#shut up debra

[iced-chaii]

love going back to older smosh vids and seeing the comments like “they hated each other here” thx debra your insight is so valuable

[polaris-likethestar]

the coven fr js a family bc we got slightly pyscho daugther (agatha), the somehow put-together mom (lilia), the daugther's on-again, off-again, slightly more pyscho girlfriend (rio), their child of (several) divorce(s) (teen), that one responsible cousin you always see but have no idea how y'all are related (jen), that one irresponsible cousin you always see but have no idea how y'all related (alice) and that one aunt (sharon)

[doehoney]

Debra Morgan do you ever shut the fuck up

[never-not-ever]

If you don't say "bless you" when your cat sneezes you're a shitty human being. They deserve to get blessings too.

[portmantaur]

healing & learning to legitimately cope are so good when you get to see the dividends but it’s a lifelong journey that also kind of requires you to be proud of yourself for things that sometimes sound objectively silly & thus you have to judge (for my own part, largely incorrectly) who you can effectively and reasonably share that with

sure sure i get that “i avoided starting like 15 inconsequential arguments about stuff i misunderstood today” sounds like something that shouldn’t take effort to most ppl but it’s very difficult for ME, Debra, i have Chronically Confused And Annoyed Combative Bitch Disease let me HAVE THIS

[labradorite-princess]

I'm waiting for a book to come in the mail and I am v impatient about it! I want to read the spooky clown circus book now! I also ordered a book by the same author for my cousin. And I wanna see it!

Here's the books (links takes you to Etsy):

Circus at Devil's Landing

The Root Witch

[stelashe]

Good afternoon to everyone, if you're a dentist or an assistant I hope u die

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

Rebuild & Restore - Chapter 5

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

All OC Characters belong to me

2 weeks later.... Friday

Eli: There’s a refresher and a donut waiting for u at the L&D desk ms I don’t like coffee. 

Kiyana rolled her eyes with a grin as she texted Eli back. Josh narrowed his eyes as he watched Kiyana smile down at her phone. He tried to ignore it but when she started to actually giggle at the fucking phone he snuck around the kitchen counter and tried to get a peek at who she was texting but she caught on and quickly locked her phone and set down on the counter. 

“You need something?” She asked, rolling her eyes when his eyes glanced down at her phone.  “You got anything planned today or yall just gonna chill?” She asked, grabbing her lunch out of the fridge. When she turned back around he had her phone in his hands.“HEY!” She called out,  snatching her phone out of his hands. “What are you doing?” 

“You changed your password?” She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. 

“Why were you trying to go through my phone? We are div-” 

“Divorced. Yeah you keep bringing it up.”  She rolled her eyes and grabbed her bag. 

“I get off at 9. Will y’all be good until then?” Josh nodded, his jaw was clenched tight as he kept thinking about how Kiyana changed her password to her phone. Kiyana rolled her eyes at his attitude before walking out of the kitchen and towards the front door. 

“I love you!” She called out to the boys and Josh heard them call it back before the front door slammed shut. 

“Love you too.” He muttered before going to join his sons in the living room. 

“So you at Dr. Daniels seem to be getting close.” Debra , the senior nurse stated as she eyed the drink in Kiyana’s hand. Kiyana shrugged

“He’s cool.” 

“Cool enough to be talking about asking you on a date.” Debra said, smirking when Kiyana snapped her head towards her. 

“No, we’re just friends.”  Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt. Her inner voice said. 

Debra rolled her eyes. “Honey, I helped deliver Elijah forty-something years ago and that man still doesn't bring me coffee everyday.”  Kiyana bit her lip and looked down the hall to where Eli was talking with another nurse. “Look, I know you just got divorced but shit, take the chance. You don’t have to fall in love with him.” Kiyanna sighed and shook her head, it was way too soon for her to even think about going on a date with another man. Her divorce was still fresh, like an open wound. 

“ I think Key already talking to somebody else.” Josh blurted out as he, Trinity and Jon sat in their backyard, keeping a close eye on his two older boys who were swimming. He had put Kairo down for a nap. 

“Well you were fucking someone else while y’all were married so who cares.” Trin said, smacking Jon on his shoulder when he elbowed her in her ribs. “I mean what did you expect? Kiyana is very attractive and now she’s single.”  Trin shrugged. 

“Don’t kick the man while he’s down Trin.” 

“Yeah, damn Trinity. I thought we were better than that.” Josh tried to joke but Trinity was still very pissed off at him. “I know I fucked up. But it’s only been two weeks.” 

“How long is she supposed to wait? Until you’re ready for her to move on?” Trin rolled her eyes. “Leave that woman alone. Her life is no longer a concern of yours..”  Josh didn’t say anything as he brought his attention back to his sons. How was I supposed to get her back if she’s moved on already?

“Fuck him” Shanté muttered. “Fuck him and his stupid mullet. It’s 2024, the eighties called, they want their hairstyle back.” She said giggling at her own joke.  Nikkita rolled her eyes from where she was sitting on their couch. 

“Tae, I been told you to stop messing with that man, She might've divorced him but he still loves her. You can’t compete with that.”  Shanté flipped off her best friend and took another swig from the wine bottle they were passing back and forth. 

“He told me he never wanted to be with me, Nikki.” Nikkita didn’t respond back because.. Duh. It was pretty obvious. Josh only hit Shanté up after the RAW tappings on Monday’s and as soon as he would fly back home to Pensacola he would block her, then start the cycle all over again the next Monday. Nikkita felt bad for her friend but she had also warned her the first time Shanté had told her she hooked up with Josh. 

Kiyana was Josh’s high school sweetheart and from experience, Nikkita knew that Shanté never stood a chance. 

Kiyana let out a sigh of relief as she clocked out for the day. She can finally go home and be with her boys for 3 whole days.  Just as she was about to walk out the front door she heard her name being called. She turned and smiled once she saw it was Elijah. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey,” He said back slightly out of breath. “I ran all the way down here. Though I missed you.” He smiled at her. 

“You just caught me.” She said, feeling herself blush under the heat of his stare. “Wassup?” 

“I wanna take you out tomorrow night.” Kiyana blinked. “If it's too soon. I apologize, but I really like you Kiyana.” She clutched her purse strap tighter as she felt the butterflies in her tummy start to rumble around.  Kiyana only got that feeling with one man before and she had just divorced him two weeks ago. 

Elijah sighed as she just stared at him. “It’s too soon isn’t it?”  Kiyana quickly broke out of her stupor and shook her head. 

“No,” She cleared her throat. “ I would love to go out with you” 

“Yeah?” Eli asked. “Bet, do you have a babysitter for tomorrow?” Kiyana nodded. “Okay, tomorrow at 8. Text me your address.” 

Kiyana bit her lip as she watched him run back into the hospital, the butterflies more intense as she thought about their date tomorrow night. She let out a groan and let her head fall back, looking towards the sky. She was so fucking screwed. 

Kiyana got her first date since the divorce.. Josh about to be soooooooooooooooooooooooooo fucking petty 😭, y'all just don't understand.

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

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[spdrvyn]

i love my husband — miguel o'hara drabble

fluff. heavy inspo on this video.

sorry for the inactivity and the lazy ass title, exam week came around before i could even start on the next request and i did nothing but relax the entire break (which was only FOUR days) so i'll bring this out and see if i can clear my sched enough to actually do shit. enjoy!

the moonlit sky reflects beautifully onto the shining surface of your mug, filled to the brim of chamomile tea and flooding your nostrils with delight as your body melts into the couch.

work kept you on the edge of your seat for the entire week, it was non-stop meetings and non-stop emergency calls even outside of your working hours that had you so stressed. you were sure you'd picked enough hairs out to make a wig.

the weekend is truly a blessing, you want to stay as far away as humanly possible from your phone and shut yourself out from civilization before you come protector of debra's last minute files.

you missed the soft cotton of your pajamas, not like you haven't worn them in the past couple of days but to actually be able to appreciate what it means to wear them and the greeting of a good night's sleep had you sighing and moaning almost a little too much.

you worked hard, you definitely deserved this. you grab a spare pillow and tuck it under your head turning to the side and looking at the city that surrounded you, your patience and tenacity at the office has now been rewarded with the view you're able to appreciate.

however, the shadow that looms over the carpeted floors of your flat don't go away even after rubbing your eyes. you look up and a faint red glow in the symbol of a very familiar spider catches your eye immediately, you smile lazily through the glass.

miguel slides open the door with no hesitation, cape still drifting in the wind from what you can only assume to be his own previous working activities. you can sense the tension wafting off of him like waves especially as he stomps all the way over to where you are on the couch and looks down at you.

his mask isn't off, he's still fully geared, and all you can do is stare back into those lenses.

that is until he surrenders, body giving up, and his body flops right on top of yours. it doesn't really surprise you, there have been times where miguel has come home after a worse day of saving the multiverse and traps you in a hug before you can protest or move. though you've never really seen him do this before.

he adjusts his position, but still keeps his arms tightly wrapped around you as you move as well so that you're holding him back. his face is buried into the crook of your neck and the feeling of his nose tickling your skin tells you that he unmasked already.

not a single word leaves his mouth, you silently adore the way he's melted into you already, the way the muscles on his back rise only to slowly fall again.

you don't want to break the silence, neither of you do. right now, the only form of communication that matters is touch. your lips burning kisses into his curls, your nose now erasing whatever of your tea was left and making the way for miguel.

he shies away from your touch with a small groan, "i stink."

a giggle threatens to break out from the back of your throat, as many times as he would insist that you'd keep going anyway. "so when you do it, it's fine? i see how it is then."

miguel chuckles, he inches himself into you further. deeper. his breaths become less and less shallow, it's clear that he's taking his fair share of sniffs from you as well. "because you smell good."

"i ran a bath, that's why." one last peck to his head and you opt to just comb his hair instead, running your fingers through the strands and observing as they twist back to curl after brushing it some more.

both of you stay like that for a while, not saying anything, not doing anything, just being here. existing with each other. you always find moments like these beautiful, even when miguel is probably one work call away from shaking hands with the grim reaper.

in miguel, you've found yourself open to so many new experiences and risks you could've never imagined on your own. despite the many amount of times at the start of your relationship that he'd give you space and wouldn't be mad if you left, you kept still by his side anyway. you knew that he was worth it.

in you, miguel found that mundanity that he's never had his whole life. passing out on the sofa on his own never felt the same, most times he'd wake up still in his suit and would have to go to work right after anyway. yet with you, the stress ebbed away over time because he knew that you'd always be waiting for him.

whatever historians had with their relics, miguel had with you. not to keep them confined in a metal case, of course not, but he felt as if you were to be revered. kissed and touched with utmost respect and you'd bring the people their good fortunes and long lives. you certainly did for him and miguel might as well be immortal now.

his hands wander, fingertips delicately grazing over the skin tucked beneath your nightwear. he goes slowly, traveling up to your chest where he—

"miguel?"

his hands freeze, face going red. the guilt of possibly going too far is ready to break free from his heart and consume him until he can feel your body trembling with laughter.

"since you apparently stink so bad, shouldn't you shower first before getting so handsy?" miguel pouts at your comment, he already had the apologies locked and loaded for you.

"just a few more minutes, corazón."

[olderthannetfic]

I think one of my biggest pet peeves is when people misunderstand the statement "I avoid politics in my hobby" or some variation, on purpose and the most offensive and wrong way possible.

You god damn pieces of shit know god damn well that I don't mean "Oh so you think poc and queer people need to stay out of hobbies because our existence is inherently political." Shut the fuck Debra, you're just being wilfully stupid because you have nothing else going for you other than constantly being belligerent about politics. If your life is that miserable that you can't even shut the fuck up about politics in a space about a game where you live in a town with animals, and you beat them with nets, then just piss off and stay in politic spaces instead.

Human's aren't made to be 24/7 on edge, that includes poc and queer people. If your entire fucking presence is politics, you're destroying yourself. Do that, if you wanna burn out then fucking do that. But some people understand everything needs a balance. And you fucking know what? As a fucking fag who's experienced a lot, and I mean A LOT of shit for being myself in all my rainbow fucking glory, I get to wind down and not constantly deal with the shit daily life throws at me when I read my current favourite manga or book.

--

[angelspitxx]

random dexter rambling.. i miss rita.

instead of her dying, dexter saves her in time. she doesn't remember much about the assault but she swears she saw him kill her attacker before she loses consciousness. she wakes up in the hospital, he's there by her side. his hands trembling as he holds hers, brows furrowed, unable to meet her eyes. he mumbles "im sorry" and they sit in silence. she's trying to remember what happened but it's a blur. debra comes in and checks on her, gives them the bad news that trinity is in the wind. only, he's not and dexter knows it. he's at the bottom of the ocean, rotting in a trash bag. he's grateful for that at least, but he feels so guilty for what almost happened to rita. weeks pass, things are *different* between them to say the least. strained, painful. almost as if they can't look at each other anymore. he tries to talk but the words won't come out.

one day, rita has a dream of the attack, and clearly sees dexter stab trinity. she decides to follow him one night. she isn't sure why she hasn't ever done this before, he's always out so late.. and she's never quite sure what he's really doing. she watches with wide eyes as she sees him heaving what looks like a body in his trunk. he drives to an abandoned looking house. the moment he's inside with the body she shuts off her vehicle and follows him. she's peeking through the windows but can't see anything, so she sneaks inside quietly.

it's then that she sees all the plastic sheeting, curiously, she peeks behind it. only to reveal dexter, in all his homicidal glory, shoving a knife into some random man she's never met. the look in his eyes terrifies her and she lets out a gasp, almost tripping over something and falling back. his head snaps up and he can't believe his eyes. before she even gets a chance to run he's grabbing her, covering her mouth so she can't scream.

"it isn't what you think i promise- i was only-"

he can't think of a reasonable excuse, instead he just starts begging her not to leave him. he doesn't even care if she turns him in, he can't kill her. a million thoughts are running through his head and the biggest one is: "i can't lose them. my family. my wife. i won't lose them."

she's crying, her tears running onto his hand. the way she's looking at him makes his chest ache. he isn't sure what that feeling is, maybe hurt?

he takes his hand away slowly, "please.. rita. i can explain."

she shakes her head and looks away from him. she can't speak. she can't move, too terrified of the man she thought she knew. the man she married, the man she loves. loved? she doesn't even know anymore. was everything a lie?

he begins kissing her tears, salty on his lips. his hands, always so gentle when they touch her. even now, when they are covered in someone's blood.

"please," he begs again, his voice desperate.

she's shaking against him and she rasps out, "you killed him.. didn't you? the.. man who hurt me? i saw you.."

he nods and swallows the lump in his throat, "yes.. and this man. he hurt other people too. i only kill the ones who deserve it. i swear, i can prove it to you."

as if that justified him, as if that would make her stay. she finally looks up at him, and he can't tell what she's thinking. she's searching for something, he thinks, in his eyes. deceit, truth. every moment that passes is like an eternity until finally she stops shaking and her eyes soften. it's all beginning to click for her.

"this is your addiction, isn't it?"

he wants to say yes, because for the longest time it had been.. but the fear he just felt when he thought he could lose her told him otherwise. he kissed her, expecting her to pull away in disgust. only she didn't, she let him melt against her. shedding the mask he had put on for his entire life. someone finally saw him.. and she didn't leave.

[rubbish-and-whatnot]

Hello, can i request a Yandere Eyeless Jack but the MC works for a different entity? Would they clash or just passive? It's up to you if you want to make the MC human or whatever you want.

If possible, i want the mc to be completely devoted to the entity they're working on, they work for it willingly and have accepted it whole heartedly. Bye i asked for too much 🥰.

Eyeless Jack x rival! cultist! reader

(unedited) I had some fun writing this one. I may have taken a few liberties here and there. Let me know what you think! I have extra time away from work for requests because of Hurricane Debby. Thanks Debra <3

The restraints on the hospital bed were a little tighter than comfortable. You thrashed around nevertheless trying to at the very least loosen them enough to slip through. When that didn’t work you screamed out in white hot anger. 

“Let me go! This isn’t fair,” You cried out to your captor who was just casually sipping his coffee and doing his crossword puzzle at his desk. 

“Do you renounce your allegiances to… what’s his face?” He waved his pencil around in the air as if to find the blank in his mind. 

“Of course not! He is my life. He is my blood! He-“

“Then no. I’m not letting you out of those restraints until you are fully deprogrammed,” he flipped the page and sighed. 

Eyeless jack. A formidable foe who works under the being called The Operator. In the past year you’ve made a group of amazing and trustworthy friends. Found yourself living in a new community. Cut your ties with your family. Made an excellent relationship with the prophet. Really threw yourself into your faith. Jack, however, has been on your trail every turn. Every book club, every fundraiser, every hunt he was there. Being a devout follower meant a very healthy social life, don’t ya know?

“How is my thing all that different from your thing?! We’re both just putting in the work for a cause we believe in,” You stop thrashing to take a breath. He snapped his magazine shut and spun around on his chair. 

“It couldn’t be more different. I am bound to my entity, you’re trapped by your own mind,” he placed his hands firmly on the guards on either side of your bed, “If one of us can actually be free then I will find away. Until then it’s restraints and force-fed meals for you.”

“You are so stubborn!” You hollered. 

“Said the cultist,” he replied. 

“I am not in a cult.” You said defensively for the billionth time. 

“Oh really. Then why do you follow what the prophet says so seriously?” 

“Because it’s a sin not to. Those who don’t trust the prophet are punished by the community, they are the conduits for Thalorgorath’s will.”

“See that is something that was drilled into you verbatim. Most people don’t take their religion that intensely. Also most religions don’t punish the non-believers by using people they thought they could trust,” Jack wrestled with one of the guards to slide it down into place and take a seat on the edge of your bed. “You used to be so full of life. The way you would laugh with your whole chest. I remember how you would sing at the top of your lungs with the radio blasting and the windows down. You glowed,” Jack took a strand of hair and rolled and twisted it around his gloved fingers. Your sparkle had dimmed so immensely since you joined that cult. You’re paler, more solemn, all seriousness and gloom. 

Jack was stationed to work mostly in a specific small town, your small town. He saw you before and after. Now, it really did help that you began to interfere with his work. That’s the only reason he can have you here now. You were looking for a sacrifice for your god and half the time that just so happened to be Jack’s next target. So your paths began to cross regularly. You would always flee the scene in a villainous ‘I’ll get you next time for sure!’ kind of fashion. As time passed and you kept returning empty handed you began to get more and more desperate. You began to waste away. 

“I brought you here because I care about you more than anyone in your community ever could. Their love is conditional on how devout a follower you are. I like you just the way you are. Good. Evil. Atheist. Cultist. I just want the real you back,” he sighed. 

You shuffled uncomfortably. The memories of before, seeing Jack and talking with him, sharing a coffee with him on the outskirts of the woods. They were comforting and feeling awfully compelling in this moment. There was a time you thought you might’ve liked Jack yourself. But that’s all in the past. A life of sin you must spend the rest of your life atoning for. 

“She’s dead.” You spat. 

“I don’t think that’s true,” He let go of your hair and started rifling in his pockets, “If your prophet were so holy then explain this,” he laid out several polaroids of the man in question. Him living in a lavish house paid for by all the tithes that were so important. Him indulging in the sin of the flesh again and again and again, coercing members and sex workers into doing exactly what he wanted. Him with his stockpile of illusionist supplies for his miracles. Even a picture of him sitting on his couch with his legs propped up on the coffee table on top of the holy text. And one of him spilling his beer on it. We weren’t even allowed to drink alcohol. It was considered contraband that was worth ten lashings. 

You just sat there and stared at them, your brain doing figure eights trying to make sense of it, and not liking that it kept coming to the same conclusion. 

“I don’t want to look at these,” You clamped your eyes shut and turned your head. Some jostling around your bed didn’t make you open your eyes but the sound of tape being ripped of the dispenser did. Jack stood on the mattress and taped the polaroids so they’d hang down from the ceiling right in your line of sight. 

“It sounds like they’re working then. I’m going to keep these up until I get new ones. But for now,” he hopped off and dusted off his hands, “It’s time for lunch. I’ll grab you a sandwich and juice,” he waved on his way out the door. You sunk deeper in bed and blew some hair out of your face. 

Jack often slept in the infirmary so this wasn’t much different. Now though he found himself watching you sleep rather than his usual ritual of tea and a book before bed. There was plenty of time for that during the day. This was the only time he could look at you without your harsh glare stabbing back. There’s no cult. There’s no hate. There’s just a guy looking at the women he can’t stop thinking about. Jack pulled up his mask and kissed your forehead before switching the lamp off. 

It was rainy. Weeks have passed now. You wouldn’t talk much at all anymore. You just watched weather pass out the window, maybe the occasional deer or cryptid. It was so hard to believe in a world where all of that impossible bullshit exists, to comprehend that the one thing you truly believed in was a sham. Your days were mostly you and your bed and two walks (handcuffed to Jack) to keep your muscles in functioning condition. Eerily enough, you stopped putting up a fight. So here you sat. Still and lost in your own mind. Jack would glance up from his book every now and then to look at you. The rain pattered against the window that was open just a crack, just enough to smell just a hint of petrichor. 

“Do you remember that first night that I almost found my sacrifice?” You asked wistfully, watching the droplets merge and plummet to the edge of the pane. 

“Uh… yeah. He was my next target. Didn’t put up much of a fight since you scared him real bad before I even got there,” He turned another page. 

“And you tossed me behind you so you could get to him first,” You laughed a meek little chuckle. 

“I didn’t realize that you fell on the ground. Then you grabbed my ankles taking me down with you,” He laughed too. 

“We were slathered in mud and dead leaves,” You began to laugh harder. 

“It got in your mouth too. I remember you trying to spit it out,” He smiled a the memory. 

“…I’m starting to wonder what it was all for,” you returned to your previous state of sitting upright and staring out the window.

“A stupid man with a god complex got in your head. It happens to the best of us. I’m just glad there was no Koolaid involved,” He cradled his chin with his interlaced fingers. 

“Flavoraid.”

“Huh?”

“It was Grape Flavoraid in Jonestown. Not Koolaid.”

Jack woke up with a startle and saw your bed empty and the restraints cut through. It had been several months and you had made excellent progress. Still you didn’t talk much, but when you did It wasn’t nearly as crazy as you’ve sounded in the past.  

He was so close to trusting you enough to let you go, but was it all a lie? Were you faking it to just run back to your community? Was everything you both worked through a ruse? He threw the blankets off the bed. Wretched the closet door open and slammed it shut. In his frenzy he didn’t notice the steam coming out from under the bathroom door. 

You opened and stepped out of the bathroom and continued to towel dry your hair. Jane had lent you some of her clothes, which were more risqué than you’ve worn in years (that’s not saying much though. It was a very modest community you lived in). Jane was a firm believer in if you got it flaunt it. She was just helping you along. Either way you paired the black slip with a sweater underneath for maximum comfort. You pressed the pedal to the trash can and dropped your old cloak into it. 

“Y/n?” Jack stood still and gaped at you. 

“Hey,” you dropped your towel onto the bed and began to make it. 

“Are you… feeling alright?” 

“I feel… different,” you walk up to him and take his hands into yours, “I’ve been thinking about it and I wanted to say thank you. You believed in me even when I didn’t,” you tried not to sound emotional but it came through in croaks and cracks in your soft voice. He felt you press something into his hands and curl his fingers around it. You walked up to the doors and hoisted up the duffel bag he didn’t notice there. In his hand was an old, used, wooden coffee stirrer, one that’s branded with the initials of the cafe you would buy both of your coffees from. 

“You’re leaving? So soon?” He followed you out of the infirmary and down the hall. 

“I need time to figure the rest out. You brought me to the water and now it’s time for me to take initiative and drink,” You adjusted the strap on your shoulder. The duffel was filled to the brim with supplies you scrounged up from all over the house. Nothing that would be missed. 

“But there’s always space for you here. Even if you aren’t with me in the infirmary we can set up a room for you. Just for you! We can put anything you could want or need in it,” He snatched your arm, you stopped in your tracks. 

“Jack. I need to start fresh. I want a new town and a new name. I want something normal. Uncomplicated,” You grimaced. He took a long pause mostly because of the frog in his throat. 

“Then I’ll make it easy for you,” he handcuffed his wrist to yours. “We’re in this together. Whether you like it or not,” his voice was more grave than you’ve ever heard it before. 

[pocket-watcher]

Story where a Cheshire Cat entity kidnaps people who all know each other (same class? Workplace? Camp?) to play Wonderland roles in its pocket dimension. Its last victim tries to free everyone only to become its Alice for eternity. Probably some Cheshire body shenanigans for the hypnosis parts

Ooo this is interesting! I’ve never read the original Alice in Wonderland, so correct me if I’m wrong, but I do think it could use a little more hypnosis…

Francine loved stories.

The hero comes, saves the day, and everyone lives happily ever after.

She would read on her commute, her book bounced back and forth by the rickety train. She’d catch herself daydreaming during meetings of a character coming to whisk her away. She would hope and pray for an exciting dream at night that she could replay in her head the next day.

But they were just stories.

Until one day, when Caine in accounting didn’t show up for work.

And then Debra went missing.

And Steven. And Layton.

And even her manager Bella.

It was a ghost town in the office. Francine couldn’t hide in her stories any longer. People jumped at every noise, tip-toeing around each other.

Someone said they saw some kind of creature skulking about.

Francine was scared, sure. But the police said nothing could be done without evidence.

She thought maybe they knew something and were trying to keep it hush-hush.

Francine, in the silence of the office, found herself dozing off a little.

And that was when it got her.

She fell right through the floor and into a plush seat at the head of an impossibly long table, set for afternoon tea.

“Finally! You’re late.” Caine said, plastic smile, and a giant top hat.

Francine froze, mentally replaying the previous moments in her head, control c-ing and v-ing her excel sheet over and over.

“Did I die…?”

“Heavens no, Alice! You just arrived at the tea party!”

She whipped round her head to see Debra dressed in a waistcoat with a rabbit headband.

Next to her were the others: in reds and whites, matching striped shirts, and all with teacups in hand.

Next to her she spotted a pair of floating eyes.

Naturally Francine jumped out of her seat and screamed.

The eyes became a head, which also had a cat-like body that faded into view.

“What are you?!” She yelled.

“Oh Alice, is that any way to treat an old friend?” The cat smiled, twirling around in the air.

“I don’t know you.” She stood defiantly, staring at her coworkers still-smiling faces. Their eyes were locked on her. “And I’m not Alice.”

“Yes you are… you just need a little persuading.”

The cat drew closer and its eyes were all Francine could see. She recoiled at the bright colours, covering her eyes instinctively.

“Get away from me!!” She yelled, running to Layton’s side.

He grinned down eerily at her.

“Layton, please! It’s me!! You’ve got to snap out of it.”

He didn’t even blink.

A wispy tail appeared out of no where, whisking her backwards into the cat’s claws once more.

“Just relax, Alice. This is a tea party. It’s supposed to be dignified, you know.” Bella said, raising her glass and her pinky with her glassy-eyed look.

Francine thrashed about as the head behind her detached and moved in-front of her vision, blocking the others from her sight.

“Please, please… I know you’re still in there!” She screamed at them.”

Her eyes were scrunched shut. That’s when she felt it purring.

It relaxed her body. She felt she couldn’t move.

“Please. Anyone…” she weakly pleaded.

That’s when she saw the cat appear in the chair she’d been sat in. Her body was hunched over on the ground now.

“Come along, Alice. Just drink your tea. You’ll feel better…”

The disembodied paw held the cup out in-front of her.

Everyone sat, watching, waiting.

Her arm moved by itself and brought the liquid to her lips.

Despite her struggle she swallowed it, and as she looked up at her coworkers she saw her friends and she smiled.

“I’m terribly sorry about all of that. Is there still a seat for me?” She said sweetly.

[kissingghouls]

The Count

PART ONE: THE DARE (ao3 link)

vampireCopia x Reader

tags & warnings: NSFW, MDNI, horror themes, vampire violence, blood, (eventual) smut. seriously, part one is as tame as it will be.

special thanks to @ramblingoak for the constant support and cheerleading of the vampire man. 💖

A dark and stormy night. What a bullshit cliché to befall a Satanic abbey that took up residence in an old gothic castle. But there it was, lightning and thunder swirling around the building with a wind that howled a low, unholy sound. It would have been fine if the storm hadn’t knocked the power out, but now without the flashlights, you and the others couldn’t see more than a few inches from your face.

Boredom had spread through the abbey like plague rats almost immediately after you arrived, biting at everyone until they were all infected enough to sneak out. The others said it would be fine, that they did this all the time, and if you just stuck with them you wouldn’t get into any trouble.

That probably would have been true if Sister Debra hadn’t suggested Truth or Dare.

Tired of hearing the same old ghost stories about the Count of the Castle, Debra took it upon herself to lead the others through her dull version of the game. The usual things came up quickly and after a half hour no one was left un-kissed and several of the Sisters admitted to having crushes on the same hot priest. You held your flashlight between your teeth as you picked at your cuticles, uninterested in who was more worthy to bed the unholy man.

“I’ve got one,” Sister Debra shouted over the others, her lips curling into a devilish smile. “For the new girl.”

You’d only been at the abbey a few short weeks, but it was long enough for Sister Debra to decide you were a threat. She had clawed her way to the top of the proverbial pyramid and for whatever reason, she’d laced every word she’d thrown at you with venom. It was a useless, one-sided power struggle that you had no intention of engaging in, but she had been pushing your buttons all evening.

“What is it now, Debra?” you asked with a sigh.

“I dare you to check out a book from the library—”

“Seriously?”

“—in the East Wing.” Her statement was punctuated by a well-timed crack of thunder.

The Sisters immediately stopped their chatter. Behind you, someone dropped their flashlight and let it roll heavily across the old wooden floor. The girls looked back and forth between you and Debra, waiting to see who would strike first. Rules were rules, but as far as you were concerned Debra could fuck off.

“Alright Debra,” you agreed as you slid off your perch. “Game on.”

“Wait, Sister—”

“She said she’d do it,�� Debra snapped harshly. “So let her do it.”

And that was how you ended up on the second floor of the forbidden East Wing. Fucking Debra.

The first floor hadn’t revealed much, mostly old furniture still wearing covers to protect from the fibers from detritus and natural light, and a handful of nude statues that were suspiciously free from dust. There were paintings too, impressionist landscapes and oil portraits of the same man, all recently cleaned. If this wing was forbidden, you wondered who would be brave enough to accept the position of shining, you squinted hard in the darkness, Count Copia’s things.

Legend was, Count Copia was the one who had converted the other side of the castle to an abbey to prove his devotion to the church. No one could say when or why this had really happened and the few times you’d tried to ask, you’d been shut down quickly. But the Sisters were quick to share their stories behind the clergy’s back. You heard several tales about the Count, most notably that the Count was once a holy man, a story that was often whispered in the dark while the Sister were supposed to be sleeping. If he was, you’d never seen his devotion on display during mass.

It's not like he would’ve been hard to spot.

There was other less friendly talk about Sisters who had misbehaved or ventured too close to the East Wing and vanished without a trace. A whole host of ghost stories meant to keep you obedient. If a Sister happened to be shuffled around to another convent? Well, that was just the cover up. If a Sister fell ill or failed to return from town? Another victim of the Count.

Sometimes it happened too quickly, and the speculation overruled the facts. Had she seen the Count? Did he make her disappear? It was the hot gossip when you’d arrived. Whoever had moved on from the castle and made room for you was surely as good as dead. You never believed one way or the other.

Whatever the Count was doing was his own business. Until now, you hadn’t really considered him to be real at all.

In your search for the library, you’d come across a massive stone staircase curving up the belly of a turret. It beckoned you upstairs, growing darker with every turn. What was another dare to you anyway? Heavy rain pelted the windows that framed the grand staircase, the sound covering your footfalls as you moved up. Your feet made quick work of the stairs, finding taking them two at a time to be much easier to navigate as you propelled yourself forward into the uncharted parts of the castle.

You swept the flashlight over the landing, trying to inspect which direction might lead toward a library. The castle did not give up its secrets so easily and you were forced to charge ahead. Halfway down the hall, your light caught a massive set of double doors—twice your height and intricately carved. The doors were heavy, groaning loudly as you pushed through them.

The smell of dust, paper, and old leather hit you hard as you stepped inside. You – 1, Debra – 0.

Unlike the other rooms, it looked like no one had been in the library in years. Well stocked shelves line nearly every stretch of the layout, but every surface was coated in thick dust and cobwebs. You pulled the collar of your t-shirt over your face like a makeshift mask and pointed your flashlight into the room.

This was it. All you had to do was grab the first available book you could find, make a mad dash back to the dorms, and Debra would be forced to shut the fuck up for the rest of the night. You were unsure if the prize was worth the risk, but you’d come this far.

You quickly scanned the room, waving your flashlight over the surfaces once more. There, next to what appeared to be a full suit of armor holding a sword, sat a small table. Atop the table was a leatherbound volume on top just waiting to be snatched up. You crept forward, flashes of lightning reaching areas of the room that your flashlight couldn’t. With your fingers outstretched you reached for the book.

A crack of thunder ripped through the castle, violently shaking the leaded windows of the library. But it wasn’t the thunder that made you yelp and fling yourself backward. You collided with the knight, the back of your hand splitting open as it connected with the sword. Your flashlight went the other direction, flipping uselessly through the air until it landed across the room and exploded on impact. Fuck. Blood began beading to the surface of your fresh cut as a small, brown rat squeaked at you from the table.

You climbed back to your feet and shooed the rat away, shaking your head at your own ridiculousness. It dove off the table with another adorable squeak, its little legs carrying it away faster than you thought possible. Now unguarded, you fetched the book from the table and squinted in the darkness to find the exit.

A streak of lightning burned across the sky, illuminating the room enough to make out the doorway and the odd shape shadowed beneath it. Was someone standing there? Had you hit your head? Surely your eyes were just playing tricks on you. First the rat and now a phantom? The storm was really starting to fuck with you.

You shifted to your left; arm outstretched as you felt for the cold stone of the castle walls. It was too dark to see more than a couple of inches, but maybe you could feel your way back to where you’d seen the door.

Another bolt sparked across the sky and this time you knew you’d seen someone. Your stomach sank as your heart jumped into your throat. No one was supposed to be in the East Wing, least of all you, but you didn’t think anyone else would be here. A smaller flash revealed the shape of a man, closer now.

You swallowed hard. This was not good.

Your eyes struggled to adjust to the near constant pulse of lightning happening around you, but you knew he couldn’t be anyone else. The Count began to shift between the bursts of light, moving in a haunting, almost undetectable way. You broke into a run, heading in the direction of the double doors. You didn’t want to tackle an old man, but you would if you had to.

He let you run past him, not bothering to try to stop you as you bolted past and spilled into the hall. You were sure you could outrun him, legs and lungs burning as you went, but you could hear the tap of his behind you with every slow step he took. His pace didn’t change—that the tap, tap, tap was almost relentlessly steady—but somehow, he was now in front of you.

You failed to stop in time, your head bouncing off the Count’s chest like he was made of stone. The book landed with a heavy thud at his feet as you tumbled backward. He stepped over it, unnoticed as he advanced on you.

“Are you trying to steal from me?” his voice low, accent thick. “That’s not very nice, dolce.”

“No, I—uh—” you fumbled through the words, scrambling backward as you tried to climb to your feet. Your hands clawed at the floor, finding no purchase in the hardwood to raise yourself up. Even if you could, he’d be right back on top of you. In the darkness of the hallway, you could still catch his eyes fixed on you—one burning stark white against the shadows. “I—”

“You—you—you,” he mocked as he leaned over you, the cane slamming down near your hand. “What was so important to you, hmm? What have you come to try to take from me?”

“I didn’t—I wasn’t—ah!” Before you could begin to argue, his fists closed around your collar. He hauled you up roughly and set you against the wall like you were nothing. What the fuck?

He flashed you a smile that was completely devoid of kindness as he pinned you against the wall with the end of his cane. He held you there as he leaned down and plucked the book from the floor. “German Folktales, dolce?” he asked, voice thick with disbelief. “Is that really why you snuck all the way up here?”

“Please,” you pleaded, writhing under the cane. “I won’t—”

“But you did, cara,” he teased, his voice low as he traced a gloved finger over your jaw. “The proof is right here, I’m afraid.”

“Please, I wasn’t stealing,” you finally explained, a single tear rolling down your cheek. If you made it out of this, you swore were going to kill Sister Debra yourself. “It was just a stupid dare.”

He leaned in closer, his lips near the shell of your ear. “A dare? This is a game to you, dolce?”

The castle shuddered around you as the power blinked back to life. One by one, the lightbulbs in the sconces lining the hall flickered, illuminating The Count in a strange, dim glow. You were finally able to get a good look at the man who had caught you in his castle. He wasn’t unlike his portrait, his features sharp and handsome. His face was framed by carefully carved sideburns and a meticulously tamed mustache, but his hair was slightly out of place and his skin was much paler than the portrait’s. He boldly highlighted his eyes by smearing thick dark circles around them, making the white even more noticeable.

He was dressed in a black suit, each piece tightly fitted to perfectly hug the curve of his body. A thick, black velvet cape rested over his square shoulders, fastened together by an elegant bat shaped brooch of diamonds and rubies housed in white gold. He certainly dressed like a Count, from which century was debatable.

He slowly lowered the cane, its handle catching slightly on the collar he’d stretched out by tossing you around. Another smile was offered, a flash of sharp white teeth as he drank you in.

“Cat got your tongue, dolce?” he purred. “You were so brave before.”

You closed your eyes, trying to ignore the way his words cut right through you. “I—"

“Oh, dolce,” he whispered before he slid away from you. “I’m Count Copia,” he said as he took your hand and dipped into a little bow. He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against your knuckles. He looked up, eyes connecting with yours as he tasted blood in his kiss. “Dolce, you’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing. I just fell—oh!”

His tongue darted out, carefully swiping over the cut on your hand. The Count let your blood flow over it, red smearing over pink as he hungrily licked it back into his mouth. You brain began to short circuit, vision going fuzzy as he lathed over your wound a second time, torturously slow as he savored each drop. As he drew his tongue back into his mouth, his eyes rolled back in his head and the sound that left him was obscene. A low, guttural moan rose from his chest, so lascivious you were sure it had to be the same noise he made while finishing himself off. As scared as you were, that sound went right through you, stoking a fire between your legs.

He smiled at the small whimper you made, a subtle softness blooming behind his eyes as they locked on yours. It betrayed the sharp edge of his teeth. “Enjoy the book, dolce.”

(part two) (part three)

[stardust-poet]

°•~《☆》~•°

°•Lazy Days•°

°•~《☆》~•°

Pairing: Zenitzu Agatsuma x gn!reader

A/n: request from a friend: @gacha-lava

Warnings: kissing if that makes you uncomfortable, also bad writing probably OOC zenitzu tbh T^T not proof read.

Enjoy!

When you first woke up, you were cold. The usual warmth and weight that always lay on your chest was gone. Meaning Zenitzu was no longer here with you.

The calendar, bedside tables, his side of the bed (though he never actually slept there, he always was attached to you). Nothing. No note, no sign he was ever even there. Nothing.

You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and stumbled into the kitchen. And immediately, your worry, anxiety, panic. It all left you as quickly as it came.

There he was. Ah, your beautiful boy. He was still in his pajamas cooking breakfast and--wait. Breakfast? Cooking? That was what you always did. Mostly because you didn't trust him to cook.

"Zenitzu?" You called quietly, walking up to him and wrapping your arms around his waist. Zenitzu hummed in response, focused solely on flipping the pancake he was cooking at the right moment.

"Why're you up so early?" You mumbled, nuzzling in the crook of Zenitzus neck, sending shivers down his spine.

He really never got used to your touch. Well, he had your touch memorized. It was you actually giving him affection that never got old. So warm, cozy, like his own home.

" 'm making breakfast just for you." Zenitzu kept his voice lower so he didn't startle you out of your sleepy state. He rested his cheek on top of your head, kissing your head before flipping the pancake. Which was perfectly golden brown.

"This early?" You mumbled and looked up at the clock on the microwave above the stove. 7:00 am, way too early for a Saturday, especially after a long week of work.

"I was gonna bring it to you in bed so you didn't have to move at all. though, I guess I can't do that now that you're awake." Zenitzu chuckled, sliding the pancake onto his spatula and then onto another pancake on a plate, making a stack.

Zenitzu poured syrup over your pancakes in a zig-zag motion, then he smiled and held out his hands in the pancakes' general direction. "Taa-daa!!" He said happily, grinning like a love-sick puppy. You smiled, and instead of taking your pancakes and eating them on the couch, you grabbed Zenitzu by the waist and pulled him closer to you.

His face flushed, of course. How could it not with a deity such as you touching him softly? You brought your hands from his waist to his cheeks, cupping his sweet face.

"Thank you." You whispered, inches away from his faces, your nose brushing against his. Zenitzus face couldn't have been more red. You'd think he'd get used to the intimacy by now.

"Nnm-mhm." He hummed while he took in every detail of your face, and your lips ghosted over his. You chuckled lightly, your hot breath tickling his face.

You closed the gap between you two, kissing him. Not a simple kiss, like one after a first date. But a longer, more passionate one. It sent the feeling of electricity down Zenitzus spine, and he softly held your waist as his eyes fluttered shut.

Suddenly, you felt warmth and something fuzzy moving between your legs.

Ah, yeah. The cat. You pulled away from Zenitzus lips, triggering a whine out of him and you chuckled.

"Alright, Debra, the Astriod Destroyer. (Best Name Ever). I'll get you food." You said to your cat, moving to scoop cat food into his bowl, away from Zenitzu.

°•~《☆》~•°

You sat at the foot of the couch, not directly on it with Zenitzus back to your chest and his head resting under your chin.

Zenitzu held the buttery popcorn that you had made in the microwave, both of you eating straight out of the bag while a movie played on the TV. Some drama about mean girls?

It was peaceful, for once. You felt Zenitzus hair tickling your nose while your arms wrapped around his waist. It's was so cozy, warm, comfortably lazy.

Zenitzu intertwined his fingers with yours and kissed your hand. You could feel his smile as his lips connected with your skin. He felt safe. You both felt safe.

This was home.

The white noise of the TV, your arms wrapped around him, his fingers intertwined with your own, your chin resting at the top of his head, and the soft kisses placed to one another's skin every few minutes.

Home.

°•~《☆》~•°

Yayy my first fic. It's probably horrible and OOC I know.

[carlsdarling]

Forlorn Hope Part II

Flashback to how Sadie experienced the outbreak of wildfire.

WARNINGS: violence, angst, gore, no Carl in this chapter

25.06.2010, Atlanta, Georgia

Sadie looked at her plate in disgust. Fish, mashed potatoes and broccoli, it really couldn't get any worse. "When are you driving me to the riding stables?

“When you've finished eating,” her mother replied distractedly. She was engrossed in a fashion magazine.

Sadie rebelliously slammed the cutlery on the table. “But I don't like it!” she moaned.

“Will you be quiet,” Debra Baron chided her younger daughter. “Laurie's asleep. She still has a fever.”

As if Laurie, in her room at the other end of the huge ranch-style house, would notice what was going on in the kitchen. Sadie wrinkled her nose. In any case, for the past few days everything had revolved around Laurie, who had been attacked last weekend in a dark alley not far from the club where she had been partying. She had arrived home around two o'clock in the morning, crying and holding her bleeding shoulder. “But what happened?” Debra Baron had asked in dismay, imagining the worst possible scenarios. Sadie had woken up from the noise and crept to the stairs to listen.

“I was waiting for my cab outside Gironimo's,” Laurie sniffed in shock. “And suddenly this... this guy came staggering out of an alley, and he grabbed me, and he just bit me,” she wailed hysterically. “Just like that! I... I think he was sick,” she continued. “He looked like that. And he stank terribly, like rotten meat.” Her mother had pushed aside the thin, black blouse fabric, and Sadie - peering through the banister - could see a nasty bite mark.

“We should go to the hospital,” muttered her father, who probably didn't know what to make of it. “It needs to be disinfected and treated, and you should get a tetanus shot too.”

Following this event, however, Laurie's condition steadily deteriorated, the margins of the wound became inflamed and a fever set in. The family's GP prescribed an antibiotic, but saw no need for further action. This morning, the area around the wound had turned gray-green, it had looked disgusting, like decay, and Laurie's fever continued. Debra thought about calling the doctor again. “Sadie, please eat up,” she ordered sharply. “I didn't do this for nothing...” A barbaric scream shattered the silence of the house, and they both flinched. Laurie. “You stay here,” Debra ordered, rising to check on Laurie; she didn't notice Sadie sneaking up behind her. She opened the door to Laurie's room and registered the foul odor; the hairs on the back of her neck stood up, an atavistic instinct telling her to immediately lock that door from the outside and flee, but Debra was a privileged twenty-first century housewife whose attention bounced back and forth between preparing healthy meals, her appearance, the pony club, the next tennis match with her friends, hatha yoga and family life; she had completely forgotten how to listen to primal instincts and gut feelings. So she entered the room and approached the bed, leaving Sadie standing on the threshold. “Honey, Laurie, what is it?” she asked softly, flipping back the covers. “Jesus, you're burning up like a chimney, I have to...” She shrieked shrilly as Laurie's teeth dug into her left hand without warning.

Sadie in the hallway also screamed in horror and watched as her mother struggled to free herself from her sister's grasp and rushed towards the door; Laurie staggered after her, her face contorted into a grimace, and somehow it wasn't really Laurie anymore, but somehow it still was. Debra wrenched the key from the lock, slammed the door shut and locked it. Laurie threw herself against the thin white wood from the inside, raging and making inhuman noises. Debra and Sadie looked at each other in fear, Debra's hand was bleeding and the blood stained the carpet in a crazy pattern. “Can she come out, Mum?” Sadie asked in a thin, frightened voice.

“No,” Debra replied, hoping she was right, the wood bulging slightly outwards under Laurie's fury. She was at a loss and couldn't make sense of the situation, perhaps Laurie was suffering from some kind of psychosis. “I'll call your father.”

The look on her mother's face during the following phone call scared the hell out of Sadie, Debra's eyes widened fearfully and she stammered more than she spoke. “A plague? What kind of plague, Tom?” Realizing that Sadie was watching her intently, she tried to put on a good face. “Pack. I... I understand,” she then said tonelessly, her mouth set in stone. “Come on, let's get our suitcases,” she then announced with feigned cheerfulness, clapping her hands so that a few drops of blood were splattered. “We're going on a trip!”

“But what about Laurie? And the school? And the pony club?” grumbled Sadie, who was completely confused. “And my birthday party is on Saturday!” She stomped her foot indignantly.

Debra ignored the protest. “Now be a good girl and get things together for two weeks,” she babbled frantically and went up to the attic to get the suitcases. “We'll celebrate your birthday when we get back,” she promised. ”The party's just on hold, okay?”

It wasn't okay. Nothing was okay, as the terrible noises coming from Laurie's room made clear. Sadie preferred to comply and mechanically began to take underwear, socks, shirts and pants out of the cupboards and pile them up. It wasn't long before her father came home and she heard her parents discussing quietly in the hallway. Her mother cried and then her father disappeared into the master bedroom. When he came out again, Sadie was standing in front of him. “What do you want with that?” she asked accusingly, pointing at the gun in Tom Baron's hand. The gun looked strangely out of place there; Tom Baron was a stockbroker, not a contract killer, and he only had the Glock to defend himself and his family against burglars in an emergency. You never knew when the state-of-the-art alarm system might fail.

“Go back to your room, Princess,” Tom's voice sounded foreign and pressed. “And close the door.” Sadie did as she was told at first, but stubborn as she was, she immediately opened the door a crack again so as not to miss anything. She saw her father enter Laurie's room, then two shots rang out in quick succession and Tom Baron came out again, pale as death. Sadie couldn't speak, she was so confused. Debra was crouched next to the bathroom, crying and holding her injured hand. “We have to clean the wound,” Tom said grimly. “We won't be able to get away tonight, the highway is closed, everyone's just leaving town... But first thing in the morning. We can already load the car.”

Sadie wasn't stupid, she was more than aware that something was wrong, completely wrong, her parents were restlessly rushing through the house, gathering stuff that ended up in suitcases and bags in disarray. The fluorescent lights in the garage flickered, her father loaded heaps of tins of canned food into the trunk of the Lexus, despite her mother's strict condemnation of any kind of convenience food. “Dad, what about Daisy and Tornado?” Sadie thought anxiously about her two ponies. “What about Squibbles?” Squibbles was her cat.

Tom Baron gave his daughter a harried look. His tailored shirt had sweat stains under the armpits. “Where's Squibbles?”

“I don't know. Outside? I'll go and find him,” Sadie offered uncertainly, but her father grabbed her arm unusually firmly. “Ouch!”

“You're not going outside,” Tom ordered her. “If the cat's outside, there's nothing we can do for him. Otherwise, put him in the carrier.” Sadie searched the whole house for Squibbles, but she couldn't find the cat anywhere, and her tears began to flow. Her father just seemed to want to leave him behind. And he hadn't said a word about the ponies. She sobbed and found herself in her parents' bathroom, rummaging around in the medicine cabinet, taking a Valium from the tube labeled with her mother's name and swallowing it with tap water. Following an impulse, she put the tube in her trouser pocket.

The pills were Sadie's top secret, not even Victoria, her best friend, knew about them. They often helped her to block out her parents' evening bickering and she liked the soft absorbent cotton cloud on which the Valium transported her. Even now, the medication was doing its job and Sadie lay dozing on her bed, headphones in her ear. At some point, however, despite the Valium fog, she was suddenly overcome by a queasy feeling and switched off the music. Absolute silence. It was strange, given the hustle and bustle her parents had been in just a few hours ago, and she straightened up and slipped into her sneakers. They were probably busy in the garage with the car. Her father had been looking for road maps earlier.

Well, Sadie would go out and look for Squibbles now, whether she was allowed to or not, and she would find him. She wouldn't let him be left behind. She could leave the house through the back door in the kitchen; her parents wouldn't even notice. Quietly, she stalked down the stairs after putting on a hoodie. She tiptoed along the downstairs hallway, turned the corner to the kitchen - and froze. Her brain couldn't grasp what her eyes were seeing, it was too gruesome, so it only fed in fragmented images, like a shaky slideshow.

The kitchen cupboards, the fridge, the floor, Squibbles' feeding place, everything was smeared with a red substance. Blood, Sadie realized. The sight of the kibbles soaked in blood and swollen with it would be etched in her memory forever.

Her father was lying on his back on the floor, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, lifeless and broken. His stomach was torn open. Next to the corpse, her mother crawled around like a nightmare, her face completely covered in blood, and she dug around in her husband's intestines, greedily stuffing them into her mouth. Sadie stood staring dumbly, frozen in place, her infantile psyche on the verge of fainting to protect her from the unspeakable things happening in front of her.

Then Debra Baron emitted an animalistic snarl and lunged towards her daughter like a predator, grabbing at Sadie with fingers clutching scraps of fabric.

The stupor broke just in time, Sadie screamed piercingly, and then she turned and ran for her life. At first she wanted to run up the stairs, but at the last moment she changed her mind - she would be trapped upstairs. Instead, she made her way to the garage, down the back hallway, past the utility room, her mother hot on her heels. Or rather, the thing that had once been her mother.

She tried to close the middle door, severing one of Debra's fingers in the process, but Debra was too strong, she banged into the door, Sadie got a shove and fell, bruising her left elbow on the car. She screamed in pain as her arm went numb for a moment, but she rolled over and got back to her feet immediately. Her mother's teeth snapped into the air above her, and she crawled under the Lexus, sobbing. It smelled of oil and gasoline, and still the fluorescent lights flickered unimpressed, as if Sadie's life hadn't suddenly turned to sheer horror.

Debra stumbled around, growling, obviously not quite understanding where Sadie had gone. She waited until she saw her mother's feet staggering around the workbench, then scrambled out the other side - where the opening mechanism for the garage door was. Sadie frantically hammered on the switch, but once again the electronics didn't work; there was a crank, but she couldn't reach it, it was too small. Her mother attacked her mercilessly, teeth bared, chin bloodied, eyes white, and at the very last moment Sadie's eyes fell on Squibbles' cat flap set into the bottom right corner of the garage door. She dropped to her hands and knees, pushed the plexiglass away and crawled through the small opening, painfully scraping both of her hips. Sadie was lucky that she was small and slender for her age, much more petite than her classmates.

The asphalt of the driveway was sun-warmed under her hands, and she almost made it when her mother's hand closed around her left ankle. Sadie could already feel Debra's breath on her skin, and something inside her knew that if she was bitten, she was just as doomed. With all her strength, she kicked out backwards, right into her mother's face, felt her grip loosen, and finally managed to free her leg.

She was quick-witted enough to push a bucket of flowers in front of the cat flap so that the cat wouldn't return to this home, which was no longer a home and would never be one again.

Tags: @princess321