lundering

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can this guy get out of my house

someone please get this guy out of my house. thanks.

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tw - unreality, eldritch!yandere, prolonged captivity, implied nsfw, and voyeurism.

You might’ve been the only one left.

If there was another living person in town, they were either too assimilated or too well hidden to find. Everyone else – the unliving, the possessed, the altered – had that glassy sheen over their eyes, that thoughtless smile painted over their lips, that sense of connected omniscience that meant you could walk into a café you’d never visited before and the beaming barista would already know your name, your order, and your mother’s address. There were no strangers anymore, not really, no differentiation between your closest friend and your coldest acquaintance. Everyone knew everything, especially about you.

You still went to work, for some reason. There wasn’t really a point. What few responsibilities you had as a professional pencil pusher dried up months ago, leaving you in a state of white-collar limbo. Occasionally, you’d get an email, but the message was always disjointed and nonsensical, like filler text in a bad office simulator game. Sometimes, your phone would ring, but there’d only ever be heavy breathing and the muffled sound of wet flesh hitting stone on the other side. After a while, you stopped answering.

Your boss would stop by your cubicle, make small talk over lukewarm coffee. He was the attractive, older type – all grey-streaked hair and tailored suits. He used to hate you. You couldn’t remember when he change his mind.

“We’re grabbing a round of drinks on the company card tonight,” he explained. “To celebrate the end of another tough week.”

“It’s Tuesday.”

“It’s the least I could do. You’re such a hard worker, (Y/n).”

You glanced up from the sticky note you were currently folding into a paper crane. This would be your forty-seventh attempt. “I am?”

He laughed as if you’d said the funniest thing in the world and rested a hand on your arm, leaning in a little too close for comfort. “So, you’re coming?”

“I’d rather gauge my own eyes out.”

“Sounds like a date.” He squeezed your shoulder before drawing back. “We’ll be waiting.”

You didn’t go. You would stop coming in a few days later, but the phone calls followed you home.

Not that ‘home’ had ever meant safety. The infection had seeped into the architecture, gotten control of the roots. There were swaths of days where you didn’t – couldn’t – leave, every door disappearing and every window sealing itself shut, trapping you in. Others, it almost seemed to force you out – every wall suddenly glass and every door hanging open despite your best attempts to keep them closed. You’d find a fully stocked fridge suddenly empty, or every word of your favorite paperback abruptly replaced with encouraging messages to stretch your legs, get fresh air, go outside. Once, you even tried to leave town altogether. Your car broke down after the first mile, so you walked in an endlessly straight line, never turning, never looking back, never stopping. Somehow, you found yourself on your own doorstep, door open wide as if welcoming you back.

You spent that night on your lawn, sobbing into the grass while your neighbors formed a uniform circle around you, watching. Guarding. Smiling.

Things devolved quickly. You tried your hand at burning down a local bookstore, but the clerk stood beside you all the while, snuffing out every match you managed to light. You poured yourself drinks at up-town bars and slept in velvet-lined booths, never so much as attempting to pay your tab. You skinny-dipped in a mall fountain during peak hours, bathing under cheap plastic skylights and harsh fluorescents. No one paid you a second glance. There were no kids in town anymore, and everyone seemed to glow with a sort of unnatural, off-putting beauty. Like they were grooming themselves to your preferences. Like the town was preening itself to better capture your attention.

You sat in the corner of an old-fashioned diner, staring silently at the table while a handful of other customers pretend to talk amongst themselves around you - the inflections familiar but the words gibberish. Thirty minutes passed before a waitress wandered over, notebook in hand and smile wide enough to strain. “What can I get for you, darlin’?”

“I want to leave.”

“Afraid that’s not on the menu.”

“Then tell what you want. Why you’re keeping me here.”

“Coming right up, sugar.”

A silver platter too nice to be in a place like this was brought to your table. A golden wedding band stood solitary one side and, on the other, bridal lingerie, nearly folded and white as a dove.

Your stomach dropped. You considered getting up, going home, but that wouldn’t have made a difference. You were surrounded, cornered, imprisoned.

And eventually, you would have to reckon with the needs of your warden.

[lundering]

eh, screw it *releases my fucked up vampire au from the confines of my mind*

anyway I decided my blog is for me and I can draw and post all the weird silly concepts of my dreams and nobody can stop me. I actually have a lot of potential comic ideas ping-ponging in my head for this AU — not a linear story or anything (beyond what's on this post), just some good fun and shenanigans.

bonus:

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Omg I am so happy! One of the jobs I wanted to get an offer from finally got back to me. They wanted to to schedule an interview. FOR A JOB THAT ACTUALLY USES MY DEGREE!!!

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Stupid ginger sucks at flirting

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I’ve taken a break from shifting because I feel ✨✨unmotivated ✨✨. I genuinely can’t remember the last time I took a break and I’ve been on my journey for years. It’s hard for me to know when I should resume my journey because shifting has become a big part of my routine. I guess I’ll continue once my motivation returns.

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I just noticed something and now I want to cry. I’ve been tagging all my posts under shiftblur instead of shiftblr. Hello shifters on shiftblr not shiftblur it’s nice to meet you. I totally didn’t make a massive oopsie and post under the wrong tag… On a completely unrelated note, brb I need to edit all my posts. 😭😭😭😭

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I spent 10 minutes looking up the height of people from my DR and converting to American. If that’s not dedication I don’t know what is.

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missed the mark by (looks at calendar) uhhh. hm. but I really wanted to do something for the 5th anniversary! happy five years to these idiots 🎉

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Does anyone else experience this symptom?

I’ve gotten a new symptom where it feels like I am swinging violently in a hammock. I know symptoms don’t matter and you are supposed to persist, but how am I supposed to ignore it? It genuinely feels like I’m about to fall out of bed. 😭

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At least I’m funny... 🥲

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Pearl

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Shifting exists for the hopeless romantics. Shifting exists for those who want more in life than a boring 9-5 job. Shifting exists for those who are hungry for knowledge and want to learn it all. Shifting exists for those who are escaping a shitty life. Shifting exists for the adrenaline junkies. Shifting exists for the people who want to experience everything. Shifting exists for those who just want to be happy.

Shifting exists for you.

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Let the others raise their hands too la😭