#lisa frankenstein x reader

[mytheoristavenue]

Dude I know you don't have any requests but if you ever feel up to it I would absolutely eat up a continuation of your creature x reader fic...perhaps they slowly fall for each other.

Hes just...he's so sweet and the way you write him makes me feral. I'm definitely going to check out your other works.

This is me letting you know that your target audience had been reached

Normally, I would politely decline or ignore requests, as I just don't enjoy doing them anymore for multiple reasons, but I wanted to address this one specifically. Hopefully this isn't too short!

For the sake of this story, let's pretend that the time between the events of the movie span over a longer period.

LF Creature x Reader - Compost

Summary: Creature helps you out in your garden.

Warnings: mentions of rot, bugs, worms, and dung, creature x reader, bisexual reader, reader has a crush on Lisa, continuation of Mutual Comfort, plot holes, not proofread, spelling/gramatical errors, calling Creature Ein

"You look different today," you noticed allowed, squatted over the flower bed, carefully dropping a marigold from your trowel and covering the roots with soil. "Little more alive."

The man behind you grunted in response, prompting you to glance at him over your shoulder. He seemed to have more color in his face, and his hair seemed less stringy. He lifted a discolored hand, and waved it around as if it were an explaination. You simply shrugged, not understanding the meaning, and went back to what you were doing.

"Regaurdless, I appreciate you helping me." you smiled, standing up and admiring your newly replanted marigolds. Another grunt in responce. "Now I need to mix up the compost pile. Mind pushing that wheel barrow over there?" you aske pointing to the object and then to the destination. Nodding, Creature made his way over.

Once he got behind the wheel barrow, however, he scrunched his face in disgust. "What?" you laughed, slumping your shoulders. "Too good for hard labor? He shook his head, letting go of thehandles and covering his nose. Finally, it clicked for you.

"Oh, come on, you big baby. It doesn't stink tha bad." you rolled your eyes, walking over to simply wheel it over yourself. Seeing you prepared to take matters into your own hands, Creature finally pulled himself up by the bootstraps, taking hold of the handles again and pushing it forward. "Its cow dung, if you were curious," you giggled, following him. "My dad has a friend that owns a far and he hooks me up with free manure for the garden."

Once again, Creature grimaced, turning up his nose. "Hey, Zomboy," you scolded playfully. "Your half rotted flest doesn't smell all that much better." He flashed you a hurt expression coupled with a somber groan, making you back peddle. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry."

Finally in front of the compost pile, you grabbed a nearby shovel and began to heave the dung onto the top, the smell never once bothering you. When you were finished, you stuck the shovel in the ground and rested a foot on it, hiking your knee up, and glued your hands to your hips, tired from a hard day's work.

"I don't know about you, but I think today is a good day for some lemonade." You sighed, beginning to walk back toward the house, Creature trailing behind you. "You like lemonade?" He nodded when you glanced back, prompting you to smile. "Go ahead and take a seat," you said, motioning to the patio set to his right. "I'll go get us some."

After a few minutes, you returned, slipping out the back door and into the yard, a glass in each hand, but your eyes lit up before you couven step off the patio. You quickly scurried over to set the glasses down, gushing over what he had. It was a lovely little hand picked bouquet, mostly consisting of wildflowers and weeds. In the short time you were gone, Creature had taken it upon himself to currate you a gift. "Ein..." you breathed, taking it from him and examining it. "You did this for me...?" you asked, oblivious to how silly the question was. He nodded with a timid smile, inviting you to sit with him.

After a moment, your heart dropped, realizing what you'd called him by. "Oh my gosh, I'm sorry I called you that!" you fretted. "Lisa told me that was the last little bit of your name, I sholdv'e asked if you'd be kay with being called that."

He seemed to wave your worries off, shaking his head, signalling tha he wasn't bothered. He then bowed his head, something that confused you. "So you are okay with me calling you Ein?" He bowed again, and you were unable to keep the grin from spreading across your face. "Okay, Ein it is then. I suppose we couldn't have just called you 'Creature' forever, right?" He shrugged, as if he truly didn't care what his name ended up being. "Regardless, thank you for the flowers, they're beautiful."

The man couldn't help but stare as you admired the little nosegay, noting how eyes eyes lit up when you smiled and your nose scrunched when you laughed. He actually found himself so invested in observing you while sipping his lemonade that he choked a little when your eyes flitted back to him.

"Oh my gosh, are you okay?" you suddenly jumped up, patting his back as he coughed, hunched over. "Ein? Ein! Are you okay?" you panicked, patting a bit harder, and wondering if the heimlick would even work on a corpse. Luckily, that deemed to be unnessisary as he finally spat up whatever was clogging his airway.There on the table, squirmed a very long, slimy earthworm.

"I-Is...is that a worm?" you grimaced, entirely freaked out as you stared at it, eyes flickering back to his every few seconds. Creature was frozen in place, terrified he'd ruined a lovely moment between the two of you, and slapped his hand over the thing, shaking his head no. "You're telling me I didn't just watch you spit up a worm onto my dad's patio table? You're telling me if I move your hand, there's not gonna be a worm?"

Hesitantly, he shook his head with a nervous smile, resisting as hard as possible when you grabbed his hand to move it. Though you had no time to think about it then, you couldn't help but notice the way the stitches holding his hand on felt under your finger tips- definately an interesting sensation.

Finally, you managed to lift his hand up, still holding it, and proved yourself right, once again staring at the wiggly little thing on the table. With a sigh, and ignoring his protests, you reached down and lifted it into your palm. "Got anymore?"

Creature sheepishly shook his head and got up to follow you as you walked away. "Well, this little guy is going in my compost pile." you decided, pinching the worm out of your palm and setting it on top of the pile. "And if it has any buddies in there, they're welcome to the pile too." you smiled, grabbing his hand again.

"I like you," you confessed with a giggle. "A few little bugs aren't gonna scare me away."

I hope this was along the lines of what you were looking for! Sorry it was so rushed, it probably has a million errors, as my gramarly is suddenly not working!

[janitorhutcherson]

headcanon where mike bitches and complains about romcoms even though he kinda enjoys them but one day you put on lisa frankenstein (2024) (were pretending this existed then) and he becomes completely captivated and immersed because he feels like their relationship could capture the essence of yours together — completely strange to the rest of the world but perfect in your own bubble.

quotes like “I don't know how I was ever afraid of you.” completely stick with him.

or perhaps, “You like cool movies and music and stuff, but only for you! You want to be the smart one who likes cool stuff, and you don't want your girlfriend to like cool stuff. Do you know how uncool that is?”

he feels like lisa’s outburst is similar to his own internal feelings about himself, that the rest of the world can be strange but he can’t — but there you were. he was the monster and you were lisa, accepting of him regardless, the same way he was of you.

and besides, it’s a pretty fucking cool campy movie anyway — but he’ll never admit that to you.

[xoemme]

Something i havent seen anyone talk about is the title of the movie. The movie isnt just called 'Lisa Frankenstein' because its an adaptation of Frankenstein. We can infer from the 'ein' on his grave that The Creature <3 's last name was Frankenstein and at the end of the movie, him and Lisa get married. The title is also about them getting married because she takes his last name! <3

Can you tell i love this movie?

[msookyspooky]

I see your Creature Randy and I raise you; Creature Reader! (Btw how are you I miss you on may dash >_<!)

I love this especially as someone that's a huge Lisa Frankenstein, Corpse Bride, Nosferatu and Beetlejuice lover

@f1nalboys if ur still into Randy and still write ur masterpieces on him ♡♡♡

And I am so so so so sorry this is astronomically late! It was under like 23 anons of long winded spam forgive me 😭😢 Missed you all too, pookies ♡

I'm just going with Scream since it wasn't specified (But I accept other request too)

Scream 1996 Character + Lisa Frankenstein 2024 Mash Up:

Randy Meeks, Billy Loomis, Stu Macher

TW: Gore, Bodyhorror, Death, Decay, Murder, Bugs

Scream Characters x Creature Corpse Reader

Randy Meeks:

♡ You enjoyed the young man's voice even from 6 feet underground. Muffled and hard to hear; but heard none the less. Visiting your grave site and telling you about his day every so often on his way home. He wanted a partner and complained of the woes of dating as a social outcast? So endearing. You're non-beating heart still stirred even if you were in a peaceful twilight of paralysis and decay.

♡ But he didn't react how you hoped. Absolutely freaks the hell out when you followed him home from the grave after it got struck by lightning and you were resurrected from your eternal slumber

♡ Then you were confused and offended. Why was he running and screaming!? He wanted a date and here you are! Did men not court anymore?

♡ "Jesus!!" He had exclaimed while staggering over objects and holding up a vhs tape as a potential weapon. You gestured to things explaining you were the one he visited at the cemetery, "I wanted a d-date not a damn Evil Dead character from the Grave all guts and maggots!"

♡ When you still didn't quite get it in your haze of reanimation; he spelled it out for you same harsh energy as the gif.

♡ "YOU. ARE. DEAD! A nasty, oozing, rotting corpse! Of course I'm not interested!!"

♡ Ouch. Okay, so you were dead! So, your ear fell off and you didn't feel nerve endings now!...You still had feelings feelings. The kind that made you whimper and feel your heart beating a new and twisting painfully in your hollow chest.

♡ He faltered seeing tears (or um...Whatever body fluids you had) well up in your milky eyes and you stumbled away.

♡ He felt really bad and confused hearing you sobbing in his closet. And absolutely fucking terrified of you.

♡ "Hey...Hey look, I'm sorry but ya gotta cut a guy slack here, okay? It's not everyday an undead person stumbles in my house. You took me by surprise is all...Maybe you're a nice zombie? C'mon, I'm sorry that um...Ack, God!-" He gagged quickly covering his nose at the smell you must be admitting as you cried and he begged, "Pplleeassee stop crying before my room smells like friggin roadkill."

♡ He makes you shower and well even you were a lil grossed out seeing a worm fall from you. Disgusting. And he even gave you an oversized shirt with 'Friday the 13th' on it. How sweet! A gift!...Well, you sorta took it because it was soft and he scrunched his nose telling you it was all yours.

♡ Shows you movies and soon realizes he has someone that will listen to him ramble. He points things out and you hum and nod as he goes on and on and you sit there a 'zombie' as he called you.

♡ He scolded you in the kitchen and waved a paper at you, "Hey, hey, hey! No. Bad Zombie. You can't just go wandering around my house. My sister and parents will flip!"

♡ You grunted in offense at him scolding you like a dog but relented venturing his house...You were bored! You had been in that coffin in the ground way too long just to be shoved in a closet sneaking the same VHS tapes on his mini tv over and over

♡ He's horrified when you killed a guy bullying him in his yard one night that had followed him home after Randy had made a remark about him at work. How dare that bastard hurt your living boy! Said boy is mortified you not only bludgeoned the guy to death but that you stole the bullies ear and urged him to sew it on. You shrugged at him...What? He wasn't using it!... Not anymore.

♡ Randy had the idea of using the faulty tanning bed to jolt your dead tissue after claiming it worked in...Too many movies to remember as he rambled like a mad scientist. And It did work.

♡ He tries to tell you that you both can't just kill anybody but that all backfires like everything else in Randy's lil losercore life

♡ But...The more you're resurrected. More human. More alive with life in your eyes and able to smirk or pull him along to explore. Well...You see how he gets tomato red at you undressing in front of him. Your body not as disgusting as it once was. Not at all.

♡ "Damn...I mean um..." He rubbed the back of his neck giving your now fleshtoned and warmer looking body clothes. "Ya know, maybe no one will miss Robert anyways? I mean he was a total geek like me. No one will remember him." He faltered at you nude and tracing his jawline in concern at how he always talked about himself. He stammered, "I-I-I mean, ya know um...Shit..." He swallowed looking at your eyes now as vibrant as they were in life. "You're...Kinda cute for a zombie. I mean...Well..." He blushed more at you smiling. Not kissing him, not yet, too afraid you were still a bit ripe and just took the clothes while squeezing his hand and he averted his eyes bashfully at your nude form. "Just put clothes on, would ya?"

♡ And hey? He kinda found it romantic after awhile especially not getting caught helping you kill for body parts. Going from the guy no one wanted to an undead but not fully dead individual with eyes on only him and no one else. It may go against every natural law he knew but damn at least he had a date and someone that once fully alive and warm to snuggle with during horror movie nights.

Billy Loomis

♡ (I don't think we give him enough credit for his off putting creepy behavior or his odd ways. He'd be the most down for corpsey you. Like, he's a freak of nature with pretty privledge. In another life, he was a gothic outcast like Lisa in male form let's be real.)

♡ He'd go to the cemetery to think. Smoke. Sometimes he talked to your gravestone seeing you were near his age when you died. You liked hearing him. Wishing you could reach up to hold his hand but alas a pine box and 6 feet of dirt stood in your way.

♡ "Must be nice...Wish I was with you sometimes. Instead I'm studying for English while I'm dying inside slowly. Probably as rotten inside as you are...Corny, huh?" He chuckled wryly and patted your tombstone.

♡ When you stumble to his house on a stormy night while his Dad was away doing God knows what; he obviously flipped. He went to stab you and you just looked down at the knife and pulled it out. A bit of your rot going out with it.

♡ He backed up against a wall breathing heavily. Eyeing you till you put the knife down and pointed at a picture he took of your grave on his bedroom wall.

♡ You're dead eyes look pleased when he remembers and you went to hug him and he was a bit like...No. Pushing you away with a grimace.

♡ Yet, he looks at you in wonder. Intrigued how you work, your anatomy...And he's actually flattered you came to him. That you were 'special' in the same dark way he was.

♡ You're disheartened when he specified he wanted to be in the ground too, not necessarily with you. It hurt. Being rejected in death like you were in life.

♡ "Oh Fuck-" He grumbled pinching his nose at your tears. "Okay if you're gonna be dead; you're gonna be clean and dead. Shit-" But he muses, "This is like Re-Animator. Or Frankhooker only I didn't pick your parts." You give him an offended look and he smirks, "Oh? You got sensibilities? I just saw a worm fall out of you."

♡...He had a point but you were still offended.

♡ He gives you one of his oversized polo shirts or flannels. He slid his fingers over your cold thigh, curious as can be as you lightly went to smack it then realizing...Oh right. No hand. How Embarrassing.

♡ He smirked in fascination and lifted your wrist to examine it, "Bit of a problem." You couldn't help watching how his beautiful dangerous dark eyes looked at you, "You need parts...And I think I know exactly how to get them." You grunted in response and he raised a brow, "What? I won't give you some ugly old wrinkled hand or something. Don't worry about it...I'll take care of you. Promise."

♡ Let's you sleep in his closet and he SHOULD be mortified but instead he's like a young boy who has a secret friend no one knows about.

♡ Gets you a hand and you blink as he still had blood on a rag it was wrapped in. "Hey, don't worry. I told you I'd get it. You're like my newest thing to focus on. Like...Like Edward Scissorhands even if I'm no Winona...More like the mom." He jokingly mused while putting the new hand on your wrist. You grunted but relented as he sewed the hand onto yours. Both of you disappointed it didn't work. He paced the room in annoyance, "Damn... There's gotta be something-" when...The neighbor did have a faulty tanning bed they didn't use anymore

♡ Treats you like a beloved experiment. Enjoying his kills having a purpose to bring the perfect girl/guy/person to life.

♡ It even distracts him from getting revenge on Sidney. Sometimes.

♡ He eases into bed with you, "Hey...You're dead you know. I'm not waiting around till you're alive to get laid. I mean, does everything...Even...Ya know, work?" He mused aloud. His eyes scanning your body barely covered by his flannel as you may not blush yet but your skin was a blu-ish flesh tone or getting more warm by the day and you watched and let his hand...Travel curiously.

♡ Finds it endearing that you don't like him having a girlfriend or beinh so close to Stu, "Aw, you want me all to yourself? I have a lot of chicks I have sex with you know-" Grins wider at you almost fully alive again grumbling and holding his pillow in bed with a pout. He loves feeling wanted. Adores it especially with a girlfriend like Sidney that was too nice, too pure, too trusting. He craved a possesive partner that wants him and only him...But damn it, this living man was all you had. You had no one but him. And he had such pretty eyes too.

♡ He's secretly very possessive of you even if he gives you a hard time. When you sneak out and some guys were flirting/haggling you; he yells at you then drags you back before holding you close reminding you you were HIS secret. HIS deadgirl/guy/person. HIS project. HIS.

♡ You knew his killing was getting erratic near Fall time and on the night before the murders; he fully makes you alive and you both don't hesitate to explore. Why not? Go all the way making the night special. He reasons horror movie logic doesn't work on supernatural creatures like you

♡ The night he dies; You're devastated beyond belief and you sneak out and get his body from the morgue not caring if your caught and resurrect him with that tanning bed

♡ He's not as dead as you were but has no memories solid. That bullet scrambling his brain a bit and if anything; it's perfect. You take care of him while trying to make him alive. No revenge, no mommy issues, no murder. Just you...Just you and him. A twisted couple but together forever.

Stu Macher

♡ He only knew your grave from it being a shortcut as a tween to home. THEN he used it to scare kids with the shtick of, 'watch out...You say the name at midnight and she comes back!'

♡ Screamed so shrill and loud he'd never admit it when showed up at his house covered in mud and clearly a corpse. He screamed like a young girl at you actually showing up on his doorstep undead both out of longing and annoyance of him constantly PESTERING your resting place

♡ "Get away from me you undead freak of nature!! Bro, I SAID GET BACK!!" Followed by him throwing a pot at your head and you groaning in discomfort and annoyance clutching your rotting head.

♡ He finally mustered his usual bravado when you were thumbing through his CD collection, "Ugh nooooo! Goddamn, why?!" He grimaced. "Man, you got your nasty dead fingerprints all over my shit!" You ignored him and tried sitting the CD on top the CD player expecting it to work like a record. He raised a brow, "Uh no. Get with the times, babe." And begrudgingly played it for you properly.

♡ He watched you listening to the music and get mud and worms and body juices- "Oh damn it, get in the bathtub! Fuuucckkk, man. I just got this carpet my parents are gonna kill me." He grumbled shoving you in the tub

♡ He watched you get in washing away grime as he cringed, "Man, you smell awful. Like, I'm gonna puke just looking at you-"

♡ If you threw a worm at him from your insides for being an ass it would so funny. You should do that so he screams again.

♡ After he gets over the shock he's calling Billy up and nervous and of course Billy thinks he's high or pranking him and hangs up just for you to be standing behind him

♡ Does question if he can use you like a pin cushion and you feel no pain just for you to lift your shirt and remind him if he tries to take out his sick lil urges on you...It ain't blood. It's decades of rotting insides and flesh and body juice.

♡ He's gagging but morbidly curious, "Eewwwwww, you're fucking disgusting." As he goes to poke a hole on your rotting torso and you smack him with your stump of a wrist where your one hand is missing, "Soorryyy, got it. Don't finger your holes." He joked and you grumbled tempted to crawl back to your grave in annoyance at him.

♡ He's cleaning frantically and doesn't let you help after you bent over and more...Stuff came out of you through the shirt he gave you and onto the carpet but he does wonder aloud, "Wonder if we put you together like, I don't know, Frankenstein or something if it would work?" He looked at you as you shrugged with a grunt unable to do much else as a corpse

♡ He warns you to stay in the attic and you definitely did not enjoy that but shrugged as you busied yourself going through his families belongings. You saw the dolls hanging up in there, grunted and kept it moving

♡ You secretly disliked Tatum and how she talked to him and he was over the moon teasing thinking his dead toy was jealous. He even made remarks that hurt your feelings but you didn't cry. Didn't give him the satisfaction of finding something else to nitpick. He had new girls behind Tatum's back there constantly anyways.

♡ You...May have coughed up a worm as a fuck you in him and Tatum's popcorn one makeout movie night when they were distracted.

♡ But you blinked at him getting you and hand that didn't match you. Blinking but he was already sewing it on and excitedly saying, "Don't worry, I got it. Man, this is gonna be so friggin cool!"

♡ He told you to get in Leslie's old tanning bed she said had a short in it and cranked it up...To your shock...It actually worked. Shocking your system.

♡ He grinned smugly, "Ha! Knew it...Wonder if I can sew a dick on you or big tits or-" You glared with your newfound muscles in your face restored and he held his hands up, "Alright alright. Jokes, jeez."

♡ You started to realize he may have initially acted normal but was anything but. He WANTED to show you off like some fair project and you refused for obvious reasons. He was charming and a huge risk taker to the point of being a ditz but also not. He was an odd conundrum

♡ He was cute obviously but he crushed on you first having bizarre taste. "Ya know..." He had you in his bed with his sister one oversized nightgown on you. "I always wondered what it would be like to...Ya know...Do stuff with a stiff-" You gave him the most bewildered offended look, "I'm just saying! I wouldn't do it. And you're...Undead, not the same morally." He rolled his eyes with a huff but eyed you and got closer. "Just...I mean, you're like the ultimate doll. Just for me. And you can't blame a guy for being curious."

♡...You were also curious but thankfully his parents came home and you groaned as back up to the attic you went. He did provide magazines for you though

♡ You just had one more 'part' left to replace in an embarrassing area and he used the night at the party as Ghostface to get it. Billy still didn't believe him and he seemed to not care. Not wanting to 'share' with Billy anyways

♡ Bloody and looking better than you wanted to admit he smiled like a kid in a store sewing it on and touching you along the way in a way that surpringly made your undead carcass...Warm.

♡ People still drunk at the party complained when the power went out when he fully resurrected you to living breathing tissue and you and him despite your better judgment kissed and...Tested out your parts.

♡ He had it in his head you were his toy and doll and thing and you disliked being a thing and yet the way he made you feel alive literally and metaphorically...Maybe you could play along.

♡ When he died that night from the tv you brought him back before cops could fully investigate. He wanted to go back for Billy but didn't hesitate to leave him either once he came to

♡ Is devastated he looks like 'a freak' with his face now and yet you cup his cheek and kiss him. His player cassanova days are over but...He had you. Now? There was level playing field. And if you both had to kill to get parts along the way so be it.

[angel-sweets666]

Sweetheart~

Chapter 2 The creature x fem!reader

warnings! Murder, mentions of sexual harassment, mentions of sex and a author who hasn’t actually watched the movie because it’s not streaming in Australia 😭😭

A/n CHAPTER TWO IS OUTTT (read chap one here) UGHHH, I’m sorry I’m not the best writer I feel like i rush things but I am learning, I’m going to try and release more fanfiction with more fandoms so it’s not all Lisa Frankenstein <3

It had been a few days since you and The creature had smashed Janet’s head into a sewing machine and cut off her ear to use it for his own purposes, taffy and your father were none the wiser! They think she is at a work trip. You walked downstairs in a lacy tank top, sweat pants and your hair in a messy scrunchie bun. Taffy giggled up at you “don’t tell mom but… it’s actually nice when she’s gone.. right dad?” She smiled warmly over to the other side of the table were your father was standing “uh… yeah.. it’s quiet” he said as he sipped his morning coffee and holding up the newspaper. You pulled the chair out and sat down “so uh… have we heard from her?” You questioned, acting clueless “nope! Must be realllll busy” taffy smiled innocently, not knowing the true fate of her mother. You bit your lip and nodded “mhm… yep…” you acted as normally as you possibly could; knowing you had murdered someone, or rather you were the accomplice to a murder. You used your manicured fingernails to tap on the table, making clicking noises “ah I love your nails! See it’s so nice to look after yourself” taffy giggled as she ate a strawberry “oh uh.. yeah..” you were awfully quiet…. “You okay? Your acting funny” taffy’s dark eyebrows furrow, her once bubbly smile dropping “oh I’m just.. worried about uh.. mom..” taffy’s eyes lit up “AWWWW, it’s okay I bet she’s okay..” she rubbed your back to “comfort” you.

Once the breakfast was over you rushed to go back upstairs and to your room, the sounds of your feet against the carpet made a pitter patter as you rushed up the carpet “ughhh! What do I do?!” You yelped to the creature, he grunted and his body twisted towards you, making a sickening cracking sound from his rusty and old joints “okay.. ew… anyways, are you sure they won’t find the body?” You asked frantically, he groaned and slowly nodded; making a familiar cracking noise from his neck. “Are you sure sure?” You pressed. The creature seemed annoyed with your constant worrying about being caught. He grabbed your shoulders and held you in place, looking at you with a ‘it’s fine’ look. You sighed and began to count to ten in an attempt to calm yourself down “1….2….3….4….5… oh god… 6…7….8…9…” inhale “10…. Im calm… I’m very calm… I’m very very calm…” you sighed and leaned onto the creatures chest, noticing the lack of heart beat “oh.. yeah… your dead.. you.. you don’t have a heartbeat huh..?” You looked up at him, his somewhat stiff face looked back down at you as he grumbled in an attempt to say “yes”. Your shoulders slumped as you sighed, leaning back onto his “that’s… that’s okay..” you smiled and closed your eyes, for a dead man… he was oddly comforting…

the next morning…

you opened the closet door to find him against the wall, asleep. “Hey buddy..” you smiled and woke him up “I uh… I have an idea!” You smiled to the now stirred zombie man. The creature grumbles, tilting his head to the side “well.. remember how I went to that party the other day..?” You tried to jog his foggy memory, in hopes despite his heart not working, that his brain still worked! The creature nodded again, but it was slow and stiff due to the fact he was fresh out the tomb. “And remember how that Doug guy kept grabbing me and hitting on me and ended up yk.. sexually assaulting me..?” You asked him quietly and he nodded again “I think… we might just have a hand donor!” You looked down at the creatures “nub” which was where his hand mustve been in the 1830s. The creatures face lit up the best of its ability, you slowly walked over to the pink landline phone laying on your wooden table. Dialing a couple numbers then placing your phone to your ear

“Hello doug..? I was wondering if maybe, we could go on a walk with me today or tomorrow..?”

“yeah! Of course beautiful”

you grinned to the creature as a good sign, you suddenly put on your acting skills “oh thank you Doug… what time today?” You said as you twirled the cord around “2:30? Too easy. See you then~~”

2:30

“Hey… I’m so glad you came..” you said breathily to Doug, he smiled to you. You two started walking together in the woods as he grabbed your hand, you swiftly pulled your hand away from his hand “w-what you don’t wanna hold my hand..?” He seemed surprise that you didnt want to be romantic with him at all.“I… just wanna show you something” you said as you began to speed walk ahead of him. “Hey wait up!” He yelped, you slowly bushed some old bushes away to show him the bachelors grove cemetery. “This is my uh.. this is my spot!” You smiled and giggled as you held your hand out to him to follow you into the cemetery and to be honest he looked wary “r-really? A cemetery?” He stuttered, looking up at the metal sign…but by the time he lowered his head to look back at you; you were already way ahead of him. Little did he know the creature was waiting for him with a axe in one hand and a shovel in the other. Once Doug catched up to you, you acted clueless for a while, not even listening to his ranting about you and how pretty you were, as you looked over the thorny bushes you could see a head of curly hair, the creatures head of curly hair to be exact. The dirt and leaves crunched beneath your feet as you and Doug walked closer and closer to Doug’s future grave. The deep hole you and the creature had dug for him this morning waiting for him. Doug didnt even get to finish one of his many sentences before you violently shoved him into the hole, he screamed like a little girl “w-what?! *name* who’s this?! what.. what’s he doing?! Oh god…” he began to violently scream as the undead man hacked his hands off and then just began to swing the axe at him. Repeated blows turning Doug’s body into nothing but skin tissue and blood. You smiled as you finally got the revenge for the assault you faced at the hands of that grubby little boy.. you slowly climbed into the dirt hole and grabbed one of Doug’s bloody and amputated hands and held it up to the creatures wrapped up nub he once called his wrist “it’ll work” you shrugged and smiled to him, throwing the hand into a plastic bag with a uncomfortable thud.

The blue thread weaves in and out of the creatures skin, as you sewed the hand to him. Finishing up the last stitches “how’s that feel..? Handy?” You giggled, he didnt make a noise back “right yeah.. we gotta electrocute ya don’t we?” You smiled warmly to him, he seemed to have grown to you as a great comfort in your life. You had been miserable since the death of your mother and now.. the creature filled that void in some ways, he wasn’t your mother but he certainly was something. “Let’s go get ya zapped up huh..?” You went to go play with the curls in his hair “hm?” He grumbled and leaned into your hand “hey.. you’re actually pretty cute…” you muttered only to go a pink shade “w-what? Nobody said anything.” You tried to cover up what you said as you helped him up and down the stairs to the tanning bed. The creature stumbled into the tanning bed room, and laid down into the bed. You fidgeted around with the crank again until you could turn it on and close the magenta lid. You waited almost 15 minutes for him! A ear would take 5 minutes to attach, so a hand.. a whole limb! Must take longer right..? When the 15 minutes were up, the familiar ‘ding!’ Noise rang in your own ears, you jumped in surprise and quickly rushed to the tanning bed to see if it worked. Not only did it work, but it did something else. It made him look more…. Human. His face looked more alive and he had now grown eyebrows, a feature he lacked before. “Woah..” he looked at you, equally as surprised! You pulled him up so he sat up in the tanning bed, he looked at his new hand and attempted to wiggle it, the fingers wiggled and you gasped, clapping your hand excitedly “it worked! You have a hand, can you talk now?” Instead of trying to speak like you were suggesting, the creature stood up and offered his hand to you like men did back in the 1800s when they wanted to dance with a woman “no no.. I can’t dance” you turned away and before you knew it, he grabbed you and yanked you backwards towards him. You yelped in surprise, then looked up at his smiling face.

The creature spun you around, grabbed you by your waist and hand then kept slow dancing with you in the back yard.. you blushed deeply and leaned onto his chest. He bowed you down then brought you back up and once again, kept twirling and dancing; the green grass making a slight noise with each step, it felt so romantic… the hand that was originally on your waist reached to play with the scrunchie in your hair, and the curling iron curls in your hair. “W-what are you doing..?” You looked up at him, he made a hum noise “we.. we should go inside.. it’s getting cold…” you suggested, shivering against him.. he nodded slowly and ushered you inside; holding you firmly and securely by your waist, treating you like your made of porcelain…

You took him upstairs, into your warm cozy room. “Should we find you some cozy clothes..? I’ll let you lay in bed with me…” you said sweetly to him, his face lit up “mhm..” you smiled and then walked into the closet, looking around for a pair of pyjamas that would fit him, and you successfully found some old Christmas pyjamas “here you go!” You tossed it to him then ushered him into the closet, he stumbled out in the Christmas pyjamas “awe how cute!” You squealed and hugged him, he wrapped his arms around you, then you pulled away “oh wait I gotta get into my own pyjamas…. Don’t peek” you scolded him and he smiled, the creature sitting down on your bed. You put on a lacy night gown and placed your hair in braids with ribbons on the end and to finish it off, frilly cozy socks. “Tada!” You bursted out the closet, pretending to hold a fashion show for him, he tried ti laugh but it sounded more like a wheeze… oh yea… he’s dead. You laid into bed with him. You and him spent hours talking.. or rather, you talking and him making noises due to his lack of tongue. “If I’m going to die… I don’t want to die a virgin…” you said quietly, and he chocked on his own spit “what! Did you die a virgin..?” You wiggled your eyebrows at him, “tsk…” the creature let out “your not gonna tell me..?” He shook his head “I tell you everything

he sighed

and held up one finger

“YOUR NOT A VIRGIN AND I AM? NOT FAIR”

a/n that’s the end of todays chapter! I would write part 3 but I’m honestly too lazy😖😖

[bcmbiquinn]

These two 🥹 u don’t understand I need a fic where the reader is inspired in Lisa!!

[slasherscream]

oh my god, do you write for lisa frankenstein? because i just watched that movie tonight and i immediately thought of your blog 💕

i'm not sure.... i CANNOT separate them.... maybe i could write for them the way i write for morticia/gomez or mrs.lovett/sweeney todd, by doing x reader poly stuff.

i CANNOT separate certain pairs. anyone interested in poly reader fics for lisa frankenstein/the creature? sound off everybody.

[filthylittlegoober]

It is genuinely criminal the lack of Lisa Swallows x reader. Like why can't I have her?

[queenimmadolla]

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

next ┊ 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Summary: After a series of unfortunate events in your life, and lonelier than ever, you often turn to a dead guy and his tombstone for comfort. Never in your wildest, fucked up dreams did you imagine he’d turn to you for the same thing, but you find yourself hiding a living corpse, bringing him further to life, reaping some justice, and cutting off a lot of body parts all while trying to fit in and falling in love.

a/n: Part One is here! Just want to say thank you to my friends for hearing me rant and rave about Lisa Frankenstein for weeks now, though I’ve been unbearable with this concept in my head. This will be the longest chapter, just to establish some stuff, but we’ll get to the slaying! Hope you love Undead!Zombie!Eddie as much as I do. Happy reading! (p.s.,there will be some romantic smut in a later part)

Chapter warnings: a bit steve harrington x reader, some eddie munson x other female, death of a family member, brief description of SA (bordered with RED DIVIDERS if you’d like to skip), mistreatment of Reader, suicidal ideation (reader just has dark humor), implied murder, very campy, very cunty.

THEN, 1986.

  “Where you head’n too so in a hurry, boy?” Wayne Munson asked, sat on the couch with a mug of steaming hot coffee in one hand and the television remote in the other as he watched his nephew bounce around the trailer, grabbing all of the the items he let haphazardly around. 

  Wayne always told him to pick up his things, but like the rambunctious boy he was, there was no breaking out of his messy habits.

  “I got people to see, pops. Things to do. Trouble to ‘cause, cops to anger, you know the drill.” Eddie didn’t even need to turn around to know his uncle was scowling but he was proven correct when he turned to throw his father figure a shit eating grin over his shoulder, “Kidding, old man. Mom had me baptized when I was a baby, remember? I can do no wrong, like Achilles.” 

  “Wha’?”

  “Ugh, dad. If I have to explain the joke, it ruins it. I’ll be back by dinner, alright?”

  Wayne fixed him with a pointed look, “You best be on your best behavior, you hear me?”

  “Always.” Eddie gave a mock salute before dipping out the front door, still grinning as he tossed the keys of the van and caught them midair. 

  While he wasn’t necessarily going to cause trouble, he certainly would be providing the fun grass, powder and pills that were often behind it. Eddie knew Wayne was aware of what he did, had implied so when talking about how he knew Eddie was a good kid, just living in the wrong circumstances sometimes. Always said he wanted nothing but the best for his boy and for Eddie to realize he was meant for more than what this particular town forced on him. 

  Made Eddie’s chest tight, but seeing things like the broken patio board—Eddie had accidentally stomped through it after seeing a spider—reinforced Eddie’s belief that he’d much rather help out any way he could than let his uncle bear the financial weight of providing for him. 

  The van roared to life, after sputtering for a good seven seconds, and Eddie revved the engine a little. As he let her warm up, something in the side mirror caught his attention. 

  Someone. 

  Sheila. His neighbor in the trailer across the street. She was hauling a box to a car, looked rather heavy and Eddie would have dropped everything to scramble over and help her, had it not been for Mr.Brawn at her side. 

  Eddie watched as the guy, who stole the girl he was in love with right out of his arms, grabbed the box. The two lovers exchanged words which ended with them laughing at something as she followed him to the car.

  He slid the box into the packed car as she climbed into the passenger seat, and before Eddie knew it, he was watching her drive away, right out of his life forever.

  Eddie hadn’t even realized he was clutching his steering wheel so tight, his knuckles were straining against the skin, hot tears pooling at his waterline but he refused to let them fall. He’d shed more than enough tears over her, over what could have been.

  They started off so promising; throwing flirty waves from their bedroom windows, occasionally at school, before she approached him for weed. After that, came the whirlwind romance and Eddie hadn’t considered himself a romantic before—hadn’t had a whole lot of opportunities to make that discovery but he was so fucking romantic. A big sap. And he wasn’t ashamed of it. 

  Until she’d graduated, and he hadn’t. Again. Turns out, not trying at academics all year and then aiming to ace finals wasn’t enough. 

  Suddenly, all the bullshit naive plans they had to run away somewhere far from Hawkins weren’t possible. At least, Sheila couldn’t with Eddie. 

  He lost her to a guy in another band, had made the mistake of taking a piss after he and Corroded Coffin performed to their tiny ass crowd, and had come back to see her talking to the keyboardist of the band that had gone on before them. She looked entranced, leaning forward to hang on to whatever the fuck he was saying. When Eddie had gone over to ask her if she was ready to head out, fully prepared to tuck her under his arm and way from the keyboardist, she’d insisted and told him to his face, in front of his apparent competition, that she was gonna stick around a little longer and he should head out without her.

  He’d spent the entire night pacing in front of his window, glancing out of it every five minutes and every time he heard a pair of wheels turn onto the dirt road. Eddie got his confirmation when his car happened to be one of them. He’d watched, heart splintering, as the keyboardist got out of the car and walked around to open her door for her before they disappeared into her trailer. Eddie knew her dad worked nights. Knew what she and that musician were doing and he’d thrown up the entire contents of his stomach at the imagery before passing out.

  Eddie woke up to Sheila hovering above him and framed by the glow of the bathroom light like some angel. She’d dumped him right there and left the spare key he’d trusted her with on the table.

  And now, she was living her dream with someone else while Eddie got to stick around this shitty town with these people who could barely stand him for no reason (and yeah, okay, maybe he’d poke their buttons). In truth, while he was a little heartbroken over her, it was the fact that she still got her happy ending that hurt the most.

  The girls around Hawkins might have been interested in maybe hooking up with him, but they weren’t interested in being Eddie’s girl. Weren’t interested in falling stupid in love with him, making plans to start a life together. Didn’t want him in their plans.

  Eddie Munson was lonely. And it sucked.

  With a heavy sigh, he cranked on the radio, fingers twisting the volume dial up to the most obnoxious level before shifting the gear to drive.

  “It’ll get better, Munson. Love ain’t no stranger.” He mumbled, sucking on his teeth and pulling out on the road.

  If he had known then where it would lead him, where the night would take him, he would have at least hugged his uncle. It would be the last time he saw him, and it would be the last time Wayne Munson saw his nephew alive.

  Three days later, he’d be identifying and weeping over his boy’s body in the morgue after reporting Eddie missing when he didn’t come home.

  NOW, 1989

  “Where are you going? It’s almost time for breakfast.” Chrissy called out, head poking out from her bedroom as she watched you race down the hall.

  “Not hungry! I’ll be back soon!” You called over your shoulder, the large sheet of craft paper wrinkling in your hand as you took the stairs two at a time before bounding down the short entryway.

  You’d almost crossed the foyer and then slammed yourself back against the wall as you saw Laura, Chrissy’s mom, fiddling with something at the table. She had the radio on, some garbage self help tape spewing nonsense to her, and that condescending smile on her face.

  Yeah, you’d be avoiding her, lest you wish to be verbally and eloquently belittled. How Chrissy came out of her toxic womb to be such a good person, you’d never understand. 

  When Laura crossed into the kitchen, you sprinted for the door, fumbling a little with the knob in your urgency, but once you got it open, you were out, running across the walkway and the fencing around the house until you were in the woods behind it.

  Only then did you feel safe, the trees a welcome reprieve from your living situation, the magnifying glass this new town had you under, and from the world in general.

�� You’d come from a small town before Hawkins, so you were used to small town living. But these people were so judgemental. You hadn’t even grabbed a box from the moving van before your neighbors were casting you snide looks, noses turning up and backs to you as they watered their yard and lounged about.

  Four months later, nothing had changed. If anything, they were more open with their disdain for you, commenting on your demeanor (and you were a cool fucking person), outfits, hair, body. It was annoying. They were annoying. EVERYTHING was annoying. 

  You didn’t even want to be there but you had no real choice. You’d graduated high school a couple of years ago and despite the popular teenage notion that you’d simply pack up your things, go to college and be successful at whatever career you wanted, life did not happen like the movies. The freedom you’d been promised by your own delusions never came. That bitch came with a hefty price tag and you weren’t exactly jumping into a safe of gold coins like Scrooge McDuck with your minimum wage job. 

  You’d gotten into several schools of your choice, but scholarships wouldn’t be nearly enough to cover it, and you’d literally have to sell your entire body to science if you wanted to be able to afford the loans you were being offered, since their interest rates were higher than the standard human beings’ lifespan. 

  So, living with the ‘rents was checked off on your list of things you didn’t want to continue doing past your high school graduation. And hey—you were only 19 years-old! You were still young! Just save up a few years, and maybe one day you’d be able to think about taking a loan. You had time. What could possibly go wrong to throw your plans off?

  Your mother was murdered.

  Yeah, that was a bummer. Could’ve been worse, you supposed. You could have died with her, when your home had been broken into, and sometimes you wish you had. Alas, you were still breathing, albeit extremely traumatized. But only good ol’ mom was six feet in the ground, in an entirely different town, because your father had also moved on a mere few months after her death, with the worst woman to leave flaming footprints on the earth’s crust, and they’d eloped after like six dates before moving you to a town where you knew no one.

  Thinking about it actually made you sick and feel a little delusional. 

  The only real good thing about your entire soap opera of a year was the community college you’d been able to enroll in. You had no real idea what you wanted to do in life, had no real drive for career paths, but you were doing something, and that something kept the she-devil that was your stepmother off your back. Most of the time. Some of the time. She couldn’t say you were a deadbeat yet.

  Chrissy, your sweet to a definitive and insensitive fault step-sister had pushed you into going with her for registration. Convinced you it was the perfect way to make some friends. It was hard to say no to Chrissy, she had a way with people and could make the meekest soul feel like they were capable of anything and everything. She could always see the best in people, and she was outgoing. Your time in Hawkins had been brief, but you’d easily gathered Chrissy was popular, a former cheerleader (and she’d successfully tried out for the community college team) and beloved by all. While part of you felt a little jealous at her confidence, you admired her more. She was never intentionally mean to you, either. She made the occasional comment, but it seemed like Chrissy had more so a filter problem, rather than spitting anything out with sugar coated hostility like her mother. Chrissy was...nice. After everything you've been through, you could use a little nice in your life.

  And sometimes nice was also the woods behind your house, as it led to the Hawkins’ Cemetery. 

  Morbid, sure, but you couldn’t help yourself. After a particularly nasty encounter with Laura the first week of your Hawkins sentence, and feeling lonelier than you’d ever felt before, you’d gone for a walk, tears decorating your face with wet trails as you tried to physically hold yourself together, arms wrapped around yourself. 

  You’d arrived at the cemetery, and because you couldn’t pay your mother a visit, you decided the only decent thing to do was visit other lonely souls.

  You’d stopped to pay your respects to just about every tombstone and plaque, but one in particular caught your attention.

  Tucked away in a corner and separate from the other graves, under a weeping willow, was the most damaged tombstone of them all. Parts of it were broken off, a lot of the information pertaining to the individual underneath it was seemingly grated off. You had no idea who it was, the only remaining legible letters were MUN and you figured it was he simply because you’d taken some paper to the tombstone for etching and ran a black crayon over it. You’d been able to make out the word ‘he’ on the paper and deduced it had once read may he rest in peace. 

  The state of his tombstone surprised you, given how recent the date of death was. While his birth date had also been worn away, the year of death—1986–had been left. It was 1989. No way his grave should’ve looked like that.

  Apparently, even the groundskeeper avoided his part of the cemetery. The grass around his grave was overgrown, and pitiful. So, you’d gone home, grabbed the lawn mower, and pushed it all the way over. You’d ended up disgusting, covered in grass, dirt and sweating like a cheater on a Sunday morning, but his grave was looking better. You’d taken to caring for his grave after that. A bunch of your trinkets and things you'd seen that you immediately thought he’d like surrounded him now and you’d even planted some bluebells. 

  He also made surprisingly good conversation, even though he never talked to you. His presence, while mostly imaginary to you, was comforting. 

  So, during any free time you had, you were sat against his tombstone, chatting about your day, life, whatever you wanted. Felt like he was always listening, no matter the subject and it was really lovely to be heard.

  When you arrived at the cemetery, it was practically vacant, with just the red headed girl you normally saw. You didn’t see her all the time, she was just one of the faces you saw the most, and that was only a handful of occasions. For the most part, Hawkins didn’t seem keen on remembering the dead. 

  “Hope you haven’t been lonely without me,” You greeted as you approached his tombstone, ducking under a few low hanging willow branches that still brushed over you anyways. You’d have to ‘borrow’ Laura’s shears soon, the willow tree was hauntingly beautiful around his grave, but you wanted its branches and leaves to frame his grave, not conceal it, “I missed you.”

  It was a little odd, but you did. 

  When you weren’t at his grave, you were thinking about him, trying to put a face to MUN, wondering what his life had been like. Did he have any loved ones? What had his interests been? How had he died? Had he felt as lonely as you did?

  “I know, I know.” You settled onto the grass in front of his tombstone, securing the craft paper to his tombstone with some masking tape, “I was just here last night.” You imagined he would say.

  “I just can’t stay away from you. You have a very intriguing aura: I can’t see it because you’re dead, and that makes me want to know you more.” You pulled a black crayon from your pocket and went about scribbling on the paper, over where you knew MUN would be etched in stone, “I’ve said it a million times, and you’ve probably turned over in your coffin repeatedly because of it, but you’re the only one who understands me. And you’re the only one here that I care about—probably in the whole world actually, except maybe Chrissy but I know her friends think I’m weird, and I don’t want to drag her down with me.”

  Once the letters appeared on the paper, you sprawled out STER and you dropped the crayon to produce a pretty hot pink marker from your pocket instead, signing your name with a little heart to go with it just above the last name you’d crafted for him.

  The odds of this dude being a Munster were slim to none, but you thought it was fitting for someone who lived in a cemetery.

  You sat back on your haunches to admire it, it was a cute piece. Would look nice on your wall and whenever you missed him and found yourself longing to be near his grave, all you’d have to do is turn on your side and you'd be able to see part of him. 

  You ripped the paper off his tombstone, and weighed it down on the grass with a rock. With that out of the way, you gave him your full attention, shuffling until your head and shoulder were leaning against the stone, “Would you wanna be dragged down with me? Be seen with me? I’m somewhat of a pariah around here. Did you have better luck when you were still kicking?”

  You figured with how fucked up his tombstone had been, probably not. You imagined he’d confirm it, too. Just out right say, ‘Nah, these assholes hated me.’

  “Yeah, looks like we’re two peas in a pod.” Then you glanced down, fingers, twirling the blades of grass over his grave, “Or, you know. Casket.”

  You let silence fall over you, broken only by the chirping of birds in surrounding trees.

  “Goddamit, why do you have to be dead?” Your eyelids fluttered close, and instead of the cold stone, you imagined your head pressed against a warm chest, rising and falling with breaths, and a heartbeat thumping strong below your ear, pushing blood throughout his body. Imagined he was alive, arms slipping around you, firm and strong to hold you together so you didn't have to anymore.

  But he wasn’t, and you were reminded when the groundskeeper shouted, “HEY!”

  You shot up, glancing around until you saw him by the entrance with a leaf blower, “YOU AWAKE?”

  What kind of a dumbass question was that? Sure, it had looked like you were asleep but you were clearly alert now.

  “YEAH!” You shrieked back to be heard, and he went back to not caring. 

  “He can see me leaning against your tombstone, but he can’t see overgrown grass, weeds, rocks, or your grave in general when I’m not here. Men, always so selective, amirite?”

  You glanced at the stone, half expecting it to respond. “Eh, what do you know, you’re just a man, too.” You reached your arm back, knuckles trailing over MUN.

  “Despite you mouthing off to me most of the time, I brought you something.” You reached into your other pocket and pulled out a necklace, lined with black pearls and a cross pendant. It had been your mother’s. While she had a pension for religion, it wasn’t something you thought about. Dying, sure, but whatever afterlife? Not so much. Felt wrong, sometimes, to carry it around with you—felt like you were disrespecting her a little bit to not believe what she did, even though she had no qualms with it when she was alive. So, you figured why not trust it with the other important person in your life?

  “Pretty, huh? It was my mom’s. She’s dead, like you. You wouldn’t happen to have seen her around, would you?” You joked, fingers stroking over the pearls. There was no risk in leaving them with your dead friend, people avoided him and you had a feeling even grave robbers wouldn’t dare step near the willow, so they’d probably be with him for the rest of eternity, “I want you to have them, take care of them for me.”

  You placed the necklace over the peak of his tombstone, smiling when they didn’t fall from their place, “Mm, you look good in them. Better than I do, I’m not big on pearls. More of a silver jewelry kind of girl. I could do gold and diamonds, though, only for a wedding ring.”

  You held your arm out, admiring your ring hand void of any actual rings, “Nothing too gaudy, of course. That’s what my earrings are for.” 

  Your eyes trailed from your outstretched fingers, to your wrist, and the watch decorating it. The time made you heave a heavy sigh, “I gotta go. Chrissy’s dragging me to a party tonight, so I’ve got to mentally prepare for that. You’ll think of me while I’m away, won’t you?”

  Trailing a finger down the stone, you leaned forward to press your lips to it in a sweet kiss. 

  “I’ll be back soon, and this time I won’t forget my book of sonnets. I know how much you love the cynical poems I force on you.”

  And though you announced your departure, you found it hard to leave him, like you always did. It took all you had to gather your crayon, marker, and your new poster (and you kept dropping all three to have an excuse to linger) and leave the cemetery behind, glancing back impulsively every couple of steps until it was no longer in view, and the moment it wasn’t you wanted to drop everything and run back to him.

  You had to remind yourself he was a stranger, who didn’t care for you, rotting in the ground. And it sucked. 

  “I don’t wanna go.” You announced, staring into the bathroom mirror you shared with Chrissy. You’d just finished your makeup, eyes heavily lined, and lashes coated an electric blue that made your eyes pop. You were always a little heavy handed with your makeup, you figured the whole point of it was to use it as you wanted. Your hair had been manipulated to hell and back, but regardless of what you did, you were unsatisfied with the girl staring back at you, “I’ll just stay home.”

  “Not on my watch!” Chrissy declared, reaching in front of you for her pink lipstick. The bathroom counter was littered with your combined beauty products, “This is the first major rager of the year, the perfect social gathering. You need to meet people, sissy.” 

  You scowled at the idea, “I have met people.”

  Chrissy tubed the lipstick bullet, rubbing her lips together as she gave you a concerned side-eye, “People who like you, sissy.”

  Ouch, there’s that brutal honesty.

  “It’s not good for you to be on your own all the time,” She set the lipstick down so she could place a dainty hand on your shoulder, big blue eyes focused on you, “I worry about you. Daddy and mom worry about you. Your doctor worries about you. You need to get out more.” Chrissy stressed, pink lips pulling into a reassuring smile before she went back to focusing on the mirror and her makeup.

  You let out a heavy sigh, mulling her words over. Definitely could have been phrased better, but Chrissy was right. You were currently the town recluse, and occupying your room and the town cemetery wouldn’t change that. 

  “That blush isn’t the right shade for you, sissy.” Chrissy broke you from your thoughts and your eyes drifted back over to your reflection, the girl looking so unsure and right back at you, “You really have to accentuate your features, compliment them, because you’re already beautiful.” 

  Didn’t feel like it.

  Your expression must have given your inner thoughts away because Chrissy turned to you again, practically bouncing, “Wait a minute, you could use my tanning bed!”

  You deadpanned at the mention of the ridiculous full on salon tanning bed that Chrissy owned. There was a dedicated mini garage in the backyard for it, next to the pool, and complete with neon lights, her beauty pageant trophies and sashes as well as her cheer trophies. The PG&E bill was always through the roof for the Tan Shack alone, and you still had no idea how Laura could afford it.

  “No, Chrissy I-I don’t think that would work on me. At all.”

  Chrissy waved off your concerns, “It’s not about the tan, or even if you can tan. It’s the experience. When I lay in that tanning bed, with those little goggles on my eyes and I can hear the buzzing, I feel myself blooming. Regardless of whether or not my skin actually tans,” It didn’t. Chrissy burned but she somehow still looked good, “I feel amazing about myself.”

  “Are you sure that’s not cancer?”

  “You’re so funny!” Chrissy laughed even though you were being serious, “Sissy, every girl deserves to feel beautiful. If I can provide you with an experience that might raise those confidence levels that are dragging across a nail-covered floor right now, why wouldn’t I?”

  Your eyebrows furrowed, trying to decipher if that was a compliment or not, but you didn’t have long to mull it over before Chrissy was framing your face with her hands. 

  “And I can. Please, let me do this.”

  You groaned, long and drawn out and awkward, before squeezing your eyes shut and slowly nodding your head. She squealed, clapped her hands together and dragged you out of the bathroom.

  After explaining how it all worked, Chrissy bid you a cheerful goodbye and left you to your own devices so she could finish getting ready for the night ahead of you both.

  You’d selected your tan level, positive you wouldn’t see any real results but maybe the ‘experience’ would benefit you and shed your fuzzy slippers and robe, leaving you in some boy shorts and a tank top as you tried to settle yourself in the tanning bed. The dip was awkward, and you couldn’t get a good grasp on the top of the tanning bed since it was meant to only open and close rather than stay in position so grasping onto it for balance as you lowered yourself in led to you conking yourself on the head with a noticeable bonk.

  You hissed in pain, rubbing the sore area as you clambered the rest to the way in. Once you’d stretched your legs out, lowered the top, maneuvered the goggles over your face and waited for the magic to happen as you were surrounded by neon blue lights.

  You heard the buzzing as the tanning bed started up. The magic happened alright. The entire tanning bed shocked you, and you shrieked as you felt the intense electric current ripple throughout your body, sparking every single pore in the worst way possible.

“I’m so sorry you got electrocuted, sissy.”

  Chrissy broke the silence as you sulked in the passenger seat, your hair a little bigger than normal and not a result of styling. After getting all five senses shocked out of you, you’d come out with a hairdo that would not usually be up to par with you, and some serious case of static electricity. You’d tried to gently press your hair down and when you saw a literal spark in it, you decided to just leave it alone.

  Your step-sister had been apologizing since.

  “It’s alright. I survived.” And you wanted to forget about it. 

  You could see Chrissy glancing nervously at you from the corner of your eye as she drove you to the party location.

  “So…how are you liking Hawkins Community, so far?” She asked, thankfully changing the subject. 

  “It’s fine. The campus looks relatively the same as the community college I toured in my old town. Classes are decent.” Pitiful. The classes were so boring and straight out of the book, but it cost you a fraction of a fraction of what you’d have to pay to attend a university. 

  Chrissy lips turned up in a mischievous smile and you internally groaned, fully expecting her next question.

  “See any cute boys?” And then, as an afterthought, “Or…girls?” Then she took her eyes off the road again, squinting at you as if she was trying to assess something, “Or…..anyone?” 

  You betrayed yourself, eyes darting to the window before they were back on her and she perked up in the driver’s seat. 

  “Okay, spill.”

  Your heart started thumping wildly in your chest as one particular guy came to mind, but you hadn’t thought about him too much. Hadn’t allowed yourself to entertain the idea of a romance with him. That’s how people got their hopes up and letdown.

  “Sissy! Sissy, come on. You have to tell me. I’m your only friend!” 

  This time, you could tell she was joking, even though she did have merit. You bit your lip as she ribbed you a bit more, the corners of your lips tugging up into a smile. 

  “Okay, okay!” Your hands flew to cover your face, embarrassed, shy and a little giddy all at once to actually be admitting you had a crush. 

  “Steve Harrington.”

  “STEVE HARRINGTON?” She repeated, incredulous and you shushed her even though it was only you two in the car.

  “Sissy, that’s so unexpected! I haven’t really seen him since high school but I didn’t think he’d be your type.” Chrissy admitted with a shrug of her shoulders.

  “He works in the library.” You sighed out, recalling your brief interactions with him when checking out a couple of books. He’d been kind, made a couple of humorous comments about the titles, and always tried to meet your avoidant gaze, which meant he was being nice to you. Coaxing you out of your shell. You actually didn't have much trouble interacting with people, you were more abrasive than you ever were shy, Steve was just a little too easy on the eyes. Made you forget how to talk, and on occasion, walk. It was embarrassing, “Always makes those cute displays with recommendations.”

  “Good for him,” She commented, sounding impressed. “I didn’t really know he was intellectual. Wasn’t, the last I heard. Had a big reputation in high school, seemed kind of mean and everyone called him King Steve.”

  You frowned, feeling the need to protect him, “Didn’t they call you the Queen of Hawkins High?”

  “Yeah, but only to make me seem pretentious.” 

  You raised your eyebrows, glancing away. Chrissy was kind, but sometimes, she could be pretentious.

  “And anyways, I’m not a student at Hawkins High anymore, so they can’t call me that. Maybe Steve really did change. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard much about him since he struck out with a series of girls. Maybe he took a good look at himself and decided a change was needed.” You could feel her eyes on you again. 

  “Does he flirt with you?”

  “No.”

  “See him flirt with any girls?”

  “Nope.”

  “Does he still make his hair all big and poofy?”

  “Looks more voluminous than poofy.”

  Chrissy hummed, “An improvement. Is he all beret wearing and drinking coffee now?”

  You tried to recall ever seeing him in a hat, let alone a beret, “No, I don’t think so. If anything, he’s introspective.”

  “He’s on the spectrum?”

  Your smile waned when you realized she was asking a legitimate question, “Oh. No. That’s—that’s not what that means. I just meant he’s thinking about what he does; how he acts, how he behaves.”

  It got quiet for a few moments.

  ”Well,” Chrissy broke the silence once more, “He might be there tonight. I’m not sure if they’re still friends, but Tommy Hagan is hosting tonight, and once upon a time, they were inseparable.”

  You made a sound of acknowledgment, upper lip twitching in disgust. You knew Tommy, saw him around campus. He was a big jerk, you’d witnessed him throw some guy’s backpack in the trash and pour his drink on it. You wish you’d known it was his party you were going to in advance. Tommy was a nasty piece of work, so his friend group was the same. Out of all of them, though, Carol got on your nerves the most. 

  She didn’t pay you a whole lot of attention, but when you were walking in with Chrissy—and this is Chrissy, so she acknowledged everyone—and she said hi, Carol would just look you up and down before pursing her big mouth like she’d sucked on something sour. One day, you’d like to give her your fist to suck on.

  ”Patrick McKinney is bringing three kegs and I heard Reefer Rick is bringing his whole inventory.”

  “Reefer Rick?”

  “Yeah, he’s the local drug dealer now. I mean, he’s always been but he used to have somebody sell for him while he supplied, but he died.”

  Your eyes widened while your pupils dilated, mind conjuring up some image of a poor dude being murdered for drugs and then the supplier just taking over, not fearful at all of meeting the same fate, “He died?”

  Chrissy nodded her head, looking thoughtful, “Yeah, Eddie Munson.”

  Munson.

  You sat up in your seat, fully alert and invested in the conversation now, “Eddie Munson? Is he buried under the willow tree in the cemetery?”

  You stared at Chrissy, willing her to think faster as she squinted and pursed her lips, “I think Tina mentioned something about someone peeing on a tree over there, so I think so.”

  Your mouth dropped open, expression utterly horrified that someone could do that, “That’s beastly, what the fuck?”

  “I know,” Chrissy sighed with a shake of her head. “I didn't know him all that much, bought some weed off of him a couple of times and he seemed a little scary—appearance and mannerism wise—but he seemed nice when you had to interact with him. He didn’t deserve that.”

  “How did he die?” You asked, voice small and heart shrinking. You didn’t like where this was going. Didn’t like it one bit.

  “Well, the official determination, if I remember right, was like a drug deal gone bad or something, but no one really believes it. He was known to have weed on him, kept the harder stuff somewhere else. Everyone knows he was murdered. They did a number on him, it was all everyone could talk about because Sydney Porter couldn’t even get her dad—he worked at the station—to show her pictures. He told her they messed Eddie up bad. People here really didn’t like him. No one knows who did it though.”

  You sunk back into your seat, mind troubled and stomach turning. This whole time, you'd been tending to and caring for the grave of a murdered guy, taken from this world simply because people didn’t like him. He must have been so lonely. So scared. And they killed him.

  Chrissy was wrong. People in this town knew who killed him, because one of them, or some of them, had to have been his murderers.

  Your fingers curled into tight fists, painted nails digging into the flesh of your palms. Chrissy noticed the change in your demeanor.

  “Oh, sissy. You’re such an empath. Don’t be so sad, I know it’s a horrible story, but he’s resting now. In peace.”

  “No, he’s not. They fucked up his tombstone. He can’t even be dead in peace.” You huffed, furious on his behalf.

  “How do you know?” Chrissy asked, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow. 

  “I go there a lot, it’s nice. Quiet. A little creepy, but that adds to its charm, makes it relatively peaceful. I’ve been visiting all the graves, but I was drawn to him the most. Etched his tombstone. He’s my favorite.”

  Despite the horrors you’d learned, the thought of Mun—Eddie, still brought a wistful smile to your lips. Maybe your presence was enough to settle him, bring him a little bit of peace this town and the people in it refused to give him.

  “H-He’s your favorite…?”

  “Yeah. I feel this….connection with him. From the very first time I visited. Now, I leave him gifts, flowers, pretty stones, poems I wrote, a book of sonnets I stole from the library.”

  “You….should talk to your doctor about this, Sissy. That’s really weird. That’s really weird, sissy.”

  You fought to not roll your eyes. As much as you cared about Chrissy, and knew she cared about you, she didn’t understand you. 

  “Well, since people ruined his grave, I thought it might be nice to clean it up and make sure he’s not forgotten.” You snapped, “It’s not like I call him my boyfriend or anything.”

  Chrissy eyed you skeptically, “Well, then that’s nice of you, I guess. Just don’t go around telling everybody about that, or you’ll be known as the Ghost Whisperer.”

  “He hasn’t talked back to me yet.”

  Chrissy laughed, and freed one hand off the wheel to lightly slap your arm, “See, now that’s funny. If you do tell anyone, end it with that joke. You’ll be a riot.”

  You smirked, staring out the front windshield. You’d let her think it was a joke. For now.

  You made a sound of displeasure as Chrissy pulled into a clear space on the grass and parked. She jumped out to dance over to her friends, some wine coolers cradled in a plastic bag she clutched.

  You allowed yourself a full minute to stew in your misery before getting out of the car and following after her. As you neared her group, you quickly realized that was a bad idea. 

  “Oh my GOD! Vickie, you fixed your teeth! They look so good. I wasn’t gonna say anything because I thought you were happy with the overcrowding, but now that you fixed it, I can’t look away!”

  Yeesh. You beelined away from them and wandered around the crowded front lawn, dodging rowdy friend groups and couples until you spotted a cooler.

  Maybe a drink would calm you down.

  You squatted down and popped the lid, digging around the ice but all you spotted were Pepsi and Squirt cans.

  “The liquid fun is inside.” A guy’s voice came from behind you and you rolled your eyes. You were so not in the mood to be hit on right now. 

  “What?” You asked, tone bored, but you didn’t want to make him seem helpful so you grabbed a Squirt.

  “Alcohol. He keeps it inside.”

  You slammed the cooler shut and popped the tab of the can, rising to your feet, “Yeah, I figured that mu—shhhh.”

  Oh, shit. 

  Steve Harrington was standing before you, eyes alight with mirth as he smirked down at you.

  You swallowed hard, hoping to god your tongue hadn’t gone down with the movement. See? Here you went getting all stupid around him.

  ”Funny seeing you here.”

  You laughed nervously, “Yeah. I—uh, mhm.” You forced yourself to take a drink of your soda to keep from making an even bigger fool of yourself.

  “Sorry if it’s weird of me to just walk up to you. I was chilling on the side of the house and thought I saw you, but I’m a little nearsighted and I didn’t bring my glasses.”

  You pulled the can away from your mouth as your brain registered the lack of metal frames on the bridge of his nose. He looked handsome with and without them, that wasn’t fair. It was still throwing you off. 

  “It’s—It’s okay. Uhm, no harm done.” You shrugged your shoulders, hoping it looked cool and not as stiff as you felt. You even added in a smile with some teeth for a little razzle dazzle.

  “I actually came over here to tell you your books are significantly overdue.” Steve deadpanned, tongue playing with his canine tooth as he scrutinized you and you shrunk, smile falling from your face. You had got to get better at following up on your due dates.

  “Oh.”

  He scoffed, face breaking out into a grin as his shoulders shook with his chuckles “I’m kidding.”

  OH, THANK FUCK. 

  “Oh,” And then, because every god probably hates you, you started snorting with laughter. You cut that shit quick, clearing your throat as you took another sip of your beverage.

  “So,” Steve took a step closer to you, “Are you enjoying─”

  “Hey!” Carol stepped right up to Steve, practically leaning all over him as her ruby red lips spread into a seductive smile, eyes lidded and no doubt a few drinks in with a drink for Steve in her hand. For the billionth time that night, you rolled your eyes, trying not to gag at how desperate she was. You knew Tommy had recently dumped her, the entire town knew and now she was clearly trying to get into Steve’s pants, “I found the keg.”

  She could eat shit, his pants were yours.

  “Oh, Thank you.” Came Steve’s bleak reply and part of you thought he might have actually wanted to talk to just you. Now, you were really annoyed she’d interrupted.

  “Hey, Carol.”

  Carol looked surprised that you’d even dare speak to her, raising her eyebrows, “Hey. Hi— sorry, how do we know each other?”

  “You’re my lab partner.” You were unimpressed, you expected her to be a better mean girl. 

  “Yay me.” The smile she directed at you was anything but friendly, reminding you of the one Laura would make after you did something in public she didn’t like, but she couldn’t yell at you until you were home. Carol swirled the liquid in her cup around, head tilting as she offered it to you, “You wanna sip, partner?”

  “Carol.” Steve warned and she tutted, flicking her wrist.

  “You’re right, I don’t know why I assumed she partied.”

  “I’ll take a beer,” You could handle alcohol, had cleared your mother’s wine cabinet after she was murdered, so this would be no big deal.

  Carol looked annoyed but handed you the cup, and to make sure you wouldn’t gag and vomit, you threw it back, throat opening as you swallowed the liquid as fast as you could to refuse it as much time on your taste buds as possible.

  When you lowered the cup, you realized you’d made a mistake and glanced into it at the small amount left behind, watching as the ground in your peripheral view began to shift.

  Steve seemed to realize something was wrong, quickly taking your cup and ingesting what was left. His suspicions were confirmed and he spat it out on the grass before scowling at Carol, “PCP? Really, Carol? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why the hell would you give that to her!?”

  “Oopsie.”

  But it was too late for you. You dropped the soda can in your other hand and lifted your hands to your face, watching the lines around your palms and fingers begin to move, swirling around and you backed away from them, watching as everything around you began to come undone.

  “Hey!” You heard a voice next to you and someone started rubbing your back, you hadn’t even realized you were crouching. You craned your head up to see Chrissy and you frowned. Her voice was so different, distorted. She sounded more like your dad than Chrissy. 

  Her face was both far away and right in front of you, you reached a hand out to test the theory, see if it really was close. Chrissy caught your wrist, frowning at the state you were falling into.

  Chrissy started asking you questions, about what you’d taken, what you drank but her voice was too loud for you, and the purple behind her head was distracting. Still, you nodded your head.

  At your confirmation, Chrissy’s frown intensified and she helped you to the ground before darting over to chew Steve and Carol out.

  You couldn’t stay on the grass for long, the blades of it stabbing you and sending pain shooting up your palms and into your bones so you crawled some distance away before you managed to push yourself up and stumble towards the house. It was hard.

  Everything was moving. You heard a loud sound and glanced around wildly until you were staring up at the sky, mouth dropping open to see green clouds and lightning. 

  You had to get away, the need to escape, be safe was urgent but it felt like the closer you got to the front door, the farther away it went. Your breathing was heavy and panicked as you kept stumbling forward, arm outstretched and finally you reached it.

  You yanked it open and nearly fell inside, tripping over your feet until you hit the back of the couch and used it to sink to the floor.

  You heard your name being called and lifted your head, eyes crazed as you tried to find the source. Fred Benson approached you, the skinny boy squatting to be eye level with you.

  “You okay?” He asked and you reached forward, grasping his face in your hand and squeezing to make sure he was a real person.

  “You.” Was all you said, booping his nose but still suspicious of him. Was he real?

  “Uh, yeah. It’s me. It’s Fred, we sit next to each other in ASL class.”

  He looked like Fred. You still didn’t believe he was human, squinting as your hands grasped at the back of the couch.

  “You don’t look so good,” Fred pushed the frame of his glasses up his nose, brows furrowed in concern, “Let's find somewhere for you to sit down for a minute. Or maybe a while. Man, what did you drink?”

  He stood up, offering you a hand and you took it but didn’t pull yourself up. Fred heaved with all his might and managed to get you on your feet but he realized just walking you wouldn’t be enough, and so did you because you draped yourself over him, one arm over his scrawny shoulders.

  Fred cursed under his breath but held your weight, leading you out of the populated living room and you watched a couple furiously make out on the couch cushions as you passed.

  “I hate parties. I don’t know why I came—well, actually I do. I never got invited to these in high school, so I guess I’m living out my fantasy now. In all honesty, I’d much rather be watching Weird Science. So far tonight, I’ve seen three cheerleaders throw up and a baby being conceived.”

  “Uh huh,” Was all you could get out, watching people swirl past you like shooting stars.

  “Would you count that as escaping the teen pregnancy statistic? I know they’re out of high school, but we’re all still pretty young.” He commented as he led you up the stairs. You tripped several times and almost sent him flying down them but the two of you managed to make it. 

  Fred was heaving by the time you'd shouldered him into the hallway wall, his face and hands clammy.

  ”Good god, how did I pass P.E.?” The two of you paused there until he regained his breath while you plastered yourself against the wall, cheek pressed to it and hands stroking over the wallpaper. Eventually, Fred peeled you off of it and kept moving until he could find a place to put you.

  “You like movies right? Got any favorite directors? Or favorite films?”

  “Wall.”

  “Huh? Oh, you’re just admiring the wallpaper.”

  “Great Wall of China.”

  Fred positioned you against the wall, looking a little annoyed. You didn’t care, could only focus on the framed photo of the Great Wall of China directly across from you.

  “Oh.” Was all he said when he spotted it. “Stay right here.”

  Then he disappeared and you watched as the painting came to life, and the stones of the wall began moving, rippling. You didn’t even know stones could move like that but now it made so much more sense. 

  Fred appeared again, tugging you along into an empty room. You spotted a trash can and nearly threw Fred into the bedroom wall as you dove for it, retching everything out of your stomach. You could hear Fred gagging, but he was decent enough to make sure your hair stayed out of your way. When you were done, he helped sit you up on the bed, and nearly collapsed next to you.

  ”We did it,” he cheered with no real gusto. And you sat there, still feeling the earth orbiting. It was the most odd sensation, you could feel a spot on your brain pulsing, like a migraine but it felt so euphoric to close your eyes.

  “Here,” They snapped right back open and you glanced to your side to see Fred offering you a handkerchief. Of course Fred Benson carried around a handkerchief. How amusing. 

  “Thank you,” You gave the three versions of him you could see right then a smile and used the handkerchief to wipe your mouth, eyelids fluttering close just as the sound of thunder filled the room, and a flashing of lightning accompanied it.

  “Huh, a rainless thunderstorm, looks like the angels are bowling.” You heard him muse next to you.

  And it brought another smile to your face, “My mom used to say that.”

  At the mention of her, your brain conjured up all the happy feelings and memories of her, huddled on your couch, in your old home watching black and white horror films. They didn’t scare her, so she could tolerate them. You missed her. She made you feel so light, so seen, so—no.

  Something was wrong. Something felt very, very wrong.

  Your smile faded and you felt your belly sink as you opened your eyes.

  “Does that feel good?”

  You didn’t want to, but you looked down to see Fred’s hand on your breast. Your breathing picked up and Fred let go of you to grab your wrist and force you to touch his crotch, “Well don’t just sit there, help me out. Finish what you started.” 

  Anger filled you and you yanked your hand away, “No.”

  Fred opened his mouth as you got up, rushing away from him and stumbling back out the way you remembered while he yelled at you.

  You had to get out, had to get away. Had to be safe, feel safe. You banged against walls as you went, desperate to get out of the house, away from Fred, from everyone, and to safety. That was your only concern as the drug really hit you.

  All you could remember was seeing colors, hearing and feeling the wind against your sweaty skin, leaves blowing with it and gusting around you.

  You had no idea how you escaped the mad house, how long you’d even been walking or how you actually got there, but you found yourself in front of the cemetery, a flash of lightning illuminating the gate.

  To anyone else, a cemetery would have been the worst place to find themselves on a night like this, but you’d already been to hell so you trudged forward, feet taking you to him. Even in your drugged state, you were able to find your way to Eddie. Always would be.

  Your knees dug into the grass as you collapsed in front of his tombstone, fingers reaching forward to trace over MUN and 1986 before your body curled around the large stone, hugging yourself to it. Electric blue tears slipped down your cheeks, staining them with your mascara.

  “I wish I was with you.” You whispered, hating everything, hating this town, hating the people, hating Fred Benson, hating Carol, hating Laura Cunningham, hating how your mom wasn’t alive, hating how the one person you’d unknowingly sought for comfort was someone you’d never met before who was six feet under the ground. And you hated how you weren’t down there.

  You laid there, hugging his tombstone for hours under the thunder and lightning as the PCP slowly left your system.

  When you were able to stand up on your own, you gave the tombstone another kiss, rested your forehead against it and quietly thanked him for helping you find your way home before you left, following the path you’d made during all of your visits.

  The house was quiet when you got in, and Chrissy’s car hadn’t been parked in the driveway when you’d walked up so you figured she was still at the party. Sluggishly, you made your way up the stairs, falling into your shared bathroom. Your hand searched the wall, struggling to find the switch. Once your fingertips made contact with it, you flipped it and squinted as the room was flooded with the warm light. It was still too much for your eyes but you kept it on and walked towards the mirror

  The girl looking back at you was not the same one you’d last seen in it. This girl had blue smudged all around her eyes, faint trails of it over her cheeks and a rats nest for hair. Her eyes burned, not from the light, but from a fury within. 

  She was stuck in a life she didn’t want to live and couldn’t do anything about. As a large strike of lightning flashed from the window positioned at the back of the bathroom, towards the back of the house, you decided to put her out of her misery, picking up a blow dryer and smashing it against your reflection with a yell.

  You stood there, chest heaving as you stared at the broken reflection. Then you tossed the blow dryer onto the counter, and went to bed.

  Your dreams were much more pleasant than your reality, eyelids fluttering open to the ceiling of your old bedroom. A glance to your side confirmed your mother’s photo was at your bedside, next to your alarm clock on your old bedside table.

  “Well?” Her photo asked, shooting you that gorgeous smile of hers, “What are you waiting for? Go get him.”

  Your confusion was momentary, your mother raised her chin in a direction and you knew what would happen, you were giddy for it as you looked down to see yourself wrapped in the most beautiful wedding gown you’d ever seen.

  You rose from the bed into a sitting position, picking up the bouquet on the pillow next to you. Your dresser mirror was directly across from your bed and you took a moment to admire the beautiful girl staring back at you. Where you last remember seeing trails of tears were diamonds, glittering against your skin. Her eyes sparkled with a joy you’d never known. You bid her one last smile as you turned your head to the figure sitting on the edge of your bed, dark curls cascading down his neck, past broad shoulders with his back to you. 

  His right arm was out, palm up.

  He was waiting for you.

  You shifted until you were on the edge of your bed next to him, staring straight forward just as he was.

  Without looking, you knew exactly where his hand was, and you placed your left one over it, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. Slowly, the two of you leaned towards each other, until your head was on his shoulder and his cheek was pressed against the top of your head, his fingers curling around your hand to ground you. You sighed, all the tension and weight of the world leaving you.

  “Sissy. . .”

  “Sissy…”

  “SISSY!”

  You groaned as Chrissy shook you awake, eyes prying through all the mascara that had crusted over your eyes. It took a couple of blinks until you regained your clear vision, gaze locking on Chrissy leaning over you. Her face was clean of any makeup, skin glowing and hair wrapped up in rollers.

  She’d gotten home later than you and had still been able to look perfect. 

  What the hell?

  “You better get up, sissy. My mom’s losing it over the bathroom mirror.”

  You were confused for a second until you remembered smashing it with a blow dryer last night—or this morning. Well, it definitely would have broken at the sight of you now, anyways. 

  You frowned but made no move to get up so Chrissy tugged your blanket off of you, giggling when the both of you realized you had your hand in your underwear. Hastily, you yanked it out, and threw the blankets back over yourself.

  “It’s okay, Sissy. Everyone does it. It’s natural.”

  “Oh my god…”

  “So, what happened last night to bring this on?” She wiggled her eyebrows and you stared at her for a second. Part of you wanted to yell at her, berate her for letting you stumble around while high on a drug you’d never taken before, the other half knew in Chrissy’s World, it was all rainbows and sunshine—at least, it had been since she’d forced her mother to respect her boundaries. Chrissy didn’t expect the worst in anyone, didn't expect anyone to take advantage of you and certainly didn't expect you to wind up walking to the cemetery and then home on a bad trip. No, in Chrissy’s World, you’d probably spent the night flirting with someone, probably Steve, maybe fooled around in his car before he drove you home.

  You didn’t see it necessary to shatter her world so you groaned instead, the full force of your migraine hitting you now that you were out of sleep’s clutches, and covered your hands with your face.

  “Ooh, your knees…”

  You glanced down to see what she was staring at and sure enough, your knees were scratched up from kneeling at Eddie’s grave, but in Chrissy’s World…

  “I fell.” Was the only excuse you could come up with and Chrissy smirked.

  “Me, too.” Her eyelid dropped in a wink just as Laura yelled upstairs for you, so, begrudgingly, you wrapped yourself in your robe and headed downstairs to receive your punishment.

  Just as you suspected, Laura had attacked you with allegations—that were true for once, you had smashed the bathroom mirror—and your dad looked like he could care less.

  “You know,” She stated, fixing you with those unnaturally blue eyes of hers, “Your dad wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. See the good in you, but I knew. I’m an Intuitive Person, you know. An IP. They’ve got seminars for people like me.”

  Your mind flashed to How to Handle a Narcissist. 

  “Laura…” Your dad warned and Laura inhaled sharply, displeased that your dad was sticking up for you. For once. 

  “Did you know there was a tornado last night? It hailed. Wind blew the fence over. The yard is covered in debris, and now I have to focus on repairing the bathroom, too. I don’t think that’s fair.” She huffed and Chrissy spoke up from her place on the couch.

  “It was a tornado watch, mom. Not a real tornado.”

  “Actually, Chris, the weather was downright crazy last night. I mean, it was really something, I saw green lightning. Big balls of it in the sky.”

  You and Chrissy shared secret smiles at hearing your dad talk about big balls.

  “Love muffin, could you swap out being a weatherman for being a father, right now?” Laura gritted out through her chemically whitened teeth.

  “It’s a Meteorologist,” You mumbled and her head snapped over to glare at you before she was speaking to your father again.

  “Honey, your daughter is a vandal. She’s got a taste for vandalism, and she is deliberately vandalizing and destroying property. First, it was my collection of Precious Moments figurines─”

  “That was an accident, you didn’t wrap them in bubble wrap and I dropped the box when I tripped over the front steps.”

  “Mother,” Chrissy chided, hands crossing over her robe. “Be. Nice.”

  “I am being nice,” Laura hissed, glare never leaving you, “But I refuse to coddle her. She’s headed straight to the nut house with this behavior.”

  You frowned, wiping away some of the dried mascara under your eye, “Can you say that if you’re a Psych Nurse?”

  Laura had the decency to look embarrassed before whacking your father’s arm. He sighed, putting his newspaper down, “Sweetheart─”

  You clocked the twitch in Laura’s eyelid at the affectionate name your father used to refer to you.

  “─You’re gonna clean your bathroom, alright? Sweep up all that glass.”

  ”And?” Laura pushed, still staring at you.

  “And…..um. Pay for the mirror, I guess.” Laura turned her nose up, hurmphing. 

  “That’s fine, can I get ready for work now?”

  Your dad nodded and Laura looked like she wanted to protest but you turned your back to her and made your way upstairs, hesitating at the top when your fathered turned the volume of the TV back on and you heard the news reporter reporting from the cemetery, talking about a grave, under a tree, that had been struck by lightning. 

  You wondered if it had been Eddie’s. There’s no way you’d be able to check today, you’d get home from work too late, so you’d have to check tomorrow.

  You tried to stay busy during your shift at the local tailor’s. You didn’t really have a passion for it, but you were relatively good with a needle and thread. With the magnifier headlamp, you were practically unstoppable, altering coats, dresses, blouses, shirts, all with minimal finger injuries—though luminol on some of these clothing items would no doubt reveal traces of your blood.

  But hey—you now knew what it meant to work so hard you put your blood into something and you always had band-aids on you, in case anyone needed one.

  You were so invested in your work, you hadn’t heard the bell above the door chime when it was pushed open, and didn’t notice Steve leaning against the counter, watching you work until he cleared his throat.

  You jumped, head swinging around to see your crush smiling at you and you raised the magnifying glass portion of the head lamp off your face, feeling embarrassed that he’d seen you with the headgear on in the first place.

  “Hey! I didn’t know you worked here.”

  You let out some nervous laughter, mind racing for ways to make this seem cool but you came up short. “Yeah, I—employed.”

  “I can see that,” He chuckled, amused by your lack of verbal sparring.

  You didn’t know what to say after that so you stared, fingers twisting and pulling the thread you’d been working with, desperate for him to say something or get out.

  “Oh! Uh, I heard you guys also get rid of stains? I’ve got this one on my pan─”

  “THAT WE DO!” 

  You sighed, eyes slipping shut as your moron of a boss came bursting out of the office.

  “What can we do for you, Harrington?” Murray asked, leaning against the counter, causing Steve to lean back, smile now less than thrilled.

  “Murray…I forgot you worked here.” Steve said it in a voice that made you think he would have avoided the shop had he known who it was that was currently in charge of running it.

  “Yup, got me this sweet little gig. And no radios.” He gestured around to the shop, void of any technology save for the cash register—and he made sure it was never him operating it, “Would like to see the government try to control me now.”

  “Right, I just came here to drop off my pants, spilled something on—well, it doesn’t really matter, I just spilled something on them.” Steve placed the folded pair of pants on the counter and Murray immediately unfolded them, searching through the fabric until he found the stain by his crotch. To both your horror and Steve’s, he lifted the strained fabric to his nose, sniffing deep.

  “Mm. White wine?”

  It took Steve a moment to find his voice and close his jaw, “Crush. The soda.”

  “Same thing. We’ll get this right out, my man.”

  You and Steve shared one more look of disbelief before he slowly backed away, the bell above the door sounding as he left.

  “He’s a nice guy,” Murray commented and you shrugged your shoulders, wanting this conversation to be over, “I’m surprised you know him, little loser.”

  You shot him a glare.

  “Oh, c’mon, lets not pretend you’ve got an active social life—if I call you in for a shift, you’re available. Nothing wrong with being a loser. I was one throughout high school and look at me now. Who got the last laugh?”

  You were positive the look of pain on your face should have told Murray that anyone other than him got the last laugh. He was a forty something year old, afraid of technology, convinced the government was watching him, who tried to befriend teenagers. 

  You’d have to kill yourself if you were anything like him.

  When he disappeared back into the office, because of course you’d have to get rid of that stain for Steve, you snatched the pair of pants off the counter. Glancing around to make sure there weren’t any eyes on you, you pressed them to the side of your face, imagining yourself hugging Steve instead of the pants. They smelled like him. It was bliss.

  Then your eyes snapped open.

  Oh, god. You were a loser.

  After your shift, you’d gone straight home. Normally, you’d stop to grab a bite or something, you still had to pay for the mirror you broke so fast food was off the table for a couple of weeks, but on your dining room table when you walked into the house.

  A pizza box. Your stomach growled as you imagined the slice of cheese waiting for you.

  “Is there any left?” You asked, already making a beeline for it.

  “Should be a slice left,” Your dad mused and as you tossed the top of it open, all you wanted to do was maybe beat him with it.

  There, on the parchment liner of the pizza box, was the skinniest and tiniest slice of pizza to ever be cut. Not even the width of two of your fingers.

  “Want me to order another one, sweetheart?” Your dad asked and Laura immediately inserted herself into the conversation. 

  “She can eat it, love muffin. Besides, we’ve got vegetables in the fridge if she’s still not full.”

  “I said we should have ordered two, but my mom had a coupon she wanted to use.” Chrissy didn’t sound impressed.

  “Yes, we got a free soda!”

  Chrissy ignored her mom, “Sissy, we’re going to the movies! You could get something there, they sell pizza and nachos, right?”

  You knew she was trying to find a solution for you, but your bullshit meter for the day had already been capped. You didn’t want movie theater pizza or concessions, you wanted a  reasonable slice of this pizza, not some scrap your step-mother had saved you. It was obvious she was implying that she, your dad and Chrissy were the perfect sized family and you were simply an afterthought. Unwelcome.

  “Yeah, I’m passing on the movie.”

  Before you could stomp upstairs, Chrissy caught your hand.

  “Sissy, please? We’ve got to bond as a family, it’s crucial. If it takes two, how can I do it as one?” She pulled you into her side.

  “Really, Chrissy, I’m super tired.”

  “You’re tired?” Laura asked, incredulous. Here we go again.

  “All you do is work with a sewing machine for hours like some old spinster, I can hardly imagine that being tiring, but my Chrissy just got back from a five hour long cheer practice. They were throwing her around like raggedy ann and she stuck every landing.” 

  “Mom, stop.” Chrissy blushed, but you could see how proud she was of herself, “I’m sure Sissy pokes herself with those needles all the time, and it hurts, I’ve been prodded myself during all of my custom fittings.”

  “I have finger calluses so I don’t even bleed anymore,” You begrudgingly admitted, “I can take it.”

  “I bet you can.”

  After they’d left for the movies, you’d gone upstairs, showered, put on your comfiest pajamas and fuzziest slippers, you grabbed a bowl of chips and set yourself up in front of the TV to watch Dawn of the Dead. You had to give props to all these zombie actors, you couldn’t imagine having to act out being one of the walking undead, imagined it felt pretty stupid but the paycheck and experience must have been cool.

  You popped another chip into your mouth just as someone knocked on the front door. As you placed the bowl of chips on the table to get up, the knocking got louder, more aggressive and you hesitated, fear beginning to swell up inside of you.

  Maybe if you ignored it, they’d go away.

  You turned your attention back to the tv, picking up the remote to lower the volume and hopefully hide your presence in the house. 

  Then, much to your horror, you heard the distinct sound of a pained, gurgling groan. It sounded very similar to the ones you’d heard the zombies making on your tv, but this one was louder. 

  And it was coming from outside your front door.

  You crouched, duckwalking to the foyer where one of the house phones was placed. You’d just picked it up from the receiver when a shadow from the living room window caught your eye. You barely had time to turn your head when something came crashing through it, breaking the glass and yanking the curtains from the rod.

  Shocked, the phone slipped from your hands, banging against the hardwood floor of the foyer and you let out a scream at the same time as the person on your TV, running away from the figure invading your home. 

  You made it to the dinning room. Literally scrambling across the table to put an obstacle between you and the stranger—no, creature. Tall, caked in mud, leaves and stems, it resembled the Swamp Thing. It grunted, groans low and reverberating off the walls.

  “Uuuhhhnng…”

  This couldn’t be happening to you, you couldn’t die like this!!!! It was supposed to be by your hand or nothing!

  ”STAY AWAY FROM ME!” You shrieked, picking up the decorative plates from the table to throw at the creature. You nailed it a couple of times, watching it stumble as the fine china shattered against it. When you ran out of plates, you bolted from the dinning room, screaming as you scrambled up the stairs, and lost one of your slippers in the process but to hell with it! You had to get out of there. Hopefully, one of your neighbors heard your shrieks of terror and called the police.

  You peaked over the railing at the top of the stairs, to see the creature analyzing your slipper. While it was distracted, you locked yourself in your room and made your way to your bedroom window, pulling it open.

  “Okay, okay. I can do this, no big deal. Stunt actors do it all the time.” You climbed outside of your window, body nearly convulsing as you almost slipped down the roof, “Nonononono.”

  You tried to grip onto a couple of shingles but they gave away, slipping right off the house to shatter against the concrete walkway and you realized Laura had no fucking idea what she was doing when it came to house repairs, the dumb bitch had just laid the shingles out without securing them.

  “OH MY GOD-I’M GONNA DIE! HELP!”

  Your body slipped further down the roofing, until you were forced to grab the gutter, gagging when your fingers squelched against whatever was in it. You dangled a good six feet off the ground, and while it wasn’t exactly a ten story fall, with your luck, you’d land on your head and break your neck.

  Whimpering, you tried to pull yourself back up the roof, but it was no use. You had nothing stable to grab onto as you yanked yet another shingle clean off. You glared at it and muttered a goddammit before tossing it somewhere behind you as you went back to hanging on for dear life. 

  “Oh, no.” You mumbled, terrified as your fingertips began to lose their grip, wet with the mystery sludge from the gutter. “No, NO!” 

  You lost your grip, plummeting down but you didn’t meet the concrete. No, the Creature broke your fall and you were now face to face with it. The pressure of you landing on it, made it spit up into your face, green sludge, and you gasped before breaking out into screams again.

  Pushing yourself up and off of it as you ran around your front yard, nearly blind. You were not opening your eyes to let that bacteria infested swamp slime, water, whatever the hell it was, into your eyeballs. 

  You could hear the Creature stomping around behind you as you bobbed and weaved, could feel his presence and you could not believe you were actually gonna die fighting off a swamp monster in your front yard while blinded—in clear and plain view for your neighbors to see, by the way, and unbeknownst to you, an elderly couple was watching you, not even a little concerned about your well being or the creature chasing you around.

  “Stop it!”

  “Leave me alone!”

  “Go away, I’m just a girl!”

  The timed sprinklers went off and you were soon assaulted with them as well. With just about all your senses done for, and the sprinklers washing the guck away from your face, you made a run for the house, slamming your back against the door and locking it behind you.

  Your chest was heaving, wet body pumping with adrenaline as the back of your head thumped against the door. You weren’t done yet. That creature was still out there!!!

  You dove for the phone on the ground, hanging by its springy cord and shouted out hopefully loud enough for it to hear, “I’m calling the police, so if you don’t want your ass riddled with bullets, I’d suggest you leave! They shoot before asking questions!”

  You frantically dialed 911 but there was no ringing, instead, you could still hear buttons being pressed on the other line.

  Bleak, and accepting your fate, you put the phone back on the receiver, and turned towards the living room, where the other phone was located. 

  On the chair, next to where the table the phone normaly rested on, was The Creature. 

  You grabbed one of the lamps, ready to use it as a weapon but it didn’t attack you, just turned the phone receiver this way and that, as if admiring it. 

  Despite your fear, you took a reluctant step forward, casting the creature in the glow of the lamp you clutched and for like the billionth time that night, you gasped.

  The sprinklers had washed some of the filth off of it, too. Before, its head had been caked in a mud helmet, but now, you could actually see it’s head. It had long, disgustingly dirty curls, and wore a leather jacket, jeans and tennis shoes, all covered in grime.

  When it craned its head up to look at you, you readied the lamp, poised to throw it at it—him. It was a guy. Big brown eyes, stared up at you and he made no move to attack.

  Slowly, you lowered the lamp, and crouched down a few feet away.

  His attention returned to the phone—shoe shaped—in his hands and shakily, with stiff limbs, he put it back on the receiver.

  “It’s…It’s cool looking, right? The-The shoe phone.” 

  He glanced over at you and then the phone again as you mumbled out an explanation, 

“Our neighbor in our old town cheated on his wife and she threw all his stuff out the window at him and my dad snatched the phone.”

  “Merrrruhhhhh.” He moaned out, picking up your slipper and offering it to you. When you just stared, he dropped it and you moved the lamp to the side, crossing your legs.

  “I’ve never seen a zombie before.” You marveled, then squinted, “You are a zombie, right? An undead?”

  It took him an entire minute to choppily raise his shoulders, you realized he was shrugging. Or trying to. Every movement he made was choppy. Reminded you of how stop motion was made, except his scenes weren’t being played fast enough to have fluid movements.

  He tried to get up and promptly slipped, accidentally elbowing the mini sound system at his side. It turned on, Sinead O’Connor’s Drink Before the War playing. You’d been the last to use it.

  You watched as his head tilted in interest as Sinead began to croon out lyrics.

  “Do you like music? This is Sinead O’Connor. She makes music that heals souls.”

  He raised his wrist to his chest and you inhaled sharply as you realized he was missing the hand on it.

  “Uhm, no—I don’t think she healed your soul. I meant like, figuratively. Her music makes people feel.” You placed your hands on your own chest, trying to convey your meaning, “She’s one of my favorites.”

  A surprisingly comforting silence fell over the two of you—though he sometimes made his quiet dead guy gross sounds—as you stared at him, taking in the green-gray tint of his skin beneath the dirt all over him, cheeks sunken in. You had a feeling if you touched his skin, it’d be hard, maybe waxy and it was a bit unnerving how human his eyes were, but duh! Of course they were, he was a human. Just. A dead one. At least he wasn’t a skeleton.

  Man, Hollywood wasn’t too far off with their interpretation.

  “C’mon,” You stood up, eyes taking in the state of your home and all the dirt the two of you had dragged in, “I gotta hide you, new dead friend.”

[soconsumed]

risen from the grave—again.

𓄧 franken-vamp!remmick x fem!reader

SUMMARY: literally a lisa frankenstein retell where you're lisa and remmick is the creature. in my head, for this story, the night played out differently and a few vampires survived the night at the juke joint then buried remmick 😭

tags & warnings: absolute yearning, no smut cus last time i got shadowbanned, sexual innuendos, remmick is quiet for once, super silly and just sweet and fun, murder and light gore? described, verbal abuse (not from or at remmick), alcohol and drug use, remmick falls first, lovely murderous power couple yay, this boy is in fact a sub who just happens to have a strength and size advantage, one-shot unless...

a/n: THANK YOUU so much @luvvser for proofreading this for me <3 i don't write fanfiction very often at all unfortunately, but worked so hard on this and am so excited to share. also the reader is an adult. comments VERY much appreciated

word count: 5.1k

𓄧

you spend many days and nights with your back rested against the same tombstone. reading a book to him aloud, drifting off into the wet soil, humming catchy songs, visiting to hang colorful beaded necklaces around the neck of his statue.

after all, you didn't exactly have anybody else to hang out with.

your mother had been caught in a brutal axe murdering a few years ago, and you've ended up stuck with a father who doesn't quite speak, an obnoxious step-mother, and her preppy daughter. and you? you're locally seen as the freak that watched it all go down.

callie, your step-sister, loves you nonetheless. she's trying her hardest to put you out there.

consequently, you're sitting in the passenger seat of her car coming down from being electrocuted in her old tanning bed.

anita winces as she glances between you and the road. "i'm sorry i got you electrocuted," she whines. her dark hair is in a side part, raised to the roof of the car. the air smells of hairspray, powder, and over-ripened fruit.

you just huff and shrug, rubbing a temple against the soothingly cold window.

the silence is thick. callie still grins. "… soo… you got an eye on anyone here?"

she eyes your expression, waiting for an answer. more silence. her, somehow genuine, smile doesn't falter. callie goes on to call your name a bunch of times. nagging, like a real sister. a smile splits along your face as you shyly tilt your head.

"danny moreal."

she opens her mouth as if to say something, but closes it and says this.

"don't know him."

you turn to her. "the head of the IT club."

she shakes her head slowly before beginning to ask you a bunch of useless questions about him rapidfire—to which you answer hesitantly.

the party starts outside, in the backyard, under harsh neon-pink lights. as you near, a group of girls whisper to each other, batting weary looks your way. one with thick, box blonde hair, one with curly hair in a high side ponytail, and one with a die-hard side part. and… callie walks up to them.

"hi, girls!"

the chattering subsides as you follow behind her.

"this is my sister! you know my sister, don't you guys?"

they all nod with quiet "yeah!"s and awkward laughs. a beat. the "party" has gone stale in your head. callie goes right to comfortably talking to them without any direction. you stomp away, heels getting stuck in the ground.

on the way towards the house—80s music bumping from inside the walls—a greasy loser passes you a drink in a bright red solo cup, which you chug without a second thought. it paints your throat like fire; a warm, burning sensation that spreads up to your scalp. it tastes like raspberry poison and a cigarette. the taste sticks.

a few minutes pass. thoughts are swimming, overwhelming you. they're talking about me. everyone. everyone's looking. the grass is moving, deciding whether or not it's about to part and swallow you whole. the air is too humid. what the hell was in that? you stumble towards the house, but callie disrupts your path—or lack thereof.

"what did you take?!," she interrogates, concerned and holding your face, watching your eyes squint in a way more confused than rude. you don't answer, just move your head in an odd way and walk off to slouch against the rough back of a couch. she runs off to scold the nearest suspicious loser—who happens to be standing next to danny.

sweaty bodies dance and run around, their eyes growing cartoonishly huge. the room is in rainbow waves. but the ambiguity doesn't last long. you jerk to the side and lurch, vomiting up whatever you took.

callie takes you straight home.

you see her between long blinks like she's a vision. she drags you into bed, where you don't even move from the position she dropped you in. you just pass right out. the bed is dragging you deep under with soft pillows and sheets. like drowning in the midnight zone without resistance. the one night you don't visit his grave, the rain pours outside like he's mourning your presence.

and a stray thunderbolt strikes his tombstone.

the next night you're home alone in pajamas. you're stalking around, finding things to eat with an already-licked spoon of some kind of nut butter hanging from your mouth.

there's a bit of sound much like dragging, and then a few knocks at your front door.

"welcome!" you shout sarcastically as you turn to retreat to your room. it's about time your assorted family of people came home.

a window shatters in your living room.

it feels like a retell of the night your mom was brutally butchered. the glass table was shattered, shards in the faux-fur rug. "call 911. and hide." she ordered. you watched from the door panels of the pantry, eyes dry and wide as the phone hummed lowly in your ear.

you scramble to pick up something, anything—your heartbeat drums loudly in your ears. this time you'll fight. and you'll win.

with a disconnected telephone in hand, you hide behind the kitchen table. a dirt-caked mass limps your way. he's without a weapon, which relaxes you significantly. beneath the mud is a light blue button up, black slack pants pulled up high, one suspender fallen, and a hollow shell of a burly man with dark, messy curls. you yelp, knowing he's seen you, and begin throwing things at him. first the telephone, then a loaf of bread, next salt 'n pepper shakers, but he keeps walking and letting out soft groans. he chases you around the table and stops at the bottom of the stairs when you run up to your room, shrieking.

after anxiously running around, muttering "whatdoido???" over and over, you decide to push yourself through the window and slide down the side of the roof. your feet are dangling and kicking in the air. your breath is sharp and your blood is cold. when you finally work up the courage to drop down, your body lands on top of him face-to-face. you stand up immediately, running around the front yard screaming wildly and wiping the soil off.

"OHMYGODOHMYGOD! EWW! HELP!"

by the time you calm down and run back inside, he's already in through the window. the creature is sitting down, messing with the other end of the telephone. oh. he looks more… confused…? than malicious. you cautiously sit down in front of him. the wet, musty, "outside" scent is nearly unbearable. he grumbles, picking up a nearby shoe and holding it up to you curiously by his index finger.

"that's um- my sister's slipper."

the thing slowly turns to the record player on the nearby table.

why's everybody actin' funny? | "d'you like this song?"

why's everybody look so strange? | "hmm," he grunts.

why's everybody look so nasty? | "do you like any other music..?"

a beat.

"i have The Cure?"

he perks up, sticking his wrist—missing a hand—up.

you subconsciously rub your wrist with your opposite hand. "…not that… kind of cure. it's a band."

the two of you sit there in silence and stare at each other for a bit, legs criss-crossed.

with a great deal of effort, you manage to drag him upstairs to your room. he looks around for a long while, as if trying to remember your room. eventually, he stumbles around to shakily point at the drawing of your favorite grave—which is pinned to your wall. he groans quietly. his dead heart thrums with the thought of you caring that much.

"what?"

he pulls the necklace you draped around the tombstone from his pocket. you gently take it from his hands—his long, claw-like nails brushing against your fingers.

this is the man whose grave is your favorite.

"i- why are you here, remmick?"

he takes your hand, bringing it up to his face. you snatch it away.

"ok! got the message." you give him a crooked, half-reassuring smile as you take him in.

"why don't you… um. why don't you take a shower?" you suggest as you urge him towards your bathroom.

you give him a pink bar of soap, give him a tour of the shower, and leave a neatly folded robe on the sink counter. he clatters around the bathtub, loudly struggling quite a bit.

remmick staggers out of the bathroom in a fluffy, blue robe and you nudge him towards your walk-in closet.

"let's get you dazzled up.."

you set up a chair in front of the closet, sitting on it with your knees to your chest. you wait as he opens and closes the closet doors for your opinion on his outfit choices.

the man comes out, one of the times, in a satin pink robe with feather cuffs. you shift in your seat, giggling. "yes! this is it. i see the vision." he turns his head, embarrassed, before growling and retreating back into the closet.

he goes through many outfits, until you've had enough of bad choices and he's had enough of clothes out of his era. until you've both had enough of plastic hangers clinking.

you run to your father's room, coming back with a comfy white crew neck t-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants.

"this should be okay? yeah?"

remmick doesn't respond, just goes back inside the closet and puts them on.

he comes back out. the dead-for-50-years (or many more) doesn't seem so apparent. "okay. we can work with this."

his eyebrows furrow as he turns to show his missing ear, the giant gash running alongside his head, and his missing hand.

"oh, i- i can't help you with that."

when your family comes back home, your step-mother anita begins shrieking. she calls your name. you shove remmick back into the closet and run downstairs.

"i'm okay! i'm fine. i fought the burglar off-"

but she doesn't care about you. she cares about the mess made of her house. anita calls you insane. that you're trying to remake the scene of your mother's passing, for attention. either that or you're simply inconsiderate. your mouth goes dry.

the room goes static when she takes a moment to breathe in and out, in and out, deeply. you stare at her, exhaustion written across your face. it appears that she's attempting to sniff out the damn weather.

"i'm calm. i'm collected. i'm mindful. because. i am an angel. i spend my days helping people meditate," she affirms. "you're absolutely rotten in the head. i'm phoning the ward tomorrow."

remmick comes out of the closet, listening to everything from your open door.

when you waddle back into bed sniffling, he's hidden away in your closet again.

the next day, you're gossiping to remmick on your bed, eating peach rings off your fingers.

"apparently, you've just gotta wear a sleazy dress for guys to finally look at you. yeah… danny talked to me! god, thank you rem," you praised.

that morning, he picked your outfit out for you. it wasn't your taste, but it made you feel good. you strutted down the school hallways. callie even said to her girls, "she could do pageants, if she had congeniality."

anita storms upstairs, wanting to yell at you for another thing. you throw him back into your closet once again, his nearly gray face somehow looking like one of a puppy's.

as she continuously berates and degrades you, calling you one untrue and unkind thing after another, the closet doors begin to slowly spread. you glance back and forth so anxiously it gives you whiplash.

"freak! no privacy. no freedom. special socks."

"oh, god, please no," you whimper.

"yes! where a disturbed person like you belongs-"

her sentence is punctuated by a wet squelch. remmick's mouth 'round the side of her neck, next a patch of her skin on the floor, and the sound of him gulping down the spout of blood pouring from her. you stand there in absolute horror, eyes brimming with tears. he leans down and uses an old pair of scissors from your closet to snip off her ear. the blood on his face almost makes him seem alive, painting his skin a color other than a sickly gray. what the hell is going on? i mean- at least anita's gone? then, he gaits towards you, hugging you to the best of his ability as you moan in terror—ear in hand.

remmick pulls away, presenting the part to you. it flops around mid-air. he stares at you expectantly, mouth slightly agape.

you sit there, the only sound in the room deep breaths. the both of you stand chest-to-chest as you think.

"oh. i ca- i can't.

"not until we bury the body."

you both wheel her body to his old grave with a wagon.

back in your room, remmick lays his head against your lap. you tuck his matted, dark curls out of the way of where his ear would be. his eyes flutter shut when you touch along the side of his face with tenderness and gentleness; the needle and thread pierces him painfully. her ear's totally the wrong color.

and… again. you sew close the open tear on the side of his head.

you finish up, bluntly tearing off the rest of the thread with your teeth. he sits up.

"hear anything?"

the man grumbles in disapproval.

you nibble at your bottom lip, wondering what to say or do. remmick leans over to grab the pen off your journal on the nightstand—and draws a lightning bolt on your hand. cute doodle, i guess. …OH. you look down from your hand, and then up to him, and smile at him in a proud way that makes his stomach twist.

the shed is brightly lit up blue by the tanning bed. blues, reds, and purples form ombres along the walls. there's a table on each side of the room filled with girly clutter, red fairy lights along the back wall, and trophies and tulle curtains.

zap, zap, zap buzzes from the bed, filling the room with a pungent cooked flesh scent (on top of his rotting, mind you) until it hisses and remmick steps out dazed.

you prance over to his left, "can you hear me?"

he turns to you slowly and nods, a smirk slowly appearing on his face.

at school, you're feeling confident and only have one person on your mind. you write him a note in lipstick to meet you at the lake late after school.

he says Yes!

a pervy "friend." of no use to the world. he shows right up, while you're sitting on a bench facing the water. rings ripple throughout the body as insects land and things come up for air. the warm wind blows gently, swaying the water back and forth. your arms are stretched out wide on either side of the back.

"hey! i'm so glad you came."

you guys walk through the forest—the one you've walked through a million times before—and to the entrance of remmick's cemetery. the smell is familiar. like rain, moss, death, and old roses. you talk to keep his mind off where you are. you talk like you haven't known silence. and you lead him to the open grave where anita's body lies.

the boy's too busy rambling to notice the rustling of remmick from inside the grave. he jumps up and pulls him by the ankles. he falls to the ground, jaw slapping against dirt and leaves. he screams the whole way down. voice cracks echo all throughout the trees—ones sounding like he's still going through puberty.

it's silent besides slurps as remmick feeds on his blood. a scene so gnarly it's surprising you're still watching. you happily walk over, bending down and picking up the cadaver's hand to sprawl his arm out against the ground. the franken-vamp swings a red axe at his wrist. thunk! the cut's clean; you hold the hand up victoriously.

he looks up at you without a sound, half bewildered and half in awe. toothy, mussed, and sharp.

his veiny arm is rested against your desk, which you cleaned by merely pushing everything off. you spend half the night in comfortable silence, focused on getting the stitching right.

from the angle you were sitting at, you couldn't see the fact that remmick wasn't watching you sew his hand back on. he trusted you. it hurt, of course, but he was focused on admiring you.

like last time, you laid remmick in the tanning bed and set it to ultra high. his body crackled with more life. his eyebags hadn't yet gone away, yet you could no longer see the veins in his skin. you could see more of his original features. his prominent browbone, the shape of his lips, the color of them. he could control his face entirely now. even if he couldn't speak just yet, he'd do his best to make you understand.

he sits up, and stares at his complete set of hands. he turns them both ways. flexes his fingers.

the soil had been packed in tight and decaying so recently. in such short time, you gave him new parts. provided him a feeling like a new heartbeat.

unexpectedly, he rises and takes your hand with a grin, leading you to your house. the wind whirls by—as do the light sound of your giggles—as he spins you around and holds you by the small of your back when you go too far or fast.

the dancing is fun for both of you. except you're smiling differently from him. to you, the moment is a brief euphoria you don't have to create for yourself. to him, it's being able to hold his savior, warm and fragile, in his hands while doing what he loves to. he can taste your sweet perfume, your salty skin in the air purely by smelling it.

inside, he holds your hand with his new one, grounding himself with the new part. he leads you to your living room and lets go to sit at the piano bench.

"you… you can play?"

he nods, stretching his fingers out over the keys and playing a quick—though impressively complex—piece.

claps sound from your hands, excited hiccups from your throat. "was that mozart… or something?"

he turns to you and presses a hand to his chest proudly.

"you?!"

remmick nods quickly, scooting over for you to sit on the bench and pointing at the folder of sheet music. you nervously shuffle over, adjusting your skirt when you sit down.

upon picking a modern romantic piece, he takes a deep breath—or at least appears to do so—and begins playing. eventually, a sung part comes up. and you have no choice but to fill that void with your voice.

the song wraps up, and you do a double take at him when he's suddenly on the cusp of tears.

"no- nononono… don't cry! what is it? god- please don't. is this about what we did? don't feel bad about it!"

you turn his head up to you by his chin, a pathetic look on his face. your hand moves to mess with his hair.

"anita was gonna send me to the psych ward. and, well. we needed that hand! look what you can do with it." you motion to the expanse of keys.

yeah, no. the song hit him hard.

you're sitting up in bed, remmick beside you. he's listening to you rant again. it flows. it turns into-

"i don't wanna die a virgin. i could die so soon! you know, get arrested or the electric chair. we've already killed two people. anyway, the thing is, i wanna do it with someone i love."

remmick avoids eye contact, his gaze dancing around the room.

"danny moreal," you vow with a sigh.

he physically cannot speak yet he has so many things to say. before that guitar to the head and the stake to the heart—before he was buried—he was so full of it. he could speak and sweet-talk all the time. he never shut up. now he's stuck silent, unable to fight for the one thing he's found fellowship in. no expectations, no favors.

"i'm gonna do it. tomorrow.

"…i think i'm gonna go to sleep. night, remmi." and you lower into bed facing away from him.

he hums in response then stares at the back of your head for a second, observing the way each strand of your hair falls. like he's trying to tell himself you're real.

lights out.

callie's skipped the rest of the school day, too in distraught about anita's disappearance to keep her facade up. you end up walking home after school and studying in the library. your journey gets longer as, when you're halfway home, you turn back around to pass a spot danny frequents to look out for his car.

the sun has slipped below the horizon. there's no longer a passionate orange filter turning sidewalks into movie scenes. it's greenish blue and dim, more like a hazy nightmare. a few streets down from your house, you see remmick driving anita's car. he slows down for you, and you halt before walking around to the passenger's side.

"i'd ask you what you're doing, but… just take me to danny's house," you order as you get comfy in the car seat. the vehicle is filled with perfume. old, musky, and flowery.

he reluctantly shifts the car into drive with muffled clicks and rides around the neighborhood.

"turn left here."

as the car approaches the curb, he hits the brakes so hard your entire torso bobbles forwards.

"wha- you don't think i should do it?" you inquire, bummed.

remmick looks at you, pleading and pouty.

"i got a condom. it's all cool! it's gonna be worth it."

he just stares.

"take me to danny's," you conclude.

his jaw clenches so tight his old teeth might shatter. he turns back to the wheel and starts to drive… slowly.

"stay in the car," you remark, putting an accusing finger up and clacking away towards danny's black front door in heel-boots.

remmick's brows are pinched together, a boulder in his throat. all he can do is watch you leave. or…

the door's unlocked. you don't think about it and step right in, dropping your purse to twirl around.

making it up the stairs feels like floating. the moment you've been waiting for. your release before your lock-up.

upon finding danny's bedroom, the door's cracked open just a sliver. light from an old lamp shines a strip down your face.

in his bed is him, shirtless. and your step-sister, callie.

you scream, shoving the door open.

callie yelps and pulls the covers up, despite having a purple tank top on. danny lets out an uneasy, low gasp.

"what are you doing here?" she splutters, without exactly needing an answer.

"you knew i liked him! you… have everything!"

"sis, please! let's take this outside? please!"

you shake your head, repeat no, and kick all the way down the stairs as she ushers you out the front door. danny lags after, throwing on shorts. he's barking useless attempts at mansplaining whatever's going on.

"this wasn't on purpose! you know i'd never do that to you. he sees me as more than just a cheerleader!"

"yeah, opposites attract, huh?" you screech, facing the yard and the couple.

"look, it was never gonna work between us," danny throws in. he gestures between you and him.

"just because you like cool stuff," you wave back and forth slowly, "your girlfriend can't like cool stuff. do you know how uncool that is?!!"

callie pouts guiltily, silenced.

"i… don't know what the hell you're going on about," he mumbles.

"look, please! i'm sorry! i didn't mean to hurt you. he's different. i really like him! you understand, don't you?"

"oh. my. god, callie! yeah! i liked him first. i liked him better! i knew i shouldn't have trusted you," you seethe.

"that really hurt, sis…"

"well, this hurts too!"

they continue trying to explain the situation, stopping when the sound of the grass crunching beneath remmick's dress shoes grows louder. a gasp rips the air from your lungs.

"who the fuck are you?"

"who are you?!"

your closet-friend has one hand behind his back. he doesn't react to their interrogation.

he walks closer, yanks danny's bottoms down with one hand, and reveals an axe in the other. it swings in a semi-circle motion, slicing his member right off with an indulgent smile.

a triangle of screams erupts from the porch. blood confettis everybody's face and clothes. callie keeps screaming like an alarm, frozen entirely in horror. danny either passes out or dies.

remmick drives away in anita's car, leaving you to guide the icicle of callie to her car. she's whispering crazed mumbles to soothe herself. or question reality.

"i know where he's going," you spit, determined.

you find anita's car parked near the graveyard, and pick the bloodied axe up off the hood of the car with shaky hands.

callie welcomed you as her sister with open arms. always. she never meant to hurt you. she loves you. and since remmick came around, you've been traumatizing her—for life.

it has to end here. —callie, in the meantime, has escaped the car and is gradually stumbling back home.

he's standing in front of his open grave, his back to you, when you find him. the axe raises and wobbles in your hand. it's heavy, but nothing like the way your chest feels.

i can't do this. you drop it and run into his arms.

"you love me?"

he nods, hugging you closer as you both wobble with adrenaline.

"listen. we're running out of time. …make love to me."

remmick hiccups, looking away into the forest. what is it? you shake your head, brows furrowed. embarrassment runs through him hot, the warmth of your skin not doing much to help.

"what- why not?"

he doesn't answer in any way. "why not?!" finally, his gaze meets yours. his face is unreadable but expresses nothing positive. a huff like an empty, dry laugh escapes his mouth before he uses your hand to feel where his part should be.

nothing.

"oh! oh…" you both back up and shift awkwardly. your gaze drops to the ground, an array of fall-colored leaves at your feet. "that's okay! you don't need one of those things to be a man. we can do other things. or-"

he pulls danny from his pocket and puts it in your hand. the weight is like an oddly sweet wake-up call. remmick is the one.

"oh my god!" you step closer to him again, your voice lowering into a pleased hum. "you cut it off for me?" you coo.

he grins proudly—his sharp and jagged teeth glinting in the moonlight—and pulls you by the hand, outside of the cemetery.

remmick is complete. you've sewed it on, and he sits freshly done on the edge of the tanning bed. his eyebags are gone. his hair isn't as dead as it used to be. he isn't as dead as he used to be. everything in him works.

even his voice.

he clears his throat. not anything you're surprised by. he's been able to make noise.

"you ready?" you whisper, holding his hand.

"i've been ready, lass." his voice is nearly smooth—for the condition he was in—with an irish lilt buried beneath a southern accent.

you jump.

"oh my god! you-" you're speechless. you stand up. turn around. turn back around. pinch your upper arm as you speak. "wh- you're," you breathe. your hands cover your mouth, fingers cold in contrast to your face.

and he's beaming, at last able to charm his girl.

"and- lass? you're from england, or something?"

"ireland." you squeal, throwing yourself into his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck. his eyes have always been a sort of artificial blue. but now there's a vivid red peeking through as he looks down at you.

remmick lifts you up bridal-style with ease, and carries you to your room.

the moonlight is the only light in the room. it shines through your lace curtains. so brightly, like it's only for you two.

he kneels at your feet, cheesily slipping a peach ring on your ring finger. you hook a finger under his collar, pulling him up to meet your level. the moon lights up the deep red in his eyes—much like a dog when you take a picture of it with the flash on. with half his face shrowded in darkness, you scan down it. he's looking down at you—given he's got quite a few inches on you—with the most adoring look on his face.

neither of you say a word. remmick presses your head to his hard chest, inhaling and lightly kissing the top of it. you simply melt into him as if your bodies were meant to slot together like this. everything feels hazy, like the periwinkle clouds encompassing the top floor. he picks you up suddenly with one strong arm around your waist, the other just under the curve of your bottom. you yelp and giggle as you're lifted and lowered down onto the bed. now, so close, he smells of copper, petrichor, and a cheap musky cologne you randomly bought for him.

he smiles and adjusts himself over you, entirely content. his knees are on either side of your hips. they're cold in a way that weirdly soothes you.

"remmick," you plead quietly.

"mo ghrá," he purrs. it renders no meaning to you, but the presence of a language you don't know sets butterflies loose in your belly. he lowers, possessively holding your jaw.

your lips finally, finally meet. in the back of your mind, you can taste a subtle hint of blood. his mouth is warm and wanting, moving with a reverent fervor. you move your hands from his large back, slipping them between your bodies. with a slow pull, the bow keeping the front of your nightgown closed comes undone.

creds to @saradika-graphics for the divider directly above!!! thank u so much. i hope you guys enjoyed <333

[tiredofthehumanlife]

Do you guys think they’re open for a third

[discoscoob]

⋆⭒˚.⋆ MADE FOR LOVIN’ ME

˙ ✩°˖🧬⋆｡˚ David Allen Griffin x Reader x Dr. Julian Mercer

CW: fem!reader, yander!reader, nsfw, unrequited love, angst?, graphic violence, character deaths, murder, unreliable narrator, period-typical sexism.

Synopsis: How far would you go for love? 4.6k.

Preface: @97keanu’s Summerween Event: David Allen Griffin / builld-a-boyfriend (Lisa Frankenstein AU) / summer ‘69 / roller skating. I have taken some creative liberties with the prompts, such as adding Julian. The year ‘69 is mentioned in the fic, however I envision the actual story taking place in the 70s or 80s.

People say loneliness can kill.

Unfortunately, you learned the hard way that this is, in fact, true.

Tears roll down your cheeks, carving clear valleys through the blood clinging to your face. That metallic scent, like the one that sinks into your palm after holding copper change for too long, is embedded deep into every inch of your skin. It’s matted into your hair, staining your clothes, painted across your face, buried deep into your cuticles. It will take forever to scrub away every trace and watch the blood-tainted pink water swirl down the shower drain.

God knows when you’ll be allowed to shower.

You shift your weight on the uncomfortable metal chair, trying to relieve the pressure digging into your hips and spine. Shivering, you pull the itchy blanket some kind stranger draped around you tighter over your shoulders, shielding yourself from the AC blasting too cold overhead.

On top of the metal table in front of you sits a small plastic cup of black coffee you don’t even remember being offered. Judging by the lack of steam, you reckon it’s long since gone cold.

Across the table, two nearly identical detectives puff away like a pair of chimneys, filling the small, windowless interrogation room with a thick nicotine smog that irritates your glassy, bloodshot eyes.

How do you even begin to explain how you ended up here?

You suppose it all started with your job.

You worked as a lab assistant for the world-renowned neuroscientist, Dr. Julian Mercer. He devoted his career to studying the preserved brains of serial killers, despite the numerous ethics committees who campaigned tirelessly to shut down his research and strip him of his doctorate, deeming his work barbaric and immoral.

They called him a mad scientist and he wore it like a badge of honour. “No one sane was ever worth remembering,” he always told you, while you looked up at him with starry eyes, hanging on his every word.

The committees didn’t understand. Dr. Julian Mercer was a genius. A pioneer. One day, his name would be spoken in the same breath as Einstein, Darwin, and Newton, for his groundbreaking discoveries about the human mind and behaviour.

He was searching for the origins of evil. What made a serial killer’s mind different to the average person’s? He theorised that certain people were predestined for violence and cruelty, believing there were patterns in their neural pathways that meant they were, essentially, wired for evil. It was written into their biology. If he could prove that, he believed he could find a cure for evil itself.

You never doubted him.

Assisting Dr. Julian Mercer became your entire life. You had no “distractions,” as you called them. No boyfriend. No friends. No family. You dedicated yourself to him, sacrificing weekends and holidays because there was nothing you would rather do than spend hours in the lab with the man you admired most.

Dr. Julian Mercer was the only person who ever truly made you feel like you mattered. He gave you purpose, a reason to live. And then, all of that was suddenly and violently stripped away from you.

One tragic accident.

That was all it took to change your life forever.

Julian was rushed into hospital after crashing his motorcycle.

And everything fell apart.

Without Julian, you were nothing. Life had no meaning. You had no purpose. Nothing to live for.

You lied to the nurses, telling them you were his fiancée, just so they would let you see him in the hospital. You visited him everyday as he lay on life support with tubes snaking out of his body, attached to machines keeping him artificially alive.

The doctors told you that he was brain dead.

No other family stepped forward. No one else came to see him. So the doctors waited for your permission to switch off the machines pumping his lungs full of oxygen and driving the rhythm of his heart.

As if you could do that.

As if you could let him go.

Julian was all you had.

How could they expect you to sign a piece of paper that would give them permission to take him away from you?

You wouldn’t just be killing him. You would be killing yourself.

There had to be another way.

And that’s when it hit you.

Dr. Julian Mercer was brain dead and you had access to a lab full of preserved brains.

So what if they belonged to some of the world’s most depraved criminals? Beggars can’t be choosers.

You had to save him.

All you had to do was steal his body. Take him back to the lab. Remove his ruined brain. Swap it with one from his extensive collection and bring him back to life.

How hard could it be?

Once you got him back to the lab, you just had to decide which brain you were going to use.

Of course, none of them could ever compare to the brilliant mind Julian had possessed. He was a genius. A genius who loved his work. His mind was so full with knowledge, theories and discoveries that there was no room for anything else. There was no room for you.

So maybe you didn’t want a genius after all.

Maybe you just wanted someone to love you.

There was one brain in Julian’s collection you thought might be capable of that.

DAVID ALLEN GRIFFIN. EXECUTED BY ELECTROCUTION, 1969.

Julian had told you all about him. He was young, charismatic and magnetic. The kind of man who would charm his victims, make them feel seen in a way they had never been seen before.

He would find women who were used to being overlooked, unnoticed, and invisible. Then he would come along and look at them like they were the only person in the world worth noticing.

He especially loved to dance with his victims. Twirl them around and pull them close into his arms as they would sway to the rhythm of some old record he put on.

Wasn’t that romantic?

Of course, he would eventually slip a piano wire around their throats… but before that, he made them feel special. Like they were someone worthy of being loved.

And that’s all you truly wanted.

In theory, Julian had taught you everything you needed to know in order to switch out the brains. He had extensive notes on the subject.

It had just never been put into practice, for obvious ethical reasons.

As you rolled up the sleeves of your lab coat, part of you wondered if Julian would’ve been proud of you for this. If you pulled this off, you would have accomplished something Julian had theorised about for decades, something which had plagued his mind day and night.

You would have performed the world's first successful brain transplant.

And yet no one could ever know about it.

Well, except, maybe, the man you were about to bring back.

˙ ✩°˖🧬⋆｡˚

You waited anxiously for the first sign of life, and then…

His fingers twitched.

Your breath caught in your throat as you leaned closer and felt a warm, shuddering exhale brush over your cheek.

“Dr. Mercer?” You whispered, your voice trembling.

“Who the hell is Dr. Mercer?” His voice sounded rough, like gravel, as his eyes slowly fluttered open and squinted against the harsh lights of the lab.

“David?” You tried again, leaning over him so the harsh fluorescent glow overhead crested your hairline like a halo.

His gaze finally landed on your face, his dilated pupils adjusted, bringing you into focus.

Slowly, a crooked grin tugged at his lips.

“Are you an angel? Because I’m pretty sure I had a one way ticket straight to hell.”

Hearing those words uttered from the lips of the man you’ve been infatuated with for over a year sent you giddy. Oh boy, you were in trouble.

˙ ✩°˖🧬⋆｡˚

He had spent ages staring into the mirror that first night, familiarising himself with his new face and body. He traced his fingertips over the raised scar running down his torso, left behind by Julian’s motorcycle accident. You told him all about it as he ran his tongue over his new teeth and raked his fingers through his new floppy hair. He seemed quite pleased with his new appearance. If you didn’t know any better, you might’ve suspected he was as in love with Julian as you were. You couldn’t blame him. Julian was beautiful, and now, so was he.

And then he asked about you. About your relationship with Julian. And you lied. Just like you had lied to the doctors and the nurses. You told him Julian was your fiancé … and now, so was he.

You held your breath as you waited for his response.

The last thing David remembered was being fried like a piece of Kentucky chicken. As far as he was concerned, this was the afterlife, and you were the angel who had saved him from the Devil’s clutches.

He decided he liked this new life very much.

“Your fiancé, huh?” He spoke at last, his lips quirking into a smile that was nothing but trouble while his gaze leisurely trailed down the length of your body, before slowly climbing its way back up and locking with yours. “Lucky me.”

You swallowed thickly.

God only knows how many times you had fantasised about being pinned beneath the carnal hunger in Julian’s dark eyes. It’s embarrassing to admit, but you had tried so desperately to catch his eye with alluring makeup, voluminous hair, shorter skirts and lower necklines, all the usual tricks you’d expect to catch the attention of any ordinary red-blooded male. But none of it ever worked. At one point, you genuinely started to question if he was even human or rather some cold, abstinent creature sent down from a distant planet to study brains, not the opposite sex.

But you regretted having those thoughts. They weren’t fair. Julian wasn’t cold. He had shown you nothing but kindness, always patient and respectful. Despite his brilliance, he never once made you feel inferior. He actually listened to your ideas; which is more than could be said for most men in the lab, who believed your greatest capabilities didn’t stretch much further than beyond brewing their morning coffee. He believed in you, but that wasn’t enough.

You wanted more.

You wanted him to lift his head and stare at you when you walked into the room, you wanted to feel his hands exploring your flesh, his lips pressed against yours. But most of all, you wanted his heart. And no matter how hard you tried, that was the one part of him you could never reach.

Until now.

You had sacrificed his brilliant, beautiful mind so you could have his heart all to yourself.

And now, he – or rather David – was looking at you with an expression you had once been certain the muscles in Julian’s face weren’t even capable of making. He was looking at you like you were something to be devoured.

Suddenly you didn’t know how to act.

Fortunately, before you could start spiralling into a self-conscious morass, his lips crashed upon yours with all the force of a wave breaking against the rocks and all at once, you were swept up in a lover’s embrace.

Your knees went weak, it was too much, surrounded by the man you had been harbouring a love for, a love you had all but given up hope of ever having returned.

He hoisted your thighs around his hips before your knees had a chance to buckle. There was a dizzying moment of weightlessness, everything a blur, until the cold metal of the lab table nipped at your thighs, offering a sharp shock that reminded you this was real. Not just another one of your fantasies.

David puppeted steady hands that had once belonged to Julian, sliding them beneath your thighs with a grip firm enough to leave bruises as he pulled them apart and slotted himself between them. With a rough tug, he dragged you closer to the edge of the metal table as he rolled his hips, stealing a breathless gasp from your parted lips.

“My pretty little angel,” he murmured, breath hot and wet as his lips trailed a blazing path across your jaw and down the column of your throat, leaving your sensitive skin feverish beneath his mouth. “You brought me back.”

You let out an involuntary whine as he lifted his head from the hollow of your neck. He smirked dangerously at the sound, only adding fuel to the fire burning inside you, as his disarming eyes caught yours, twinkling with mischief.

“You resurrected my forsaken soul,” his hand came up to cradle your delicate jaw. “Trying to bring back your lost love.” He smiled like he knew a secret as he grazed his thumb against your bottom lip. “Romantic tragedies were always my favourite.”

He swooped in and kissed you again before you could speak.

“But you have nothing to fear, my darling angel,” he whispered against your lips. “There’ll be no more tragedies here. I could never take the life of the woman who restored mine. I owe you everything.”

Slowly, he lowered himself to his knees between your parted thighs. You sucked in a shallow breath at the sight, blood rushed to your loins, leaving you lightheaded.

“I’ll never let any harm come to you,” he looked up at you, his words spoken like a sacred oath from a knight to his queen. “Not even from myself.”

He sealed his vow with a kiss to your inner thigh.

Swallowing hard, your heart fluttered wildly against your heaving chest as his lips teased along the sensitive skin of your trembling thighs.

Your fingers found purchase in his thick, floppy hair that felt just as soft and perfect as you imagined. Loose strands always fell forward, framing his handsome face in a way that never failed to steal your breath. Julian would always tilt his head in confusion if he ever caught you staring, like he had no goddamn clue just how fine he was.

And now he was looking up at you, Julian’s eyes, from beneath Julian’s lashes, but they were shining with David’s hunger.

He didn’t hesitate to indulge his appetite. Your sopping panties were pushed aside and his tongue was on you before you could finish unravelling your thoughts. The breath scattered from your lungs like a flock of startled sparrows and your spine arched as heat bloomed through your pelvis.

Oh God.

One of your hands remained tangled in his hair, clutching the strands tightly as though you were afraid he might vanish if you let go. If it hurt, he didn’t complain. Your other hand slammed against the cold edge of the metal table, gripping it until your fingers cramped.

A satisfied moan bubbled up from David’s throat as if he were devouring his favourite meal, the sound vibrated against you in a way that made your thighs tighten against his shoulders.

Your head tipped back, jaw slack as dizzying pleasure surged up from the base of your spine.

“Jul–” You bit your lip. Hard.

But it was too late. He had already heard you.

His movements stopped immediately, like you just slammed the emergency brake.

The heat of his mouth vanished, even your grip in his hair couldn’t stop him. You whined, a pathetic, needy sound that sent a spike of humiliation through your gut, at the unpleasant surge of cold air against your aching cunt.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” he said softly, but it wasn’t so much comforting as it was unnerving.

You avoided his gaze. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, couldn’t bear to see what kind of expression David was wearing on Julian’s sweet face.

“I– I didn’t mean–” you stuttered, rushing to defend your misspoken word before you had even gathered a cohesive explanation in your mind.

“I know what you meant,” he cut you off coldly, refusing to listen to your flimsy excuses.

He rose to his feet, his movements slow and steady. Bracing his arms on either side of you atop the metal table, he caged you in. Trapping you.

In the blink of an eye, his hand snatched your jaw, earning a startled gasp. He turned your gaze upward, forcing you to look at him.

His eyes weren’t cold. They weren’t angry. It was something far worse. They were empty. A pair of deep, hollow voids that sent a bolt of ice down your spine.

“I know who you meant,” he said, voice deceptively calm with just the slightest sharp edge that let you know you were teetering on thin ice and uttering Julian’s name had left a crack.

Your stomach twisted.

“But I’m not a substitute, angel. You don’t get to pretend it’s him touching you.”

His hand slid from your jaw to your delicate throat, curling around it with a firm grip. He didn’t squeeze. There was no need, the touch was enough to remind you of the man he had once been.

It was harder to see him as Julian when he held you like this. You suppose that’s what he wanted.

His hips rolled forward, pressing the full weight of his arousal against your bare, swollen clit, making you gasp.

“You gave me this body,” he murmured, voice husky with a possessive growl. “Now I’m going to use it to take yours.”

Your breath caught.

“After this,” he whispered, dragging his lips along your burning cheeks until they brushed against the shell of your ear. “There’ll be no doubt in your mind. You’ll know who you belong to.”

He claimed you with one hard, aggressive thrust, swallowing your cry with his mouth upon yours. He didn’t give you time to adjust. He had a point to prove. Besides, you were already soaking him.

As his thrusts built up to a relentless rhythm, you clawed your fingernails down his bare back, leaving your first marks on his borrowed skin.

You had earned this. You had abandoned your morals, your sanity; sacrificed your career, your integrity, your very life as you knew it.

You made him this way.

You stole the body of the man who couldn’t love you and filled it with the soul of the monster who could.

You let him press you into the table and stake his claim on you, because, at last, he finally wanted you as much as you had always wanted him. And God, you hoped he would never let you go.

˙ ✩°˖🧬⋆｡˚

ONE MONTH LATER

You felt like a newborn fawn on ice, wobbling precariously on your roller skates over the polished floor. Your arms whirled like a pair of propellers trying to lift you to safety, but David’s warm hands closed firmly around your waist, steady and sure. You trusted him completely, letting your propellers settle against his solid forearms as he glided backwards, carefully guiding you around the rink.

Your heart beat as wildly as the bass of the music thumping through your chest, as a kaleidoscope of neon lights twirled overhead, casting shimmery patterns that ripple from the glittering disco ball suspended above the centre of the rink. The polished floor captured all the colours, gleaming like a frozen lake beneath a sunset sky. You couldn’t help but stare with wide-eyed wonder as you teetered past skaters who leapt and spun with the grace of ballerinas.

“Eyes on me, angel,” David chuckled softly, catching your wandering gaze with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Don’t get too distracted now. Wouldn’t want you taking a tumble and bruising that pretty ass of yours.”

Your grip on David’s forearms was just starting to loosen as you gained some confidence in your rhythm, feeling less like a newborn fawn on ice, when a young man, skating backwards, barrelled into you hard enough to knock you off balance. Before David could catch you, your skates shoot out from underneath you, sending you crashing to the polished floor with a sharp yelp. Instant pain exploded up your tailbone and through your elbow as they took the brunt of your fall.

The young man who hit you stumbled forward, barely maintaining his own balance as he crouched beside you.

“Shit– are you okay?” He blurted, breathless and wide-eyed, reaching a hand toward you to help you to your feet.

But before you could even take his hand, David’s foot slammed into the young man’s jaw in one terrifying motion with the velocity of Diego Maradona trying to score a penalty kick.

You recoiled in shock at the sickening crack that knocked the young man straight to the floor. A few teeth flew from his mouth and scattered across the floor beside you as gasps echoed around the rink.

Your palms skidded over the slick surface as you attempted to scramble backwards, but the wheels of your skates spun uselessly beneath you, offering no traction as you tried to push yourself away.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” The man gargled through a mouthful of blood that bubbled from his lips and trickled down his chin and slightly dislodged jaw.

Terror sparked brightly in his eyes as he looked up just in time to see David gripping his right rollerskate by the ankle strap like a weapon. He tried to scramble backward, but David lunged like a wild beast, pinning him to the floor at lightning speed.

You watched, frozen in fear, as David raised the skate high above his head and slammed it down with brutal force onto the man’s skull.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

You flinched as warm flecks of blood splattered across your face and dripped onto your clothes, startling you to take action. By the time you staggered to your feet and threw your arms around David’s shoulders, the young man’s eye socket had already caved inward with sharp shards of pure white bone jutting through his blood drenched skin.

“David! Stop!” You screamed, clawing desperately at his shoulders, using all your strength to try and drag him off, but he was too strong, too lost in his vengeful blood lust.

He kept swinging and swinging until there was nothing left but a spreading puddle of blood, shattered shards of skull and smashed brains oozing across the floor.

You were far from squeamish. You had never fainted at the sight of blood. You had cradled human brains in your palm like you were sizing up melons in the produce aisle and sawed open skulls like it was nothing more than a bit of DIY. But this was different. This was raw, savage violence and rage that turned blood and bone into pulp. It churned your stomach, drained the colour from your cheeks, and left you trembling like a leaf.

David’s chest heaved, his breath ragged. He finally stilled. Damp strands of hair fell into his eyes, clinging to his glistening forehead, streaked with sweat and blood. Crimson freckles stained his cheeks. Slowly, he let the bloody rollerskate slip from his equally blood-soaked hand. You flinched at the loud clatter as it hit the floor.

When his gaze found yours, his pupils were so blown that his eyes looked almost black.

“Angel,” he murmured, “you’re shaking.”

You recoiled as he reached for you, but he just gently cradled your face, undeterred by the fear shimmering in your glassy eyes. His thumb, slick with blood, stroked across your cheekbone, leaving behind a crimson blush. Then he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, matting it into sticky clumps.

“It’s okay,” He whispered, as the warmth returned to his tender gaze.

He’s not an idiot; he could see how terror-stricken you were. He blamed that imbecile, of course, for daring to barrel into you. He didn’t even entertain the idea that you might’ve been afraid of him. Why would you be scared of him? You knew full well he’d never dream of hurting a single hair on your head.

He told himself you were just shaken by the whole ordeal, that’s all. That everything was going to be okay because he took care of it. That scumbag would never have an opportunity to touch you ever again.

“It’s okay, angel” he repeated as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore. You’re safe now. I promise.”

Sirens wailed in the distance. David’s eyes snapped towards the sound, a flicker of panic flashing across his face. He released you and backed away, dripping blood onto the glossy floor.

“I have to go now, angel,” he said softly, “I’m not going to let them take me away from you.”

And just like that, he was gone. He vanished into the shadows, leaving you knelt beside the mangled remains of a young man who didn’t deserve to die. A crimson pool crept across the floor, crawling toward your knees.

This was all your fault.

The moment you let your loneliness outweigh your reason, you sealed that poor man’s fate. You brought back a cold-blooded killer in someone else’s skin and deluded yourself into believing that no one would get hurt.

But a man died because you were so desperate to be wanted.

That’s how the cops found you.

A guilt-ridden mess, kneeling in a pool of blood beside the man whose life might as well have been taken by your own hands.

Which is why you’re here, sitting on an uncomfortable metal chair that digs into all your pressure points, shivering under a cheap blanket.

You told them everything.

About Julian’s accident.

About stealing his body.

About switching the brains.

About David Allen Griffin’s resurrection.

You confessed your guilt, fully prepared to face the consequences for your actions.

But they didn’t believe a single word.

They told you your story was too outlandish.

‘You’re in shock,’ they said, in soft, condescending voices, like you were a child insisting there were monsters under your bed.

Apparently, due to your trauma, your poor, fragile little mind had fractured its grip on reality because women ‘get easily confused’ in the aftermath of such violence.

And so they sent you home with the assurance they would be in touch within the next few days to take a formal statement from you when you’re feeling less… ‘hysterical,’ as one of them so eloquently put it.

˙ ✩°˖🧬⋆｡˚

You were weary beyond belief by the time you made it back to your apartment. The temptation to crawl straight into bed and pretend this was all just a nightmare tugged at you, but you were still covered in that man’s blood, so rest would have to wait.

You moved on autopilot, kicking off your shoes and peeling off your blood-stained clothes, dumping them in a heap on the bathroom tiles; a problem for future you to handle, and begrudge you for.

Under the spray of the shower, you watched the tainted water spiral down the drain beneath your feet.

You felt numb.

The water could’ve been scalding or ice-cold, you wouldn’t have known the difference.

You only stepped out when your eyelids grew too heavy to hold open. Exhausted, you blindly reached for the fluffy white towel, wrapping it around your dripping body as you staggered toward the mirror. It was completely fogged up with condensation from the steam, but you had to be sure you had washed away every last trace of blood from your skin and hair.

You swiped a hand across the glass, leaving a clear streak straight through the middle. Just wide enough to see your reflection.

And a dark figure standing behind you.

Before you could scream, a gloved hand clamped over your mouth, dragging you back against a firm chest you recognised instantly.

“Shhh, angel. You’re okay. It’s just me.” David’s warm breath brushed against your damp hair, his voice as soft as a lullaby. “You’re not alone anymore. You’ll never be alone again. I promise.”

[mytheoristavenue]

LF Creature x Reader - Mutal Comfort

Summary: You owed Lisa a favor, but you never expected she'd make you pay it back in the form of babysitting her undead boytoy while she goes to a party.

Warnings: rushed/not proofread, bisexual!reader, reader has an unreciprocated crush on Lisa, angst, fem!reader

"Lisa, I never agreed to this!" You shouted at your best friend as she hurried over to crawl back out of your window.

"I promise I'll make it up," she waved you off, sliding the glass panel up. "It's just for the night, I swear. I'll be back before school."

With that she was gone, hearing no other protests. You stood with your back flattened against the wall, frightened gaze never leaving the thing on the other side of your bedroom.

You were the only person who knew of Creature's presence, being Lisa's very best friend for life or whatever. You'd do anything for her but babysitting her undead little pet was definitely stretching boundaries.

You felt some guilt for your terror, after all, he did look incredibly somber, shrinking into the opposite corner. Maybe he felt bad for scaring you?

"S-Soo...uh," you started, pushing off the wall but only by mere centimeters. "Y-You...Lisa's new boyfriend?" The thing seemed rigid at the thought and reluctantly shook his head. "Let me guess, you wanna be?" You prodded, inching closer still. Another timid nod. The two of you had that in common, apparently.

"You and me both," you sighed, sitting on the edge of your bed. Creature eyed you skeptically, still in the corner but not as glued to the wall as before. "Don't look at me like that, I don't mean I want to be her boyfriend." You paused, wondering if his expression was caused by the thought of you being gay or wanting to be a male, or maybe he was jealous at the thought of competition. "But, I don't know, being girlfriends might be nice..."

By this time, he'd inched close enough to sit on the other side of the bed, still as far away on it as possible, though. You took this as a sign to continue. "It's just that, me and Lis have been besties since like- kindergarten. I even convinced my parents to move her with her after her mom died and it feels like all she does is blow me off now," you ranted. "Like, before the incident, we'd have these long talks about the future, and we were always in each other's but now...I don't know anymore..."

An anguished moan was his only response as he drew his discolored hand to his chest. "Sorry," you said dropping your head. "I know you've gotta be hurting too listening to her ramble on about-" You brought your hands to your cheeks and batted your lashes, making your voice an octave higher to imitate your crush. "Micheal Trent!" He nodded, rolling his eyes slightly. "Y'know, I really don't know what she sees in him? Dude's a class A poser. He pretends to be into all that dark music and poetry but it's literally just to look cool and mysterious so all the preppy girls will fall in love with him."

While you ranted, Creature studied your room, noting how different it was from Lisa's. She had string lights, drawings, and moody posters all over her walls, while yours were tidy and well-organized with framed photos and prints of paintings that matched the color scheme of the walls. Eventually, you caught onto his staring and fell quiet prompting him to glance back to you.

"Didn't mean to fly off the handle, my bad." you muttered, standing up with a sigh. "Anyways, what do you like to do? Got any hobbies?" He stood up with you, wandering over to a keyboard that had collected dust in the corner. Curiously, he stuck a key and cringed at the sound it made. You joined him, explaining it. "That's just my old keyboard. I used to play piano as a kid but when we moved here we couldn't take my piano with us, so my dad got me this. It's kinda like an electric piano, only it's portable. Don't really like it though, too synthy for my taste."

Creature sat down in front of it, fumbling with the buttons on the control board while trying out the keys after each adjustment. Finally, he seemed to have found a setting he liked. "I'm guessing you play?" you cocked a brow. You couldn't have predicted how the cocky smirk then tossed you would make you feel. Following that, he threaded his finders together before pushing them out, cracking his knuckles before dramatically slamming down on the keys.

"Holy shit," you breathed, listening to the classical tune that filled your room. Needless to say, he played beautifully and was incredibly talented. At one point, he even glanced up at you with another shit-eating grin, showcasing the fact that he knew the positions by memory and didn't even need to look.

"You're amazing!" you explained when the song was finished, placing your hands on either shoulder and rocking him gently. "I've never seen that much musical skill from one person! What, were you like a professional pianist in your first life or something?"

To your surprise, he actually nodded. "Jesus christ man, I've never even heard that song before, did you write that?" He nodded again, and again, you were flabbergasted. "I bet you had an extraordinarily hard life." You muttered without thinking. "Art like that only comes out of suffering." As he nodded yet again, this time more bashfully, the two of you shared a moment of silence.

"I'm sorry, that was rude," you realized, glancing away. This time, Creature shook his head, an uncharacteristically peachy hand guiding your face back toward his as he stepped closer. For a moment, you waited to see what wisdom he had to offer, before remembering that no words would come as he stared at you, only able to offer a comforting gaze. "I wish you could talk," you whispered as he pulled you into his chest without you even realizing it. "But then again, maybe it's better you can't." you retorted to yourself bitterly. "I've had enough people tell me to cheer up because life gets better."

Creature stiffened, pushing you to hold you at arm's length, shaking his head again. "You think you got something better?" you asked, rhetorically.

Sensing your irritation, he resigned himself to giving up on communication for now. Taking matters into his own hands, he pressed a palm to his heart, a sign for you to trust him. Gently, he guided you back to your bed, pushing you down onto it. Awkwardly, Creature untucked the quilt from the bed a threw it over you, signalling for you to lay down, before tucking you in. You reluctantly followed his instruction, laying down on your side, tears welling in your eyes from all the overwhelming emotion bubbling inside you. You then watched as he made his way over to your desk, seeming to write something on a sheet of notebook paper Following this, he laid the note at your feet as he took a seat in front of the keyboard again.

You couldn't deny that you were beginning to feel drowsy after the soft music he played filled the room. This song was nothing like the first one. It was sweet and serene, unlike the dark and dramatic one he'd first played- with that cocky grin that made you feel so conflicted.

On the cusp of needing to rest your eyes, you remembered the note he'd left for you, briefly sitting up to reach it before laying back down, holding it up in the air to read what it said as he played your consciousness out.

"The sun does not ever reappear if the rain never stops. To live happily is to find solace in any weather. With the right balance, the flowers will begin to bloom. I hope to one day see a lush garden in you, darling."

[xoemme]

I AM SO BLESSED OMG!!! A LISA X CREATURE X READER ON AO3 NAMED AFTER A DODIE SONG?????

[m0llygunn]

CREATURE FROM THE GRAVE

Creepy guy on the side of the road? Perfectly acceptable to pick up and bring home, especially when he’s the living dead.

Summary: The first night at your house— the undead has a name! wc: 900 ─── † ཐི❤︎ཋྀ † ───

“Frankie boy, my love, my new pal, please stop gargling or growling or whatever that dreadful noise is.”

He gurgles another low, stomach deep noise, and you use your elbows to prop yourself up on the mattress, looking over the edge to see him lying on the floor. His eyes meet yours and with his cracked, decrepit lips pulled into a frown, you make a mental note to buy him some chapstick tomorrow. His frown deepens, brows pinching together as he shakes his head, upset over something. You fall back onto your pillow with a sigh. 

“What is it now?”

He groans in response, dragging out his deep, annoyed tone. You hear shuffling as his voice grows taller. 

Rolling your eyes, you meet his gaze as he sits up on his makeshift bed, barely visible through the darkness of your room.

“Frankie, I can’t understand you. Didn’t your mother ever teach you about enunciation?” 

He grunts. You sit up again and as soon as he has your focus, in a slow, creaky movement, he raises his arm to point at his chest. 

“You?”

He nods. His shaky finger points towards his chest again, pairing the movement with a negating shake of his head. 

“You not…?” you guess.

He nods enthusiastically— well, as enthusiastically as the undead can get. He points to his chest again and you have absolutely no clue what he’s trying to say. Zero, zilch, nada clue. It’s past midnight and he might not need sleep but you do.

“You not… tired?” you guess again. He groans, shaking his head, disagreeing. He pauses for a brief moment, shrugging— maybe— but then he continues shaking his head more convincingly than before. He’s not tired but that’s not what he’s trying to say. 

With a sigh, you deflate. It’s already felt like the longest night of your life but now this… “Frankie—”

He grunts harshly, interrupting you. His jagged movements point his finger into his chest a final time, followed by a final shake of his head. 

“You’re not Frankie?”

He nods, letting out an agreeable grunt. 

“Well, I know that, silly. We’ve already gone over this— I don’t know your name and until you can better enunciate your grunts, you’re going by Frankenstein.”

He stares at you blankly and you roll your eyes, shifting on your elbows to get a better look at him. 

“You know Frankenstein? Like the book? Mary Shelley? Judging by the pins on your jacket, you should have been alive way after the book was written, so either you’re being difficult or you just had really, really terrible taste in books, Frankie.”

He groans dreadfully again, dragging out his explicit disagreement for his new name. 

“Well, what do you want me to do? Guess names at random until I get it right? That would take forever, and it’s already past midnight because we had to spend three hours scrubbing dirt off of every inch of you. And bugs, Frankie, so many bugs!”

He rolls his eyes and you gasp— to be treated like this in your own home! 

“Frank—”

“Euggh!” he cuts you off.

“Euggh is not a very nice name but if that’s what you want to go by…,” you smile, watching him scowl his hardest yet. “Sweet, Euggh, I am so very tired and I have to wake up tomorrow morning to scrub the house clean from your mud. I am going to sleep. Goodnight. Again.”

You toss your comforter back over yourself and sink into your pillow. Not even a full second goes by before you hear the creaky shuffle of Euggh getting up.

“If I knew the undead operated on a different time zone I would have left you where I found you,” you say, shifting to get comfort. 

He grunts in response, short and abrasive, but you don’t take it to heart. You hear more shuffling, the drag of his bad foot, and the squeal of your desk drawer being pulled open. There’s about 12 seconds of silence before every noise you just heard happens in reverse.

“Hmmmmm,” he groans beside your bed, dragging out the low rasp of his voice. When you pretend to sleep he gets louder, even going as far as knocking the edge of the mattress. 

“Jesus, this can’t wait until morning?” you sigh, sitting up. You switch on your bedside lamp, blinking away the harsh light to look at your new, quickly-growing-annoying friend.

Not having looked at him in a while, his once wet hair has now dried, sticking up and frizzing out in all different directions, making him look more like Bride of Frankenstein than Frankenstein. You can’t help but snicker a giggle. His brows pinch together and once again, he’s back to scowling. 

“Lighten up, would ya?” you tease. “We can give your hair a good deep condition tomorrow, then it won’t be as frizzy. Who would have thought a century of grime would be drying for the hair follicle?”

“Errrgh,” he drags out, before shifting his balance and raising a hand towards you. In his pale, scrubbed clean fist is a paper, ruled lines ripped straight from your diary— classy.

“What’s this?” You sit up even further, crossing your legs in front of you as you take the paper from him. 

Flipping it around, you read the messy chicken scratch writing scribbled across the page in sparkly pink gel ink. 

“If you knew how to write, why didn’t you say something earlier, Eddie?”

[angel-sweets666]

Sweetheart~ mood board

chapter one out now! Here

reader (fem reader so afab body parts)

The creatures mood board