curious what it tasted like. You dipped the tip of your tongue into it just as he was returning with a warm washcloth and neater hair. His eyes widened when he saw you taste his cum.

He watched your face for a moment, then skeptically asked, "Like it?"

"Yeah," you nodded shyly. "'cause it's yours."

His face melted. "See, darlin'? You love me just fine."

-

As he gently nudged your legs back open with the washcloth, you asked “could you teach me how to touch myself better?”

He paused. “Better? You touch yourself now?”

“Yeah," you said hesitantly.

"That's natural, darlin'. Nothin' to be ashamed of. Just surprised, that's all."

"But I can't make myself, you know.” He paused what he was doing, and you regretted bringing it up.

“What're ya thinkin’ about?” He furrowed his brow and his face tensed as he slowly finished wiping your inner thighs.

When he was finished, you pulled your pajama pants back on “You know, what I said I wanted earlier.” You sighed and looked at the ceiling. "From you." You couldn't say it again.

His face softened. “That's good, baby. . . S'posed to turn ya on, thinkin' about that."

"But I don't come."

"I’ll make ya come anytime ya want, peaches.” There was a hint of cockiness tugging at one corner of his mouth. He tossed the washcloth to the laundry, then settled in next to you and slid his forearm under your pillow. "Any time." He admired your face affectionately. It still buzzed with heat. He looked you up and down and rested his massive hand low on your stomach.

“Thank you,” you said.

“Don’t thank me.” He pressed his lips to your forehead. "Love doin' it."

“For protecting me.”

“Course I do, peaches. You’re the most precious thing I ever had." He caressed your bare skin.

"Can't leave ya here alone today, baby. Gotta take ya home.”

You nodded.

-

Thank you so much for your engagement 🖤🖤🖤 I love you guys, and love hearing from you.

I have loved reading everyone's reactions! 💕 To let people read "unspoiled," won't be posting ALL theories, but you're still welcome to send them.

Thank you @dark-scape for conceptual beta / reassurance 😅

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[totalswag]

Hello lovely I love ur writing abt Drew & Reader actresse sweetheart it's so good <3 I have a little request to make to you if you don't mind, Drew react to the Reader acting in the horror film masterpiece (like the movies Suspiria and Climax vibes) of which she's a part of the main cast

I'm just curious if he would be terrified or blown away by this kind of role that she plays like this one or not ;) thank u !!!

unbelievable performance — DREW STARKEY

authors note aw thank you lovie! that means so much to me. by the time you are reading this, my second fic with drew x actress!reader is out (the first date). i have never seen either movies that you listed in your request but i did look them up to get a gist.

summary drew was impressed by your performance in your latest horror film.

warnings mentions of kissing, horror films

masterlist

Tonight marks the premiere of your new horror film, in which you star with some amazing actors. After many hours of continuous filming, sequences are officially wrapped. You're extremely proud of yourself and your casemates. 

You were the staring lead in the movie. Getting the part after auditioning was a blessing in disguise. This being your very first staring lead role in any movie you’ve been in, you were so proud of yourself.

Everyone is seated in the theater. Drew, your boyfriend, also came with you. The entire cast stood in front of the stage as your director discussed the film a bit.

You shifted your focus to Drew, who was already looking at you in admiration, which made you smile and making you blush.

When you stepped up to your seat, he leaned down to your ear and whispered, "I want you to know that I'm so proud of you, and I know you did an amazing job on this movie," before kissing the top of your head.

“I love you baby, so much” you answer with your voice already starting to crack before tears wanted to burst out.

“Me more.”

Drew was so excited to watch his beautiful girlfriend on the big screen. Non-stop talking about the movie with you and his predictions on what will happen.

Everyone in the theater began to applaud as soon as the lights went out. Drew's hand moved easily down your thigh and gave it a little squeeze. Your skin began to tingle from his touch.

The movie begins with a hauntingly beautiful dance routine in which the camera swirls around the dancers in a way that is both captivating and unnerving. Drew is instantly captivated. As the story progresses, he observes your character navigating a world fraught with psychological pain and supernatural fear.

Half way through the movie, it’s been jaw dropping and incredible.

He is always on the edge of his seat in every situation you are in. You capture the dread and lunacy of the film's twisted narrative with an unvarnished and honest performance.

He's afraid and enthralled with the story at the same time, amazed at your ability to portray such raw emotion. Never once did he take his eyes off the screen.

The way the movie came out was unbelievable. The editors did wonders on this movie and made it into something viewers will want to keep watching.

Once you two arrived home after eating dinner at the after party, Drew and you took a shower together in your shared bathroom, changed into pajamas, then went into bed with the tv playing.

Later that night, back at home, Drew can't stop talking about the movie.

"You know, watching you in that role allowed me to see a completely other side of you. You were fierce, vulnerable, and incredibly compelling. "It was like watching an acting masterclass."

You laugh quietly and rest your head on his shoulder. "It means a lot hearing you say that. I was concerned about how you would react."

"Are you kidding?" I loved it. "I'm just glad I wasn't watching it alone in the dark," he jokes.

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[krirebr]

We Are Vain & We Are Blind

Pairing: Dark!Ransom Drysdale x f!Reader

Word Count: ~9.7k

Summary: When you move back in with your parents after a broken engagement, a drunken dare to visit the scary house on the edge of town changes everything for you. Forever. Part of the Psycho Killer AU

Warnings: Please note, these warnings are broad to avoid spoilers. Proceed with caution. Horror, psychological horror (including but not limited to: general mind fuckery, memory loss, nightmares) noncon/dubcon, gore, death (see prompt), violence (mostly offscreen), explicit language, oral sex (f!receiving), me wildly picking and choosing from hundreds of years of {redacted} mythology, All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @saradika

Masterlist

A/N: This is my entry for @the-slumberparty All Hallow’s Tropes challenge. My tropes were The house from all the scary stories; Caught trespassing on private property; and A string of unexplained deaths. I had so much fun writing this one. Thanks so much for hosting Navy and Roo!

I tried out a lot of new things here. Horror! Smut! A ridiculous length! I’d really appreciate hearing what you think, so please drop a comment or reblog if you read it. Or come screech at me about this or anything else in my asks! Thank you for reading lovelies!

Driving through your hometown, you were surrounded by fall colors. It was comforting, in its own way. Just as the seasons changed, so could you. You liked the sound of that, of this being a good change. You needed it. You were ready for it.

You pulled off of the main street and drove the few short blocks to your parents' house, parking on the side of the road. The house was something that hadn’t changed, everything exactly as it always had been. Your eyes drifted to the neighbor’s house, a piece of police tape hanging off the front door. Your brow furrowed in concern. You hoped everything was alright.

You grabbed your duffle from the backseat, deciding that you could wait to bring in everything else. Your entire life fit into your small sedan. You tried not to let that make you sad. This was good. Change was good.

You let yourself in with the key you'd had since you were a child. “Mom? Dad? I’m here,” you called into the house. 

Your mom met you in the entryway with a big hug. “We’re so happy you’re here, honey.” She took a step back to look at you, concern all over your face. “I could kill Andy for what he did to you.”

You sighed, “I’m fine, Mom, really.”

“You didn’t deserve to be treated that way.”

“I know, Mom,” you said, softly, both touched by her concern and a little annoyed that she was making you talk about it. You shrugged, “It’s over now.” Trying to change the subject, you asked, “What happened next door?”

Her face fell, “Oh, our poor neighbor died. They found him in the alley behind the American Legion. There was a whole investigation, but the coroner finally concluded that it was anemia.”

“I didn’t know you could die of that,” you said. Wasn’t it fairly controllable?

“I guess you can,” she shrugged, “if it’s bad enough and goes untreated.”

“Oh. Well, he must have been really sick then.”

She shrugged again, “Not that I ever saw, but how much can you ever know about someone you just say hello to at the mailbox? He was a nice young man, though.” She gave you another scrutinizing look, then gently patted your cheek. “Andy never deserved you,” she said and then made her way back down the hall towards the kitchen. “Your dad’s in his den,” she called over her shoulder.

You put your duffle down next to the stairs that led up to the bedrooms and moved through the house to find your dad. You found him in his den, sitting on the worn leather couch they’d had your entire life, baseball on the TV. You sat down next to him and he put his arm around you in a half hug. “It’s nice to have you home, sweetheart,” he said, not taking his eyes off the game.

“Thanks, Dad,” you said, appreciating the distance he was allowing you. The past month had been so hard. All the concern in everyone’s eyes, since it had all blown up with Andy, had become really difficult to take. You were happy to just sit here and watch baseball with your dad in silence.

At the next commercial break, he asked, “We have you for the whole night, or are you already making plans?”

You smiled. “I’m getting drinks with Tineka and David after dinner.”

“That’ll be nice,” he said. “Make sure you say hi for us.”

You got to the bar a little late. Your mom hadn’t wanted to give you up so easily, even though you’d be living with them and working from their house for the foreseeable future. You’d been to this bar a few times before, the nights before Thanksgiving when you were home from college, and drinking legally was still so novel. But not in ages, maybe a decade. You made your way through the Saturday night crowd, searching for Tineka before you found her set up in a booth in the back with her husband David, and someone you hadn’t seen in a very long time.

Tineka climbed over David to tackle you with a hug. “Oh my god! It’s been so long. I can’t believe you’re here!”

You returned the hug a little harder than she probably expected. Longer, too. She pulled back and examined you carefully, concern in her eyes. You just shook your head and smiled. “I’m really happy to see you,” you said.

She beamed back at you and then gestured to the last person at the table. “Look who we ran into!”

“Robbie, hey,” you said with a little wave. Gosh, you hadn’t seen him since graduation. You’d been decent friends your senior year and had even gone to Prom together when neither of you had been able to get another date. You’d lost touch when you’d gone away to school, and he’d stayed home to learn the family business.

“We mentioned that we were on our way to see you, and he wanted to tag along!” Tineka enthused, raising her eyebrows at you significantly. You struggled not to roll your eyes at her; it had been the tiniest crush, and that was so many years ago.

“Welcome home,” he said, sliding over to let you onto the bench seat.

You poured yourself a beer from the pitcher on the table, and you all quickly got into all the customary ‘nice to see you again’ questions. Was it weird to be back in town? Did you miss Boston? Did you know this teacher had retired? Or that that store had closed?

The pitchers multiplied, and when you’d lost track of whose turn it was to cover the next one, Tineka leaned forward excitedly, “Oh, here’s some good town gossip! Someone’s moved into the old Thrombey house!”

“What??” you yelled, louder than you meant to. “No way! I don’t believe it.”

“Wait, what’s the Thrombey House?” David asked. He didn’t grow up here with you, only moving here after he and Tineka got engaged, and she decided this was where she wanted to raise a family.

“It’s this old, abandoned house on the edge of town,” she told him. “There used to be this big, rich family that lived there. This was back in, like, the 70s. It was this old, super-rich guy and all his kids and in-laws and everybody. One night, one of his kids–”

“Grandkid,” you interrupted. 

“Yeah, one of his grandkids, he just loses it and sets fire to the house, with everyone inside. They all die, and Hugh Drysdale, the grandkid, just disappears. No one ever sees him again.”

You nod seriously across from her. “And weird shit starts happening on the property. Like animal carcasses thrown onto what’s left of the porch. Or that psychic that went there when we were kids. She said all she felt was pain, and whatever spirits were there had a desperate warning, but she couldn’t get anything beyond that. And then our senior year, that freshman that disappeared around there. And no one’s ever been able to do anything with it. It just stands there, a burnt-out husk. There’s absolutely no way someone’s moved into it.”

Tineka was nodding furiously, but Robbie leaned forward and butted in. “Here’s what actually happened,” he told David. “There was an electrical fire. Everyone died, probably including Hugh.” Tineka took a breath, and Robbie put up his finger to stop her. “They never found his remains because he was burned to a crisp, and there wasn’t enough to identify.” He raised another finger, “It was abandoned long enough that animals moved in and left their prey lying around.” A third finger went up, “All these stupid stories and rumors have made it a beacon for the unwell and scam artists.” Another finger, “That kid disappeared because it’s where all you dumbasses would go to party, and he was drunk and wandered into the woods and got lost or fell or something.” He raised the last finger on his hand, “And whoever’s owned the property over the years probably doesn’t want to be responsible for the cost of demolition, so they’ve just done the bare minimum to keep the city off their backs.”

You turned to look at him, mildly annoyed, “I don’t remember you being this boring in high school.” He just rolled his eyes at you. “Whatever,” you said and turned back toward Tineka. “I still can’t believe someone’s moved in there. They’d have to gut the whole building!”

“All I know,” she said, slurring a bit, “is that someone’s been coming and going, and sometimes there’s a car parked there.”

“What? Have you been staking it out? Says who?”

“People!” she shouted, throwing her hands up in exasperation. Then her face lit up dangerously. “I know! We should go out there right now so I can prove it to you!”

You shook your head. “I walked here from my parents’ house, and I,” you placed both hands on the table to steady yourself, “definitely can’t drive.”

“Robbie can!” You could tell, now that Tineka had the idea in her head, she wasn’t going to let it go. “Right? Please, Robbie!” she whined. 

Robbie, who’d switched to water after his second beer, who knows how long ago, looked to David, who shrugged, and then to you. All you could do was grin at him and nod. You hadn’t done something stupid like this in such a long time. The feeling was a little thrilling.

“This is such a bad idea,” Robbie said. “It’s so dark out. You won’t be able to see anything anyway.” He looked around the table again and then slumped in defeat. “Fine,” he gritted. “Let’s go. I don’t want to be out there too long.”

Robbie pulled up to the entrance of the lane leading up to the old Thrombey house and parked the car. Tineka leaned forward from her place in the back seat and lightly slapped your arm. “Alright!” she said, “this is where you get out! Good luck.”

“Wait,” you turned to face her, “I’m going on my own?”

“Yup! That’s how dares work.”

“When did this become a dare?” you asked, starting to get an uneasy feeling in your gut. “What if I get shot for trespassing?!”

“I thought no one could possibly live there,” she taunted. 

You tried to look to David for help, but he’d fallen asleep next to his wife. Robbie just gave you a shrug. “Fine,” you said, somewhat angrily. “But if I’m not back in 10 minutes, you better come find my body.” You got out of the car, slammed the door closed, and started your walk down the path.

The lane was surrounded by dense trees, and it wasn’t long before you couldn’t see the car behind you. The wind had picked up, blowing leaves in front of you, and you wrapped your cardigan around you as tightly as you could. A few minutes later, the house appeared before you. 

The outside had remained mostly intact, but you knew that it was basically a husk now. Still, it was large and foreboding. Most of the glass in the windows was cracked, and ivy had overtaken much of the siding. As you got closer, you could see that there was, in fact, a vintage beamer tucked against the side of the house. Damn it, Tineka was right. You were about to admit your defeat and go back to your friends when the front door opened. You froze as a man carefully walked out onto the decaying porch.

You could have sworn that a moonbeam suddenly appeared where there wasn’t one before to light him directly. He was dressed in a sweater and slacks underneath a long camel overcoat with a colorful scarf. He looked right at you even though you were sure that the area you were in was too dark to be spotted. “This is private property. You’re trespassing,” he said. Something about his deep voice and insistent stare had you pinned to your spot.

“Um,” you said, trying to look away, but there was something about him that had you transfixed. “Uh, sorry, I just– um, I didn’t think anyone lived here. How– how do you live here?”

He didn’t say anything, just raised an eyebrow at you. Everything had gone completely quiet. In the moonlight, his skin glowed, looked so pale it was almost translucent, and you felt completely hypnotized. He might have been the most beautiful person you’d ever seen.

“Sorry,” you said again, or maybe just breathed it. “We were just– we were drunk and–” You didn’t know how to finish that sentence. Why were you here?

He looked you up and down. “Hmm,” he hummed. “Not tonight then.”

“What?” you asked, even though you were pretty sure he was talking to himself more than to you.

“Not tonight,” he repeated, grinning a little meanly. “I don’t have much of a taste for cheap booze.”

What a strange thing to say. It’s not like you were inviting him for a drink. What did he mean?

His focus shifted to somewhere behind you, and it was like you suddenly found yourself back on earth. The sounds of the forest filtered back in, and you didn’t feel held in place anymore. As you tried to adjust to the sudden onslaught of your senses, you slowly processed that you could hear Tineka calling for you, and the sounds of Robbie’s car quickly approaching.

“Better run, little rabbit,” the man said. “You don’t want to keep them waiting.”   

You turned around to see the car pull up, and Tineka hopped out without waiting for it to stop fully. “Holy shit, you scared the shit out of us! You didn’t come back! This was so dumb, I’m so sorry.”

You turned back to the house, to say what, you weren’t sure. But the man was gone. Maybe he’d never even been there? Maybe you were even drunker than you thought. “I’m not sure what happened,” you said, in a daze, as you let Tineka and Robbie herd you back into the car.

You were awoken the next morning by a knock on your bedroom door. Your mom let herself in without waiting for a response. She was carrying a large vase filled with roses so deep red, they were practically black. 

“What are those?” you mumbled, barely awake.

“How am I supposed to know?” she asked as she placed them on your dresser. “Someone left them for you.”

“Wha?” It was too early for this. You rolled over to look at the digital clock on the bedside table. Oh. It was 11 AM. Fuck. You didn’t think you’d had that much to drink the night before, but you felt incredibly hungover. This was drinking in your thirties, you guessed. “Is there a card?” You finally mustered the awareness to say. 

“Not that I saw.”

“Then how do you know they’re for me?”

She looked around theatrically. “Who else could they be for? Your father?”

You rolled your eyes. “Thanks for bringing them in, Mom. I’ll be down in a bit.”

She nodded and left. 

You got up and examined the bouquet. They were beautiful, but… dark. There was something about them that made you feel a little unsettled. The vase looked old. Vintage. Expensive. No card. No sign of where they came from. 

You opened your phone and pulled up the contact you’d made for Robbie the night before. You wrote out the text and hit send before you could think better of it.

Hey, weird question. And please know that I’m embarrassed to even ask it, especially if you say no, but. Did you send me flowers?

His response was immediate.

Nope, not me. Aren’t you popular

You cringed and tossed the phone on the bed to create some distance. You hadn’t even been back 24 hours yet. Who could they possibly be from?

Late that night, you were wandering through the grocery store aisles, making your way towards the freezer section. Your mom didn’t keep snacks in the house, and you’d had a sudden craving for ice cream. Just as you were coming up on your prey, someone stepped right in front of you and turned around to face you.

“Well, if it isn’t the little trespasser,” the man from the Thrombey house said. It was startling to see him in the middle of the grocery store. He seemed so out of place, wearing his same overcoat and scarf, which from this distance you could now see was silk. Everything about him seemed expensive, even his smirk, and here you were in yoga pants and a too-large sweatshirt. How did he even recognize you? It’d been so dark that night.

“Uh, yeah,” you said, somewhat bashfully, “sorry again.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, with a cold smirk that you were starting to think was just the permanent state of his face. “I kind of liked the novelty of it. It’s not very often that your kind comes right to me, instead of the other way around.”

What the fuck did that mean? Did he mean not wealthy people? Well, you weren’t the one living in a house that was about to fall down. This man was so strange. “Well, anyway,” you said, “I’ll let you get back to your evening.” You tried to step around him to get to the ice cream case, but he followed you there. 

“What’s your poison?” he asked. You grabbed a carton of Moose Tracks and showed him, before trying to walk away again. 

He kept pace with you. “What’s your name?” he asked.  He stepped in front of you again and looked you right in the eye. “C’mon, tell me your name.”

It fell past your lips without you ever making the conscious decision to tell him. He smiled. All of his smiles were a little mean. “You can call me Ransom,” he said. 

You’d arrived at the self-checkout. You were so ready to get out of there. “Well, okay, Ransom. It was nice meeting you, but I’m gonna check out now. And let you get back to your shopping.” You noticed for the first time that he didn’t have a cart or basket with him. And he wasn’t holding any items in his hands. He could have just gotten there, not started shopping yet, but something in your gut told you it wasn’t right. 

He paused at the opening of the aisle opposite you. “Yeah, I think I’ve found what I was looking for,” he winked, and then turned around and finally walked away.

You tried to suppress the shiver that coursed through you. There was something not right about him. It didn’t matter. He was gone. You paid for your ice cream and walked out the automatic doors–

You were sitting in your car. Something niggled at your brain. You couldn’t remember the walk through the parking lot. That was strange, but you were probably just on autopilot. Plus, you were tired. Exhausted, really. You hadn’t realized just how exhausted you were. There was a twinge in your neck. You tried to stretch it out but the skin pulled a little painfully. You looked at the clock. It was later than you realized. You needed to get home, eat this ice cream, and go to bed.

That night, you dreamt of a river of blood and you were drowning in it. You woke up choking on nothing.

In the morning, you still felt tired, but you could hear your parents moving around downstairs, so you got up and got dressed. You put on a T-shirt and jeans, a cardigan, and then found an old scarf that you looped around your neck a few times. 

When you got downstairs, your mom was scrambling eggs at the stove, while your dad read the paper at the kitchen table. He smiled and wished you a good morning, then nodded at your chest. “Is that your passive-aggressive way of telling me to turn the heat up?” He laughed at himself.

“Huh?” you asked and looked down. Oh. The scarf. Was it odd? Now that you thought about it, you weren’t even sure why you’d put it on. It had just felt… important. You didn’t know why. But you also couldn’t take it off. You curled in on yourself, a bit defensively. “I just liked it with this outfit.” 

Your mom came over to the table. “Leave her alone, you,” she said to your dad as she set a plate of breakfast in front of each of you. “I think it looks nice, honey,” she said to you as she sat down with her own plate. “Although, maybe a little warm. It’s cooling down, but it’s not winter yet.”

You fingered the fringe of the scarf self-consciously. “I just like it,” you said, quietly. It was just a scarf. You didn’t know why everyone cared so much.

Your dad was the one to finally change the subject. He shook out his paper as he asked you, “Didn't you go to school with Shannon McCready?”

“Uh, yeah,” you said around a bite of eggs, “She was a real bitch. What? She get arrested or something?” 

Your mom grumbled unhappily next to you about your language, but you barely even noticed because the next thing your dad said was “No, she died a few days ago.”

You couldn’t say what or why, but something inside of you reacted to that. A frisson of fear crawled up your spine. "What?"

"Mhmm, the obituary doesn't say exactly, but it seems like it was sudden."

"Does it say how?"

He shrugs, "Just says natural causes."

"Natural causes? She was thirty-two!" 

He shrugged again and went back to his paper. Your mom blithely ate her breakfast beside you. You couldn't explain why you were so unnerved by this, but something deep inside of you was screaming that it wasn't right. You took a deep breath and tried to ignore it. You barely even knew her. You needed to get logged into work. Focus on something else.

The workday was long and hard. Your exhaustion only built as the day went on and your mind was all over the place. But you finally made it to the end and triumphantly logged off.

You met Tineka for dinner, just the two of you, at a little place right off Main Street. After you’d gotten settled and your drinks had arrived, she’d looked at you carefully. “I didn’t want to bring it up the other night with David and Robbie there, but how are you doing with everything? Really?”

You sighed. “Uh,” you said, “better than I thought I’d be? I mean, everything feels kind of strange, because I was living this whole life, and I just don’t really have any of it anymore? I mean, I was living in Boston with Andy. We had an apartment, a community. We were gonna get married. And now none of those things are true anymore. None of that is mine. That’s strange. But, maybe not bad. I’m realizing that I was kind of unhappy there. More than kind of. But I couldn’t see it until I was outside of it. And, like, moving back in with my parents, it isn’t ideal, but it doesn’t feel bad right now. If feels OK. If that makes sense.”

Tineka nodded. “I think that makes a lot of sense. And for what it’s worth, Andy was a piece of shit and I’m glad you’re rid of him.” She reached forward, cocktail in hand, to clink your glasses together. All you could do was smile. You really had missed her.

Your seat faced the window, and as you chatted, you watched the sun set over the colorful trees outside. It really was pretty here. This wasn’t a bad place to spend the season. 

As you were finishing your entrees, you frowned when you saw Ransom walk in. He noticed you too, and, waving the hostess away, made a beeline for your table. 

“We just keep running into each other,” he said, once he got to you, that perma-smirk firmly in place. 

"It's a small town," you said, nervously. You couldn't explain why this man triggered your fight-or-flight instincts so terribly. You were being ridiculous. He hadn’t done anything. “Oh, uh, sorry. Ransom, this is my friend Tineka. Tineka, Ransom.” 

Tineka looked between the two of you, open curiosity on her face. “How do you know each other?” she asked.

 “New friends,” Ransom supplied. “We just can’t help bumping into each other.”

He didn’t seem to want to talk about where you’d met. That was his business, so you just nodded along.

He stood there for a moment, in a way that was too confident to be awkward, but still had you feeling a little uncomfortable. Tineka, bless her, had the social skills you just couldn’t pull together at that moment. “It’s packed tonight,” she said. “You’re welcome to sit down with us, although we’re probably leaving soon,” she gestured to your nearly empty plates.  

“Thank you,” he said, “I think I’ll take you up on that.” He winked at you as he took the empty chair next to you. Something about it, about him, made you have to look away, focusing on your plate.

“So,” Tineka started, and oh no, that was her casual interrogation tone, “are you from around here? This town is small enough that I’m always surprised when I don’t already know someone.”

Ransom chuckled. “Sort of. I used to have family here, but I haven’t been back in ages. Just in town to collect some things and then I’ll probably be on my way again.”

You could feel him looking at you. His attention was always so much.

“Well, that’s too bad,” Tineka said, giving you a sideways glance you knew meant trouble. “We’re only just getting to know you.”

He laughed. “Well, I’ll admit, I’ve found more here than I expected.” He stretched his arm out and briefly rested it against your chair back. His fingers brushed you between your shoulder blades and you couldn’t help the way you shivered. He dropped his arm back into his lap. When you turned to him, he was looking at Tineka, but you could feel his attention still on you. 

“You said your family’s no longer in the area?” Tineka kept probing.

“No, they all passed a while ago.”

“I’m sorry,” you said softly. 

“Don’t be,” he said. “It was no great loss, trust me.” There was a darkness in his eyes when he said that that had you swallowing nervously.

“I guess it’s the season for homecomings,” Tineka said, then pointed at you, “she just moved back too.”

He grinned knowingly at you. “Is that so?”

“Mhmm,” she said, pointedly. “Recovering from a shitty ex.”

“Tineka!” you hissed, but all she did was laugh. 

“Well,” he said, working his jaw, and you would swear it almost came out as a growl, “I bet he’ll live to regret that.” You couldn’t explain it, but at that moment, it felt like a threat. Which didn’t make any sense. He didn’t know Andy. He barely knew you. But the most disturbing thing was the little thrill that rushed through you at the thought. 

While you were having your mini-crisis, he stood up abruptly. “You know,” he said, “it really is busy in here. I’m probably better off getting dinner somewhere else. And I’ve intruded on girls’ night enough.” He then looked right at you and said, “I’ll be seeing you.” That, too, felt like a threat.

As he left, Tineka looked at you excitedly. “He’s hot!” she said, too loudly considering he hadn’t actually exited the restaurant yet. You hissed at her, but she batted it away. “And he’s clearly into you. Seems like the perfect opportunity to fuck Andy out of your system.”

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed and looked to the front to make sure he’d left. “You don’t think there’s something kind of unsettling about him?” 

“What do you mean?”

You paused to figure out how to put it into words. “I don’t know, sometimes, just the way he looks at me, I get this chill down my spine.”

She laughed, delightedly. “Yeah, that’s called ‘he wants to fuck you!’ Seriously, this is good. Great, even!”

“I don’t know,” you said. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going on that you just didn’t understand. 

She sobered and looked at you seriously. “Listen, you deserve this. After all that shit Andy put you through – the women. It’s time for you to get yours. I don’t care if it’s Ransom, or Robbie, or whoever, but you deserve this.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s definitely not going to be Robbie.” You couldn’t even imagine that.

“Ok, fine!” she said, throwing her hands up. “Then it should be Ransom!”

You laughed. “Ok, Tineka. Sure.”

A little while later, you left the restaurant together. On the sidewalk, Tineka asked, “Did you walk here?” You nodded. “Do you want a ride home?”

You shook your head. “No, it’s not far. I’m good.”

“Are you sure? It’s just so dark.”

“Unless this town really changed while I was gone, I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine. Thanks, but I want to walk.”

“Ok,” she said, but she seemed hesitant. 

You rolled your eyes and she backed down. “Hey,” you said, pulling her into a hug. “This was really fun. I love you.”

“Love you too,” she said and pulled away, starting to head back to her car. “Think about what I said about Ransom!” she threw over her shoulder.

You laughed and started walking in the opposite direction, back to your parents' house. 

A few blocks later, when you were off the main street, you stopped when you heard a noise behind you–

You were half a block further down now. You looked around, confused. What just happened? How– The pain in your neck was back. It was on the other side now, and worse. You were so tired. A little dizzy. You walked as quickly as you could the rest of the way home.

You dreamt again that night. In this one, you sat in the middle of a large field. The sun shone down on you but you were sobbing uncontrollably. Your tears were made of blood.

You slept through your alarm the next morning, only waking when your mom came in and shook you. You were exhausted still, even though you’d slept a solid nine hours. Maybe you were coming down with something. Even though you had no other symptoms.

You went through your dresser three times until you found your one turtleneck. It seemed important.

Work felt impossible. Your focus was non-existent. You just wanted to lie down. 

Late that afternoon, when Robbie texted to see if you wanted to grab a coffee, you logged out early. You weren’t going to get anything else done anyway. Caffeine sounded helpful.

When you met outside the coffee shop, he asked, “Is coffee still ok? I know it’s getting kind of late in the day. We could do beer instead.”

You shook your head. “No, coffee’s good. I’m trying to cut down on how much I drink.” You stopped. You were? When did you decide that? Why? You shoved down the not-right feeling that was crawling up your throat. It was fine. It was good. Healthy. It was fine.

Robbie raised his eyebrows when you ordered a triple espresso, but didn’t say anything. It helped some, but you still felt sluggish. And you struggled to focus on the conversation. 

“Are you doing okay?” he asked after about half an hour.

“Yeah, sorry,” you said, trying to shake your head clear. “I’ve just been a little off the past few days. Probably just everything that’s happened catching up with me.”

He nodded. “I heard about all that. I’m so sorry. I’m here to listen if you ever need it.”

You gave him a genuine smile. “I’m fine, really,” you said, “but I appreciate it.”

A few minutes later, as you were trying to decide if you’d been there long enough to politely make your excuses and go home, he said, “Oh, do you remember Alex Higgins?”

“Uh, I don’t think so?” The name didn’t ring a bell, but you weren’t sure if that was because you didn’t know them or whatever was going on with you.

“He was a few years ahead of us? Friends with my brother?” 

You shrugged and shook your head.

“Well, this won’t mean much to you, then,” he said, “but he died a few days ago.”

Not right not right not right, your gut said. “How… how did he die?” you asked, terrified of the answer without knowing why.

“They don’t know yet. They haven’t been able to find anything wrong with him. They just found him collapsed outside, I guess.”

You white-knuckled it through the rest of your coffee.

Afterward, you lost over half of your walk home. When you arrived, there was another bouquet of almost black roses on your front porch.

Things began to disintegrate quickly from there.

Over the next week, you kept losing time. Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes, sometimes even more. Once you started paying attention, you realized it was only after the sun went down. But knowing that didn’t seem to help.

There were more nightmares too. There was the one where you were being chased through the woods by something unseen, under a blood-red moon and the trees came alive to trap you. Or the one where you were back at the Thrombey house and it was on fire. The skies opened up, but instead of rain, the clouds poured down blood. The strangest one had Ransom in it. Blood flowed from his mouth as he choked you with his scarf. They all started to blend together after that. Blood. Pain. Terror. 

Even with the nightmares, you slept like the dead. But that didn’t stop you from waking up exhausted every morning. You called in sick to work multiple days. You stopped seeing Tineka or Robbie. What would have been the point? You couldn’t concentrate on anything. You could barely stay awake. And every time you went for a walk in the evening, to try to get some exercise and clear your head, you lost time. Something was very wrong and you didn’t know what to do.

The one person you did see was Ransom. He often seemed to be out and about at the same time you were. The fear you felt for him was still there, but you couldn’t deny that you were drawn to him, too. When he was near. you could feel the chaos that had taken you over the last week finally quiet down. You still lost time with him, but it didn't seem to matter as much. Nothing seemed to matter as much when you were with him. Even if you still felt the instinctual urge to turn around and run away whenever you saw him.

Compounding your troubles, the roses just kept coming. Every few days, another bouquet appeared on your porch. You still had no idea who was sending them. It had occurred to you that maybe it was Andy, trying to fuck with you. As much as you hated him now, that just didn’t seem like him. But you couldn’t think of anyone else who would do it either. You barely even knew anyone in town anymore.

For a reason you couldn’t articulate, you didn’t say anything about any of this to your parents. You couldn’t hide it from them though. They may not have known exactly what was going on, but they knew there was something. You overheard them one night as you came down the stairs to get a glass of water, their low tones coming from the living room.

“She is not okay,” your dad was saying, “and we need to stop acting like she is.”

“She’s been through a lot,” your mom said. “If she wants space–”

“Look at her!” your dad said, trying to keep his voice quiet, but the emotion still came through. “The time for space is over. I think we need to start talking about professional help.”

As quietly as you could, you ran back up the stairs. You weren’t that thirsty.

You spent the next two days in bed. When your mom came in to check on you, you told her you had the flu.

On the third day, you woke up feeling clear-headed for the first time in ages. You were rested. You hadn’t had any nightmares. The fog seemed to have cleared from your brain. When you bounced downstairs and greeted your parents, the relief on their faces made you want to cry. Your work day was the most productive you’d had since you’d arrived at your parents’ house. You finally felt like things were going to be ok.

That night after dinner, you decided to celebrate your good mood with snacks. You got in your car and started driving to the grocery store.

When you parked, you looked up. You weren’t at the grocery store. You were in front of the Thrombey house. You burst into tears. No no no. How had you gotten here? Why was this happening to you? As you were about to put the car in reverse and go back home, the front door opened and Ransom came out. So instead, you got out of the car.

“Trespassing again?” he asked, that smirk always on his lips. Like there was a joke that only he knew about.

   “I’m sorry,” you cried. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how I got here, I don’t know what’s happening!”

He came down off the porch and walked over to you. He gently brushed a tear off your cheek and looked you in the eye. “Poor little rabb–

You were sitting in your car, parked in front of your parents’ house. The sun was coming up. How? The last thing you remembered, it was evening. It’d been hours. So many hours. The entire night. You let out a frustrated, guttural cry. You checked your phone, certain there must be so many panicked calls and texts from your parents, but there was nothing. Looking further, you found a text from yourself to your mom, telling her that you were spending the night with Tineka. Had you? Was that where you’d been? You thought about calling Tineka to check but one of two things would happen. She’d be confused as to why you couldn’t remember that you’d just left her house. Or, she’d tell you that she hadn’t seen you in days. Both options seemed equally awful and impossible to deal with. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, and looked up at the front door. In front of it, was an ornate, vintage vase, filled with roses, so deep red they were practically black. No. Absolutely not. You started your car again and pulled back out onto the road in a flurry. This was one mystery you might actually be able to solve and you were going to do it.

The only dedicated floral shop in town didn’t open for another two hours. That was fine. You could wait. You sat in your car as long as you could stand it, and then when you grew too antsy to bear, you got out and paced in front of the storefront.

As soon as the door was unlocked, you were inside the shop, frantically looking through all of the roses.

“Can I help you?” an employee cautiously asked from behind you. 

You spun around. “I’m looking for black roses.”

“Oh, uh, so, roses don’t actually come in true black. The closest is a really dark red that looks almo–”

“Yes, I know that!” You interrupted. “That’s what I’m looking for!”

“Well,” they said, a professional curtness in their tone now, “we don’t carry them. You’d have to do a special order.”

That was actually good news. It’d narrow down possibilities considerably. “Can you tell me who’s been ordering them?”

They looked confused. “Like, ever?”

“No! Just in the past two weeks!”

They took a step back. “We haven’t had anyone order them recently.”

You shook your head wildly, desperation taking over. “No, that’s not true! You’ve been delivering them to my house! I just want to know who’s sending them.”

Another employee came out from the back and eyed you carefully.

“Please,” you said, sounding pathetic even to your own ears. “You have to tell me who it is. I have to know.”

“We haven’t had any orders like that,” the first employee said firmly.

“No!” you shouted. “Please just tell me. You have to tell me!”

“Ma’am,” the second employee finally spoke up. “I think it’s time for you to go.”

You stopped and looked around yourself. Another customer had come in. They stood by the door and stared at you. Everyone stared at you.

“Oh my god,” you whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The first employee looked deeply uncomfortable, but the second just folded their arms and gave you a hard look.

“You’re sure?” you asked. “You really haven’t had any special orders?” You felt a few tears fall down your cheeks.

“Ma’am, if you don’t leave, we’ll have to call the cops.”

You took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You left as quickly as you could, trying not to look anyone in the eye.

Once outside and away from the floral shop, you found a bench and sunk down on it, trying to pull yourself together. What was happening? What was wrong with you? 

You heard someone across the street call your name and you looked up to see Robbie rushing toward you. He dodged a few cars and then stepped up onto the sidewalk. “What’s wrong? Are you ok?” You started sobbing at that, unable to hold anything in any longer. He sat down on the bench next to you and tentatively put his hand on your back. He said your name again, softly. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

You shook your head. “I think I’m losing my mind,” you choked out. “I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He was rubbing gentle circles now. “Tell me what’s happening. Maybe I can help.”

So you did. You told him about losing time and saying things you didn’t understand, being so tired all the time you could barely get out of bed, the nightmares. He listened quietly to everything and when you were done he just nodded for a moment, then said, “First thing, I think, is that you need to see a doctor.”

You shook your head. “No, I can’t.”

“Listen, I know it’s scary, but I don’t think this is going to go away on its own. This could be a brain tumor or something. You really need to get it checked out.”

“You’re not listening to me,” you growled out, surprised by how upset you were, and how quickly your mood had changed. “I can’t.”

“Ok,” he said, putting his hands up in front of him. “I’m sorry. I’m listening. Why can’t you?”

“I just can’t!” you said, standing up. You were jittery. You needed to move.

Robbie reached out a hand, and quietly said your name again, clearly trying to calm you down.

You couldn’t stop shaking your head. “I just can’t, okay? I just can’t. I can’t. I’m not allowed!”

You both froze. “What–” Robbie stopped then tried again, shock clear on his face. “What do you mean you’re not allowed?”

You didn’t know, exactly. You just knew it was true. No doctors. Absolutely not. “I have to go,” you said and turned abruptly to race back to where you’d parked your car. Robbie called after you the whole way.

Your phone buzzed at you the whole drive home. Robbie. He wouldn’t stop. It continued all day. He was worried about you, his texts and voicemails told you. What you said had really freaked him out. Was someone hurting you? He just wanted to help. You hid in your bedroom and buried your phone in your laundry hamper. You could still hear it buzzing away, but it made it easier to pretend that you couldn’t. Finally, sometime after dark, it stopped.

It started ringing again in the morning, just as insistent as before. You dug it out of your dirty clothes, ready to tell Robbie to just forget what happened and leave you alone when you saw that it was Tineka, and she was calling for the third time.

When you answered, at first you just heard her crying. “Tineka?” you asked. “Are you there? What’s going on?”

“Robbie,” she sobbed, and for a moment you thought maybe he’d talked to her, told her who knows what, but then she continued. “Oh god, Robbie. Robbie’s dead.”

A chill whipped through your entire body. “What?” you breathed. Just yesterday– No. Your mind went to all the people you’d heard about since you’d gotten here. The vague reasons, the shrugs given as cause of death. A pattern you’d refused to see until this moment. You had to know if he was part of it. “Tineka, how did he die?”

“Oh god,” she sobbed, “It’s so awful. I can’t– His throat. It was ripped out.”

You felt time stop. Distantly, you could hear Tineka still talking. Going on about animal attacks, coyotes and bobcats, maybe something escaped from a sanctuary or private owner. You couldn’t explain it, you didn’t know why – you obviously didn’t know anything – but you knew deep down in your being that this was because of you. Something was happening.

Without saying anything, you ended the call and left your phone on your bed. You didn’t get dressed, still in the leggings and oversized t-shirt you always slept in. You moved through the house as quickly and quietly as you could, not bothering to stop to look for your parents. The only things you grabbed on your way out were your coat and your car keys. 

As you started driving away, you didn't really have a destination in mind, but once you were about halfway there, you realized that you did in fact know where you were going now. Of course, you did. There was only one place to go. One person to see.

As you pulled up in front of the Thrombey house, it struck you that you’d never seen it in daylight before. The way the sun shone down on it almost made it more eerie. It should not be here, in this daylight world. It was a relic of the night. You shook your head at yourself. Your thoughts had become so strange lately.

You waited in your car. He always heard you and came out, but this time, nothing. You looked to the little driveway at the side. The beamer was there. So where was Ransom? After several minutes of waiting, you got out. You went up to the house, ready to pound on the door until he came out, but stopped at the porch. You could clearly see now how the wood was rotting, the holes that were already there. You couldn’t risk taking a single step onto it. You didn’t know how he came in and out this way.

You looked around, there must be another way in, maybe on the side of the house. As you walked around the corner, you came up short. Lining this side of the house, hidden from the front, was a beautiful, neat row of rose bushes, in such a deep red they were practically black. No. No no no. It couldn’t be. But of course, it was. You were so stupid. So blind. You fell to your knees beside them. It had all started here, at this house. You could clearly see that now, finally. Whatever end came, that would be here too, so you laid down, and you waited. There was nothing else to do.

You didn’t know how much time had passed. You were pretty sure you’d dozed in and out. But at some point, the sun had gone down. Once it was fully hidden beneath the horizon, you heard the front door open and footsteps come around the side of the house.

Ransom crouched down next to your head, his hand gently brushing the hair out of your face. “So you know now,” he said.

It wasn’t a question, but you still shook your head. “No,” you said. “I don’t know anything. I don’t understand.”

He nodded and stood up. You sat up, almost like there was a string in your chest, connected to his. “You know,” he said, looking up at the house. “Ransom is my middle name. I’ve always gone by it, but when they reported on everything that happened here, they used my first name, so that’s the one everyone remembers.”

Of course. “Hugh,” you breathed. “You’re Hugh Drysdale.” You were as sure of it as you’d ever been of anything. Nothing made sense. Everything made sense. He nodded, pleased. “How?” you asked. Hugh had been roughly your age when the fire had happened and he’d disappeared. Almost 50 years ago. The man standing in front of you didn’t look a day over 35.

He crouched down again, so that he was level with you, so that you could clearly see his face in the moonlight. So that you had a perfect view of the fangs that dropped down.

You gasped, wanting to scoot away on your hands, but you stayed pinned in your spot. “No, that’s not– You can’t–” You took a deep breath and gave yourself the courage to say the word. “Vampires aren’t real.”

He threw his head back and laughed. It was wild and loud and cruel. “Come on now,” he said, “I know you aren’t that stupid, sweetheart.”

As you tried to process this, you realized it didn’t actually matter how any of this could be real. There was only one question you actually needed an answer to. “Why did you do this to me?” 

He grinned at you, mean as ever. “Because you came right to me, little rabbit. How could I resist an offering like that?” Tears started to run down your face, and he cooed at you, collecting a few with his finger. “I’ll admit, at first, I’d just planned to drain you, leave your body beside the grocery store for some teenage employee to find the next day.” He smiled at the thought. “But that first taste. You have no idea how good you taste, baby. It couldn’t just be a one-and-done. It was as easy as anything to put you under a little thrall. Compel you to forget when I fed on you, make sure you didn’t let anyone else know. The plan was to snack on you while I was here, and once I had everything I needed, I’d bring you with me, keep you as a little pet blood bag until I was bored and done with you. And torturing you was so fun. It made having to be here so much more bearable. But as I broke you down, brought you to your weakest, it made me realize that I’m desperate to see you at your strongest. See you surging with power.”

There was something in his words, in his eyes, that filled you with panic. But also something else. Want, you were terrified to admit. “What does that mean?” you whispered.

“It means you’re mine, baby, and I’m going to keep you. Claim you. Forever.”

It was the last word you fixated on. That was the word that meant everything. That really said what he meant. You took a deep breath, trying to get the crying under control. “And if I let you do that, this will all stop? I’ll be ok again?”

He chuckled. “Sure, honey. If you ‘let’ me do it, it’ll all stop. You’ll get your mind back. The thrall will lift.”

“And if I don’t?”

He tilted his head to the side. “If you don’t, you’ll still be mine. I’ll just make it hurt. Your friend Tineka sure has a pretty neck. Maybe I’ll rip it out, just like I did to your other little friend. Or your parents. Blood is kind of like wine, you know, gets better with age.”

“No, no, please,” you begged.

“Then give yourself to me, right now.” He leaned forward into your space and you fought the dual urges to pull away and to close the distance completely.

You took a deep breath and blinked the tears away. Your torment would stop. Things would be better. Your family would be safe. “Okay,” you whispered, “please. Please, Ransom.”

Without further ado, he pulled you into a bruising kiss, both hands tightly gripping your face, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth. He gave you no choice but to sink into it, his fangs still dropped, occasionally nipping into your lips. When he pulled away, you were left gasping for breath. 

You had no time to recover before he was pushing back on your shoulders and then slipping his hands under your knees to tip you onto your back. You held yourself up, as much as you could, on your forearms, unable to look away from him. Mesmerized by him, as always. He pulled on your leggings until they ripped in two and tossed them away. He crawled between your knees and then did the same to your panties. You cried out at the sting of the elastic breaking. He smoothed a hand over you, fingers moving through the thatch of soft curls, and growled “Just perfect.” Then he lowered his face to your cunt and slowly dragged his tongue along the length of it. You finally gave in and let your upper body fall back, tossing your head to the side, your hands grasping for purchase in the dry grass beneath you, as he worked you over with his mouth. Little mewls escaped you, beyond your control. You wanted to deny how good it felt; he was a literal monster. He had killed countless people. His own family, in this exact spot where he now defiled you. But you couldn’t think about that right now. You couldn’t think about anything other than his mouth on you, the rising heat in your core, the grass under your hands, the twigs poking into your back. The one thing outside of this exact moment that your brain briefly flashed to was Andy. How he had never felt like this. Never given you this. In his own way, he too, had wanted to drain you dry and then he’d left you with nothing to show for it. His promise of forever had turned out to be empty. With Ransom, you knew that word meant something different. Meant something more. Something real.

Your mewls had turned into soft little chants of “Please,” and “Ransom,” over and over. As you reached your peak and were just about to go over it, he removed his mouth from you. You cried out in frustration and lifted your head just in time to see him turn his and sink his teeth into your thigh. You screamed at the pain. The way it mingled with the intense pleasure you were already experiencing, along with the constant fear you’d been in for the past weeks had you hurtling over the edge. You came harder than you ever had before, your body spasming through it, tears rushing down your face, wetness pooling between your legs. Ransom drank from you all through your orgasm and the aftershocks. As you were finally coming down, he released your thigh, quickly licking up the blood that had dripped down your leg. He reached up to your face and grabbed your chin, forcing eye contact as he viciously bit into his own wrist. He brought his other hand to the back of your head, grasping it firmly, and then pushed his bloody wrist into your mouth. You flailed, instinctively trying to get away, but his hard grip wouldn’t let you move. You choked as his blood filled your mouth. Your eyes were wide, hands wildly trying to release his hold on you.

“Just drink,” his voice filled your consciousness. “Drink. Take it all, sweetheart.” At some point, your body gave in, no longer struggling, trying to dislodge him. You took what he gave you and swallowed. “Good girl,” he cooed as you continued to drink. “Good girl.” You grasped his wrist, latching on with your mouth, suddenly desperate for more. Blackness was gathering at the edges of your vision. It started gradually and then quickly overtook you. The last thing you heard before you slipped into the darkness was Ransom’s chuckle.

You gasped for breath as you rocketed up to a sitting position. You could hear everything. The birds on the roof of the house. The wind moving in the trees. The ants in the ground beneath you. You could feel everything. The hair on your arms, standing straight up. The grass growing in the ground. The electricity in the air. The one thing you couldn’t feel was your blood flowing through your veins. It was still. You knew it was. But something was pumping through you. Power. You gasped again to feel it. You could do anything now. You were sure of it. You’d been so weak before. But now. Now nothing could beat you. With that power was also the most intense hunger you’d ever felt. You needed something, right now. You needed everything. You needed to feed, you needed to fuck, you needed to drink.

A familiar chuckle interrupted your thoughts. You looked up to see Ransom standing above you. That mean smirk that was always on his face. “Oh little rabbit,” he said, “we are going to have so much fun.”

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this, there's a follow-up! 💜

Don't Touch Me, I'm a Real Live Wire

[bunniesanddeer]

Hi,

Just recently found your stories! I love how you write Alastor! I have a request and I apologize if its long.

Reader arrives at the hotel and unbeknownst to everyone they can see people’s pasts, mainly their earthly lives, once they touch them. Which usually isn’t a problem until she meets Alastor. They see his past as well as the fact that his soul is owned by a mysterious entity.

As time goes by, Alastor and reader form something of a friendship and he can sense reader is powerful and repeatedly tries to get them into a soul deal. One evening while at the bar, he’s trying to make a deal when reader, somewhat drunk, states “no power I have can help you with your deal.”

One of those “oh shit” moments and reader runs only to get caught by a very agitated Alastor. They explain how they know and don’t know who the deal is with etc trying to calm him down. He realizes they have known this whole time and not spoken of it so he feels he can trust them.

Sorry sorry sorry this longer then it sounded in my head!

Hi! Sorry this took so long! So much has happened, and yet so little. In the middle of trying to buy a home, and my full-time job has been kicking my butt. Sorry if this is OOC, or anything like that. I have been having a hard time writing at all!

Everything

Pairing: Alastor X Reader

Warnings: Mild horror.

Word Count: 2,093

Maybe it was the psychology degree. Maybe it was that strange empathy that had been instilled into you as a survival response. Either way, you don’t know what caused it; when you ended up in Hell, because of course you did, you found out you had a strange ability, one that startled you. At a single touch, the entirety of someone’s life was made known to you; all their secrets, their thoughts, and even their afterlife. Their lives were heavy burdens, and so you settled on wearing gloves. You could minimize the damage to your psyche, and to your soul, if you avoided it entirely. No one would find out, if there was no risk of you using it.

Time was hard to measure in Hell, and so you couldn’t tell how long it took you to find a comfortable, enough, routine in Hell. You wore soft gloves, and only took them off when alone, or when they got soiled. You had a job, and you were living a boring rerun of your life on Earth. That was until you saw the advertisement for the “Hazbin Hotel”, looking for employees. You recalled the Princess, Charlie, making a fool of herself on the news only a few months prior. She was endearing, and the reminder and call for employees drew your attention. Without thinking too hard on it, your decision had been unconsciously made. You were going to apply. 

The main lobby was large, and had family portraits of the royal family hung on the wall. There was a bar and couches on the far side of the room. There was no one but the bartender in the room. The grumpy cat at the bar drew your eyes, and so you made your way to him. 

“Ah, hello?” You called to him, trying not to startle him. 

Sharp pupils lazily flickered towards you, and the cat-man let out a grunt. 

“I’m here to maybe, apply for a position here,” you continued. You extended a hand and introduced yourself. “I was a therapist, and although it has been some time-”

“I don’t care. You’ll be talkin’ to Charlie,” the bartender interrupted, taking a swig of his drink. “She probably already knows you’re here.”

Sure enough, a white blur was bounding down the steps, exuberance filling every part of  her form. “Oh hello! Hello! My name is Charlie,” she said, grabbing at one of your hands and shaking your whole body with her handshake. “You said you were a therapist?”

Now that she had settled into being mostly still, you could make out her features better. She had blonde hair, loosely tied, and cherub cheeks. Her large eyes were filled with such wild hope, that you feared ever needing to tell her ‘no’. This was the Princess of Hell, Charlotte Morningstar. 

“Uh, yes, I was!” You try to match her tone, and notice other people filling into the lobby. “I specialized in correctional counselor. I worked with those in the prison system, trying to help them avoid recidivism. Along with programs in the prison, we helped them acclimate back to civilian life, and keep their records clean! I also worked with some after they left.”

Charlie’s eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. “Oh wow! That would be PERFECT.” You watch her smile grow, and she turns to the woman that was now standing next to her. “You hear that, Vaggie? This is great, right?”

Although you were hesitant, this felt like the right move. So with a little forced pep to your step, you accepted the offer she made only minutes later, and joined the Hazbin Hotel team. That was before you realized Alastor was there. 

Months into your stay was the first time you accidentally touched anyone. You had been in your room, organizing some of your things, when Alastor barged in, yelling about some Angel Dust annoying him. The two of you had a weird friendship going. He would poke and prod you, and you would laugh it off and speak your mind about what you thought was ‘wrong’ about him — all in good fun, of course. Because of your general comfort with each other, he liked to barge into your personal space more and more often, and it had led to a few close calls. Now, though, was far too close. You weren't wearing gloves, and he had his arm wrapped around your shoulders.

“My dear, you simply must tell Angel Dust that his attempts at wooing are preposterous!” Alastor flipped you around so you were facing him. “He has no musical talent at all, I’m sure! How would it ever work?”

You scrunched up your face, and stared up at him. His bright red pupils widened as you laughed. “Al, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Ah, what fooey!” Alastor grabbed at your hand before you could pull it away, and it happened. Everything. All the terrible words and looks in his childhood. His mother’s soft smile, and her softer hands cupping his face as tears rolled down his cheeks. Angry voices telling him to leave. The cool feeling of metal under his hands. Warm liquid pooling beneath his feet. The chains wrapped around his throat. The abject hate he felt. The way every single choice he made had to be done precisely. The spark of joy he had to smother around people he loosely defined as friends. The control he desired like smoke in his hands. And then it was gone, and Alastor was giving you an odd look. 

“Are you alright, dear?” His head cocked, and the static that constantly coated his words quieted down. His thumb rubbed across your bare skin once, before he pulled his hand away from you, letting it clasp around his microphone. 

“Uh, yeah. Zoned out there, for a moment. No worries,” you said, trying to discourage his well-known prodding. You couldn’t handle it, right now. You shrugged your shoulders. “I didn’t get much sleep, last night, I’m sorry.”

When he finally let it go, and went back to his ranting, your mind slowed down. Now that it had happened, it was only a matter of time before something slipped. Would you die, because of what you knew? Would his master order him to slaughter you, or would he do it happily himself? Or would he use you, thinking that your power could save him, when the inevitable confrontation occurred?

You could only worry and wonder. There was nothing you could do to change it now. And so you kept your mouth shut, and waited.

The inexorable fate that awaited you, came weeks later, when the staff had settled in together to drink. Angel Dust was working, Sir Pentious had squirreled himself away in his room, and Charlie and Vaggie were out having ‘date-night’. The group, including Alastor, were several drinks in. 

Husk poured Alastor another drink, rolling his eyes at the Radio Demon’s antics. Alastor was telling a wild tale, and it had you and Niffty cackling, although it seemed she had heard it before.

“And just as he turns back to yell at me, he slips, and falls! Splat! Straight onto the concrete!” Alastor lets out a raving cackle. Niffty giggles, her drink splashing a bit as her whole body shakes. You wipe a tear from the corner of your eye, and try to calm your breathing.

“That is so fucked up, Al. Why?” You wheeze. “Why do you do this?”

“Because-” and he hiccups, which sets you off into more giggling. “Because life is a tragedy, and tragedy is hilarious.” He sets his drink down, and slots himself onto your seat, squishing you as he does. “As you know, my dear, I take quite a liking to anything that makes me laugh.”

He’s incredibly drunk, there is no way he isn’t, because he fucking taps your nose with one red claw, and mutters “Boop”, under his breath. You shake your head, feeling like you’ve drank more than you had. Your eyes feel the tiniest bit fuzzy and you laugh at the strangeness of it. 

“Are you alright, Al?” You ask, scooting over just a little, trying to get him off of your hip. “You seem out of it.”

Husk grunts, “He’s always like that with whiskey and rye. Should’a seen him a couple years ago-” His voice cuts off, and you look over to see the death glare Alastor is giving him. It settles when the bartender stays quiet with an eye roll. “Oh, whatever.”

Alastor hums, and then returns to looking at you. “You know, my dear, I could really help you out, down here, if we were to make a deal! Imagine setting up your own little clinic, and helping all the wayward souls down here!” He giggles again, and his smile widens. “Or you could manipulate them all to do your bidding with your strange mind medicine!” 

You shake your head. “C’mon Al, you know I’m not interested in that.”

Alastor shakes his head, his ears flopping back a little. “Then not that! There is plenty I could give you, for just one, little deal!”

Without thinking, you mutter, “I have no power that can help you with your deal, Al.” 

Your heart stops in your chest, and you stare at Alastor as his entire demeanor changes. His eyes are wide, and his pupils are tiny pinpricks of light in his dark sclera. His hand grips at the arm of the couch, and you know you’ve fucked up. Before he can say anything, you dart up, and out of the lounge. 

With the sudden surge of adrenaline, you feel nearly sober. Your feet pound at the floor as you dash down the hall, and up the stairs as quickly as you can manage. You slide around a corner, and sprint down a hallway before you hear the static. 

The normal white noise has been replaced with a thick static, heavy with screams, and the hall is getting dark. It feels as if the torches on the wall are being snuffed out, even though you can see them still softly glowing in the dark. Your heart pounds, and your breath catches as you hear Alastor’s music playing at a distance. He’s not nearly far enough behind. Is there anywhere in the hotel you could even hide?

It doesn’t matter, because he’s right behind you in only seconds. His form has grown enormous, and he takes up the entirety of the hallway. One large hand stabilizes him by pressing against the wall, and the other wraps around your torso, fingers wrapping around your form easily. He squeezes you, just enough to let you know how much power he has over you, and he brings you level to his face.

“How do you know?” His voice is rough, and deep, and the static and screams re making your head hurt. When you don’t immediately answer, he squeezes just a little, and shakes you. “HOW DO YOU KNOW?” 

You let out a rough sob. “I can just tell. If I-” your voice cuts out as you cough from the previous exertion. “If I touch someone, I know just about everything about them, from their mortal life, to here in Hell.” Tears roll down your face, and you heave. “I tried to avoid touching you! It’s why I wear gloves! But you caught me off guard a few weeks ago!”

Alastor’s gaze doesn’t waver, but his expression does, just a little. You keep talking.

“I didn’t tell anyone, and I wouldn’t! That goes so far against my morals. You know that. Haha. Patient confidentiality.” You squeeze your eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I wish I could have prevented it, and I wish I could help you now that I know, but I can’t!”

Your form is set on the ground, and you want to curl up, so badly, but you don’t. Instead, you open your eyes, and see Alastor, at his normal size, adjusting himself. 

“Yes, well, I suppose there’s nothing to be done.” He flicks his eyes to you. “If you say anything, ever, I’ll gut you, do you understand?”

You merely nod, and he nods in return. He takes a breath, and then offers you a hand, and you take it. 

He gives you a sly smile, as you are wiping your face off with his handkerchief. “I’ll get a deal out of you, yet, my dear!” And he says nothing more, as the two of you make your way back downstairs. 

You hope, with everything you are, that he doesn’t.

Thank you for reading! My taglist is pinned on my page. I will try to have the two other requests I'm working on out soon! Sorry for the wait. Having a chronic illness, a job, and house huntng is hard, haha!

Taglist: @wen01203 @alastorssimp @girl-nahh-two @numetalnerd2007 @justchillingandhavingfun @alastorssimp @wen01203 @lemonyboy97 @fairyv-ice

[lesinquietes]

Summary: Seeking a fresh start, you and three others rent an old house in the countryside. There’s an issue with the boiler, but other than that, the place is in good condition. Your friends fall in love with the mansion’s aged charm and solitude. You wish you could join them in their excitement. Unfortunately, you can’t stop thinking about the basement. Something about the cool, barren atmosphere both tempts and horrifies you. You get the sense that, if you ever tread there, the darkness won’t hesitate to engulf you. Your final breath, as your soul is expelled from your body, will be used to utter the culprit’s name: Alucard. Only in death will you find reprieve. The problem is, he doesn’t intend to let you perish. Pretty puppet, your suffering is merely the beginning of an immortal life by his side. Modern AU.

Pairing: Yandere!Alucard x AFAB!Reader

Warning: 18+ (minors don’t interact), angst, horror, psychological manipulation, sexual themes, violence.

Next l

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

hello yes happy october do some of y’all remember this og story? couldn’t resist rewriting it for spooky season. and make no mistake — when I say spooky season, I don’t just mean october. fall and winter are seasons where odd things happen, usually out in nature. lets make these next few months extra chilling

The Basement’s Monster: Prelude

From the landing and through the open door, stairs made of old, unreliable wood dip down into a black abyss. Stone walls guide their path — wherever it may go — spurring the pleasant scent of damp cement and pungent moss. You can’t see the bottom. And despite this, part of you knows that there’s something there; something that’s ravenous.

You swallow. Both palms gripping the door frame, you feel as though your shoes are embedded in thick glaciers of ice, glueing you firmly in place. There’s a tug in your heart. It implores you to descend. It halfway convinces you that monsters and demons and all beings of lore don’t exist. You’re content that you know better than to indulge in cowardice disguised as logic.

Normally, you don’t believe in this sort of thing. Nothing out of the ordinary has occurred in your life that you’ve been incapable of explaining — until now. You don’t know how to conceptualize what you felt upon walking through the door of this decrepit mansion. A mixture of sorrow and yearning, perhaps, with an additional emotion you can’t put your finger on. In any case, it drew you all the way here, to the basement door.

“(F/n)!”

You perk up. Her voice is distant, but that’s your friend. She’s upstairs with the real estate agent and the others. You open your mouth to call back. You can’t muster a sound. With a shaky hand, you rub the front of your neck. The sensation that there’s a palm pressed against it, squeezing only subtly, is unnerving. Predictably, there’s nothing there.

Defeated, you close your dry lips and direct your attention back to the darkness. You peer through the shadows, as though your eyes are capable of slicing through all obscurity, powerful as the Light of Christ. A sobering quote from Nietzsche’s Beyond Good and Evil resounds in your head. For when you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you. You would be a fool to think the beast isn’t examining you, too.

On cue, words as bitter and husky as a tannic merlot travel a short distance to rest in your ears. His tone, deep and masculine, grips your shoulders like the talons of a mythical creature. Instantly, it stirs unrest in the pit of your waning soul. You can’t tell if you’re dissociating or on the cusp of a spiritual awakening.

Come, little one. Find me.

Gooseflesh appears on your arms. Your nipples harden when you register the breeze wafting up from the passageway. Your jaw unhooks, teeth chattering softly as you process what just transpired.

Realistically, there’s no way this is real. You hate to sound generic, but you conclude that it must have been your imagination; in fact, all of this probably is. You and your friends have been watching more horror movies than usual to amp up for Halloween. Haunted houses freak you out, and your brain has decided to torture you this evening.

Your knuckles are white from the force with which you’re gripping the frame, frightened that your will, alone, won’t be enough to keep you from exploring. You want to be positive that this truly is all in your head. The basement beckons for you to debunk the reality you’ve dedicated yourself to — the convenient lie that there are solely mortals residing on this plane of existence.

You want to satiate that curiosity of yours, no? Its teasing snicker is innately threatening. Come, pretty human.

Your head spins. Dizziness washes over you, nearly causing a heavy collapse. The voice is anxiety-inducing. You’re hanging onto consciousness by a thread.

You’re going crazy; that’s the only viable solution for this spell of hallucinations and delusions. Ghosts don’t exist. Demons don’t exist. Satan is an arguable concept.

But I classify myself as none of those creatures, sweetness.

When you let your eyelids fall, a silhouette appears in the darkness. You inhale sharply and refrain from blinking. You have to find your friends; unsupervised and weak, you could topple forwards and fall down the stairs.

Though I command fear not unlike the Archfiend, I do so to those who earn it.

Tears pool the bottoms of your strained petals, lubricating your orbs as you battle the trepidation afflicting you. You try to focus on your quivering breath. You can hear its tremble, as well as your quickening heartbeat, in your ears. It’s causing your temples to pound.

You don’t want to blink… but you have to.

You whimper meekly, the demon’s silhouette becoming clearer to you. It’s a being with a blood-coloured fedora and round, reflective lenses. He’s wearing a crimson overcoat, ruffled at his wide shoulders. You can’t decipher any more of his physical features; he’s intentionally shrouded them.

And you have not earned my ire.

In a deranged, wretched way, his claim placates you. If, in any form, this thing that’s haunting you is real, you want to trust that it means you no harm. You know that’s a fool’s game, however; main characters seldom benefit from bearing their neck to the foe.

I’ve been waiting for you, (f/n).

You blink. The silhouette is getting closer to you. Hes halfway up the basement stairs, and you can’t move a fucking inch.

Open your mind to me.

You’re panicking. You don’t want to let him in, but how does one open or close their mind? Again, if this is real, you’re a sitting duck to his influence. He’s far stronger than you could ever hope to be.

Your eyelids shut. He’s almost at the top step. You make out pale skin beneath a white dress shirt that’s accented with a scarlet ascot. Once more and he’ll have you.

That’s it; let me in.

He’s close enough to choke you. These were the hands you could have sworn you felt on your neck earlier; these were the fingers that toyed with the idea of wringing the vitality from your supple soul. Inwardly, you’re frantic. You might have a heart attack before this monster reaches you. Your pupils dilate as the man materializes in the darkness, like a menacing apparition. You wish you could run. Why can’t you run… why can’t you run?!

“(F/n)!”

You gasp. In an instant, his illusion is shattered; the beast retreats in the presence of a love, sucked back into his hole. You blink, and his figure is gone. No part of him, aside from the chilling memories he’s imprinted on you, remains.

You allow yourself to inhale greedily. Your lungs feel empty. Your heart doesn’t cease its galloping — it won’t for a while. An anxiety attack vibrates like thunder in your body. Whether you grasp it or not, this is merely the calm before the storm.

Mindfully, you crane your neck to the side, collecting your gaze from the unpredictable darkness. It’s a feat. The demon doesn’t want to release you from his manipulative hold, but he’s perceivably weaker than before. The presence of another human is diffusing his hypnosis.

There, a few feet away, stands the same friend who was calling your name earlier. Her name’s Ericson. Chocolate brown orbs sweep over you, assessing your physical state. Worry clouds them when she notices your expression. She tucks a long, brown strand behind her ear and swallows.

“Oh, shit… you don’t look so good.”

Fortunately, Ericson isn’t one to waste time. The young woman hooks her elbows beneath your arms and pries you away from the basement door. She helps you into a chair near the landing of the stairs. From there, she does what you were silently begging her to do; she shuts the basement door and secures the latch.

You exhale, unburdened and breathless. Finally, the nightmare has ended. You don’t hear his voice. You don’t see his image. You don’t feel drawn to his domain. You may be free of him. That begs the daunting question, though; if he wasn’t a product of your sanity slipping, what the fuck was he?

You groan, pressing cool fingertips to your warm forehead. Have you been stressed? Sure. Stress, alone, doesn’t warrant hallucinations, however. Until you have further evidence that you’re cracking, you have no choice but to believe what you experienced was beyond what mortals comprehend about existence.

“I… don’t know what just happened.” You confess, at last. “I felt… like I had to see the basement.”

Ericson rubs your shoulders from behind the chair, soothing you. It’s sweet of her. Your thoughts are marathoning at an Olympic pace, but your body is rooted in a slower reality.

“And… there was a guy down there… but… he wasn’t… he wasn’t…”

You’re unable to utter that you don’t think the perpetrator was another human being. It sounds silly, even as you rehearse the sentence in your head. Ericson will think you’re losing it.

“Easy.” She utters gingerly. “Chill out for a sec before you say more.”

She’s right. You could stand to decelerate. You take a moment to recalibrate yourself. What were you doing before this? Right. You were surveying the downstairs portion of the house while the others toured upstairs. You couldn’t shake your compulsion to investigate the basement. From the moment you walked through the front gate of the yard, and ventured up the cobblestone path, an invisible rope was tied around your torso, tugging it towards the monster. Ericson wouldn’t be telling you to settle down if she knew what was lurking directly below her feet.

Did she, or any of the others, feel it, too? You gulp. It wouldn’t hurt to check.

“This whole place feels wrong.” You admit vaguely. “Don’t you think?”

Much to your chagrin, she seems perplexed by your appraisal.

“Actually, we were just saying how peaceful it is here.”

Visibly, you recoil. Oof. Well, you can’t fault them for that. The market for renting a house is steep. You and your friends only found the posting for this estate because you wanted to move further away from the city. The renter — a family member of the previous owner, an old man — is offering the property for an exceptional price. If they don’t go with this one, they may not find a better deal.

“Look.” You start. “I felt something weird when I was standing near the basement… and it freaked me the fuck out.”

Ericson is adhering to you intently.

“What happened? Seriously. You said you saw a guy?”

“It wasn’t a guy so much as it was… like, a ghost or something.”

He wasn’t a ghost or a spectre, a demon or a moniker of Satan; he said so, himself. Nonetheless, at a loss for how else to describe him, that’s the fictional being you elected to choose. He doesn’t look like anything you’ve ever seen before, in books of old, in legends transcending cultures, in hieroglyphs from ancient people long gone — he’s something else entirely.

“A ghost?” She echoes.

“I don’t know.”

The two of you are quiet. She doesn’t buy your story. You can feel her judging you as she walks around the chair. Finally, she kneels in front of you. There’s a solemn emotion on her gentle visage.

“What can I do to make you feel better?” She asks. “I can install, like, ten locks on the basement door.”

You smile. It might not permanently solve the problem, but it does make you feel safer. Crazy or not, you want to stay separated from the basement. If you all agree to seal it up tight, you may be willing to accommodate their desire to rent. After all, you have no qualms with it beyond the monster that’s made a home in its guts.

“I’m just sketched out.”

She nods.

“Seems like it.”

“I just— I really think I saw something down there.”

“I believe you.”

She doesn’t, though. It’s uncomfortable to be the sole one who has an issue with this place. To the untrained eye, it looks like you’re purposefully being difficult. Guilt and shame wash over you. Is it fair for you to be writing this home off without hearing the opposite to your opinion?

“You all like it here?”

You prompt your friend.

“We do.” She shrugs. “It’s a forty-five minute drive to work for Nelly.”

That’s another one of your friends. She’s keeping her profession in the city, so it’s necessary for her to approve of the distance between there and her new pad. A commute of under an hour was one of her requests. Her second and final request is that the house is quiet. That’s two for two.

“Cree wants to head into town to look for work.”

Unsurprising. Cree didn’t do anything with his degree. He’s saving up to attend graduate school. As for town, it isn’t anything extravagant. There’s a small grocery store with a liquor hub inside, and a convenience store that’s open ‘til 9 beside it. A pharmacy is on the same strip of land, along with a hardware store. Pump-your-own gas is a couple kilometres down the street. Two cafes and a bookstore caught your eye when you were driving in. A couple of fast food joints, as well. Doesn’t Cree want better opportunities for himself? Maybe he can earn more money elsewhere.

“The previous owner didn’t have access to the Internet, but the realtor tested the connection and didn’t have a problem.” She explains. “So, I’m thinking I’ll do data entry and school.”

That makes sense. Ericson doesn’t need to leave the homestead often, so she’s comfortable in any location with wifi. A chill runs down your spine at the notion of her in this hellhole alone. That would make her easy prey.

“You said you’d need the Internet for work too, right?”

“Oh… yeah.”

That’s true. Your job is remote. You and Ericson can look out for each other, if all else fails. It might not be so bad. With one car shared amongst the four of you, and no community bus stops in this county, it’s not like she can forsake you. Already, the prospect of not being by yourself feels better.

Ericson studies your expression. She can tell you’re deliberating hard on whether or not to move into this option. Biassed, she prays she can convince you. She racks her brain to determine what she can use to show you how secure you’ll be with them. Beyond wanting to live here, she doesn’t care for the fear in your eyes. Although she doesn’t subscribe to the idea of supernatural creatures, she makes it her mission to comfort you.

“Nelly pole dances.”

“What?”

“Nelly pole dances.” She reiterates. “Do you know how much upper body strength that woman has? We’re safe with her.”

You suppose she’s an asset when it comes to physical threats. You ponder. Does the creature in the basement manifest itself into this sphere; could Nelly hurt him?

“And Cree offered to smudge us before we move in.”

You lift a curious brow.

“Smudge us?”

“Yeah. Like, he’ll cleanse the house too, obviously, but he said he wants us all to enter this chapter of our lives in a good place.”

Cree is an indigenous man. Proudly, he bears the same namesake as his people. His father was a healer, and thus, he carries with him similar techniques and energies, passed along by lineage and teaching. Again, you feel safer knowing he’s got the best intentions for you.

“And you know me.” She winks cheekily. “Orange belt.”

You chuckle shortly. She recently graduated from yellow to orange in her adult karate class. Soon after, she admitted that she knows a few defensive moves. She’s certainly not someone you’d want to rely on during a physical altercation, but she’s great for introducing logic into the conversation and, of course, comedic relief.

“With these things considered, would you be willing to give this place a chance?”

You want to be down; you want so badly to be down. You can tell this is where your friends wish to move, but you can’t shake the sensation that renting it would be a horrible idea. It isn’t your anxiety talking; there’s a predator beneath you.

“I need the realtor to check the basement.”

That’s your condition. If the realtor agrees to verify that no one else is in the house, and nothing is amiss in its depths, you’re willing to give the ageing building a shot.

“Right now?”

“Yeah.” You authenticate. “And the day we pick up the keys.”

The entity could be attached to one of the former’s tenant’s personal items. If that’s the case, moving his things out will eliminate the issue entirely. You’ve heard stories like that before, wherein a spirit is tied to a belonging and not the house it inhabits.

“Done.” Ericson claps. “Anything else?”

You shake your head. If things get exceptionally bad, you understand that the option of subletting your room will always be there. As much as you don’t want to contemplate having to abandon your companions, this thing only seems to be attacking you for now. Removing yourself could turn out to be the route you have to take in the end, should you want to retain your sanity.

“I’m in, so long as nothing strange happens during the inspections.”

Directly below your feet, the creature hums. Nothing weird. Fine, that’s a condition he can meet if it means he gets to keep you. He’ll shrink himself when the realtor steps into his space. The room will be welcoming. You’ll have no room to argue about a foreboding atmosphere without losing credibility. You’re a smart woman; you won’t disagree with the verdict for the sake of appeasing your friends.

He’s amused by your silly antics to hopelessly protect yourself. Smudging won’t help. He isn’t a spirit, and your ancestors can’t save you from the type of creature he is. Undead, he may be, but not the sort that hovers inches above the ground and howls mournfully through the tombstones; on the contrary, he’s a vampire.

He observes you with pleasant curiosity, as Ericson embraces your silent form giddily. She successfully convinced you to take up residence in this home. He didn’t have to influence her to do so; the house sold itself. But you understand the dangers that lurk down here, don’t you? Yes. Sweet little lamb, your pure heart calls to his pungent blackhole, coaxing him like prey frollicking through a clearing. He will have no choice but to pounce, should he entrance you into his domain.

You were correct to think that he’s bound to an item. He can go no further than the top landing, just beyond the basement door, and therefore, his influence over mortals is weak. The last time he roamed this earth freely was decades ago, in London, England. After a grand battle over two decades ago, he was bound to an amulet by a member of the Hellsing family. Miserably, it was his old master, Integra’s, last bitter gift to him; she never wanted him to taste true freedom.

Unfortunately, the old man has no relation to that family. If he was, the nightstalker might have given him a slow, painful death to make reparations between him and the Hellsings. Unceremoniously, he simply found the amulet at a thrift store. He demanded to see it outside of its locked display case. The second he held it, the vampire took advantage of his feeble nature. He bought the piece of jewellery. From then, until the day his relatives put his home up for rent, one name slithered through his transfixed mind: Alucard. He served only Alucard.

Disappointment rocked him when he realized that the male’s aged body was unable to handle the tasks required for him to be released from the amulet. He can’t kill a woman and spill her blood over his jewel. He can’t restrain you and force the gaudy thing around your neck. And he sure as hell can’t slit his own throat with all the dull blades he has lying around; he lacks the physical strength.

Planning to remove the old man for his senile behaviour — particularly when most of his oddities were spurred by Alucard’s sinister influence — was a rich outcome that the shapeshifter prayed to Death for. He wanted to lure someone like you into his clutches. He was waiting for an opportunity to be freed from his constricting prison.

He knows the amulet can’t be placed anywhere in clear sight. The realtor will see it if he makes the hiding spot too obvious. He’ll have to make one of your roommates discover its location — or, maybe you’re the perfect candidate for the task. He hasn’t decided how he wishes to orchestrate his release from this cursed piece of jewellery yet. One thing’s for certain, though; you’re going to play a crucial role in his resurgence. The others may perish in what is to come, but you? He’s growing a soft spot for you.

You’re guided upstairs to rejoin the rest of your crew. There are two more people on the second floor, not including the agent. He smirks. Oh, how he enjoys culling a delicate herd.

He reflects on his past. Earlier in his life, when he was being stalked along the slopes of Romania by van Hellsing and his crew, he took an interest in two young women. Lucy Westenra and Mina Harker were the epitome of innocence, both in different ways. The true enjoyment lied in corrupting them, sometimes gradually, as they descended into darkness with their hesitant hands in his. Seras Victoria provided a similar rush of exhilaration, centuries later.

Over time, the amulet is weakening, allowing for him to use more of his powers in the confined space that he has. What kind of sharp adrenaline will rush through his icy veins as he hunts you? What sort of lust will you stir in his chest, a dead garden with thorns sharp enough to puncture, and long branches that impale? Perhaps your story as (f/n) will come to a close when his fangs dip into your neck, syphoning your life for his pleasure, and begin anew as his beautiful, undead wife, destined to serve him for several eternities.

[skyeoak]

Thoughts on tmagp episode 24

*cough* my sister had a newborn a few months ago. Here’s some red flags about “the health visitor” from today’s episode:

- newborns feed every 2-3 hours, usually 2.5. Idk if this is different in the UK but I don’t see why it would be.

- most babies are born with greyish eyes, which changes over time. If Rupert’s a newborn when she’s talking about his black orb eyes, this is maybe a red flag?

- “I couldn’t scream, I didn’t want to wake him” AHHHHHH oh god the psychological horror of having a newborn aghfjgjfhhhhhh

Very Rosemary’s Baby, but instead of going full satanic panic, “Raising Issues” focuses on the self-sacrificial narrative mothers are told, and how that leads to a dangerous and isolating situation as Patricia ignores every red flag in sight. I had my head in my hands. Honestly, I wish we’d dived deeper into the socioeconomic stuff rather than the body horror because back to back with “A New You” it felt like too similar of a story structure, even though imo they’re meant to be parallels.

23 and 24 have been so similar that they’re definitely intentional contrasts to each other. One’s from Chester talking about how you can long to change yourself so fully only for it to all go wrong, and this one’s from Norris about destroying yourself to support the one you love… I am ill, actually. Screaming crying relistening to the last recording in this case file and finding all the points that are reminiscent of Mag 170 (Recollection).

These lines specifically are making me think. Once again, I am ill.

Chester: “Alesis Newman is leaving this world and whatever comes next – though she may look like me in some ways, though she may carry a part of me with her – she’ll be better. Free of all my mistakes. Perhaps people will like her more than me. I already like her more than me. I want to see her walk off happy and strong. I hope she doesn’t feel this now, just be the good parts of me. (hoarse) I hope it’s like I dreamt, I hope she has my eyes…”

Norris: “I can’t remember when… when I last… had sleep. I think… I think days…” + “I don’t know what’s going to happen. There’s not much of me left. I’m so scared. But at least Rupey’s happy…”

Considering this is the first Norris case file in over 10 episodes (since episode 12, unless I’m wrong) and he’s literally just reading the stuff between recordings, I’m a bit concerned.

Who the fuck is reading this statement and why didn’t they mention it to Celia IMMEDIATELY? If it was Sam, he knows she has a kid and is in a support group, and if it was Celia herself, then idk why she isn’t at least concerned (that’s suspicious, Celia.) I guess Gwen and Alice don’t know about Jack, so they’re off the hook.

ALSO rupert? A red name? Philosopher’s stone alchemical reference? Or just referring to the blood he’s feeding on?

I know I’m gonna see a ton of takes on this episode being like “this is why I’m childfree” and, like yeah, I’m not planning on kids either but this story is such an extension of existing social structures that I hope we talk, at least a little, about the social narratives at work here about pregnancy, parenthood, and childcare.

[osarina]

so i have some yandere dazai thoughts…the thing i like the most about yandere is how versatile it is, so characters of all ranges can be bent to fit the criteria. personally i like to think that both pm and ada dazai would be both an obsessive and possessive, although lucid type of yandere. heavy on the possessive part when it comes to pm dazai. when it comes to beastzai he would definitely be a more delusional and protective yandere, though not disregarding his previous traits, and coupled with his already existing abandonment issues he would drive himself crazy thinking that reader would leave him or somehow get taken away from him. he’d definitely kidnap reader, perhaps build a secret room behind the wall in his penthouse where he keeps reader, only letting his most trusted subordinates know of her existence. personally when it comes to yandere stories i like the psychological horror approach rather than viewing it as a love story, so i don’t view reader as being willing or accepting of this behavior, even if they liked him or were friends with him at first. it’s more fun to me if reader is actively trying to resist such behavior yet dazai keeps pushing with the persistence and passion of a thousand burning suns.

i’m thinking about him in a pm reader au, since you said he was the old boss relative in your series…how despite him trying to distance himself from his father/grandfather and his terrible deeds, keeps manifesting his traits and unhinged nature. he sees his obsessiveness in himself, and that terrifies him. and that feeling only enhances by a thousand times when he meets and befriends reader. and how could he help it? he’s never had a proper friend before. never known anything but a cold and loveless life. so when the first bit of warmth appears in his life, how could he not latch on and desperately dig his claws in? he loves passionately, obsessively and overwhelmingly. his normally sharp, logical mind becomes clouded with a thick black fog and he feels as if a beast is clawing at his chest from within whenever the jealousy hits him for the dozenth time that day. he starts to resemble his (grand)father more and more by the day, starts seeing the man he despised every time he looks in the mirror, but each time, the hatred starts looking a bit more like something like sympathy, and he cannot help but begin to understand how the old man felt.

the logic that once was second nature to him now has become a foreign concept when it comes to reader. all rational thought is out of the window when it comes to her, and his obsession consumes him and his every waking thought. he cannot stand people touching her, has become very violent towards subordinates and other PM members regardless of who they are, chopping off fingers and hands, along with other extreme forms of punishment, if they so used that hand to touch her. he’s even shot several men on sight just for hitting on her. killing had never been something that he took delight in, but now? he thinks that nothing brings him as much satisfaction as eliminating trash who dared come into readers vicinity. how dare they try to touch something so holy, so pure and good, with their sullied hands? how dare they try to take away what’s rightfully his? he wants to pluck out their eyes for even looking at her, and if he has done so…well, nobody dares speak against the demon prodigy.

he also becomes very touchy with reader, always pressing himself close to her and having a hand on her in a possessive manner. a hand around he waist, around the shoulder, arms interlinked, fingers intertwined, an unexpected kiss on the cheek that was too close to the mouth to not be suspicious. pretending to fall asleep when cuddling on the couch or in bed, slinging an arm around her waist and holding her in a manner too intimate for just friends. reader is not stupid, she knows something is terribly wrong, that he’s being too pushy, not knowing the full truth about the maimings due to how he’s been covering it up, but he knows that sooner or later she will uncover it. meanwhile, he tries to take advantage of their friendship, guilt tripping reader whenever she does not reciprocate his gestures, trying to manipulate her into thinking that she’s imagining things if she calls him out on it. this intimate touch is a constant, both in public and in private, to a suffocating degree. he grows bolder by the day, as his love intensifies.

his feelings are like parasites crawling around under his skin. they consume him from the inside out, making his mind hazy and his chest hurt from the intensity of the yearning he feels. everything he feels is an extreme. his jealousy has made him see red and go on a maiming spree, his fear of losing reader has made him physically sick, his happiness has made him feel euphoria so intense it rivaled any substance he’s ever taken. it is so unlike the hollow, numb feeling he usually feels. he knows that he cannot lose this feeling, no matter what. reader is now his reason for living, he wants to constantly be close to her and her light. even if reader rivals him in reputation and has the same amount blood on her hands, in his eyes she is a saintly being who can do no wrong.

of course, his obsession with reader leads to a burning desire to know everything about her and be surrounded by her. he makes good use of his intelligence and the resources he has on hand, capturing pictures of all kinds of set up on the walls of his home. gone are the days of the shipping container, he got himself a proper apartment to be able to house reader in if it ever comes to kidnapping. but he hopes that that won’t be the case. he wants their love to be authentic, which is why he’s fighting so hard to keep everything he’s done under wraps. the entire apartment is a shrine for reader. clothes, items, her perfume to spray on his pillow, even items like underwear, all stolen and stashed away so that he’s never deprived of her. even something that reader would discard like a candy wrapper or old chapstick tube, would be secretly picked up by him and cherished. not only is he behaving creepily and obsessively towards her, but towards his shrine as well, talking to it as if it were her. he’s not delusional, he’s perfectly aware of what he’s doing, but it helps calm and soothe him. he doesn’t understand how reader is such an enigma that she manages to both soothe him in ways that no one has ever been able to do before, and at the same time rage up a burning storm of love and desire in his heart. dazai has never been a particularly religious person, but he knows that readers existence is the closest thing there is to heaven. he thinks that he doesn’t mind if he goes to hell when he dies, because he’s already experienced heaven through her.

his mind is clouded by love. he can barely eat or sleep. all he does in his waking moments is obsess and yearn. he thinks that his feeling are so overwhelming that he doesn’t know what to do with himself even if he had reader. he’s so scared that she will disappear on him, every day that goes by that he has to keep his feelings secret and be apart from her, his paranoia grows. of course, none of this behavior goes unnoticed by those around him. mori has noticed that he’s been majorly neglecting his duties and that even threatening his position or punishment was not enough to keep him in line anymore. he’s been blowing off his duties to go stalk reader, try to insert himself into readers life at every moment possible and steal her away, or “punishing” people, even civilians, for daring to even do as much as glance at reader, too much resembling his (grand)father who unreasonably unleashed his wrath on people just a few years prior, much to mori‘s dismay who had one day hoped for the young prodigy to take over his position. kouyou and hirotsu are incredibly worried, especially about reader more so than dazai, but there is nothing that they can do. even kouyou, a fellow executive with her own fair share of power and influence, is helpless to do anything as dazai continues to go on his rampage. oda and ango despair of him, for nothing they say manages to affect him, and they can’t do anything to stop the young man they knew and loved from withering away. most of all, chuuya and reader are the ones affected by his increasingly terrifying behavior. he no longer resembles the boy they once knew. although his behavior had always been like this to some degree from the moment he meet reader, the obsession and yandere tendencies blooming at first sight, it didn’t really rear it’s ugly head until the past few months. chuuya has grown to become immensely protective of reader, and is one of the only ones who isn’t afraid to stand up to dazai. he also feels guilt, for not noticing his partner being so unwell and thus in a way not being able to protect both of his best friends from danger. during dazai’s spiral into madness, she and chuuya turned to each other, growing closer than ever. dazai, however, feels his jealousy most intensely whenever chuuya is involved. he’s constantly reading into his interactions with reader, always paranoid that something romantic might be going on between them. his corrupted mind somehow spins a friendly pat on the shoulder into them being in a long term relationship with each other. this greatly affects his partnership with chuuya, what used to be childish teasing on his part having turned into real, burning hatred, to the point where the entire pm starts getting affected. and if he somehow finds out about chuuya and reader “training” with each other? he will blow up like he never has before, and his wrath will be felt in all of yokohama, not unlike a previous boss we know of…and god, when it comes to reader herself? well, despite dazai‘s attempts at manipulation and keeping his deeds undercover, reader is far from stupid and is quite intelligent herself. with dazai’s lovesickness clouding his mind, and his normally cold and calculated nature more prone to violent jealous outbursts, he’s been sloppy and left behind more than enough evidence. it doesn’t take too long to fit all the puzzle pieces together, and what she discovers chills her to her core. not only the fact that he did all of that for her, but that according to him it was in the name of “love”. knowing that she has the demon prodigy in the palm of her hand should bring her elation, but all she feels is cold dread. he’s too unpredictable, too irrational and obsessive. she almost wants to cry at seeing the boy she once loved reduced to a shell of himself.

once things truly start going out of hand and the pm is declining due to the issues dazai has caused, mori thinks that he needs to do immediate damage control. he decides to send reader, now an executive, abroad temporarily, to deal with pm business there. he wants to send chuuya with her as well, both for protection in case dazai wants to pull strings from afar but also to give dazai and chuuya some time to cool off from each other. this is what finally makes dazai snap. reader finds him that night, slumped over on the ground in mori’s office with all the lights off, covered in blood and eyes glazed over, knife in trembling hands. when she crouches down and cradles his face in her hands, repeatedly asking him what happened, all he does is grab her back just as intensely and look at her with lovesick eyes, saying that he did it all for them, for their future, for her. that nothing would separate them anymore. and that’s when she notices mori’s cold body on the ground.

despite dazai’s tendencies, the love he feels is very much real. his main objective has always been winning readers love and affections. he truly feels that he is nothing without her. his love is deep and all consuming, devouring everything in it’s path. his fear of abandonment that he so vehemently denies intensifies when coupled with his yandere tendencies and passionately love, all of this ending up a toxic and terrible mess. to him, everything is monochrome and reader is the sole light and color in the dull, meaningless world. he subconsciously began centering his life around her, his love for her becoming his main driving force and began influencing all of his decisions. he’s like an addict, a simple touch or smile giving him an euphoric high. doesn’t she see!? he’s nothing without her!!! he couldn’t help but latch onto reader, the first truly good thing in his miserable life, and become immensely possessive of her. desperate and needy, he’d sink his claws in and not let go no matter what. people have been put in the hospital wing for trying to steal her away, him not wanting to share her affections and attentions, immensely jealous whenever her focus wasn’t on him. despite his violent urges, they all wither away whenever it comes reader. he’d rather die than than hurt her, even the thought of her hurt or upset would feel like a dagger to his chest.

dazai is overall a lucid yandere, even if he in some aspects lean more into delusional territory, a trait inherited from his dear (grand)father. he does however not delude himself into thinking that his actions are acceptable or morally correct. yet he can’t bring himself to care. if it’s for the sake of love, he is able to go to any lengths, demolish any obstacle, sully his hands to the point they’d rot away from filth. his whole soul is hers. hers to keep, love, break. despite his domineering behavior, he genuinely just wants readers love and approval, and will crumble if he won’t receive it. it doesn’t matter if he’s chained her to his bed! surely she will begin to see the truth and realize that this is for the sake of true love! so the more delusional part of his mind would scream at him. even if he’s become an irredeemable monster, like the very man he swore to never become, he wants to believe that deep down in her heart she will one day understand and be able to love him back. she had loved him once, right? surely she would be able to again.

wow okay nonnie im going to pick this under the cut because want to show you all of my favorite parts but i need you to know that you have me INSANE like i think ur in my brain because this is JUST HOW I PICTURE YANZAI. like i literally wanted to sit here and hoard this in my inbox forever because i wanted easy access to it but then i felt back because i wanted to acknowledge what you sent<3

ok here take my favorite parts:

how despite him trying to distance himself from his father/grandfather and his terrible deeds, keeps manifesting his traits and unhinged nature. he sees his obsessiveness in himself, and that terrifies him. and that feeling only enhances by a thousand times when he meets and befriends reader. and how could he help it? he’s never had a proper friend before. never known anything but a cold and loveless life. so when the first bit of warmth appears in his life, how could he not latch on and desperately dig his claws in? he loves passionately, obsessively and overwhelmingly. his normally sharp, logical mind becomes clouded with a thick black fog and he feels as if a beast is clawing at his chest from within whenever the jealousy hits him for the dozenth time that day. he starts to resemble his (grand)father more and more by the day, starts seeing the man he despised every time he looks in the mirror, but each time, the hatred starts looking a bit more like something like sympathy, and he cannot help but begin to understand how the old man felt.

UGHHHHHHHH THIS PART IS INSANE YOU STARTED OFF SO STRONG LIKE THE CONFLICT HE FEELS WHEN HE REALIZES THAT HE'S STARTING TO MANIFEST ALL OF THE TRAITS THAT HE HATED IN HIS GRANDFATHER BUT NO MATTER HOW HARD HE TRIES HE CAN'T PUSH AWAY THE FEELINGS AND EVEN STARTS TO UNDERSTAND THE MAN. AND THE PART ABOUT HOW HE'S NEVER KNOWN ANYTHING BUT A COLD LOVELESS LIFE SO HOW CAN HE NOT LATCH ON AND DESPERATELY DIG HIS CLAWS IN. I'LL WEEP

the logic that once was second nature to him now has become a foreign concept when it comes to reader. all rational thought is out of the window when it comes to her, and his obsession consumes him and his every waking thought.

YESSSSSS AND HE HATES IT SO MUCH - HATES THE WAY HE'S SO IRRATIONAL WHEN IT COMES TO HER BUT JUST GETS SO VIOLENTLY ANGRY WHENEVER PEOPLE COME NEAR HER, SO ENTIRELY EUPHORIC WHENEVER SHE'S AROUND HIM, HE'S NEVER FELT EMOTIONS LIKE THIS BEFORE AND HE CAN'T COPE WITH THEM BUT HE'D PREFER ALL OF THIS TO THE EMPTINESS HE'S USED TO

he also becomes very touchy with reader, always pressing himself close to her and having a hand on her in a possessive manner. a hand around he waist, around the shoulder, arms interlinked, fingers intertwined, an unexpected kiss on the cheek that was too close to the mouth to not be suspicious. pretending to fall asleep when cuddling on the couch or in bed, slinging an arm around her waist and holding her in a manner too intimate for just friends.

THIS PART IS SOOOOO ... and then i imagine whenever he's not able to touch her, he gets so quickly irritable, the only thing that can soothe him anymore is her touch and if he can't have it, he's in an entirely foul mood.

his feelings are like parasites crawling around under his skin. they consume him from the inside out, making his mind hazy and his chest hurt from the intensity of the yearning he feels. everything he feels is an extreme. his jealousy has made him see red and go on a maiming spree, his fear of losing reader has made him physically sick, his happiness has made him feel euphoria so intense it rivaled any substance he’s ever taken. it is so unlike the hollow, numb feeling he usually feels. he knows that he cannot lose this feeling, no matter what. reader is now his reason for living, he wants to constantly be close to her and her light.

THIS WAS MY FAVORITE FUCKING PART UGHHHHHH EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS HAS ME INSANE THE WAY U DESCRIBE ALL OF THE EMOTIONS AS PARASITES WOW. THIS WAS SO BIG BRAIN OF YOU I'M ACTUALLY GOING TO ERUPT ... if i ever use this description in one of my fics i will credit u my dear yan nonnie this is just so fucking insane i will actually perish

he’s not delusional, he’s perfectly aware of what he’s doing, but it helps calm and soothe him. he doesn’t understand how reader is such an enigma that she manages to both soothe him in ways that no one has ever been able to do before, and at the same time rage up a burning storm of love and desire in his heart. dazai has never been a particularly religious person, but he knows that readers existence is the closest thing there is to heaven. he thinks that he doesn’t mind if he goes to hell when he dies, because he’s already experienced heaven through her.

ALSO THIS PART IS SO FUCKING GOOD. I LOVE THE IDEA OF HIM BEING PERFECTLY AWARE OF WHAT HE'S DOING BUT DOES IT ANYWAY BECAUSE IT MAKES HIM FEEL BETTER

his mind is clouded by love. he can barely eat or sleep. all he does in his waking moments is obsess and yearn. he thinks that his feeling are so overwhelming that he doesn’t know what to do with himself even if he had reader. he’s so scared that she will disappear on him, every day that goes by that he has to keep his feelings secret and be apart from her, his paranoia grows. too much resembling his (grand)father who unreasonably unleashed his wrath on people just a few years prior, much to mori‘s dismay who had one day hoped for the young prodigy to take over his position. kouyou and hirotsu are incredibly worried, especially about reader more so than dazai, but there is nothing that they can do. even kouyou, a fellow executive with her own fair share of power and influence, is helpless to do anything as dazai continues to go on his rampage. oda and ango despair of him, for nothing they say manages to affect him, and they can’t do anything to stop the young man they knew and loved from withering away.

THIS. EVERYONE HAVING WO WATCH HIM SPIRAL BUT NO ONE BEING ABLE TO DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT. NO ONE CAN HELP HIM, NO ONE CAN HELP HER, IT'S JUST LIKE A SLOW TICKING DISASTER THAT NO ONE CAN DO ANYTHING ABOUT. i especially loved the part about mori like the idea of him watching the boy he had so much hope for become just as bad, if not worse, as the very man he killed is so ...

most of all, chuuya and reader are the ones affected by his increasingly terrifying behavior. he no longer resembles the boy they once knew. although his behavior had always been like this to some degree from the moment he meet reader, the obsession and yandere tendencies blooming at first sight, it didn’t really rear it’s ugly head until the past few months. chuuya has grown to become immensely protective of reader, and is one of the only ones who isn’t afraid to stand up to dazai. he also feels guilt, for not noticing his partner being so unwell and thus in a way not being able to protect both of his best friends from danger. during dazai’s spiral into madness, she and chuuya turned to each other, growing closer than ever. dazai, however, feels his jealousy most intensely whenever chuuya is involved. he’s constantly reading into his interactions with reader, always paranoid that something romantic might be going on between them. his corrupted mind somehow spins a friendly pat on the shoulder into them being in a long term relationship with each other. this greatly affects his partnership with chuuya, what used to be childish teasing on his part having turned into real, burning hatred, to the point where the entire pm starts getting affected. and if he somehow finds out about chuuya and reader “training” with each other? he will blow up like he never has before, and his wrath will be felt in all of yokohama, not unlike a previous boss

I NEEDED TO GIVE THIS PART ITS OWN LITTLE SECTION BECAUSE WOWWWWW I WAS THINKING OF THIS THE WHOLE TIME READING BECAUSE I WAS LIKE WOW IF THIS YANZAI KNEW ABOUT READER AND CHUUYA IT WOULD ACTUALLY BE DISASTROUS. UGHHH AND THE FACT THAT THE WORSE DAZAI GETS ABOUT HER, THE MORE HER AND CHUUYA TURN TO EACH OTHER, WHICH IN TURN JUST MAKES DAZAI WORSE AND WORSE OFF IT'S SO AWFUL ILL WEEP

he decides to send reader, now an executive, abroad temporarily, to deal with pm business there. he wants to send chuuya with her as well, both for protection in case dazai wants to pull strings from afar but also to give dazai and chuuya some time to cool off from each other. this is what finally makes dazai snap. reader finds him that night, slumped over on the ground in mori’s office with all the lights off, covered in blood and eyes glazed over, knife in trembling hands. when she crouches down and cradles his face in her hands, repeatedly asking him what happened, all he does is grab her back just as intensely and look at her with lovesick eyes, saying that he did it all for them, for their future, for her. that nothing would separate them anymore. and that’s when she notices mori’s cold body on the ground.

NONNNIEEEEEEE THIS PART WAS INSANE IT HAD ME GASPING. MORI SENDING READER AWAY TO PROTECT HER FROM DAZAI, WANTING TO SEND CHUUYA W HER JUST IN CASE BUT DAZAI FINDING OUT AND KILLING HIM FOR IT ???? ughhhhhh and i imagine reader will always have that soft spart for the boy she used to know, so when she finds him in mori's office covered in blood and shaking, she rushes up to him, kneels next to him in the blood, cupping his cheeks asking him what's wrong, if he's okay, but as soon as he feels her touching him - willingly - and CARING for him, it's just too much for him and as soon as he looks up at her w those eyes she knows something is wrong and then she sees mori ...

the love he feels is very much real. his main objective has always been winning readers love and affections. he truly feels that he is nothing without her. his love is deep and all consuming, devouring everything in it’s path. his fear of abandonment that he so vehemently denies intensifies when coupled with his yandere tendencies and passionately love, all of this ending up a toxic and terrible mess. to him, everything is monochrome and reader is the sole light and color in the dull, meaningless world. he subconsciously began centering his life around her, his love for her becoming his main driving force and began influencing all of his decisions. he’s like an addict, a simple touch or smile giving him an euphoric high. doesn’t she see!? he’s nothing without her!!! he couldn’t help but latch onto reader, the first truly good thing in his miserable life, and become immensely possessive of her. desperate and needy, he’d sink his claws in and not let go no matter what. if it’s for the sake of love, he is able to go to any lengths, demolish any obstacle, sully his hands to the point they’d rot away from filth. his whole soul is hers. hers to keep, love, break. despite his domineering behavior, he genuinely just wants readers love and approval, and will crumble if he won’t receive it

GOD these whole two last paragraphs were just so good. especially that last sentence WOW you cooked so hard with this like i was so tempted to just hoard this for myself but i had to show you how much i appreciated it. this has ENTIRELYYYY altered my brain chemistry like you put into words everything i couldn't about yanzai and i'm just SO obsessed with it i don't think i'll ever stop thinking about this.

[cosmichorrorlesbians]

what's your dissertation about? you mentioned it in the siltcord and i'm really interested

oh my god hey I'm so happy you're interested! broad strokes because I've only been working on it for a few weeks but: the current theme is 'resistant landscapes' (both man-made and natural) in the later writing of Shirley Jackson!

Essentially, my main thread is that Jackson had two parallel strands to her work, which as far as I can tell began kind of interrelated but then diverged quite significantly? She's probably best known now for The Haunting of Hill House and to a lesser extent We Have Always Lived In The Castle, which are these. weird surreal psychological horror novels, engaging explicitly or implicitly with the supernatural, and centred around introspective, strange and sometimes deeply misanthropic female characters from isolated social units with dysfunctional, possessive relationships to each other.

Aaaaand then on the other hand she was known for being a 'happy housewife' who wrote these whimsical, quasi-autobiographical stories about all her children and how hopeless her husband was. These were popular too. Betty Friedan called her out in landmark 1963 feminist manifesto The Feminine Mystique for essentially spreading patriarchal propaganda.

The interrelation between the two is really jarring, because in one family is a source of horror and tragedy and in the other it's a source of, like... laundry. And Jackson's home life wasn't everything those stories made it out to be-- her marriage was unfaithful, her mother could probably be fairly called emotionally abusive, and as I talked about on the siltcord, she developed severe agoraphobia which often left her housebound.

So, yeah. My plan is to explore the depiction of families as constructed social units in dialogue with the environments they are constructed in in that work. Obviously a lot of that is relation of house to family, in the context of which Hill House is especially rewarding to consider, but I also want to look at relationships with nature and urban environments (especially in the context of settler colonialism and how that has had an enduring legacy in Jackson's particular part of New England), xenophobia (largely in regard to class, though racism and anti-Semitism are presences in her writing), domesticity and the idea of the housewife, and how horror relates to All Of This. The ideal of making a home within a hostile environment and of that environment turning on you, essentially.

I don't yet have particular areas of focus within that broad umbrella, but I might update with bits and pieces about it as I work? I don't really talk about academic stuff on here but I am very much Critical Literary Analysis Guy and I do also post relentlessly about haunted houses as a concept so if people would be interested in it maybe I will

anyway if you've read this far I recommend Horror in Architecture: The Reanimated Edition (2024) by Joshua Comaroff and Ong Ker-Shing which is a book about how horror movie tropes can be mirrored in built environments! I'm reading it right now and it's conceptually fascinating plus fairlyyy comprehensible by academic standards (if a little dense) if you, like me, are a Fool who knows nothing of architecture. very good also for getting to look at pictures of some of the most Fucked Up Buildings (affectionate) you've ever seen.

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

🔬Some of the weirdest pieces of Gallifreyan biology we've not thought much about

GIL's already discussed quite a lot of odd Gallifreyan biology, but let's dive into some truly strange and unsettling aspects of their physiology—things that might make you rethink your cheerful view of Gallifreyans.

🧠 Memory RNA: The Ghosts in Their Cells

Gallifreyan metabolism is capable of interpreting human Memory RNA*, converting it into the Gallifreyan equivalent. This means that, with enough exposure, they could literally absorb and process human memories.

But here's the creepiest part: a Gallifreyan could theoretically consume a human's body tissue to absorb those memories, devouring their thoughts, emotions, and experiences. Human lives wouldn't just end—they'd be consumed, trapped forever in the psyche of their memory-munching Gallifreyan host.

*Memory RNA is a controversial concept in real-world biology, but a common sci-fi trope

👁️ Eye Removal: Eternal Blindness

Gallifreyans can easily regenerate damaged organs like eyes, right? Wrong. Physical removal of their eyes is one of the most traumatic injuries a Gallifreyan can suffer, and recovering from this is very difficult. If their eyes are removed and destroyed, they likely won't grow back—not even through regeneration.

In fact, if a Gallifreyan regenerates without eyes, they can stay blind in their new form, relying solely on their psychic and somatosensory abilities to function. Without sight, they're cut off from much of Gallifreyan technology. If you really want to hurt a Time Lord, total eye removal is one of the most sadistic ways to do it.

🧠 Conditioning the Unconditionable: The Lateral Interpositus Nucleus

You'd think Time Lords, with their advanced brains, would be immune to psychological conditioning. Think again. They possess a Lateral Interpositus Nucleus, the same brain structure responsible for classical conditioning like in Pavlov's dog experiment.

The twist here is that in Gallifreyans, this nucleus is highly associated with memory implantation. So, a Gallifreyan could be conditioned quite easily—and not just mildly, but to a puppet-like state—through forced memory implants, which they'll have no idea about.

🧟‍♂️ Regenerating Into Monsters: The Horror of Chain Regenerations

Regeneration might seem like a gift, but it can also be very disturbing. You'll already know that regenerations are pretty unpredictable, but this can get much worse.

If a Gallifreyan regenerates in an alien environment, their body will try to adapt—there are horror stories on Gallifrey of Time Lords trapped in chain regenerations, becoming monstrous, unrecognisable creatures with each new form.

Probably the most horrific permanent death for a Gallifreyan is dying in deep space. Once regeneration is triggered, the body burns through all remaining regenerations in a futile attempt to survive—becoming an increasingly mutated, twisted version of themselves—until they, thankfully, permanently die.

Gallifreyan Biology for Tuesday by GIL

Any purple text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →😆Jokes |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired😴

[dazed-dollie]

a doll's desires, act 1, prologue

an 18+ fantasy-horror short story series

act 1 - the phantom's doll

story content warnings: dollification, non-con/dub-con fantasy hypnosis, mild corruption kink, non-con/dub-con sexual encounters, doll transformation, psychological body horror, body betrayal

prologue

relevant content warnings: non-con/dub-con fantasy hypnosis

This is a story about a good girl, who always did what she was told. It was the safe choice. She was told to do well in school, and so she did, graduating with honors; recommendations and accolades from her teachers in abundance. The safe choice. She was told to use her degree to get a good office job - and so she did, stunning co-workers and managers alike with her charm, quick thinking and extraordinary attention to detail. The safe choice - she always went with the safe choice.

It just made sense. After all, things never went well when she made the unsafe choice.

She made one unsafe choice - then another - then another. The chaos that was left in the wake of those choices could be measured in magnitudes. No - nothing good or safe had ever come from succumbing to the call of her darkness.

It whispered in her ear -  

Harder.  Faster.  More. Surrender. Echoing in her thoughts like a guiding rhythm. Taunting her mind like a mocking prayer. So - safe, it was. Even as that blanket of safety wrapped around her with its suffocating steadiness, it was what she…wanted. No - decided. It was her choice and that is what mattered.

Right?

Her safe, perfectly-calibrated rhythm was tuned to counterbalance the dark cadence that threatened to consume her. She made sure of it - deliberating each step, calculating each word, planning each transition. But that process did not come without its own cost, and the cracks were beginning to show. But she was at the cliff’s edge of ability to bear the heavy weight of “safe” for much longer - the dark rhythm was threatening to shatter its fragile dam. She tossed fitfully in her bed, the deafening hymn the only sound in her mind... ...when she heard it. A new tune - one that seemed to harmonize with the dark refrain. It was opera, of that much she could be sure, but her mind seemed to be unable to hold on to a single word, note, or phrase before the next arrived. She could not think, she could only listen, experience, and feel.

It felt soothing…relaxing…and suddenly the darkness of the call seemed less frightening. The lilting tenor voice reminded her of the sensitive and artistic soul she had once been with dreams of art, passion, music, and beauty. The slow slide of the melody's consuming aura wrapping around her body ignited heat and sent waves of pleasure along her spine. No longer a lonely, solemn aria, her mind now sang an enthralling duet. Her mind began to quiet to complete silence, as the dynamics between the tenor’s song and her dark chorus plunged her mind into the inky waters of a deep and "dreamless" sleep.

hello and thank you for reading! I just wanted to hop in at the end here to add some context and info about the direction of the rest of this story. I wanted to start “dollie’s dramas” with an erotic fantasy-horror concept to explore the darker and frightening parts of the some of edgier kinks as appropriate for (what’s left of) the season. I’m hoping this will also serve as an exercise in giving words to some of the conflicting feelings that can arise while playing in these kinks, when they go both right and wrong.

the other inspirations - phantom of the opera, “the doll people” by Sofia Isella

the body horror elements mentioned will not be graphic or feature any gore-like imagery and it will be more of a psychological take on body horror of the transformation element of dollification.

hoping to drop the rest of act 1 for halloween tomorrow 🎃

act 1, chapter 1 here

[hadesoftheladies]

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

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

Common Themes:

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

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

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

-Women handling shit/getting shit done

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

-Evil women who are also unfortunately hot

-Female sociopaths (not always negatively portrayed)

HAVEN'T WATCHED

The Royal Hotel

The Silent Twins

The Kitchen

The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart

I'm Thinking of Ending Things

Sharp Objects

Killing Eve

Abigail

Heavenly Creatures

A Quiet Place Part 2

Panic Room

Alice, Darling

Blood Red Sky

Rust Creek

The Marsh King's Daughter

Pearl

Longlegs

GOOD STUFF (NEVER WATCHING AGAIN THOUGH!)

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

Yellowjackets (9/10) (love as cannibalism)

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

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

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

Bird Box (8/10)

Under the Bridge (8/10)

PERSONAL NOTES

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

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

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

Watch at your own risk.