#she’s part of a psychological horror story

[fangdokja]

i keep rereading your yan marine corps! x fem reader. what was reader's role that she had to follow the marine's... adventure?

"You’ll never escape me—not when I’m the only one keeping you alive."

❤︎ Synopsis. In a world where death is mercy and survival means suffering, he claims you as his, promising protection through fear, control, and a twisted love that will leave you questioning if escape was ever truly possible.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured (AHD) : A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Marine Corps x Fem. Reader

♡ Oneshot. #2 - The Devil Who Saved You

♡ Word Count. 3,153

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, non-con, possessiveness, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats, descriptions of gore and human suffering, themes of violence and dystopia

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr content guidelines involving minors, some plot details of the original story were changed to fit the platform. If you want the true original story, please look at the author's official website or Ao3.

♡ A/N. I'm glad you enjoyed it :)). I'm surprised you're rereading it a bunch. But, I guess people do technically reread anyway. Sorry, slipped out of my mind. It just makes me happy seeing underrated works get credit, whether fandom or other stories I've written. So, thank you. Anyways. Technically, this was an ask. But it's a nice idea, and I've already had it in my drafts since before. I was just postponing lore dump with Yandere! Marine Corps, due to other works. Anyways. All I knew before, in all honesty, is that it's war time. But, time to pull out the fantasy skills and world build! Wooh! And to be honest, I'm hungry to write some gore crumbs like my familiar writing style, ahh. So, here, I present to you lore backstory (well technically part of the backstory). Hope you all enjoy it (also, sorry I talk a lot in notes).

♡ Music. Levee & Brick (Down to This) by Graffiti Ghosts

The world had fallen into an abyss so deep it seemed there was no end to its descent. The wars that came before—those waged for borders, ideologies, or resources—were merely preludes to this ultimate collapse. What erupted now was not war; it was annihilation. A calamity that turned cities into craters and humanity into prey. Every shred of civility burned away in the endless fires of desperation. The air was thick with the ash of the old world, a grim veil that painted the skies an eternal gray.

You had lived a different life once, one of relative normalcy in the dwindling days before the collapse. Back then, you had a future, a purpose, something as simple and human as hope. But that had been stripped away when the world’s powers unleashed devastation so complete it birthed horrors no living creature could comprehend. Technology had become a weapon of eradication, bioweapons and nanotech turning survivors into deformed creatures of flesh and steel, feral and mindless, hunting whatever moved. Rogue factions—remnants of militaries, mercenaries, and scavengers—rose like carrion birds, preying on the remnants of humanity.

In this hellscape, survival was no longer a matter of luck but of submission. Submission to those strong enough to carve their will into the earth and impose their dominion. He was one of those few. A towering force of unyielding violence, a soldier molded by decades of carnage, by a war that had reshaped him from a man into something closer to a machine of flesh and blood. The United Corps, once a venerated military institution, had fractured into splinter groups, each operating like a self-contained warlord’s regime. He was among their best—a leader, an executioner, a strategist, and now your captor.

You were assigned to him by pure chance—or perhaps cruel design. In this new order, value wasn’t measured by money or power but by the usefulness of flesh and mind. And you had been marked as useful. Perhaps it was your background—your knowledge, your resilience, or simply the misfortune of catching his attention when your convoy was intercepted by his unit. The corps didn’t merely take prisoners; they assessed, dissected, and consumed whatever remnants of humanity they deemed salvageable.

And he deemed you salvageable.

There were no illusions about the nature of his claim over you. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t mercy. It was obsession, possessive and cruel, born of a warped sense of necessity. “You belong to me now,” he had told you in that deep, unrelenting tone, the heat of his breath warming your face even as the chill of his words froze your soul. “Out there, they’ll rip you apart for the scraps on your bones. With me, you’ll live—if you behave.”

The battlefield was safer than the no-man’s land outside his dominion. That was the most damning truth. To run from him was to dive into a living nightmare where survival wasn’t a goal but a punishment. Outside his protection, death was not granted quickly.

You’d seen it. You’d heard the screams echoing through the wastelands, watched the crude factories churn with suffering. He’d forced you to look once, pressing your face against the window of a blood processing plant as tears streaked down your cheeks. “This is what’s waiting for you if you run,” he had whispered, his voice devoid of sympathy. “With me, you’re mine. Out there, you’re theirs. Decide.”

────────────

The smell hit you first. It wasn’t just the copper tang of blood; it was the rancid stench of rotting flesh mixed with chemicals—formaldehyde, acid, and something sour that clawed at the back of your throat. You gagged, instinctively raising a trembling hand to cover your nose, but he was quicker. His large, calloused fingers wrapped around your wrist, dragging your arm back down with enough force to make you whimper.

“Don’t look away,” he growled, his voice low and gravelly, vibrating like a distant explosion. “You need to see this.”

You didn’t want to see. You didn’t! But he held you there, his unyielding grip on your wrist a silent command. He stood just behind you, close enough that his breath fanned across the back of your neck, hot and suffocating.

The factory loomed before you like the mouth of some great beast, its jagged, rusted metal teeth glinting in the dim light of the sulfur-stained sky. The air outside had been foul, but inside, it was worse—a miasma of decay and despair.

The conveyor belts stretched endlessly, carrying bodies in various states of disassembly. Some were intact, their limbs hanging limply as they were dragged by crude metal hooks. Others were barely recognizable—mangled flesh and shattered bone mashed together in a grotesque parody of humanity. You tried to look away, to focus on the machinery, but even that was a nightmare of grinding gears slick with gore.

A loud, wet squelch drew your attention to a nearby station. A corpse—a woman, or at least what remained of her—was hoisted onto a steel slab. Her eyes were still open, glassy and staring, as if frozen in the moment of her death. A mechanical arm descended, its blade glinting dully under the flickering industrial lights. It carved into her chest with a precision that was almost surgical, splitting her ribcage open to reveal the organs beneath.

You felt bile rise in your throat as another arm extended, pincers gripping her heart. It yanked the organ free with a sickening suction sound, sending a spray of blood across the walls and floor. The heart was deposited into a waiting vat, where it joined dozens of others, floating in a viscous, murky liquid.

“They don’t waste anything,” he said, his tone devoid of emotion, as if he were explaining the workings of a simple machine. “Every part has a purpose. The skin for leather. The bones for tools. The organs for… whatever the hell they need them for.”

Your knees buckled, but he caught you, his arm snaking around your waist to keep you upright. “No,” he hissed, his breath hot and sharp against your ear. “You don’t get to faint. You’re going to watch. You’re going to understand.”

A scream tore through the air, high-pitched and raw, and you realized with horror that some of them weren’t dead. Your eyes darted to the source of the sound, landing on a man thrashing against his restraints as he was dragged toward another station. His legs were gone, severed at the thighs, and the stumps had been crudely cauterized to keep him alive.

“Please,” the man sobbed, his voice hoarse and desperate. “Please, just kill me. Just—”

The blade came down before he could finish, cleaving his remaining arm from his body. His scream turned guttural, the sound of a soul breaking, before it was cut off entirely by a needle plunging into his neck. The liquid injected was thick and black, spreading through his veins like oil. His body convulsed violently for a moment before going still.

You turned your head, choking on a sob, but he gripped your chin and forced you to face the scene again. His fingers dug into your skin, bruising and relentless.

“This is what happens without me,” he said, his voice a low snarl. “You think you can survive out there? Think you can make it without my protection? Look at them!” He shook you slightly, as if to drive the point home. “This is what you are without me—meat.”

Tears streamed down your face, hot and shameful, as you stared at the conveyor belts and the countless bodies reduced to parts. You couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop the nausea that twisted your stomach into knots.

Another scream pierced the air, this one an elder's. Your head snapped toward the sound, and your heart plummeted. A thin figure, frail and sickly, was strapped to a table, his wide, terrified eyes fixed on the approaching machinery.

“No,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “No, no, no…”

The machine didn’t care. The blades descended, and you squeezed your eyes shut, the image burned into your mind even as you tried to block it out.

He didn’t let you escape even that. His hand tightened on your jaw, forcing your eyes open. “Don’t you dare look away,” he growled. “This is reality. This is what’s waiting for you if you run.”

You broke then, sobbing uncontrollably, your body wracked with shuddering breaths. He held you there, unyielding, until you were too weak to fight. Only then did he pull you close, his grip on you shifting from punishing to possessive.

“That’s right,” he murmured, his tone softening in a way that was somehow more terrifying. “You understand now, don’t you? You’re mine. And as long as you’re mine, this will never happen to you.”

His lips brushed against your temple, a mockery of comfort as he whispered, “But if you ever forget, I’ll bring you back here. And I’ll make you watch again.”

────────────

The battlefield stretched like a bleeding wound across the earth, jagged trenches carved into the mud and ash. The remnants of what had once been cities were nothing more than skeletal buildings clawing at the smog-choked sky. The air was thick with the acrid tang of burning fuel and the gut-wrenching stench of charred flesh. Bomb craters bubbled with viscous, oily water that gleamed under the pale, radioactive sun. It was a place where hope had been smothered, where humanity’s last breaths came in choking, gurgling gasps.

He stood before you, his shadow long and oppressive, a monolith of muscle and bloodied steel. His armor—if you could call the piecemeal, blood-streaked remains of his tactical gear armor—clung to him like a second skin, the fabric worn thin and blackened with soot. In his hand, a rifle dangled lazily, as though he didn’t need it. And he didn’t. He was a weapon unto himself, his body and mind honed by decades of violence, cruelty, and war.

“Do you remember this place?” His voice was a low rumble, scraping against your nerves like a blade dragged across bone. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, bore into you with a force that made your knees weak. “Where I found you?”

You nodded faintly, though you didn’t trust your voice enough to speak. Your silence wasn’t just fear—it was a learned response, a survival tactic you’d mastered in the years since he’d claimed you.

“Do you know what they were going to do to you?” He crouched, bringing his face level with yours. His presence was suffocating, his frame dwarfing your own. His voice dropped lower, almost tender, as though sharing a secret. “No, you don’t. You only saw what they let you see. Let me show you the rest.”

He yanked you forward, his grip on your wrist unyielding, and led you toward the edge of the battlefield. The ground squelched beneath your feet, a revolting mixture of mud, blood, and something viscous that you didn’t want to identify. In the distance, the ruins of an old hospital came into view. The building leaned at an unnatural angle, its walls crumbling but still intact enough to conceal the horrors within.

“You’ve seen death,” he said, his tone conversational, as though discussing the weather. “But you haven’t seen what people do when death isn’t enough. When they want to break you first.”

The interior of the hospital reeked of antiseptic and decay. The sterile smell of chemicals clashed with the unmistakable odor of rot. The walls were streaked with dark stains, their origins uncomfortably clear as you stepped over discarded limbs, the flesh marbled with gangrene and crude surgical scars.

In the first room, a soldier lay strapped to a gurney, his body contorted unnaturally. His chest had been split open, ribs wrenched apart like the wings of a grotesque bird. His heart was missing, the cavity where it had once beat filled with a tangled mess of wires and tubing. The machinery whirred softly, pumping fluids through his veins and forcing his lungs to expand and contract in shallow, mechanical breaths. His eyes were still open, rolling wildly in their sockets as they locked onto you.

“He’s alive,” the man behind you whispered, his voice a mix of mockery and menace. “Barely. They like to see how far they can push the human body before it gives out. Sometimes they even stitch people back together, just to see how much more they can take.”

You gagged, your stomach lurching violently, but he grabbed your chin, forcing you to face the horror. “Don’t look away,” he commanded, his tone sharp and unyielding. “You need to understand. This is what was waiting for you.”

He dragged you into another room, this one colder, darker. Rows of tanks filled the space, each containing a murky, greenish fluid that distorted the shapes inside. At first, you thought they were bodies, but as you moved closer, you realized they were something worse. Limbs were fused together in impossible configurations, heads sprouted from torsos without necks, and eyes blinked independently in faces twisted beyond recognition. The creatures floated listlessly, their expressions a grotesque mix of agony and confusion.

“Human experimentation,” he explained, almost lazily. “They weren’t trying to kill you. They were going to use you. Turn you into something like this. A weapon. Or worse—a resource.”

You stumbled backward, but he caught you, his arm curling around your waist with a possessive strength that left no room for escape. He pressed his lips to your ear, his voice a dark caress. “I killed them all for you. Do you see now why you belong to me? Why you owe me your life?”

He pushed you onward, through rooms filled with horrors you couldn’t have imagined in your darkest nightmares. A man impaled on a series of metal rods, his skin flayed back to expose muscle and bone, still breathing through a series of tubes jammed into his throat. A woman with her limbs replaced by crude prosthetics, her mouth sewn shut but her eyes screaming. People of all ages locked in cages, their bodies twisted and deformed, their cries muffled by gags soaked in blood.

“This is what humanity has become,” he said, his voice cold and detached. “This is what I saved you from. You were a prize to them. A rare find. They would’ve broken you in ways you can’t even imagine.”

You fell to your knees, the weight of it all crashing down on you. He crouched beside you, his bloodied hand gripping your chin and forcing you to look at him. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, were filled with something dark, something terrifyingly close to affection.

“Don’t forget this,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Don’t ever forget who saved you. Who you belong to. Because without me…” His voice trailed off as he gestured toward the carnage around you. “This is all you’d ever know.”

You sobbed, the sound muffled against his chest as he pulled you into his arms. His embrace was as suffocating as it was unyielding, a cage that you could never escape. And yet, in that moment, you clung to him, because the alternative was too horrifying to bear.

────────────

So you stayed.

Not because you trusted him. Not because you wanted him. But because the alternative was infinitely worse. And yet, staying came with its own horrors, its own chains. His obsession didn’t shield you from his cruelty; it only redirected it. He was a man who didn’t just command obedience—he demanded submission. Every glance, every word, every trembling breath was a reminder of your place beneath him. When he touched you, it wasn’t with gentleness. His hands were calloused and bruising, gripping and claiming, leaving marks that would never fade.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he would say when your eyes filled with defiance or despair. “You’re still alive because I allow it.”

The world outside was dead, a barren wasteland of mutilation and starvation, yet with him, the torment was suffocatingly personal. He didn’t just want your compliance; he wanted your surrender. His words were a scalpel, cutting into your psyche with surgical precision. He would pull you close, his breath hot against your ear, his voice low and gravelly as he whispered promises of protection intertwined with threats so visceral they made your stomach churn.

“You’re mine,” he’d say, his hand resting possessively on your throat. “Every inch of you. Every thought. Every breath. Try to take that away from me, and I’ll show you what real pain feels like.”

There were moments when his control slipped, when the line between protector and predator blurred beyond recognition. He would keep you close, his body a cage of muscle and violence, his gaze piercing through your facade of composure. The way his hands roamed wasn’t tender—it was invasive, a reminder that he could take whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and there was nothing you could do to stop him.

And yet, you didn’t resist. Couldn’t. Resistance wasn’t a choice. Not here. Not with him.

The world outside was unlivable. The world with him was unbearable. Between the two, you chose to endure.

────────────

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General TAG LIST of “A Heart Devoured”: @definetlythinkimanalien , @floooring

[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.)

[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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[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.

[queereads-bracket]

Queer Adult SFF Books Bracket: Round 1

Book summaries below:

Our Wives Under the Sea by Julia Armfield

Miri thinks she has got her wife back, when Leah finally returns after a deep-sea mission that ended in catastrophe. It soon becomes clear, though, that Leah is not the same. Whatever happened in that vessel, whatever it was they were supposed to be studying before they were stranded on the ocean floor, Leah has brought part of it back with her, onto dry land and into their home.

Moving through something that only resembles normal life, Miri comes to realize that the life that they had before might be gone. Though Leah is still there, Miri can feel the woman she loves slipping from her grasp.

Our Wives Under The Sea is the debut novel from Julia Armfield, the critically acclaimed author of Salt Slow. It’s a story of falling in love, loss, grief, and what life there is in the deep deep sea.

Horror, contemporary, literary fiction, science fiction, adult

The Luminous Dead by Caitlin Starling

When Gyre Price lied her way into this expedition, she thought she’d be mapping mineral deposits, and that her biggest problems would be cave collapses and gear malfunctions. She also thought that the fat paycheck—enough to get her off-planet and on the trail of her mother—meant she’d get a skilled surface team, monitoring her suit and environment, keeping her safe. Keeping her sane.

Instead, she got Em.

Em sees nothing wrong with controlling Gyre’s body with drugs or withholding critical information to “ensure the smooth operation” of her expedition. Em knows all about Gyre’s falsified credentials, and has no qualms using them as a leash—and a lash. And Em has secrets, too . . .

As Gyre descends, little inconsistencies—missing supplies, unexpected changes in the route, and, worst of all, shifts in Em’s motivations—drive her out of her depths. Lost and disoriented, Gyre finds her sense of control giving way to paranoia and anger. On her own in this mysterious, deadly place, surrounded by darkness and the unknown, Gyre must overcome more than just the dangerous terrain and the Tunneler which calls underground its home if she wants to make it out alive—she must confront the ghosts in her own head.

But how come she can't shake the feeling she’s being followed?

Horror, science fiction, psychological thriller, mystery, adventure, adult

[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 😅

All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @lokanda @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy

Lincoln: @fan-fiction-floozy @ivyblxnde @lhymer1995 @sugarspiceanthrax @isimpforfictionalmen @zynbsblogg @swedishscumfuck @sadgirlstoohightocare @steveharringtonswh0re @skythighs @aoziety @leeeesahhh @jupitersmoon-cal @peekymoon @dtfawn @pedrosbabygirl @shotgun-shelby @reader-without-a-story (ct'd in comments or reblogs)

You can also follow @toxicfics and turn on notifs, but it doesn't include all blurbs, HCs, drabbles, etc.

[lun3ria]

josh washington mementos/headcanons/etc

- a baseball cap from the first baseball game his dad took him to as a little boy

- would often beg hannah and beth to come to his games and to play with him in the summer ( + he was very involved in their lives and was the type to show up at parent teacher conferences because it annoyed them lol)

- dvd collections of his favorite movies (mostly horror /his dads films + he has a couple barbie movies because han made him watch them when he was younger)

- chris got him into video games in elementary school but josh eventually found his niche to be ambient horror games

- a sketch of a forest sam was going to throw away but josh couldn’t believe she considered it “bad” and kept it (+ a sketch of him)

- i think the color scheme of his clothing/room is gray, dark blue, umber, evergreen

- a stack of notebooks with storyboard drafts, doodles, prop designs

(he’s never shared them bc he doesn’t think they’re good enough and would rather a have “real” career than indulge in his silly producer dreams hence why he opts to take psychology in college + he thinks it will help him understand himself better since therapy/his healthcare provider have failed him)

- i think he takes halloween so seriously (probably prompts the group to do group costumes) and has a collection of costumes that have amounted over the years that he designed himself. i think it’s one of the earlier manifestations of his love for prop/costume design that he can embrace without feeling self conscious

- matching christmas socks that emily & jess bought for all the guys

- obviously a prankster so he has a bunch of those little toys from when he was younger like the gum that zaps your finger, fake insects, candles that don’t blow out etc

- a crocheted bear that beth made him that he always keeps on his bed

- i think he loves snowboarding (often drags chris to go with him) and has his own gear that he intentionally picked out

- a photo album his mom gave him several years ago of him and his sisters growing up. he forgot about it until he found it at the back of his closet after the twins died :(

- he is so good at deflecting and can mask his emotions very well (i think there can be some wonderful symbolism in josh’s love for costume/mask design and his ability to mask his true feelings to play a part in someone’s story)

- his mom became reserved after the death of the twins. she used to be beloved by the group but with conflicting grief/guilt/and sympathy everyone feels, she stops talking to them. i think josh’s dad blames him to an extent if only subconsciously (bc josh was drunk & passed out + he’s the oldest and was “responsible” for things going smoothly) but it bubbles to the surface when they argue. josh doesn’t like coming to his dad about his mental health bc he minimizes it and i think after the twins disappearance his mom checks out when it comes to josh’s wellbeing.

[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

[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.

[ghosts-to-reid]

Neo Gothic: The Bibliography

These are meanings/refernces made in Neo Gothic, for those who may not have delved into the genre asmuch as they'd like...

This post is in reference to my series 'Neo Gothic' and as such some definitions are written towards to context of the story, this isn't a fool proof guide to the gothic, only a guide for my readers.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5

References are in order of their mention, starting with part 1. Some are my definitions, other are from the internet.

The Gothic: A literary genre that combines Romance and Horror, Characterized by horror, Mystery, and gloom. Solidified as a genre by Horace Walpole, author of The Castle of Otranto.

Dracula: 1897 Cult Gothic Novel about vampire Dracula, who haunts a group from London, trying to turn or kill them.

Lucy Westenra: Mina Harker's best friend in Dracula, She is fed on, then turned, and eventually killed by the group. She was considered promiscuous due to her many suitors. She is given blood transfusions, however we now know the science behind these transfusions are outdated. She is finally killed in her vampiric form by beheading and a stake through the heart.

Carmilla: 1872 Predesscor of Dracula, it follows an isolated young woman who befriends a woman who turns out to be the vampire who has been drinking from her breast for years...

Carmilla (Character): An ancient vampire, often interpretated as a lesbian. In the novel, her death is achived by finding her resting place (her tomb), beheading her, and driving a stake through her heart.

Ann Radcliffe: Gothic author, known as 'The Enchantress', she published many acclaimed gothic novels in her time, including The Mysteries of Udolpho, she also wrote many essays that were published after her dath that have become acclaimed for their insight.

Rosemary's Baby: 1968 horror film directed by Roman Polanski, following a woman who is being victimised by a satanic cult.

The Exorcist: 1973 film directed by William Friedkin, following a girl who is possesed by an ancient demon.

Creed (Barbra): Professor of Cinema Studies, wrote collection of essays named "Monsterous-Feminine: Film, Feminism, Psychoanlysis"

Abjection: subjective horror, or someone's reaction to physically or emotionally disturbing subject matter

The Yellow Wallpaper: 1892 Novella by Charlotte Perkins Gillman, follows the descent into maddness of a victorian woman perscribed a "rest cure"

Dracula (character death): He is beheaded and stabbed through the heart, afterwards turning to dust.

The Castle of Otranto: 1764 novella by Horace Walpole, tricks reader into beleiving it is a true story of an ancient catholic family in italy, who are victim to spiritual haunting due to their transgressions.

Castle of Otranto Death: At the start of the novel, Manfred's (The villian) son is about to marry the virtuous Isabella, however in a tragic turn of events, he is crushed to death by a giant suit of armour, the helmet becoming stuck.

Frankenstein: 1818 Novella by Mary Shelley, follows Victor Frankenstein in his abjection after playing god, and bringing life to mixture of corpses.

Annabelle Lee (poem): explores the theme of the death of a beautiful woman. The narrator, who fell in love with Annabel Lee when they were young, has a love for her so strong that even angels are envious

Raven: Inspired by the poem, 'The Raven' by Edgar Allen Poe

Terror: Psychological fear, feeling like you're being watched/Thinking you heard noise.

Horror: The physcial reaction to fear, a scream, the unsettling shake when you're scared.

Sanguinary/Sanguination: involving or causing much bloodshed.

Sanguinary Rosebud: Reference to Angela Carter's short story "Lady in The House of Love"

Sublime: The state of all striking awe of the natural world.

Gothic Heroine: The gothic heroine is often characterised by her lack of agency or control in her situation. Often in a vulnerable position, she is often targeted by the immoral.

Naturalist: naturalism, in literature and the visual arts, late 19th- and early 20th-century movement that was inspired by adaptation of the principles and methods of natural science, especially the Darwinian view of nature, to literature and art.

Byron: Lord Byron was a romantic poet in the 19th century, well known for his sexual escapades.

Dr Bell: Bell was the last name used in the Pseudonmys that that Bronte sisters shared when publishing.

Dr. Purcell: one of sheridan Le Fanu's pseudonmys

Quarles: One of Edgar Allen Poe's pseudonmys

[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😴

[childlikegoblinqueen]

SCOM WRITERS NOTES! For Criminal…

Darius and Willow (and Hunter)

First? Some mental health stuff.

I’m back and my brain is working overtime not to panic and obsess about things that are currently out of my control.

Not easy. I’m sick to my stomach most days and raising my kids who are now WAY more aware than they were when they were literal babies in 2016 and have a lot of thoughts about *things* takes up a lot of headspace.

I’m going to continue to (try) distracting myself with fan fiction and writing notes… but I may be slower because of everything.

So see below for a few notes about Criminal and how Darius’ (and Steve’s) actions after Willow’s actions frame things.

Darius’ track record of truth versus omissions of full truth is BAD in SCOM. I know that a LOT of folks thought I was deliberately anti Darius etc and that is something that they are entitled to believe, but certainly I was working more with the idea that people are messy AF, especially people coming from an underground resistance to a fascist government, and Darius had other hang ups considering his own relationship with Hunter’s predecessor.

Darius made bad decisions that he meant well by at the time and sometimes even overcompensated to fix which ended up costing more to begin with. This is a REALLY HUMAN PROBLEM. He chose to dive back into government (and mend and reform it) which means it was IMPOSSIBLE for him to share certain things with others on the outside.

In SCOM Hunter, coming from the place he had been all his life needed distance from anything involving government. The two things just couldn’t fit together and as Darius had admitted (and Bria twisted) he’d felt sick when he saw Hunter realizing just how badly he’d failed at not mentoring him, but being in his life.

That said? Everything he had done (for better or for worse) was to protect Hunter and keep him out of government affairs so he could remain a private citizen.

And a big one, that displayed a TON of bias was how he handled the situation between Willow and Kikimora.

He has a lot of compassion for Willow and recognizes very well how someone can be pushed SO FAR PSYCHOLOGICALLY when it comes to the thought of a loved one being hurt and abused.

Further? Kikimora (unlike Hunter and Willow) was a grown ass adult when this occurred (more on that later in the story).

Torture is NOT Willow’s go to by any means. She felt outside her own body when she acted as she had. A feeling both Darius (and Steve) are likely to understand. And they believe she deserves a chance at healing.

So taking her memory and getting her into therapy was part of protecting Willow and Hunter at the time. Not only did he see her as a child who couldn’t process her emotions over not being able to protect someone she loved, but he saw her actual horror at her actions.

This shouldn’t be definitive of her future anymore than Hunter should be defined by his time as a child under Belos.