#the frighteners fanfic

[inevitablemoment]

Frightober Day 3 - Turn of the Millennium

Word Count: 418

Warnings: Infertility

Fandom: The Frighteners

Pairings: Frank Bannister x Lucy Lynskey

This one's a little bit angsty, so take fair warning.

————————

Lucy Bannister wanted to consider herself and Frank lucky; not everyone could say that they were alive for the beginning of a new millennium.

Of course, not everyone could say that they battled vengeful ghosts, or came back from the dead twice.

She wanted to count her blessings; she had a husband whom she loved and who loved her, she took pride in her career, and she had found a family in the Kamins family, and in Scarlett, Dean, and their soon-to-be-born daughter.

But whenever she tried to remind herself of how lucky she was, she would remember the one thing that she and Frank didn't have-- a child.

It had been a year ago to the day that they had made the decision to begin trying for a baby. Eight months of meticulously scheduled sex, pregnancy tests, and tears had passed, culminating in the most heated argument that she and Frank had in the time that they had been together. After that, they decided to take a break from trying to conceive.

But the ache remained. It would eat away at her whenever she saw Scarlett at work, her scrubs growing tighter and tighter against her belly, or when Scarlett would talk about how excited she and Dean were.

Lucy knew that Scarlett wasn't trying to be insensitive; on the contrary, when Scarlett had realized what was going on with Lucy and Frank, she had tried to limit the baby talk around her. And the both of them had been having more good days than bad.

There was just some times that she couldn't help but want with every cell in her body.

"Luce?"

She looked up from her book and over at Frank, who had set the book that he was reading on his nightstand.

"Luce, are you alright?" he asked.

His tone was so gentle.

She didn't answer at first, only marking her place in her book and setting it in her lap. He reached to place his hand on top of hers.

The tears came out in what felt like a biblical flood. Her body was trembling from the force of her sobs. She buried her face into his chest, only slightly comforted by the sound of his heartbeat.

While they had welcomed 1999 by taking their first step towards a family, the new millennium dawned as Frank and Lucy Bannister held each other through their tears, and fell asleep with the hope that they would be in a better place the next morning.

[butaneurotype]

GUYS GUYS GUYS GOOO read ''Perseverance'' by @pastelaspirations !! ABSOLUTELY beautiful story that had me hooked since the start.

I am so obsessed with this fic and can only ever think about it everyday. At work or at home it is STUCK in my head.

If I hyperfixate on an AU of an AU it means it's GOOODD. READ IT !!!!

[calicos-clones]

I don’t think people realize how freaked out fanfic readers get when their favorite author(s) doesn’t update their ongoing schedule ON TIME.

And it’s not cause we want the chapter…it’s cause we’re so fucking worried about the Author.

Like— OMG ARE YOU OKAY? YOU’VE BEEN GIVING US THE TRAGIC UPDATES OF YOUR LIFE IN THE NOTES THE PAST 10 CHAPTERS?! WHY STOP? ARE YOU DEAD? DID YOU GET STUCK IN THE WALL LIKE YOUR CAT?? HAVE YOU EATEN?? HAS YOUR BRAIN EXPLODED??

Readers no longer care about the story when they don’t get their usual update. We panic and flag S.O.S as we track down our wayward author who has been both blessed by the universe with a creative mind and cursed all the same with the worst luck.

So any authors who are reading this please understand— when we comment “hey are you okay?” in your comments. No, we are not asking about the chapter.

We are legitimately concerned for your wellbeing. Do not force yourself to shit out a chapter just to appease other ppl when you yourself are not in the mental state to enjoy it or even write it to begin with.

TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF DAMMIT

[secretmellowblog]

It’s fascinating to see how much Jean Valjean’s characterization lines up with modern descriptions of PTSD. When Jean Valjean is triggered by upsetting reminders of the galleys —or believes he might be forced to go back to the galleys—he often forgets where he is, has “panic attacks” where he becomes disconnected from reality, doesn’t hear people when they’re talking to him, and behaves frantically/desperately or attempts to flee as if he’s being attacked even if no one is actually attacking him.

When he comes across the chain gang with Cosette, he becomes frozen in terror and seems to believe for a moment that he is the one being pursued:

Jean Valjean’s eyes had assumed a frightful expression. They were no longer eyes; they were those deep and glassy objects which replace the glance in the case of certain wretched men, which seem unconscious of reality, and in which flames the reflection of terrors and of catastrophes. He was not looking at a spectacle, he was seeing a vision. He tried to rise, to flee, to make his escape; he could not move his feet. Sometimes, the things that you see seize upon you and hold you fast. He remained nailed to the spot, petrified, stupid, asking himself, athwart confused and inexpressible anguish, what this sepulchral persecution signified, and whence had come that pandemonium which was pursuing him.

(….)

Jean Valjean returned home utterly overwhelmed. Such encounters are shocks, and the memory that they leave behind them resembles a thorough shaking up.

Nevertheless, Jean Valjean did not observe that, on his way back to the Rue de Babylone with Cosette, the latter was plying him with other questions on the subject of what they had just seen; perhaps he was too much absorbed in his own dejection to notice her words and reply to them.

In Arras, he spends most of the night overwhelmed by a sense of unreality that often turns to terror, and at one point even blindly runs through the empty halls of the courthouse “as if pursued” in a moment of panic:

He sought to collect his faculties, but could not. It is chiefly at the moment when there is the greatest need for attaching them to the painful realities of life, that the threads of thought snap within the brain. He was in the very place where the judges deliberated and condemned. With stupid tranquillity he surveyed this peaceful and terrible apartment, where so many lives had been broken, which was soon to ring with his name, and which his fate was at that moment traversing. He stared at the wall, then he looked at himself, wondering that it should be that chamber and that it should be he.

(…)

As he dreamed, he turned round, and his eyes fell upon the brass knob of the door which separated him from the Court of Assizes. He had almost forgotten that door. His glance, calm at first, paused there, remained fixed on that brass handle, then grew terrified, and little by little became impregnated with fear. Beads of perspiration burst forth among his hair and trickled down upon his temples.

At a certain moment he made that indescribable gesture of a sort of authority mingled with rebellion, which is intended to convey, and which does so well convey, “Pardieu! who compels me to this?” Then he wheeled briskly round, caught sight of the door through which he had entered in front of him, went to it, opened it, and passed out. He was no longer in that chamber; he was outside in a corridor, a long, narrow corridor, broken by steps and gratings, making all sorts of angles, lighted here and there by lanterns similar to the night taper of invalids, the corridor through which he had approached. He breathed, he listened; not a sound in front, not a sound behind him, and he fled as though pursued.

When he had turned many angles in this corridor, he still listened. The same silence reigned, and there was the same darkness around him. He was out of breath; he staggered; he leaned against the wall. The stone was cold; the perspiration lay ice-cold on his brow; he straightened himself up with a shiver.

In the bishop’s house, he panics at the sound of a door opening:

He decided on his course of action, and gave the door a third push, more energetic than the two preceding. This time a badly oiled hinge suddenly emitted amid the silence a hoarse and prolonged cry.

Jean Valjean shuddered. The noise of the hinge rang in his ears with something of the piercing and formidable sound of the trump of the Day of Judgment.

In the fantastic exaggerations of the first moment he almost imagined that that hinge had just become animated, and had suddenly assumed a terrible life, and that it was barking like a dog to arouse every one, and warn and to wake those who were asleep. He halted, shuddering, bewildered, and fell back from the tips of his toes upon his heels. He heard the arteries in his temples beating like two forge hammers, and it seemed to him that his breath issued from his breast with the roar of the wind issuing from a cavern. It seemed impossible to him that the horrible clamor of that irritated hinge should not have disturbed the entire household, like the shock of an earthquake; the door, pushed by him, had taken the alarm, and had shouted; the old man would rise at once; the two old women would shriek out; people would come to their assistance; in less than a quarter of an hour the town would be in an uproar, and the gendarmerie on hand. For a moment he thought himself lost.

He remained where he was, petrified like the statue of salt, not daring to make a movement.

He often behaves as if on autopilot, mechanically doing actions without seeming to understand what he’s doing or hear who he’s speaking to, the way he unfortunately does with Petit Gervais:

“My piece of money!” cried the child, “my white piece! my silver!”

It seemed as though Jean Valjean did not hear him. The child grasped him by the collar of his blouse and shook him. At the same time he made an effort to displace the big iron-shod shoe which rested on his treasure.

“I want my piece of money! my piece of forty sous!”

The child wept. Jean Valjean raised his head. He still remained seated. His eyes were troubled. He gazed at the child, in a sort of amazement, then he stretched out his hand towards his cudgel and cried in a terrible voice, “Who’s there?”

Prison had such a massive horrific effect on his mind, and on the way he interacts with the world. He’s constantly living under this sense of terror and paranoia that he’s being pursued, that he will be brought back to the galleys, a terror that often turns into blind almost-mindless panic.

It’s been mentioned before and is a kinda basic analysis, but Jean Valjean’s prison sentence was really far more than nineteen years— the severe mental physical and emotional trauma from those nineteen years lasts his entire life.

[livingininsomnia]

Reader x Silver: Omegaverse, implied non-con, open ended, yandere Silver

You come to slowly, wrists tied up with silk, sitting in someone’s lap.

“You’re awake,” a horribly familiar voice says.

“… Silver? What…” you trail off groggily, before turning still as his hand rests possessively on the back of your bare neck.

“S-Silver?” you stutter, trembling as lips touch your jaw. “Where are we?” you ask, a jolt of adrenaline rushing with the panic.

“You broke your promise,” he ignores you. His fingers rub your neck, possessive, drawing a shudder.

Unbidden, a whine rises from your throat. He presses his lips to your neck, and you break out into cold sweat.

“W-what,” you cry, tensing. You can feel his teeth against your skin. You struggle in his arms. It’s an empty threat, but it still chills you.

“Silver, please, why…?” you plead for an explanation.

He clicks his tongue in dissatisfaction, easily keeping you pinned in his arms.

“You don’t remember,” he says, voice deadly quiet.

Your voice hitches at the eerily empty tone.

“I’m sorry,” your voice breaks, “Silver, please, I d-don’t, I’m scared,” you say in tears.

He slides a hand down your waist, through what feels like satin, or silk, a beautiful white dress that only frightens you.

“You promised to marry me,” he says quietly, fingers rubbing against your hip bone.

You breathe in a sharp, bewildered breath. “I-I? When-but then, even if- but I’m beta-“

You break off. Your whole body heats up almost violently.

“Love, was that why? You should have told me.” Silver’s voice comes oddly distant, like his mouth is muffled, or your ears are underwater.

You shake. His fingers grasp your chin. “Ah, is it finally working?”

Dread builds up along with the heat. Your stomach roils. This isn’t normal. This isn’t a simple fever. No, this is a heat. But you’re not-

“Silver… How.. What did you do?”

“The Fae have their ways,” he says vaguely. “And I am blessedly, deeply loved.”

[peacekeeperangel]

I actually started this fic in my head long before the Mermaid's Tale update so I never planned there actually being a Soul Jam there. the fact that Devsis ended up giving me material to work with and possibly torture the audience with is pure coincidence I assure you. Mwa Ha ha. >:3 Anyway Grand Reef Cookie and the Beached AU are all belonging to @cosmicwhoreo

Hang onto your hats kids! Next chapter is the finale of this little tale... I hope.

[necrotic-nephilim]

Fandom: DCU (Comics) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Underage Relationships: Tim Drake/Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne Characters: Dick Grayson, Tim Drake (DCU), Damian Wayne Additional Tags: Omega Dick Week (DCU), Omega Dick Grayson, Alpha Tim Drake (DCU), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Reverse Robins, first heat, Tim Drake is Red Hood, Dick Grayson is Robin, Damian Wayne is Nightwing, Porn With Plot, Mildly Dubious Consent, Degradation, Multiple Orgasms, Knotting, Bratting, Dirty Talk, Begging, Pre-Flashpoint (DCU), Dacryphilia, Overstimulation, Batkids Age Reversal, Imprinting Summary:

Dick doesn't expect to have his first heat like this. He doesn't expect to have a first heat at all.

But when he presents around Tim Drake, the Red Hood he's been clearly warned to stay away from, he imprints on Tim and Dick will do anything to be near him. Sometimes, flirting with danger is worth the price.

-

Omega Dick Week 2024 - Day 1: Reverse Robin | First Heat

[hypocriticaltypwriter]

I wanna gain mutuals and get to know ST fic writers so bad but yall scare meee

[cctinsleybaxter]

robert de./niro putting all that sugar in his coffee like a cute girl in a romcom. hi gongeous

[thoughtfuldolia]

Kukui experienced many odd forms, but having a ditto for a muzzle made those days in captivity a special kind of miserable.

He thought he might be off the hook when his body gave the muzzle two mouths to choose between. He can be overly optimistic, or perhaps it’s sleep-deprived desperation for some semblance of comfort.

Why is he going through this? He still has no idea who did this to him and why. He loves his life right now.

[inevitablemoment]

Frightober Day 1 - Autumn

Word Count: 470

Warnings: Pregnancy

Fandom: The Frighteners

Pairings: Frank Bannister x Lucy Lynskey

Welcome, everyone, to Frightober 2024! It's hard to believe that it's already October again, but I'm so excited to take a crack at these prompts.

This drabble is set in October 2002. Frank has just turned thirty-eight, Lucy is thirty-five, Julia is about to turn two, and Lucy is twenty-two weeks pregnant with Seth.

Enjoy!

————————

"Yook, Mommy, yook! I helpin' Daddy!" Julia called to her mother as she sloppily used her little plastic rake to help Frank collect the leaves into a nice, little pile.

"I can see, Jules," Lucy answered from her chair on the back patio.

She leaned further back into the chair, rubbing her belly when she felt a small, brief kick from the unborn baby inside of her. Frank looked up at her and they shared a smile. The pleasantly chilly breeze brushed against her face and curls, and she sighed contentedly.

The leaves had only started turning in the middle of September, but they finally began to fall a few days after Frank's birthday. By the next week, they had piled up significantly, with the maple tree in the backyard about three-quarters bare. So, Frank had decided that day was just as good as any day to finally rake the backyard.

Julia, ever the hopeless daddy's girl, had wanted to help him, so he had stopped in the toy aisle at Walmart to grab a toy rake so that she would feel included. Lucy would have helped, too, but Frank was insistent that she abstain from any "strenuous activity."

"Pretty rich to say to your doctor wife," she had told him.

But, honestly, she was happy to sit aside and watch her husband and daughter at work.

She ran her hands over her belly, hoping to coax more movements from the baby. Two weeks ago, Anthea told them that they were having a boy. He hadn't been as active as Julia had been in utero, but Anthea had assured them that there was nothing worry about this time around.

"Hey, bub," she whispered. "You doing okay in there?"

Relief floods through her when she felt another small kick.

"Hey, Luce!"

She looked up when she heard Frank's voice, seeing that most of the leaves had been amassed into one big pile. She pushed herself up from her chair and walked over to them, greeting her husband with a kiss.

"You both did such a good job," she said to both Frank and Julia.

"Good job!" Julia repeated before launching herself back first into the pile of leaves.

She was small enough that it didn't exactly reverse all of the progress that she and Frank had made, but it still caused a good portion of the leaves to scatter.

But her parents just laughed. Lucy then carefully laid herself out on the pile next to Julia, as her condition didn't exactly allow her to jump. Julia rolled over until she was in her mother's arms, and the two of them laughed as Frank jumped down to lie next to them. He moved onto his side and reached out to tickle his wife and daughter, sending them into contagious fits of giggles.

[queenmabcreates]

Happy Halloween 💀🎃👻

This is a perfect example of writing for yourself!

I almost gave up halfway through writing this one, but I didn’t. I’m glad I didn’t because I don’t like to start something and not finish it, but also I really like the story. I also decided it would be the last 90s movie AU I would attempt …. But here I am currently working on another one. 🙃

[heartnoose]

Not even joking but one of my biggest fears with the upcoming push for legalizing censorship against queers and pornography is how that’s going to impact fanfic. Especially long standing masterpieces like My Immortal and Sonic High School. I don’t think they’ll be wiped from the internet since many overseas could have copies saved, but what if…

[justa-personn]

my beloved husband (ao3) has left me to go off and fight in the war (is down) it has been months since i last received a letter from him (i was on it yesterday) and i fear that we may never meet again (the volunteers are hard at work and will likely have the issue resolved soon)

[kookoofufu]

"knotting" "in heat" jesse what the fuck are you talking about

[annaofthenorthernlights]

Wrapped in the mood

@flufftober @slumberpartybingo (Halloween/Fall Flash Bingo)

Fandom: Frozen Pairing: Kristanna Rating: T Words: 969

covering follwoing prompts:

flufftober 2023 day 08 “rainy day”

Fall-Flash Bingo „Autumn aesthetics: Thick knit scarves wrapped around your neck”

Halloween Flash Bingo “Frightening films: [Rec]"

The rain has been pouring down for days, clearly autumn weather, and it is pelting them with full force. Kristoff is glad that it's Friday evening and the weekend is beckoning to relax and put his feet up. After a hectic week, there is nothing better than spending some quality time indoors with his fiancée, spending an afternoon without getting soaked.

Read on AO3