anglingforlevels

[anglingforlevels]

A Good Day's Toll

Reader's mind wanders as their boyfriend prepares for a date night.

A short drabble about @meo-eiru 's yandere OC Elias

CW: Yandere, unhealthy relationship, implied and mentioned self-harm (not reader)

You idly watched Elias filtering through the closet for the so-called perfect accessory for your weekly dinner date, as if you wouldn’t feel obliged to call him the cutest or prettiest regardless of what he donned.

Incidentally, no accessory he picked out would cover his bandaged neck. He denied it but you knew he wanted to remind you of it, remind you of the responsibility that came with it.

Periodically his head would peek back out from the closet, lest your attention began to wane, to reel you back with one of those smiles he reserved only for you.

It was hard to understand how anyone could believe the usual smile he flashed strangers, then again, you had been as suckered as everyone else.

Back when you first met him, you had thought his smile was dazzling. The perfect thing to accentuate his beauty. You were so blinded by its dazzle that you didn’t realize it was empty.

Of course, Elias would claim it was love at first sight, whenever you asked why he liked you so much. But you remembered the way he had smiled at you, looked at you. For a brief moment, you had been just another stranger.

When had that changed?

Being with Elias was exhausting, perhaps it always had been, you just couldn’t see anything but rose-tinted flags at first.

You hadn’t been able to stop falling for him as he looked at you like you were light itself, recklessly throwing yourself into a relationship. When he had wanted to monopolize your time, you thought it sweet – a honeymoon phase.

Then you had thought yourself too heartless, feeling annoyed at the fact your boyfriend wanted to spend time with you? What kind of complaint was that?

And then you had put your foot down and ended up spending the entire night in the waiting room at the ER, just waiting to hear if you’d be walking out there with him or alone.

You began to put your foot down less after that, and Elias seemed to latch onto this newly discovered tool of persuasion, emboldened.

Yes, being with Elias was exhausting.

The way he’d tear up whenever your eyes strayed from him, the way he wanted your days filled with nothing but him yet seemed to doubt his ability to provide anything of substance to fill them.

And worse of all – the fact that he was right.

But then Elias compared two hair pieces (which looked almost identical to you), brushing his hair away from his bandaged neck in the process, and you were remined that no, that wasn’t the worst of it. Far from it.

Your vision felt almost like a blur as you watched him, giving the occasional comment to keep his need for attention satiated, it was like second nature to you by now.

Elias seemed to be enjoying himself at least, moving about so animatedly, granted he also appeared to be putting on a show for you.

Still, the almost performance-like way he moved about right now was only ever reserved for you, and a sign of his mood lifted into one of his extremes, and given the lack of fresh blood or tears, it was clearly a positive extreme.

Yeah, with others, Elias was always more like a statue than a doll eager to be played with. It had been one of the first things you noticed about him, even if you hadn’t put the observation to good use, his beauty only the second thing you took notice of.

The first thing you noticed was how lonely he seemed. He had people swarming around him but, from a distance, you had almost mistaken him as an outsider at first.

He wasn’t gesturing, talking, laughing or participating in any meaningful way, it was almost as if he was ornament or a statue. Thirdly, you noticed the eagerness of the people who swarmed him and thought yourself silly for thinking the sight had been lonely.

After all, with all that attention, how could someone still be lonely? If only attention had been the same as connection, then maybe you wouldn’t have to spend nights drying tears away for the horrible crime of looking at a friend’s post. wouldn’t have had to fish out bandages from the first-aid kit with trembling hands.

There’s a lot of things you probably wouldn’t have had to do.

Your idle thoughts was broken by the sudden dip in the bed, Elias having joined you, with a pout on his lips. ” What are you thinking about?”

Shoot. You got distracted, that was your mistake. Elias always was more fragile after he… After one of his incidents. He was also inherently less trusting of your little excuses and reassurances but all the more needy for them.

“Sorry, I was trying to think of what accessory you wore to our dinner-date last week. You know the bracelet-one, the one that matches your hair?” You said, deciding against the more overt thinking about you-line, deeming it far too obvious damage control. “It was pretty cute.”

Elias’ expression lit up. “You want me to wear it again today?” When he tried to tilt his head forward sweetly, it made the white stand out more on his neck, and you regretted not mentioning a scarf instead.

No matter, you weren’t done just yet. This was a combo-move, one you hoped would sweep away the worst of the eggshells you had to walk on and allow the two of you to have a good day.

“If you want, but I was thinking… I don’t really feel like being around other people today,” you said tentatively, adding in a performative pause. “So could we just stay in instead?”

Hopefully it was understated enough for desperate ears to eat it up uncritically, though you knew he’d accept regardless of whether he believed your sincerity or not.

Elias smiled so sweetly. “Of course!”

Wrapping his arms around you, you could ignore both that and the bandages – pretend that you were willing to shoulder the price of good days.

[anglingforlevels]

HER

INGREDIENTS: SAPPHIC. FEMALE IDENTIFYING READER. Period fantasy piece. Maid/royal dynamic (no toxic power plays here), slight dom/sub (consensual), degradation(including self degradation), praise, yearning, reader first time, implied parental abandonment and abuse/neglect, voyeurism, internalized homophobia, oral,fingering, coming out/first attraction. Adorable bath time.

Part of the Praise Series: this combines both light degradation and focuses on being reminded how stubborn, unruly, straying, dirty, naughty, and bad.

Summary: You're sent to work at the manor on the edge of the Satyr kingdom. Working for the Lady. New feelings emerge in the summer breeze. Feelings you never thought existed. And you hate her for it.

MINORS DNI.

Likes and reblogs appteciated

“Unruly. Stubborn. Unmarriable,” his baritone voice places a strain on your last nerve. Your last thread of love. Your last everything wound to snap. “-but unlikely to stray.” Your father continues tossing your suitcases and leaves you on the manor grounds.

A most unkempt and wild manor. Covered in untamed grape vines and flourishing wisteria. High bushy honeysuckle coats the walkways filling the air with sweet drifting curtains.

Walking beneath the trellises your eyes follow the thick branches upward. It was as another set of vines catches your eyes you realize the orderliness of it all. Much like the hair you hide to appease your mother’s 'proper and orderly' tastes. Much like a vine she cut you at every stretch of your arms. At every new path she severed your growth. Bending you to twist around her reputation,a woven pillar of gravitas and perfection.

When handed the uniforms your new boss laughs, clapping your shoulder. “They like the idea of propriety. It isn't real. Don't take it too seriously.”

Soon you learn there are rules. Rules done not for order and control but to set the stage for later events. A level of professionalism yes, but the strictness was a false idol few enforced and no one worshipped.

So you began settling into your new dawn to dusk schedule. You liked straying around the mansion grounds. Taking morning walks when frost speckles the foliage grounds. Evening walks late at night with the air full of barking foxes and the hum of crickets. These grounds stretch forever into an inky dark forest.

An inky dark forest full of Satyrs.

They came onto the property often through the many wrought iron gates. As with wildflowers you found no two were truly the same. The way they merely exist flitting from activity to activity to repose was fascinating and beautiful. Hummingbirds came to mind. Their vibrancy and energy. Their desire for wine like the bird’s appetite necessitates nectar.

You have seen them drinking from flowers before, beneath the trees or under the open sky. Hands grasping thighs and petals trembling beneath ravenous lips. Lapping until they are sated.

Feasting until they are full.

Watching from window or stairwell when they mingle. Their bodies entwined in every type of dance. Whispering and gossiping. Singing or playing instruments of sorts you had never seen or heard. Seducing you closer and closer.

But you dare not join them.

No, they choose their partners from the staff for revelry. Of which you are never chosen. Time and time again not a single one approaches you during their time inside. Not even when you are close serving a drink or the one embarrassing time you helped two unlock horns.

But despite that, you liked it there.

You liked straying and as time grew you began to like the idea of staying.

Not because of the food and shelter: no you could do without. You were stubborn after all.

Not because of the freedom to wander the hallways and grounds. Provided you stayed from restricted areas for “your own safety.”

The one thing that caused you to stray into areas you shouldnt; the Lady.

What a lady she was. With her unsettling oblong pupils. Her goatish horns. Whenever she walked by, her cloven hooves made a beckoning chorus combining with the bells swaying from her hair.

Oh the lady was interesting. At first you hated her. She was confident. Loud. Prone to prancing around in the thinnest materials. Materials your hands itch to snatch away.

Why? You couldn't figure it out. Maybe you wanted to touch them and figure out what fabric it was. Maybe you hated how she could be so carefree and so close to naked. Maybe you hated how her perfume stirs something within you each time she trots by.

You didnt know if you wanted to be her; so carefree and able to live in her own skin. Or if you hated her.

Yet you couldnt turn away.

It was a rule as a servant not to look her in the eyes. Not to speak to her. Apparently she enjoyed the submissive act. Taking joy in fabricating discomfort whenever she brushes by. But you?

You arent just a stubborn and unruly girl? You're a bad girl.

Because no matter how hard you try you can't look away from her.

Whenever your eyes catch her’s, your stomach plummets. Her lips curl into a frenzy-inducing smirk. Hallways and voices fade. It's just the two of you tangling like vines of wisteria and grape.

When you arent polishing silver your mind is full of her. Her strong arms. Her ferocity. The way her body sways. How disgusting you were becoming.

Your fingers ease into a familiar pattern feverishly rubbing yourself off while you lay alone in your quarters. Whimpering her name. Pleading for her.

Picturing her. In the light of the halls. In the dark of your room. Infiltrating your ,mind at every note your body sings. It was a song for her. Her. Her.

HER.

But after each time, your eyes etching out shapes upon the ceiling a cloud of shame falls over you. What would they say back home? Whore. Dirty. Foul. Useless woman. Polish the silver. Sweep the stairs. Keep quiet and don't look at the lady. She's white as snow and you were sullied like coal. You ARE dirty. You ARE bad. You ARE depraved.

Yet you can't keep yourself away from her. The same cycle fulfills itself. Again and again.

Providing her room with a pile of fresh linens was a special challenge. She took no shame in pleasuring her suitors before you. Not stopping anytime you enter to stock her snacks or replace books in her library. No, you place new berries upon her serving bowl while she rides a well endowed ram. Her breasts bouncing. Her thighs shaking with every delicious blow. Head pitching forward and back showing how kissable her throat is.

The only time you break is when she cums, her voice so beautiful it freezes you. The strawberry between your fingers is so meaningless compared to her sweetness. Compared to the stain of her lips and the sweat on her face. Hesitantly turning towards the door you find her staring at you. Her lips parting. Her tongue sliding out, licking over their moist surface.

And you?

You're a bad girl. Staring at your lady's heaving chest. Her face covered in a dusting of his drying cum.

It happens automatically. The retrieval of your handerchief. Wetting it from the pitcher. Ignoring the bobbing fruit. Ignoring his voice droning in the background.

Your hands- those are your hands?!- oh yes they are! Cradling her face, gently wiping her clean. Dragging along her strawberry lips. Tempting and soft.

Her strange eyes cling to you with an un-named something within them. Her fingertips grazing the belt of your apron, teasing your self control. Baiting you with her fluttering dark lashes and gleaming lips.

But you? You're such a naughty thing! You deny your lady.

You leave.

Alone in your room you spin webs of her. Rubbing and rubbing until you're red and aching.

Thinking about the curve of her lips. The swell of her hips. Her tail! The echos of her sexual adventure ringing in your ears. Continuing to twist the knife. Until you're crying, but not from the stimulation. You dirty selfish girl.

You. Want. Her.

You only had eyes for her. Your hands were only for her. Your smile. Your lips. Your service.

Hers.

Hers. Hers. Hers.

Staff changes arrive and now you frequent her room more often. Each time you find her in less and less fabric.

You're a naughty girl, getting distracted pouring tea because of your Lady’s exposed breast. The golden ring in her nipple shining in the setting sun. You can already taste the metal on your tongue, the sharp tang of it overshadowing her skin.

You're a needy girl. Not pulling away when she brushes strands of hair behind your ear. “It would look far better if you let it down, darling.” She murmured duskily and sweet, leaning to run her nails along the loose strands at your neck. “Let me style it for you, hm?”

You are a naughty thing, arent you? Thinking about her elegant fingers pressing between your lips. Your tongue finally tasting her skin.

Each time she draws nearer your composure is harder to keep. Your rule abiding compulsions becoming brittle and soft beneath her unwavering stares. Despite everything you stray to her.

Orbiting her.

The earth to your moon. Gravity to your stone. You would fall for her in unimaginable ways. Again and again; desire leads to every fall.

Fall leads into winter. And yet your mind was full of her. Not even the bite of frost and smell of wood smoke could chase her ghost from prancing through your mind.

It sends you spiraling into sadness. Inside your chest hollows to escape the cold. Retreating deeper and deeper into yourself, fleeing shame. But no matter how far you crawl you find her again and again. She fills your every crevice.

You're full.

Disgustingly full of her yet embarrassingly empty inside.

It was enough to keep you up night after wintry night.

Keep you up straying.

Straying places you shouldn’t.

Originally you intended to ask her why she hadn’t acted. Why she looks at you like that.. What it all meant. Fists balling tighter with resolve to co front what she has done to you. But that fell away.

Fell away like the clothes pooling upon her bathroom floor. Splashing of water and humming draws you in like a siren’s song. Her ballad overrides every instinct in your body. Heat bubbling in your body. Heart thundering in your ears until you can barely hear anything but her and pulsing blood.

Her hair pooling in the tub spirals around her. Meticulously brushing strand by strand. Hooves gleaming and wet upon the edge of the large porcelain tub. Through the crack in the door you can see her bare. Alone. Vulnerable. Beautiful.

Demon-like eyes hidden. Closed in repose. But you know their color. Can guess how she would look if she were to crack open just one and catch you. It only makes the impulses rise. Oh how you have strayed, little lamb.

Leaning in the shadowy corridor you stray further and further. Hand clutching your mouth. Silencing the pliant sighs. Hiding from what you were doing. Shameful!

Shameful thing this was.

But her humming!!!! Her skin shimmering in the candle light! It was enough to make you whine.

But you don't. You are far too used to staying silent.

So what is it that gets you caught? Was it the rustle of your skirt rising? Was it those soft puffs of air you couldn't restrain? Your shoes digging into the stone floor. Your heart beat? The smell of your eager cunt?

Whatever it was, one thing is clear: you dont hear her.

“And whats this?”

Frozen. Frozen cold. Your eyes squeeze tighter. Maybe if you did this she wouldn't see you.

Such an innocent ploy. From such a strayed sweet thing doing such a dirty deed.

Bath water drips audibly onto the stone joining her soft giggles. “Don't be shy now, darling.”

Your beautiful lady was like untouched snow. How could a disgusting human like you dirty her purity of spirit and joy?

There's nowhere to hide. Not when she's ducking this close to your face. Not when she's peeled your shielding fingers away exposing your mortified and shameful expression.

“Being so naughty? Regarding me?” Her laughter chimes like the bells she usually wears. Hand grasping yours still hovering over the wet spot growing even on your underskirt. “Oh, look at you all soaking wet. I thought I was the only one in the bath!” She cooes against your ear, her hair clinging to your skin like lace.“ Oh darling,” she giggles, her hand pressing yours harshly against your aching cunt, “ you flatter me.”

Before you can get a word in she lets out a sultry hum, pressing against you. Her pierced breasts heavy upon your chest. Lithe fingers drumming upon your hand and shoulder.

“And yet your lack of attention to me is insulting.” Pouting her lips captivate you. Theyre so kissable. “How do you feel about being called a bad girl? Does it make you wet?” She inquires leaning closer to your face, lips brushing along your cheek.

Closing your eyes again you stiffen. Oh no!

Now her voice flows over your ear. “It does, doesn't it? You call yourself that when you touch yourself? What about ‘whore’?”

You whimper feeling your cunt clench.

“Ohhh good. Because you are!!! Staring at your lady’s breasts. Wandering into your Lady’s room. Watching your lady bathe.” She lists and lists. With each one your blush and arousal are growing.

“I love sex and I love people who love sex. Do you understand? We satrys arent like humans.” Soft lips kiss along your ear and down your neck. Her nimble fingers toying with the buttons on your dress. “I have been waiting for you to stray to me, little lamb. I have heard you panting my name so desperately.”

She had caught you? Youre wet. Wetter than wet. You needed her. “Please-” you gasp.

“No, you made me wait.” Her fingers grasp your chin forcing you to face her. Fully.

Face.

Her.

Panic rises. Your heart pounds in your ears and when she purrs, “ how will you make it up to me? You naughty girl.”

Opening your mouth nothing comes out. Your wide eyes sweeping up and down her body.

Finally a stammering, “my lady i-”

Pressing the pad of her finger against your lips she hushes you. “You think I haven't seen you? Devouring me with your eyes. Hungry thing aren't you? Do you even know what you’re hungry for?”

Overwhelming shame fills you. Your head shakes and then, tentatively nods.

Her.

All of her.

Her smirk widens. “Let me teach you how to satiate that hunger.” Her fingers latch against your hair. "Be a good whore, kneel."

Guiding you down before her until you're knelt beneath her.

Swallowing you avoid looking directly at what was in front of you. Unable to face what you had done. What you wanted. But instinctively you lick your lips. Your hands balling into fists. You can see her fully: her powerful yet soft thighs, the way the fur recedes around her very human vagina.

My god she had a vagina- you can't help but whimper. You hadnt been able to imagine what she had. How it was positioned... “My lady, please I meant no offense.” You plead, staring at her thigh. The plush white fur…

“I take no offense. Do you understand what has drawn you to me?”

“I desire you.” Your admission comes deadpan and soft. If you could creep into the wallpaper you would. If you could melt into the floor you would choose it in an instant. This was dreadful.

Barely holding it together. Saved by your nails painfully digging into your palms.

“Darling,” she calls, gently tugging your hair. “Look at what you want and tell me.” Her command comes without hesitation. Without fear. Yet there is a softness to it. A soft harshness dragging your lie into the light where the truth cannot hide.

Cannot obscure itself any longer in a shroud of shame.

Tearfully, you peer again at her. Swallowing each emotion down. Shoulders quivering with the weight of restraining yourself. The weight of shames shroud heavier and heavier with each enlightenment she gifts you.

Her fingers gingerly scrape them away, soothing your wounds.“Yes, and that is not wrong. Do you understand?” She runs her fingers soothingly along your cheek. Emphasizing each word with a softer stroke over your skin. “There is nothing wrong with desire. With sex. With touching another woman. We satyrs do not follow in the footsteps of human hatred.”

But you only tremble harder. All the emotions welling to the surface beneath her curated power.

She murmurs your name, “ you are safe here. Do you understand?”

“You-you know my name?” Your heart breaks, biting your quivering lips. Peeking up at her face where you see the fondness. Feel it in how her thumb brushes over your cheek.

“It is as if I have always known you,” she affirms. Fulling unburdening your shoulders from the shame you carry.

Voice wavering you try again. “My lady I-”

“Ssssh,” her finger once more presses against your stammering lips. “No more of that. When we are alone you are to use my name. Understand?”

The words ring and your heart soars. You'd be alone with her more!? Closer and more intimate?! Were you dreaming

“Yes.” Closing your hand round her wrist you turn and kiss her palm. And again to the veins of her wrist. Again and again.

"You want to feel good? You must make me feel good too, naughty girl." Using her long fingers she spreads herself. Stuffing your face against her freshly washed cunt. Nefarious giggling echoes through the hallway."Let's dirty you up, shall we?”

Fingers adjusting in your hair, the bite of her tightening her grip causes you to moan.

Hesitantly inhaling her scent you feel something shifting inside you. A cliff you were about to plunge off of. She's willing to shove. And she doesn't hesitate to.

“Use your tongue for its true purpose. Eat, darling." A sharp tug to your hair leaves you burying against her heat.

The smell continues overwhelming you. Your mouth waters. Hands rising, shakily grasping her Furry hips. A worshiper at a holy place. Your breathing becomes ragged with her final command.

"Eat."

It's as if she's unleashed something inside you. Something that's been leashed and starving. Something that takes over your entire body. Fixated on her clit, your tongue hesitantly glazes its surface. Fascinated by how she twitches and retracts beneath you, only to press forward. Again. And then again. Her taste builds upon your tongue. The way she sighs, hissing like a struck match, lighting and exposing the depths of your desire for her.

You didnt just want her. You needed her.

Your trembling hands biting into her hips anchors you. But just barely. No restraint on this earth could tether you from her again. Each lap leaves your tongue coated in her juices.

“Mm that's it.” She seems to notice how strongly you are responding. What with how you're trembling just from tasting her. How your hips needily jolt and shift. Her hand loosens in your hair. "That's it. You like my taste?”

You moan against her folds. Unable to stop your straying tongue from licking them. How puffy and cute they were. Gently suckling upon them until she moans so divinely you cannot fathom how lucky you are.

Inching closer on your knees you ignore the discomfort of kneeling if only to press beneath her. Tucking beneath her like the nursing lamb you are. Suckling and nourishing that hunger from your most merciful Lady. Your savior.

Her moans mingle with yours filling the air together at last. After so long of your nights suspending your solitary moans upon the rafters you could now hang hers there too.

Ignoring your own growing wetness you continue pursuing her, and when your tongue tentatively pushes inside her you know you've done well.

“You naughty creature!” She laughs, throwing her leg over your shoulder, bracing against the wall, other hand clutching your hair once more. “I love your suckling. So cute. So innocent.” Her stomach presses against you as she catches her breath. “But let me show you how to feed properly, I will make you a most useful whore."

Each time she grinds her cunt on your tongue you're squirming and moaning. She tastes divine.

She smells incredible. Her grunts and sighs send you to the stars. With her upon your tongue you cum. Whimpering against her skin, you cling tightly to her thigh through the waves of pleasure. But as soon as it subsides the steady rhythm of her hips takes over your mind. The weight of her leg. The bite of her nails upon your scalp.

The blissful haze has a strong taste of her as she continues working your tongue. “From just tasting me?” She loudly moans, her eyes rolling. “ Oh you must have been desperate. Only desperate whores watch someone bathe.“ Her ensnared fingers roughly pull your hair to angle you for her own use.

“Accept your punishment, you dirty girl.” Her manic eyes gleam with delight, enjoying how deeply you're falling apart.

How well you're pleasing her.

How her pleasure drips down your face and when she cums? She squirts all over your tongue. Clutching your head against her quivering body. Ensuring you were coated in her. Ensuring you lap up every morsel of her. Murmuring praise for her little whore

Sighing wistfully, with her chest still heaving she releases you. "And you want more? Of course you do. Bad girls like you are never satisfied."

Leg sliding off, shes no longer pinning you between her and the wall. Her eyes soaking in the mess she's made. "Look how perverse you are all covered in me." Licking her lips with satisfaction flairing in her eyes. “You love it, don't you? Being dirty?”

Face burning you hesitantly touch your face. The slick gathers upon your finger. Lapping it clean you cannot resist another fingerful. Whimpering when your hips shifting again. Your pussy screaming for similar treatment.

“Thats it.” She praises you, tugging on the straps of your apron. “Now, we have to get that gaping little cunt fixed.” Her eyes snap down to your quivering body, “now it's time i clean up my new lover.”

Stammering you comply shifting your body as garments fall undone. Her fingers dainty undress you. No, unwrap you like a gift. Her eyes dancing with excitement and lust. Groping every new feature she uncovers until you're mewling and squirming, her fingers roughly pinching your breasts.

“I will suck on these until they swell.” She growls, twisting and kneading your chest. Loving how your shoulders twist and knees shake. “Little lambs shouldn't be so naughty. Little lambs shouldn't be doing dirty perverted things if they didn't want to get sullied.” She continues squeezing and toying with you until you're pleading and whimpering.

Goading she ducks close, lips brushing over yours. “Say it. Say you want me to fuck you.”

Whining with need you barely suppress a whimper of frustration. A harsh pinching sends you back into her. “Please, please fuck me.”

Her hand cups your swollen aching pussy and you barely manage to keep your cool. Barely her fingers skim along your folds to prod at your entrance. “Tell me how you need me to clean you up after you masturabted about me.”

“Please cleanse me. I have been so bad. Very bad. I'm a bad girl and-and I need you to fix me. “ Desperately grasping onto her shoulders trying not to fall. Trying not to succumb to her completely. But its too late.

Groaning in agony you try rubbing against her hand. But each time she retracts her touch. “Bad! Dont be selfish. Confess what you did, you naughty girl.”

Against your ear she adds more. “Tell me why you need it. In detail.” Kissing your cheek she adds a chipper, “I'll wait!”

“ I thought of you and I touched myself. So much but it wasn't enough. It was never enough.”

Grasping your pussy she steps closer. “Selfishly not coming to me. Keeping yourself all alone without me. All because of that dirty little human thing called shame.” Her kisses graze along your cheek and into your hair.

“ I will clean you up.” She hisses kisses trailing down your throat as she continues undoing shame laces. Laughing low, she lifts you into her arms murmuring your name. Gently squeezing you to her, her sheep like nose rubs against your neck. “I will clean you up into a proper lover who doesnt stray looking for innocent bathers.”

Finally you can speak without moaning, “l-lover? But i am-”

“Stubborn?” She drolly offers. “It makes things far more enjoyable and i can trust you will not do things merely to please me.”

“Well I am very unruly!” You protest, but you're already looping your arms around her neck.

“It makes it exciting thinking of what you will do next!” Trotting into the bathroom she closes the door with a gentle kick. Approaching the tub with a chuffed sigh. Sinking the pair of you into the water, keeping you tightly against her. Hand upon your hip and shoulder.

The sound of the filter pulling the fur from the water increases the amount of fluffy bubbles floating around you. But you cant care about her hooves or her fur or her eyes or- her tail.

Which you always wondered how soft it would be to touch.

No! No you couldnt stray again!!! Rerouting your brain you grasp her shoulders. Breaking the news gently to her. “But I am a woman!”

Feigning shock she gasps, clutching her ample chest. “Oh no!” Bubbles erupt as she ducks forward further into your personal space. “Whatever will i do?” Her lips graze yours with a sprinkle of laughter, nipping your lower lip into her mouth. Suckling it until you whine.

Your heart races not with fear now but excitement. “I am unmarriable!” You remind but youre already curling in her lap, head upon her shoulder. Spinning long strands of hair around your finger. Basking in the view of her in the candle light. “No man will have me. As you well know!”

But that just makes her laugh and laugh until she kisses your forehead. Shoulders still shaking with laughter.

“Unmarriable to human men.” She purrs, wiggling her brows, her hand delving between your legs. “If I must remind you I am neither, I will order you an eye examination.”

“Im-” you stutter and stammer. Her finger sinks beneath the bubbles. Down your stomach and then through your hair, until she finds your pleading clit.

Whenever you try to say ‘virgin’ she just increases her fingers motion or changes what sinfully delicious thing she's doing.

“ I’m-” you moan. Her finger is sinking deep inside you.

“Perfect!” She interrupts not stopping until she's sheathed inside you. Her finger stroking your ceiling sends you writhing in her arms. All while she soothingly hushes against your ear how perfect and perverted you are sucking in her fingers. Squeezing them so tightly. Like her good little whore.

[anglingforlevels]

me rn, after finishing my entrance exam

[anglingforlevels]

The Tree in the Yard (Yandere Spirit x Reader)

Living with an overbearing mother amidst her war against anything messy becomes harder when the surprising addition to the household is nothing but messy.

CW: Yandere, animal death, blood, brief description of gore, toxic family dynamic

There was a tree in your yard.

This was despite your mother’s best attempts. She had always been the type to flitter around, moving the stones and pebbles, to form a perfect picture. She kept a watchful eye on the garden, no weeds or wildlife allowed without her express permission, as she defended a place there, if she was to be believed, was so fragile even the pitter-patter of children’s feet could ruin it altogether.

Despite the adamant fighting of your mother to keep a “pristine, clean” garden bereft of filth, whatever that might mean in the context of an outdoor area, the tree stood proudly with twisted, hooked branches, protruding roots, and leaves – or god-forbid even a branch itself – there’d fall to the otherwise carefully curated ground.

It was always your favorite sight.

The following shriek from your displeased mother, however, was your least favorite sound. You idly watched from the windows as she hurried out to remove the offender with an urgency fitting of a woman battling the forces of nature itself.

You sighed and leaned away from the window, carefully readjusting the décor. The vase in the middle, encased by frames on both sides. You were sure it wasn’t up to your mother’s standards, but given she usually used rulers to measure the distance, nothing really was. But at least it was enough to avoid a scolding, your mother more likely to just sigh to herself and rearrange it.

You figured you should get some water boiling, so you could prepare a cup of tea for your mother. It always took the worst off her nerves. Heading to the kitchen next room, you thought you heard a scrapping sound, but your mother was outside, so you figured you had simply heard wrong.

 

“Oh dear!” Your mother cried out when she finally came back in, perhaps she had accidentally tracked some sneakily hidden mud in with her? You stuck your head into the room.

“Everything alright? If it’s dirt, I can get the mop while you drink a cup of tea.”

Your mother crossed her arms with a frown. Uh-oh, much like the valiant teabag, you appeared to be in hot water. “Why have you been moving my vase?”

“Your vase?” You might not have moved it back perfectly, but she usually accepted a couple of centimeters of mistakes from you, as long as it appeared you had made the effort to put it right. Your mother gestured annoyed at the window.

There the picture frames were lying down, stacked on top of each other, and the vase was standing dangerously close to the edge, by the right corner. That… was not how you had left it. “I didn’t-“

Your mother put her hands on her hip, shooting you a disapproving look. “First vandalism and now lying?”

“I’d hardly call that vandalism.”

“And now you’re giving me lip?” She sighed, as if on verge of sobbing theatrically, an act you were sure she’d have done if not for the fact she had already meticulously applied her makeup earlier. “I will be visiting Mrs. Maine for a dinner party; I’m expecting a cleanup and apology by the time I return.”

You recognized the sharp look in your mother’s eyes and knew arguing would only worsen your situation, so you nodded. “Yes, mom, I’m sorry.”

Her expression softened and she reached out to you, gently cupping your face. “Oh, I do love you so much, you know that?” She kissed your forehead. “Maybe we should admit you to therapy.”

“What?”

“It can do good for disturbed youth; I’d loathe to see you become a hooligan of sorts!” She explained, as if that would soothe your annoyance or outrage.

“Mom, one mistake won’t turn me into a… hooligan? Mrs. Maine’s kid got detention the other day but they’re still doing fine.”

She scoffed. “Well, I’m not going over to Mrs. Maine for parenting tips. For god’s sake, some of us have standards.” You rolled your eyes, and your mother finally relented a bit. “Alright, maybe I’m a bit too hasty in my judgements. About you, not Mrs. Maine.”

Despite her last addition, you smiled – peace well on its way to being restored. Your mom gathered her things – after a thorough round of handwashing despite having worn working gloves earlier – and put on her coat, spending the entire time repeating where every cleaning item was and in which order you should use them, you found it easier to just nod along.

“I’m off, be good.”

And good you would be. After she left, you set out to clean up the mess. If you could find any additional mess, you’d even clean that up for brownie points, as unlikely as finding another, unrelated mess was.

Though, peculiarly, the usually herculean task of finding a messy spot left behind wasn’t quite as difficult as anticipated, less of a nine-headed hydra and more-so a garden snake (though your mother would possibly protest the latter more), as a mess found itself in the very next room.

There the pillows and rugs were all rustled and carelessly strewn across both furniture and floor.

You furrowed your brows as this led you back to your initial reaction of seeing the misplaced décor; you had not done this. There was no earthly possibility that your mother would be the culprit either, and there simply was no third option.

Frustratingly, the messes appearing throughout the house did bear more similarity to the nine-headed hydra than first assumed – for every new mess you found and cleaned, new ones would appear, sometimes in multitudes.

You probably should have been more preoccupied about the how’s of the situation, especially as messes appeared in rooms you had previously cleaned in, but you were far too annoyed about the Sisyphean task at hand – it was only a loud noise from upstairs that managed to drag you out of that.

Granted, as you went to investigate the noise, you were still led by the same annoyance rather than curiosity or even wariness, a sense of “how dare you”. You’d have to unpack that response later but for now, it was the kind of moment that simply called for a helpless shrug and a chipper “Oh well, I am my mother’s child after all”. Though you didn’t possess her rage to go hand-in-hand, and thus even a “how dare you” seemed somewhat unrealistic coming from you.

Entering your room, you were face to face with an even bigger mess, from tossed clothes and books to flipped furniture, and most perplexing of all, the perpetrator behind it. A bluish figure there seemed at once plush and hollowed out, with long locks of white hair, who was presently floating carelessly through the air, as they grabbed onto whatever they came near, looking it over before discarding it by tossing it aside.

“Can I help you?” You asked. Part of you wanted to scold them and throw them out, the other half wondered if that was even possible, and what they even were.

They turned their head, silver eyes locked on you. For a moment there were silence, then they widened their eyes and flew, or more like flung themselves at you. You liked to think you had decent survival instincts, understanding when hostility and bad intentions were directed your way, and you felt nothing of that sort from the approaching figure.

Granted, you should probably still have stepped aside instead of receiving their full weight flung at you.

With a pained groan, you now lied on the floor with a surprisingly heavy… (Thing? Person? What was the right word to even use) something on you. They smiled, their teeth sharp and oddly see-through.

“You’re one of them things from the paintings.” They sounded quite enthusiastic, which didn’t align well with your current disorientation.

“Uh, painting?”

They nodded. “From the window!”

You remembered the stacked photo frames containing family photos, and the moved vase. If they were referring to that, then…

“Shouldn’t you have already seen me walking around the house?”

“I only see when seen.” They said matter-of-factly. “Or when noticed, I guess. Something like that. It’s pretty exciting, having someone live here too.”

You didn’t quite share in the excitement but who were you to deny someone’s obvious joy. Disconcerting as it all were. “…Been living here long?”

They tilted their head, though just a tad further than neck muscles should allow. “Time’s an odd thing, flows and ebbs, I can capture it in words no better than I can capture running water in hands.”

“…Er, you don’t have words for passages of time then?” They just smiled at that, though it didn’t satisfy you very much. You’d have to go about the questioning differently then. “You’ve been moving stuff around a lot – this a new habit of yours?”

“I never cared for these objects –“ at this, they looked thoughtful before adding, “Suppose I also never not cared for them either. It was just tapestry to me. But recently I realized the paintings in the house all held people, the same ones every time, suddenly the tapestry turned into a treasure trove, I had to explore!”

“It didn’t occur to you that all of this might belong to someone?”

“Sure did.”

Wow, zero remorse or reflection there… Suppose it wasn’t exactly a human, who was to say it had the same customs as your kind. Hell, humans didn’t even really share customs, it would change from nation to nation, even household to household.

Nonetheless, you figured “don’t touch other people’s stuff without permission” was a pretty universal one for humans, and as such, it was your job to enlighten the see-through creature on how to avoid a particularly nasty faux pas.

“Thanks for the interest in our stuff but most people don’t like when others touch their stuff without asking.”

“But I want to?”

“Yes but others might not want you to.” You said awkwardly, not ready to jump into a woefully underqualified lesson in basic social behavior and moral philosophy, despite having jumped into the challenge yourself.

This creature wasn’t necessarily a pack animal to begin with, so those lessons wouldn’t necessarily make sense for them to begin with.

“That’s a silly rule, you’d be happier living a little freer.” You disagreed with the context but couldn’t argue the diagnosis itself.

“Probably,” you conceded, “But I’d be a whole lot unhappier if everyone went around grabbing my things and throwing them.”

They blinked owlishly at that, and you weren’t sure if that meant it went through one ear and out the other, or if it had gotten through. You decided graciously that it meant your words had worked till proven otherwise.

“Hey, uh, you got a name?” It was starting to feel rude to refer to them as “creature” and “it”.

“Sure do, let’s trade.”

…You knew enough fairytales to spot that potential trap from a mile away.

“Can I give you one instead?”

“Oh?” They seemed intrigued.

“Hm… How about-“ Your attention fled the supernatural in favor of a terrifying natural event; your mom had returned, announcing that she was home. “No…” You groaned, knowing you had not managed to clean up everything your new acquaintance had left in their wake.

“No? That’s my nickname?”

“Huh?” You blinked, then you realized what they meant, but not one to lose face, you committed to your accidental choice of words and nodded. “I dub thee Noh, if you accept.”

“Noh…” They whispered to themselves, looking over themselves as if they had become a new person entirely, their look of awe at once unexpected and delightful. It was an endearing display that you couldn’t help smiling at.

“I’m home.” Your mother declared once more, clearly dissatisfied with your lack of response thus far. As if she thought herself too unsubtle, she added. “I’d love to be welcomed home.”

After hurriedly trying to get Noh to stay in the disheveled room, courtesy of Noh themselves, you had gone down to welcome your mom back. For how big a deal movies and books make of it, your encounter with the fantastical didn’t make for a very interesting story.

The days quickly became mundane, though maybe it was humanity’s ability to get used to most anything at play? You didn’t know and weren’t confident in your ability to form an unbiased analysis of your own behavior and how that reflected your species.

Your mother didn’t see Noh, though you nearly had a heart attack the first time they had popped into the same room as her. Noh themselves was nosy and childish, which wasn’t all bad, you did enjoy their playfulness, and while a little bothersome, you understood their clinginess and eagerness to be the logical result of their lonesome lifestyle of before.

Noh, who didn’t seem to pay attention to consequences (for themselves or you), would often create messes in their wake for you to hurriedly clean-up, and would drag you around to explain and try out any given object in the house that caught their attention.

Of course, the shift in focus hadn’t gone unnoticed by your mother, who had remarked on her suspicion whenever you claimed to be studying. Though thus far she’d end the interactions with nothing but pursed lips and raised eyebrows. In your defense, you were trying to study a decent amount of the time, it’s just that-

“Hey, hey, hey, hey-“

Distractions seemed more persistent than your focus.

With a twinge of annoyance, you put down your chemistry book. “Noh, I’m kind of occupied.” And so far, every round of “hey”s has ended with a request to fool around.

“You’ve done nothing but read and I wanted to show you a cool nest.”

“Actually, I think I’ve done very little reading so far. I mostly recall watching you perform tricks and showing you picture albums.” You pointed out; the day having consisted mostly of frivolity, despite your best attempts.

“When you’re done reading, the nest could very well be gone forever. There might never be a nest ever again in the world.”

“Doubtful.”

Noh pouted but seemingly gave up for now, instead lounging across the table. Sure, it covered some of your papers, but it was definitely preferable. Something proved correct when you managed to work through a third of the backlog before your mother called you down for dinner.

“Coming!” You yelled while stretching out your arms. Noh’s head dramatically flew up from where it had laid dejectedly on the table.

“First book, now food?”

“Yep, those are non-negotiable.” You said without missing a beat, standing up now that your arms and legs were sufficiently stretched. Noh pouted, looking upset.

“Book. Food. And then Noh?” You contemplated whether it would be better to dedicate a brief ten minutes to Noh when you returned, just to keep morale up for the impatient spirit, but looking at the height of the pile of unfinished answer sheets and assignments versus the finished… That ten minutes felt a little daunting in itself.

“After dinner, I’ll need just a little more time with the books. Look, let’s make a deal.” You held up the chemistry book. “I’ll continue till all the chemistry-work are done, I just need a few of those spreadsheets Mr. Tanner seems to just love to hand out, then I’ll save the rest for another day.”

Noh nodded curtly but then looked thoughtfully at the pile and book. “So, when you’re done with the book, you’ll spend time with me?” When you nodded in affirmation, Noh smiled brightly.

Great, you bought yourself some extra time.

 

Your mother loathed disobedience but she didn’t particularly like obedience. You thought she liked to have a project to work on, something to fight – as long as it wasn’t anything too egregious, that’s why she kept the tree.

Small things like leaves and snappy comebacks, that was her element. Acts of rebellion or weed infiltrating flowerbeds were less acceptable. At the end of the day, she seemed content to remain in lukewarm disapproval and simmering annoyance.

It was just hard to know when a snappy comeback would be pushback, when fallen leaves would be an infestation. But an unchallenged mother was something far angrier, and far more restrictive.

A woman content with peace wouldn’t declare war on nature. You suspected trying to pull your mother out of her lukewarm state would be seen as hostility, regardless of what you tried to pull her towards.

So, while you were feeling pretty great about your problem-solving skills and the progress you had managed to make on your homework by the time you made it to the dinner table, you made no effort to fight off her obvious discontent. It could be said that your mother was in her element like this.

“They don’t provide nearly enough warnings for residents about upcoming roadwork, it’s absolutely shameless. You know they closed down multiple roads for it, and I’m all in favor of fixing those awful holes, but giving us no warning…” She seethed.

Although, for once, you fully empathized with your mother’s annoyance. “You use the main roads, too. I imagine it’s a whole lot of people who had to figure out a way to turn around again and got stuck in a traffic jam suddenly.”

“Yes, yes. It was an awful lot of cars.” She nodded. “But that was not the worst of it, no, the worst of it is that I’ll have to drive through Winstreed for the foreseeable future.”

Winstreed was a bit of a detour but from the way she all-but spit out the word, it seemed more about the place than the detour. “What? What’s wrong with Winstreed, I thought you liked it there?”

Your mother pulled a face at that and were quick to correct you. “I like the church there.”

“I’ve never seen you go to church before.”

“Well, it’s the only place with half-way decent architecture there.”

You had quite the incentive to want your mother to like Winstreed, so just like that, you spent the rest of dinner defending the place from your mother’s sharp criticisms. All those defenses dropped about twenty minutes later as you and your mother both heard a small thud from upstairs.

“Ah… Right! I forgot, I left the window open, and it is getting kinda windy.” You said, trying to keep an even voice and hoping your mother didn’t comment on how it absolutely weren’t windy outside, evidenced by the huge tree in the yard’s barely moving branches. “I should go up and get it closed, so it doesn’t keep smacking into the window frame, thanks for dinner.”

You stood still for a moment, waiting for any sign of approval for leaving. Your mother looked at you, raised an eyebrow.

“Well, what are you waiting for? I don’t want dents.”

You hurried upstairs ready to lecture Noh on being too loud, all those lectures seemed to wither on your tongue as you saw the state of the room. It was covered in ripped, torn pages and on the floor – the torn cover of a chemistry book.

Noh lit up at your arrival and instantly gravitated towards you, wrapping their arms around your stiff form. “Let’s go explore!”

“Noh, what is this?” Your eyes hadn’t left the ruined, pageless cover.

“Hm? You said you’d play with me when you were done with the book – and now the book is done, for good. So now we’re free to have fun.”

“Noh – my mom is going to kill me.” Noh’s arms dropped down to their side but you still weren’t looking at them, instead kneeling down to the torn cover.

You could fix this – not the book, it was ruined – but the situation. You just… You had money, yeah, you were saving up a considerable amount of money (for a student at least) from your part-time jobs. If you got in contact with faculty tomorrow before class with the money ready, you could probably solve this without your mother ever learning about it.

You could even lie. Right, if you made up a story of how the book accidentally got ruined when you and your mother was having a little campfir- scratch that, your mother would never allow a fire in her garden.

You could say you accidentally knocked down a candle and that your mother had given you money to reimburse the school, to set it right. To make that lie realistic, you’d buy a token of apology, a basket of goods perhaps, your mother always was the type for that.

Then the teachers would have no reason to call your mother about the situation.

Of course, if they then did call her then… That time, that grief.

Suddenly Noh’s discontent face blocked your vision of the cover, having apparently been attempting to get your attention while you contemplated what to do. Right, you would have to have a stern talk with Noh.

“Noh, what made you think this was okay to do?”

“The book was in the way.” They said matter-of-factly, then they smiled proudly as if awaiting praise. “Now you’re free to play.”

You sighed. “No, I’m not.”

Noh tilted their head confused, the tilt just a tad further than muscles allowed, and their eyes seemed to have a short delay before following the trajectory of the head. Right, not human. You couldn’t assume they understood without explanation.

“The book being ruined means I have a new book-problem. A worse one. If you ruin things without asking, you might make problems so big that I can’t play at all.”

“Because of your mother?”

“No, I mean… Well, yeah. But in this case, not just my mother. This book doesn’t belong to me, others get upset if you ruin their things. Now I have to fix it.”

Noh went uncharacteristically quiet the rest of the day, looking contemplative. You hoped they were mulling over your words carefully and learning how to co-exist with you in a better way.

But for now, you were focusing on having a classmate send screenshots of the pages needed for the spreadsheets that Noh – thank god – hadn’t touched, and googling where to buy a nice gift basket (all of which were much more expensive than you had anticipated).

Your secret “gift basket and book reimbursement” mission was successfully pulled off, but your mother had taken notice of the way you acted more absentminded and how occupied you seemed to be lately but all of that seemed to luckily take a backseat at The Great Disturbance.

The Great Disturbance being the dastardly villain trying to ruin your mother’s precious garden – also known as a local cat, a cute one if you could be so bold (though both your mother and Noh seemed to dislike such statements).

Every time you spotted the cat, its fur looked well-kept and healthy, and it looked well-fed as well, so you were fairly certain it was a pet wandering the neighborhood as it pleased. It shared your love for the tree, were you would spot it lounging.

You liked watching it, at least until you’d be interrupted by either an indignant mother or a jealous spirit fighting to regain attention.

Even more than tree, however, the cat had taken a liking to your mother’s prized petunias, happily munching on them. You and your mother’s initial worries about this had been very different. You had worried the flowers were toxic, and unlike your mother’s worry for her pristine garden, yours were resolved with a quick google search.

Not that your mother hadn’t utilized the internet, she had written on many local forums and Facebook pages about the cat and any owner claiming it. They had all been so accusatory and strongly worded that you felt it may have deterred any helpful souls from responding.

“That stray is starting to tear up other plants too.” Your mother huffed as she entered the kitchen, not even bothering with a greeting. She went to the drawers, furiously looking through them,

“It doesn’t look like a stray.”

“Not my point.” She sharply retorted. “Ugh, nothing useful – we’ll go shopping then.”

“What’re you going shopping for?”

“First of all, we are going shopping,” she said, not deaf to your subtle escape attempt, “and secondly, we’re going to be buying ropes, or baskets, or something – whatever best traps pests.”

“Hold on Wile E. Coyote, you’re gonna be making traps? Isn’t that a bit… Much?” Your mother didn’t seem to be in the mood to be questioned but with the way Noh seemed to still be learning – and you still holding a grudge for the book – you weren’t excited to be leaving them unsupervised more than necessary.

“In any case, it doesn’t seem like a two-man job to go out on a crazy tool-hunt – I wanted to study a bit.”

One thing worth knowing about your mother, was the fact that even when battling nature itself, she never seemed to doubt that she’d come out on top – so your lackluster defiance didn’t aspire much in the way of contemplation on her end.

“Get your jacket.” She simply said and that was that.

 

The upside to going with your mother was watching her being woefully out-of-place. She stood tall with her pristine, ironed outfit, her polished high heels, her manicured nails and tightly-done hairdo, looking ready to have tea with royalty – all of this in your local home improvement and hardware store.

She had a passive look of discomfort, as if the air in the store alone was repulsive, but her determination was far stronger – and so she confidently began to look through aisles, looking for one with the DIY-tools needed for whatever trap she had in mind.

“Why, this is a rare sight.” A cheery voice rung out, catching both you and your mother’s attention. Your elderly neighbor Mr. Jenkins was standing in the same aisle, holding a flashlight. Mr. Jenkins carried the scent of pine and cedar, and his tanned, wrinkled skin gave the impression of a man who had spent a great deal of his life outdoors, and to your knowledge, he was still an avid camper in his old age.

Now this man had the expertise you and your mother needed right now. Or at the very least, the expertise of knowing where at least one item was in the store.

“Good evening Mr. Jenkins” you greeted, your mother looked mortified to have been seen in the store but similarly greeted him. “Would you know where the um… DIY, I guess, section is?”

“Don’t mumble,” your mother lightly dashed your shoulder. “It’s very unbecoming. Speak clearly or don’t speak at all.”

You resisted a resigned sigh and simply complied, repeating yourself but enunciating each word properly. Mr. Jenkins good-naturedly went along with it, pointing to your mother towards the DIY section (or whatever Mr. Jenkins had deemed the closest to one).

“It’s awfully nice for you to come with your mother to the store.” Mr. Jenkins said, “I know youngster in your year are all busy with college preparations.”

“Well, not everyone is planning on college.” You shrugged without thinking, your mother’s head snapped towards you with such speed that you wouldn’t have been surprised to hear a crack.

“Pardon?”

Shoot. Why would you say that in front of her? Stupid, stupid, stupid… “Never mind, it’s not important.”

“Oh, I’m sure it was. Do repeat it.” She donned a strained smile.

“Please, just let it go.” Mr. Jenkins sighed, ever the peacemaker.

“No, no. Sometimes I’m told I don’t listen, well, I am listening now.”

“Loraine, please.” Mr. Jenkins said, still gently but with a firm edge to his voice this time. He held your mother’s eyes until she relented, preferring to avoid a public scene over continuing her interrogation.

You were too distracted by hearing your mother’s first name used so casually to fully appreciate the rescue. It just felt wrong to hear, even though you logically understood that she had a name beyond “mom” and “mother”.

Having given up that battle, she journeyed to find the tools for her trap, leaving you behind with Mr. Jenkins.

There was silence for a bit, but it was a pleasant one, he had always been a kind man. However, his considerate words carried more weight than the silence. “Your mother does care, you know?”

“Tell me about it, it’s like eighty percent of the problem.”

You pretended not to see the sadness that flickered across his face and pretended the silence remained pleasant, pretended not to know that he clearly wanted to say something.

 

You and your mother didn’t speak a word for the rest of the shopping trip, instead she’d wordlessly gesture to which bags she wanted you to carry. You were only graced with silence in the car for the first half of the ride.

“Have you even thought of the future?”

You had, in fact, thought quite intensely about your future. You had stashed away the money from your part-time jobs, claimed it was for college to have your mother leave them alone, but was meant for an apartment.

Yes, the moment you had enough money saved up – you were out of here. Of course, you couldn’t divulge that, your mother was too controlling and perfectionistic to allow you to steer off her planned schedule for your life.

“Yeah, I’ll put you in a lovely home when you get older.”

“That’s my future.” She pointed out. After a moment of her attempting to play it coy, she gave in to her wary curiosity. “Where?”

“Winstreed.”

“Absolutely not, do you not love me? That place is filled with harlots and junkies, and you expect me to live there?”

“Yes. I’ll be sure to apologize to them when that time comes.”

“You’re lucky I have such an abundance of love in my heart for you because you clearly have none for me.”

“Mom, it’s a nice place and it’s within budget.”

“And there we have it!”

Your earlier defense of Winstreed didn’t seem to have done much in the way of softening your mother’s opinion of the place. Arriving home, she didn’t immediately leave the car.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten you didn’t answer about college.”

“You didn’t ask me about college.” You weakly pointed out.

She pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing slightly. To her “future” and “college” was synonyms as far as you were concerned, and she knew that you knew that. She turned away to hide her expression, you thought maybe she was going to respond but after a couple moments of silence, she simply left the car.

It seemed she couldn’t even muster up any words for your sake.

Perhaps that wasn’t entirely fair. Your mother was trying to make compromises, even if her disapproval was apparent, her silence was her attempt to let it slide, from your mother that was an almost selfless act of restraint.

It didn’t come easy to her. Your mother had never been the type to love without expectations. So, you treasured the simple act of her turning away. After all, that’s as good as it got.

Once indoor, your mother wasted no time getting to work on her makeshift trap. She was so laser-focused that she didn’t notice that the cat was sitting on one of the branches of the tree, something you were able to spot from the window in your room.

Sometimes you wished that your mother would turn the attention and effort she exerted in everything else towards you. Most of the time you wised up to recognize that scenario for the horror story it was.

The cat stretched out lazily before licking its paw, uncaring for the ruckus your mother was making. You smiled at the carefreeness of the cat.

“Hey-“ a grumpy voice sounded. “It’s just stretching, I can stretch much further than that.”

You turned to Noh who didn’t seem thrilled with the attention the cat was getting in favor of them. You thought of how far you had seen their head tilt.

“I don’t think I’d like to see that. My mother’s been troublesome enough for one day’s worth of stress.” Noh made a noise of dissatisfaction. “Why don’t you tell me about your explorations?”

Noh always was excited to tell all about whatever mundane thing they had found, though they seemed more interested in telling about it than in the actual item itself. Either way, the talk usually kept them happy.

“You’re just gonna be glancing at the cat the entire time.”

Oh boy. “I’ll move over to my bed. Can’t see the cat from there.” Performatively you made a big show out of moving to your bed. “Better?”

Noh smiled and moved to the bed too, draping themselves over you like a particularly heavy blanket, before telling all about this fork they had seen in the kitchen – a conversation you fought hard to not zone out of.

 

Days passed with your mother, ironically, adding eyesores to her own garden in the pursuit of trapping a cat that seemed completely disinterested in all her creations, though she was fighting the battle all on her lonesome. She’d grumble about the fact you seemed to be cheering the cat on instead.

But today was the day you had waited for – your mother would not be coming home. As part of a two-day work-conference, she’d be staying in Winstreed, despite her best attempts to argue that she could drive back and forth.

This meant your mother would not return home till dinnertime tomorrow, and due to some repairs on school grounds being scheduled for today, you had the day off.

For once, you and Noh shared the same level of excitement.

“Alright – let’s go over the movie collection, you can pick which ones seem most interesting. I can’t believe you’ve never seen a movie before, I mean, it makes sense but woah, you get to experience them for the first time today.”

Yes, you and Noh was currently planning out exactly what you would be using the time on. By dinnertime you’d begin a movie marathon, you were excited to see how Noh would feel about movies. You were sure it would blow their mind.

“I want to get the box out, too.” Noh said, pointing to your closet were you kept drawing equipment.

“Oh, sure. You want to try your hand at art, why don’t we do that till lunch – oh! After lunch I can show you some more physical games, you have so much energy after all.” Noh nodded enthusiastically at all of this.

“I wish your mom was never home.” They sighed wistfully.

“I would still need to go to school.” You laughed at their crestfallen expression at that reminder, able to let their clinginess slide today. “Okay, here it is. The treasure trove.”

You pulled out a bed-roller where you kept all your movies, as your mother didn’t like them ruining her careful décor in the rest of the house. Noh seemed fascinated by how colorful most of them were.

“Can we make this too?”

“Hm? Like the cover-art? Sure, let’s draw some of our own movie posters. If there’s a movie you really like, we can even make our own poster for it later.”

You spent a good thirty minutes going over all the movies before Noh had made their selection, a duty they took very seriously. With the movies chosen, you just needed to get your art stuff down. Noh proved helpful with their floating, as they could easily reach.

“Oh shoot, no paper.” You might as well have told Noh that the world was ending, going by their expression. You laughed at that. “I meant no paper here. I’ll just go get some from my mother’s office.”

“Let’s go, let’s go.” Noh hurried impatiently, having already picked out which colors they wanted to use most.

“Sure, sure.” You rolled your eyes but today was a good day – you could let a little pushiness slide too. “Let the paper quest begin.” You solemnly said but Noh seemed just a tad too impatient to properly appreciate your attempt to create a sense of adventure.

You quite quickly fetched some paper from your mother’s home office but on the way back a sound distracted you. A small meow.

“Huh?” you changed directions to Noh’s displeasure. “Noh, did I leave a window open or something?”

Noh didn’t need to answer for you to immediately spot the open window when you entered the living room, and more importantly, the cat sitting on the sill.

“Man, I need to get the cat out before there’s cat hairs for my mom to find.” This was your first priority, the most important task.

“Mrow,” the cat tilted its head curiously. You stumbled back dramatically, bumping into Noh.

“Too… Cute…” You clutched your chest, but Noh didn’t enjoy your theatrics, and the cat didn’t respond to them, losing its interest in you entirely. You were underappreciated, for sure.

“Drawing.” Noh reminded you curtly.

“Sure, sure.” You handwaved, fishing your phone out to look up if canned tuna was okay to serve a cat. Getting the ok from the internet, as long as it was in small amounts, you snuck into the kitchen where you were disappointed to discover all the canned tuna was in oil and not water.

What else could be a treat for the cat? You knew feeding it here was a dangerous game but… It was so cute… Even your heart had temptations too strong to resist.

You felt a tug at your sleeve, finding Noh staring at you. “Ah, the papers are on the table, I’ll give you a head start on those posters.”

You wondered if your mother had bought any cat toys or catnips for the traps.

You had made great progress in befriending the cat, even without any treats, even managed to lure the cat close enough for you to pet it. Seeing it up close, you were once again convinced this was someone’s pet – especially with how used it seemed to be with a human petting it.

Noh had left, to draw you assumed, and without them there to try and drag you away, you forgot time entirely – it was first a stray glance at the clock that made you realize it was about time for lunch.

Oh, you did feel bad for leaving Noh all alone when they had looked forward to spending the day together. But there was still plenty of time left and if you moved the movie marathon to now, you’d be able to combine petting the cat and spending time with Noh.

A perfect plan.

You approached your room to find a sulking Noh hunched over their drawing, their back turned to the door. “Noh?” They didn’t turn to look at you and you worried you might have really upset them.

“Uh, I was going to make lunch and then I thought-“ with how upset they seemed to be, mentioning your plan of petting the cat seemed a bad move, so maybe you should stick with playing games after all. “We could play something, if you still want?”

There was silence for a bit – something Noh usually didn’t provide.

“…Okay.” Noh was silent for a beat again and then turned their head to you (to your discomfort, the rest of the body first followed suit when the head was halfway there). They smiled, though it wasn’t quite as bright as usual, it was still relieving to see. “I’ll wait in the living room till you’re done.”

“Great, thanks.” You hesitated for a moment. “And sorry for before.”

 

Your lunch was pretty simple, just a sandwich. Noh didn’t eat, so it was only for one person, but you considered still getting a plate out with some plain bread, so that they would feel included. You thought that maybe Noh would appreciate you joining them in the living room to eat, usually they always pouted about you leaving to eat.

The fact they didn’t do it now; it seemed they were forming some good habits. Maybe messing with that was a bad idea. You heard a small “Mrow” from the living-room and smiled, it seemed that Noh was getting along with the cat, now that it was just the two of them.

So, you instead focused on getting through lunch. After finishing the sandwich and a glass of lemonade, you took note of how quiet it had gotten. Seemed the cat’s cuteness had tamed even the energic Noh, you were kind of excited to see that. Seemed you had a rival for the cat’s affections.

Having finished another glass of lemonade for good measure, you entered the living-room with a skip in your steps, until you felt yourself step in something…. Wet and warm, soaking your sock.

Slowly your eyes lowered to a pool of red liquid and chunks of… Bright laughter rung out.

“You’re finished already? Let’s play then!”

The blood would seep into the floor, it would stain. Stained by… oh god… Your throat closed off and each breath came out only in half-completed huffs. This was… No, it wasn’t… No fur, there was no fur, so it wasn’t…

“Bop!”

A cold finger touched your nose playfully, instinctively your head flew up to look at Noh. Behind their figure, you saw furry clots and veiny splatter. You could feel searing acid at the back of your throat, as only your inability to get air in or out kept your gag-reflexes in check.

You knew how Noh’s mind worked sometimes, their lackluster problem-solving skills, but you didn’t understand this, couldn’t understand this. You felt sick as you took a step backwards and could hear how sticky your feet had gotten.

“…The cat wasn’t…” You took a deep breath, ignoring the burn and trying to steady yourself. “It wasn’t a problem.”

“Oh, but it was. For me.” Noh simply said.

Cleaning. You had… yeah, you had to clean it.

“I’ve never seen this expression before.” Noh mused, following you with a puzzled expression as you all-but staggered to the kitchen, vehemently ignoring the trail you left in your wake.

You struggled to open the bottle, your shaking hands barely able to grab onto the cap. You felt your eyes stinging. You pretended it was fumes from the unopened bottle. You just had to clean it, get it away.

Noh must have been entertained or fascinated enough to not push you further because all they did was watch as you scrubbed the floor till the only light was from the lamps, till your hands hurt and then till they felt nothing at all.

Your socks and the… the… the less liquid-y remains… It all went into the trash. You couldn’t even bring yourself to throw the trash out in your own bins, leaving it in Mr. Jenkin’s instead.

When you were done, when you had scrubbed the skin on your hands and feet raw – you went to bed. You just… Went to bed. You didn’t eat dinner, you didn’t say anything to Noh, you didn’t stop up to gather your mind.

You just closed your eyes.

 

The next day you greeted Noh like always. Went to school like always.

You didn’t know how you were supposed to interact with them now, but they weren’t going anywhere, not the school, not mother, not the house, not Noh.

You just needed to stick it out, till you could move out, leave mother and Noh behind, leave the entire town behind. Till then you’d… you’d… you couldn’t go on like normal, but you’d pretend that you could.

Just like you pretended you could live here.

You made it back home before your mother by ten minutes, and you readied a carefree welcome.

“Welcome back, not such a bad town, huh? I heard you joined the elder’s poker night.” And by ‘heard’, you meant Facebook had snitched.

“The gambling addicts I could tolerate but everyone’s living like trash. I saw a lady who used her porcelain for pizza, for goodness sake, it wasn’t even homemade.” She clicked her tongue in distaste. “I’d much rather keep my own place, hire some outside help when the time comes instead.”

One positive thing about your mother was that, in her ambitions and high expectations for you, she was adamant about the fact that you would not be caring for her. Of course, this specific expectation was born from the fact that, per her schedule, you’d be much too busy to take care of another person, that’s why she had written down a housespouse as a prerequisite for you to have kids.

“Now, have you really missed me so terribly as to welcome me in the door-opening, or are you simply trying to block my entrance?” You swiftly moved to allow her passage, and she took off her jacket.

You noticed a small patch of dried, brown flakes at the bottom of the wall.

“Mom, let me take care of this, you’ve just had a long conference, go make yourself a nice drink.” You said, all but ripping out the jacket from her hands to hang on the coat hanger. You anxiously waited for an opening to take her shoes before her eyes could travel down so low.

“Oh!” she let out a small sound of surprise. “So forceful, it doesn’t suit you, and I’m not thirsty.”

“Then for me, please.” You were struggling to keep your breathing steady.

Your mother simply smiled tautly, staring out into the air, right above the missed spot – very obviously ignoring your mumbled phrase. A single glance down and she’d see it. You relented with no hesitation and repeated the question.

 “Oh honey, I’m gone for a day, and you begin acting so needy.” She did sound happy to be relied on but all you heard was the blood rushing in your ears. “But I am an adult, I don’t need you to take my jacket or shoes.”

She said, bowing down to take off her shoes. She wrinkled her nose. “Hm? What’s this?”

“That’s…”

It was obviously blood.

“I- It’s just that I- Well… Got a nosebleed, I got a… a nosebleed. And I tried to get it out, I really did, but I couldn’t-“ You hadn’t even noticed the stinging tears in your eyes till the sound of your mother stepping closer brought you back to reality.

As if a deer, she stopped her approach when your eyes met hers, her slightly raised arms falling down to her side. She was strong-willed but in moments like this – she was a coward.

“I… Why don’t I fix you something to drink?” She looked like she wanted to say something else.

But you simply nodded and wiped your eyes, following her into the kitchen.

Boiling water, she eventually placed a mug of hot cocoa in front of you. You looked surprised, she usually wasn’t one to allow something so sweet on a weekday. She huffed at your questioning look and turned away.

“Am I not allowed to also have missed my own child?”

Despite everything, the warmth of the mug seemed to seep into your skin and bones, melting some of that ice that had settled ever since last night. You looked out the window at the tree in the garden, it was the same as always, unmoved and untainted.

You’d need to talk to Noh instead of keeping peace, wouldn’t you? You’d need to explain your outburst to mother as well.

But for now, you allowed yourself a short reprieve.

 

In the end, days passed without you doing either of those things. Your cowardice remained the worst proof of your heritage.

Instead of talking, setting boundaries or even getting angry – you were just sitting on your bed, silently showing off the last photo album Noh hadn’t gone through yet, giving stilted responses when asked about specific photos or details.

Noh seemed fine ignoring the way your hands slightly shook holding the album, they had simply coined all of this as you being “awkward”, a forgivable sin in their eyes. “Awkward play and talk is fine too, as long as there’s still play and talk” was what they had said.

By the time you took a break from this interaction, you found your legs had fallen asleep. To shake off the uncomfortable feeling, you stretched and decided to take a quick walk, you hadn’t eaten anything all day anyway, a fact your mother hadn’t noticed on account of having spent majority of the day lying in wait for a cat there’d never come.

You had tried to tell her it was pointless, as well as you could without giving away that you knew it had died. Even pretended it hadn’t been there at all while she was gone. She refuted you each time you argued it probably had given up on the house since it kept getting bothered.

So, when you entered the kitchen at the same time as your mother, she was quick to launch into a rant.

“That mangy cat is just waiting around somewhere – I just know it.” She insisted despite your continued efforts to convince her to drop her endeavors, and by extension, the very topic of the cat – something you wished to retire forever.

“The owner probably just got it back inside.” But she didn’t drop it the first time you made the argument, and she wasn’t about to drop it the eighteenth time.

“Please, it’s clear whatever owner it may have, has no discipline for the cat at all – that nasty little thing is surely return-“

“The cat is gone! It’s not coming back, isn’t that obvious!?”

An outsider might have lent a more generous view of the concern that flickered in your mother’s eyes at your outburst. But you weren’t an outsider, and your mother rarely knew how to respond to things with anything but force, so she hardened and put her hands on her hips.

“I don’t think I appreciate that tone. As a matter of fact, you’ve been awfully snappy lately, you’ve gotten in with a bad crowd?” In a way, you had. “Talking back, making messes, destroying school property-“

“Huh? How do you-“

“On the phone earlier, I called for updates on your schooling – and the teacher thanked me for a gift basket. Curious, I didn’t recall giving one. So, I asked him, and what do you know, the book apparently got ruined in a study session we had together? I certainly don’t remember that.”

“I- fine, yeah I lied. I accidentally ruined the book, and I didn’t want you to know, but I paid for it and I gave an apology basket, everything by the book.” You defended yourself, earning a scoff.

“Everything by the book? Lying is not by the book; ruining school books is not by the books. And you’ve been missing deadlines too, do you just not care about your future? You want to throw it all away? Are you really planning on going to college? You apparently never bring it up in discussions about your future or grades at school.”

“That’s not the same as not caring about my future, I’m a good student.”

“Please, you laze around and miss deadlines, you throw books away, that’s a good student? Sounds like a delinquent in the making, a future prisoner if you continue on that path!”

“See, this is why I didn’t tell you about the book. Yeah, I lost it, and then I paid for it and got a new one right away, it’s not like I was just carelessly throwing it away – but I knew you’d act like I was making some great statement of rebellion!”

“You’ve had so much backtalk lately, how am I supposed to consider this anything but rebellious?”

“It’s not backtalk, you just never listen, you disqualify everything I say. Like, if you feel I’m mumbling, then you’ll chide me or ignore me, if I say something you disagree with or defend myself then its suddenly backtalk.”

“It’s simply called raising your child. I’m no Mrs. Maine, first they start mumbling and before you know it, your kid’s a drug dealer.”

Right, the famous mumbler-to-drug dealer pipeline. How could I forget? You didn’t voice this thought, sensing that the tense coil around the mood would only tighten further, and you were already struggling for air in this interaction as were.

“Can I go to my room?” You asked, trying to keep the strain out of your voice. You couldn’t stay in this conversation, you needed a break, a moment to breathe. You didn’t trust what would come out of your mouth otherwise. Your mother narrowed her eyes at your rather abrupt attempt to break from the conversation.

“Please,” you added as your eyes drifted down to the floor and away from the verdict being passed in her eyes. “I still have some assignments left to work on. Since I’m a disappointment, and that’s the only good I can do, I thought I should probably go do that.”

After a beat she graciously dropped the conversation and hand-waved you away with a curt “Fine.”, perhaps she didn’t trust what would come out of her mouth either. You didn’t bother looking at her expression to verify.

“Sounds like trouble.” Noh said in lieu of a greeting when you entered your room. You pointedly didn’t respond and instead went to sit at your table, glaring outside at the tree for comfort. “You were yelling.”

There wasn’t many leaves left on the tree anymore, the few remaining ones were valiantly fighting to hold on despite the wind there had begun to pick up.

“I don’t really like yelling – or that expression you keep wearing. Like something broke.” Noh wrapped their arms around you, and you once more ignored it, refused to give a reaction. “You don’t like talking after yelling, that’s okay. We’ll talk lots and lots soon.”

And Noh left you alone.

You sat by the table in silence. Your mother didn’t call you for dinner and Noh didn’t come to bother you, so you went to bed without talking to anyone. You woke up without talking to anyone too. Your mother had probably headed for work and Noh… Who cared where Noh was? Not here, and that was good.

You had been yelled at about being a bad student already, so what was one skipped day? You stayed at home and didn’t dare break the silence, not even in your own company. It was first around dinner that the silence was broken, you had taken a seat outside to watch the tree depart with its final leaves.

“I give you lots of time, so we can talk lots in return now.” Noh more stated than asked, popping up beside you. Your eyes were trained on the tree still. You felt a finger poking your cheek.

“C’mon. You never have to yell or get in trouble again, so you can talk. You’re free now.”

“Nothing about my situation has changed.”

“Oh! But it has, I changed it. Like I always do, I made things easier. I gave you more freedom.” You looked at them warily. “like always” was a dangerous statement from them. “You can still be awkward and all, as long as you remember to play and talk with me.”

“What has changed? What… problem did you try to solve?” Noh seemed to come to a realization and then smiled proudly.

“Oh, you probably didn’t notice because I was extra good about it. Since you always is upset by my messes, especially these ones, I left nothing behind this time.”  The thundering quiet of the empty house and the setting sun became all at once more alarming to you. “It almost ended up a mess, you know? I didn’t expect her to see me right at the end.”

“Did you…” your instinct of softening the blow had to be strangled in your own mind as you steeled yourself. “Did you kill my mom?”

“I was going to.” they said it so casually.

“Going to? But you didn’t?” Noh nodded at that.

“Her seeing me really threw me for a loop but then she gave me her name, just like that. Making issues disappear is much easier when you know them.” Noh smiled reassuringly at you, “I still don’t know yours, but if you tell me, I’d still keep you. You’re not a problem.”

 Your mom was gone but not dead. You didn’t have the nerve to ask what that meant for her, but you didn’t have the right to leave the topic be either. “My mom… She was troublesome but she still… I didn’t want her to…”

“I did, though.” Noh leaned up against you with a carefree grin. “Now you’re free, she can’t trap you anymore.”

“If I’m free, I’ll simply leave.” Noh held your stare for a moment.

“You can’t. This is my place, you know? Even if a bird builds a nest in a tree, it’s not like it owns the tree.”

You were silent for a bit, unsure what to say. You wanted to ask for more details about what any of this meant, the implications, any kind of clarity but what did it matter? What did it matter when you understood the most central part, that you were trapped?

That your mom was gone and all you could think of was how you were trapped? You looked away from Noh’s unblinking eyes and focused on the tree once more.

“Then I’m not actually free. How’s that any different from what she did?” Other than being much, much worse, of course. Your eyes followed as a leaf fell from the tree’s branches.

“If you can’t tell the difference between fake freedom and real freedom, then it’s all real.”

But you could tell.

Nothing about this felt real, hell, it didn’t even feel like faked freedom. It just felt suffocating.

The wind blew the leaf into the branches once more, stabbing through its withered body, leaving it stuck. You looked at the protruding roots.

“Aren’t you all about being free, was that talk just… Lies?”

Around the roots, a small collecting of leaves had started to form. You don’t recall last time so many leaves had laid undisturbed beneath the tree.

They laughed, an airy and hollow sound. The branches rustled, as if a choir to the sound, and the last leaf fell.

 “I’m all about fun.” Fingers grabbed your chin, forcing your eyes away from the tree. “And being ignored is not fun.”

 

There was nothing in your yard.

[anglingforlevels]

So I just saw a post by a random personal blog that said “don’t follow me if we never even had a conversation before” and?????? Not to be rude but literally what the fuck??????????

I’ve had people (non-pornbots) try to strike conversation out of nowhere in my DMs recently, and now I’m wondering if they were doing that because they wanted to follow me and thought they needed to interact first. I feel compelled to say, just in case, that it’s totally okay to follow this blog (or my side blog, for that matter) even if we’ve never talked before.

Also, I’m legit confused. Is this how follow culture works right now? It was worded like it’s common sense but is that really a thing?

[anglingforlevels]

well 🧍‍♀️ as a reminder this blog is NOT a safe space for trump supporters but it IS a safe place for women, queers, trans ppl, people of color, undocumented people, and any marginalized group.

[anglingforlevels]

❗If you can, please stop scrolling and read this post as it pertains to Palestine. 🇵🇸 ❗

If you have the money to, please donate to the go fund me links below. Even if it's simply $1 you have, that can go a long way! If you're unable to donate like me, sharing and boosting content related to Gaza and sharing the links of those who need to evacuate to safety is the best thing you can do. 🙏🏿

https://www.gofundme.com/f/donate-to-help-and-support-majed-almasry-and-his-family-to?utm_campaign=p_lico+share-sheet-first-launch&utm_medium=copy_link&utm_source=customer

[anglingforlevels]

Open House (Yandere House x Reader)

When people say the housing market is a nightmare, is this what they had in mind? (The story goes out to me because I’m trying to get an apartment and it is Suffering. Please pretend this count as yandere.)

CW: not proofread, unconventional captivity, swearing, I accidentally had too much fun writing Abby and forgot the point of the story-

Minors DNI

When you proudly had reached the saving milestone to buy a small house in the countryside, you had opted to spend some of that money on a real estate agent, figuring it was a good investment, hiring a Ms. Abby Bardot – who, over the phone, had insisted heavily on being called Abby rather than Ms. Bardot – who had twenty years of experience in the field.

Quite quickly, you realized that perhaps she wasn’t the most conventional real estate agent.

Ms. Abby, you quickly noticed at your first meeting, was all hand-wringing and nervous sweating, though she seemed sweet enough, having clutched a tin of home-cooked cookies in all shades of black and almost-not-black, and had heartily insisted you’d take as many as you’d like (which was zero).

She had insisted on bringing you to an open house for what she had called a hidden gem of a house, that it would be a private tour. To you, once she mentioned it would be at 1 p.m., it was quite obvious that “private tour” meant, “no one else has or will be showing up”.

Ms. Abby had also enthusiastically shown pictures of the place, pictures she had ready-at-the-go on her phone, presumably she really needed a buyer for the house.

“Ms. Abby.” You had said, interrupted with a small interjection of, Oh please, just Abby. “Ms. Abby, that’s not quite a house and more so a small manor. I went over my budget with you when I hired you.” Ms. Abby had quickly recovered from the rejection and puffed out her chest proudly.

“Why that’s the best part, this is within your budget!”

You had sent her a dubious look at this. “Are the pictures… How do I put this delicately? Are the pictures recent and unedited?”

Ms. Abby deflated so quickly that it almost felt impressive, almost urging you to clap as if it was a circus performance. Of course, it felt mean had you clapped at her dejected look.

“It’s well-kept, I assure you. These pictures are all recent, I’ve updated them every year for almost my entire career!” She said proudly, and you almost felt pity at the fact she didn’t seem to realize her own slip-up but instead paraded it around like a badge of honor.

Though, all-in-all you were charmed, and somewhat endeared, by the honesty. But not very much by the house at all. “I think I’d like to look at other options, it’s awfully big for just one person.”

“Ah, wait!” Ms. Abby said urgently. “Please, before we continue with other options, let’s first try out the open house this Friday.”

“Is this protocol, Ms. Abby?” Ms. Abby’s lips wobbled at this and… “Are you crying?!”

“No, I’m a professional. Real Estate Agents don’t cry, I’m simply sweating, is all.” Ms. Abby sniffled, dubbing her eyes with a handkerchief, presumably you were meant to believe her eyes were suffering heat stroke on this fine autumn day.

“…Alright, I’ll go to the open house. Just give me the address.” You eventually relented, if only to avoid seeing the pitiful sight of a teary-eyed Ms. Abby.

That’s how you ended up before a grand house out in the middle of nowhere, the closest town was an hour-long drive away. Forest and fields were most of the surroundings, which was why the house was in such stark contrast, standing as a sole presence, the forests and fields shying away to make room for it, leaving a vast vacancy around it, stretching on for at least fifty meters.

It really was a pristine house, when comparing it to the pictures, it seemed to match right down to the placement of every rock and plant in sight. As if someone had consciously placed each leaf and pebble.

The plants and trees of the garden donned vibrant colors despite the season. You wondered how often Ms. Abby came by, or if she had hired a crew for maintenance, as you could not spot even the slightest hint of dirt or spiderwebs.

The only thing that looked aged was, unfortunately, the “For Sale” sign.

It felt a little unnatural, but you chalked it up to currently being a display house, and thus not lived-in either. You took notice of the way the trees beyond the reach of the garden were withered and wrinkled, and the grass yellowy, dry patches, barely hiding the dirt beneath.

“Some more forest could really do this place some good.” You mumbled. You hesitated for reasons you didn’t fully understand before stepping beyond dead plants clinging loosely to your feet and entering the garden.

You felt a prickling sensation behind your eyes the further you traveled, the door felt so far when the weight of something cloyingly attentive seemed to drag you down as if to prevent your advances.

“You’re here!” A delighted Ms. Abby yelled out before the sound of pitter-patter was interrupted by a loud thud against the door that rattled the frame. With her energy dampened, a sheepish Ms. Abby appeared behind the front door, simply saying; “It opens the other way.”

Right, something attentive could only have been the attention of the overzealous Ms. Abby.

“Come in, come in!” She invited, all but pulling you stumbling into a most decadently, lavishly decorated foyer. From distasteful stuffed animal heads to the ruby red furniture and mosaic glass tables, it felt quite uncomfortable, all sharp angles and very little homeliness to it, like an ornate display of wealth rather than a welcome into a household.

“Not very welcoming, huh?” You commented, which Ms. Abby elected not to respond to, though the small “eep” suggested she had heard the negative impression.

Looking the room over it was impossible for your eyes not to rest at the centerpiece of the foyer: A huge painting above the staircase. A solemn-looking guy stared out into the air, curly locks framing his face. Old paintings always looked miserable, yet you couldn’t help but feel there was a glint of genuine misery in his eyes. Noticing your attention had wandered, Ms. Abby followed your eyes.

“Oh, that was an owner of the house who had it commissioned back during the Renaissance, they wanted it right here, in the heart of the house.” She explained though you couldn’t say you agreed to a decadent foyer being the heart of a house, and if it was, that wasn’t boding well for Ms. Abby’s already poor sales chances.

“I’ve never understood why someone would want to pay money to look miserable in a painting, like you’re paying for it, at least make yourself smile or something.” Your jab was met with Ms. Abby’s impressive ability to carry on like you had said nothing negative at all.

“You know, the owner claimed it was a Jan van Eyck-original too.” Ms. Abby said as if letting you in on a secret, or town gossip. “Really, we’ve had it appraised.”

“And the appraiser confirmed it was a Jan van-whatever original?”

“…The owner really loved art; you’ll see plenty of paintings throughout the place.”

So that was a no. And speaking of no’s:

“Listen, Ms. Abby, I don’t exactly have the budget for a big house, as I already said. I especially don’t have the kind of budget that the kind of person who’d commission an artist to paint them for their foyer would have.”

Abby laughed nervously. “Well, you see, the value’s dropped as I mentioned. We haven’t been able to sell it for a long time, so the price just kept falling.”

“Right. But even so, it can’t have fallen that much.”

At this, Abby avoided eye contact, wringing her hands before, after a big breath, blurting it out. “The person in the painting was the last person to own the house.”

…

“Is this place built on top of an oilfield or something?”

Ms. Abby laughed a hearty if a bit shrill, laughter, before sighing and mumbling. “If only.” She clapped. “But! This is a charming house, why, let me show you the many rooms!”

“Ms. Abby, have you ever considered a field outside of sale?” You asked dryly but nonetheless followed along, eager to leave behind the painting, as you felt watched. The house consisted of many sprawling hallways, enough to almost make one dizzy, and you struggled to remember where everything was.

The house had many rooms, none of them particularly inviting, reading more like a historical display room lacking any warmth or heart (and perhaps even worse, any semblance of renovation despite old age), and all absolutely clustered with trinkets, knickknacks, and in the case of the walls, paintings – leaving very little free space.

It really did read like a historical display, as some rooms seemed older than others, suggesting partial renovation must have been done on some of the rooms. You’d like a word with whoever had been in charge of that lackluster, nonsensical effort.

Perhaps the lack of replaced furniture or renovation was why the house periodically seemed to creak and moan in odd ways, at times you almost confused it as Ms. Abby groaning or sighing, only to realize it was the sound of the house itself.

As for Ms. Abby, she remained undeterred regardless of how many snide remarks you made, which you had to commend her for, though the charm you initially had felt from it was quickly wearing off. Ms. Abby actually seemed increasingly happy, humming to herself. She didn’t think the sale was going well, did she?

“How much of the house is there left to see, Ms. Abby?” You asked, increasingly impatient and tired, having been dragged through an unreasonable number of rooms, which inexplicably, almost all were bedrooms (and yet, you had yet to see more than a single bathroom).

“Well, we’re still missing a couple rooms like the kitchen, oh! I know, how about the master bedroom since you’ll be spending every night there.” She said with a beaming smile.

“That’s awfully optimistic, Ms. Abby.” You noted, at this you received a good-hearted chuckle.

“Oh, this place is too lovely to pass up on, I think it likes you – it’s a match made in heaven. If you don’t like some of the features or decorations, it’s easy to change those, so it would be a waste not to live here.”

“I can’t imagine a house as empty as this holding much affection, and I’m not up for a big project.” All you wanted was a small but cozy house, a simple place. You felt exhausted just thinking about the amount of work you’d need to pour into a house like this to make it feel like home.

“Well, it’s perhaps not an easy house,” Ms. Abby admitted, her cheer at this point an unshakeable force, as a sense of confidence seemed to have sprouted in her. “But that’s why when that rare fit comes by one must take the leap and hold onto it.”

You’d feel insulted by the suggestion you were a good fit for this distasteful and unpleasant house, had Ms. Abby not already shown herself as incompetent but well-meaning. You simply sighed, giving up the conversation, figuring you’d find another real estate agent when you came home.

“Well, take me to the master bedroom then.”

Ms. Abby led you through the foyer again, the bedroom apparently at the other end of the house. Your eyes were drawn to the painting once more, its eyes felt more sunken in than before, shadows forming beneath, to which you tiredly sighed. “Me too, buddy. Me too.”

The master bedroom seemed to be at the stopping point to the sprawling hallways on the right. You were just aghast at the fact you had gone through another set of sprawling hallways, you wondered who had come up with the confusing layout of the place.

Ms. Abby tried to imitate a trumpet to build up suspense but trailed off after you shot her an impatient look. After a weak cough, she simply said “Tadaah” and opened the door.

You stopped up, your right foot hanging in the air, about to cross into the room. A sense of foreboding filled you; it was a bit different from the first time, however. The prickling sensation you felt and the cloying attention, it felt smothering, less like a shove away and more like… Being held in place.

Ms. Abby waited patiently inside the room, not commenting on your hesitation, though you had been snarky and displeased the entire tour, so perhaps this just seemed like more of that. You swallowed and ignored the pressure as you put your foot down and entered the room.

The air felt different here. You had hoped the odd sensation would disappear if you just carried on, like when you entered the house, to begin with, instead, it worsened. The air clung to you, terribly heavy and sticky. It took you a moment to actually focus enough to realize Ms. Abby had spoken, so when you finally snapped back to reality, Ms. Abby was standing in the hallway.

“-tively spellbound already. I’ll give you some time to look around and get acquainted together, one-on-one.” And then she closed the door in your face. The room was, oddly empty, compared to every other room. Nothing but a big, red bed, the empty walls that you could’ve sworn were further away when you entered, and that feeling of being watched, lodging into your skin like stitching.

Nothing except an almost empty room that didn’t feel empty enough.

That’s it. Ms. Abby had officially used up all her pity points, you were leaving. You opened the door, a tad more aggressively than what was perhaps called for, but Ms. Abby was nowhere to be seen in the hallway.

For how annoyed you were with her at this point, you found that you missed her company as you walked down the hallway, nothing distracting you from the odd sounds of the house that seemed to have increased. It felt as if the floor beneath your feet moved and rumbled slightly, the velvety carpets uneven and bumpy, as if walking on something breathing, something living.

You wished that Ms. Abby had given you the floor plans, as you struggled to remember how to return to the foyer through the hallways and occasional rooms you had to cross seemed to hold no real rhythm and didn’t feel as if it obeyed any rules about directions.

At one point you could have sworn you turned back, only to be in another room than where you had emerged from originally. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you found the foyer again. Even in your rush to find the door, your eyes were drawn to the painting, though you continued to rush by it. In your haste, it almost looked as if the painting’s colors were smudged.

You attempted to open the door but found it didn’t budge. It was an odd choice to lock the door, but you were certain that was the reason, it had to be. A locked door was no issue from the inside, but even after hearing the click of the lock, the door didn’t budge when you attempted to open it.

You attempted to kick, pry, tear, and even throw your body weight at the door, but with no luck.

Settling in the foyer after your final attempt at prying the front door open, you huffed, out of breath. You laid on the stairs, trying to settle your heart and pulse, when your eyes landed on the painting again.

…You rubbed your eyes and sat up, thinking what you had seen was owed to your tiredness and the upside-down angle, but no. The painting really did look smudged. Like someone had blurred colors and borders together, the hair’s vibrant color having lost its radiance.

And the mouth, it was oddly smudged between the lips, that it almost gave the impression of a mouth being pried open.

…

No, that was silly, you were being silly. The painting was smudged out, which was already creepy enough on its own, or rather, the house was already creepy enough on its own – your mind was just working overtime and was making up new things to get scared over.

“Well brain, if you like overtime, I guess I’ll have to put you to use and think of an escape. But you don’t have a union, so it’s unpaid hours for you, I’m afraid.”

If the front door was a bust, then you’d find a window. You struggled to recall any windows on the ground floor, but surely there had to be some. Or… That’s right! The kitchen, it had a glass door. You never got around to seeing the kitchen, having mainly been shown the upstairs so far, but you recalled Ms. Abby mentioning it back when she had given her pitch for why you should show up.

You hadn’t been on the left side of the house, at least not on the ground floor, so you figured that was a good direction to begin, in your search for the kitchen. You opened the door, urgency in your steps, only to find you weren’t in an unfamiliar room.

Instead, you were back in the empty master bedroom, which somehow felt much more crammed than any of the other rooms. But… That didn’t make sense. The master bedroom was upstairs, you had fought through a confusing hallway to find the foyer, so this… this didn’t make sense at all.

The air felt oppressive in the room as if your heart would be forced to a halt from the sheer weight of it, like a physical presence. This time you were sure that the walls were closer than they had been before. A bed table had been added next to the bed, and the part of you still delusional enough to hope thought maybe it meant that Ms. Abby was still around. As if this was an elaborate prank.

You tried to swallow despite how dry your mouth felt, your heart hammering painfully against your chest. This was ridiculous. You slammed the door open again, the door shaking on its hinges. Beyond the door, it revealed a hallway, but even if the hallway was confusing, you had been through it twice by now, you could do this, you could find the kitchen or a ground-floor window.

Hurrying along the hallway, it felt as if the floor and walls shifted and moved. Were you dizzy, or was this actually happening? The restrictive air of the master bedroom followed you, as you dragged yourself through.

“Huh?” you furrowed your eyebrows when you opened one of the doors. You were sure this was the one you had gone through before, but the room behind was unfamiliar. Cold dread filled you as a horrible thought crossed your mind.

No, no, no. You ran to the next door but behind it was another unfamiliar room. Were the layout… Changing? Your hand trembled as you tried to open a third door, and you felt like crying when all it revealed was the master bedroom again.

A lamp now stood on top of the bed table. Were new things going to be added each time you returned to the room? You thought back to the cramped bedrooms Ms. Abby had so cheerfully shown off. You weren’t sure what to make of it but felt sick all the same.

“I don’t have time for this.” You had to snap yourself out of it. You could spiral and panic later, but for now, you needed to get out. So, turning on your heel, you returned to the hallway. You’d go through each door that didn’t lead to the master bedroom, hoping to somehow find your way downstairs.

You almost cheered audibly when you finally saw the staircase, rushing to it. Once again, as you passed it, your eyes were drawn to the painting.

The painting no longer looked the same as before, the person it had been long erased by smudged and changing lines. You couldn’t tell what it was changing into but felt your heart race with familiarity all the same.

The mouth was a gaping hole by now, outstretched awkwardly. You thought it might have been a smile, but it looked much more like a pained grimace to you.

You only took this as further encouragement to get out of there.

When you failed to find anything of use, you realized there was one room that you seemed to always find. So, as counterintuitive as it seemed, you walked upstairs again, and as confusing as the changing layout was, it didn’t take you long to find it.

You saw the familiar bed, the bed table, the lamp, and the newly added clock on the wall (which didn’t seem to be working) and closed your eyes for a moment. You took a deep breath. And then you decisively walked in to grab the lamp, shivering a bit as you brushed against a much-too-warm wall.

If you couldn’t find the kitchen or a window on the ground floor, then fuck it, you’d find one up here. Whatever broken bones or bruises you’d get from the fall, you’d accept. Finding a window upstairs proved much more doable, as one would line the walls every now and then.

You threw the lamp against the window and braced yourself for impact.

But nothing happened.

The lamp fell to the floor with a hollow thud. When you opened your eyes, you found not a single scratch on the window. So, you tried again. And again. You tried punching the window, earning nothing but a stinging fist.

Yet you continued. At some point, it became more of a tantrum, an expression of your desperation colored in violence, than an attempt to escape. Hitting the window, kicking the wall. “Why-“ you hated this house. You hated it. Hated, hated, hated it. You just wanted to leave. Your ears rang, whether it was from your headache, or the way the house’s groans and creaks had grown in severity, you didn’t know, didn’t care, couldn’t care.

Already unsteady on your feet, your final kick caused you to lose balance entirely.

Stumbling and falling onto the floor, without realizing it, you found yourself by the stairs, and face to face with the painting. Your blood ran cold as you stared into your own lifeless eyes staring down at you from above.

 

Quiet had fallen over the house like a blanket, only the slow rumble throughout the house bellied any activity. In the heart of the house rested a painting, donning a toothy smile and a certain glint in their eyes.

A satisfied Ms. Abby removed the “For Sale” sign out front and drove away with a hum.

[anglingforlevels]

Some yandere thoughts

CW: Yandere, infantilizing, being watched and controlled

I’m thinking about a yandere who doesn’t let you do things yourself.

It’s not that they don’t want you to do things, if you’re capable of it then by all means. They just happen to have a much stricter definition of capable. At least for you.

Something like forgetting to sharpen a knife when you’re about to cut vegetables, it’s a silly mistake. It’s no big deal, right?

Wrong. To them the mishap is proof you can’t do it, and thus, you are no longer allowed to cook. And it continues like that.

You never realized how many stupid, insignificant mistakes you make in a day until you had someone watching you. Dropping a paper towel, stumbling over the air, opening the wrong cupboard, clicking on the wrong switch, putting on mismatched socks, forgetting the time – with each tiny mistake, the less things you’re allowed to do for yourself.

The only comfort is that they don’t bend their definition of “incapable” to suit themselves, then again, with such a loose definition, it’s not like they’d need to.

All they want is to look out for you, and if you’re so incapable of taking care of yourself, they’ll do it for you. There’s no limit to what they’d do for you, so go ahead and choke on some water, have a sleepless night, accidentally bite your tongue – they’ll replace each and every function needed.

Make every mistake out there and trust them to be there to catch you. No need to think so hard or work so much, for someone so fragile, it's too heavy a burden to carry.

All you need to do is let them take care of it all.

[anglingforlevels]

Some yandere thoughts

CW: Yandere, threats, force, referenced violence and dubcon intimacy, just some general thoughts

Been thinking about the logistics of a selfish yandere who wants to be the submissive one following your lead paired with someone who resolutely doesn’t want to be with the yandere.

They so desperately wants you to be in charge, for you to be the one to lay down the law and have them at your beck and call, but you just don’t want or do any of the things you’re supposed to (namely, staying with and loving the yandere!).

Thinking of how they’d immediately expect you to behave “correctly”, without any guiding or explanations, and is livid when you fail this mental game of house and its many untold rules.

Yandere who has such a specific idea of what life with you should be, what you should be, that they take it as a punishable offense and threat when you veer from it even slightly – why my darling always eats first, to not do so… it’s practically the same as destroying our lives, isn’t it?!

Yandere who’ll give orders and threats to maneuver you into the right position, straddling the yandere, forcing you to not only be intimate but to take the lead in said intimacy.

Nails digging into and breaking skin, warning tuts when you begin to waver in-between kisses and forced passion.

The yandere sighs dreamily and acts as if it’s what you want, as if its you who upended their life to love and ravage them, as if they’re just haplessly letting you do whatever you want, despite the bruises and marks still littering your body from punishments.

Oh, right now in the kitchen? You’re insatiable, but if that’s what darling wants. As they keep a warning hand wrapped around your throat.

Yes, in this house there’s a right way to act – and you’ll learn first-hand what the right ways are, even if it means taking charge of your own torture.

[anglingforlevels]

really liked your stories, got annything in the works rn?

Ahh, thank you so much!

I'm bad at finishing projects but on the flip-side, it does mean I have about a trillion things in my drafts, courtesy of a creative with no attention-span or discipline <3

I can mention a couple of the most recent:

Female Anglerfish

I wanted to tackle the brilliant female anglerfish after taking on the male. It would be fun to place the story in the water, so my idea was reader being a sailor or fisherman, and the anglerfish-based creature taking the form of another boat or a lighthouse.

Voodoo Wasp

I thought it could be fun to play around with something based on a voodoo wasp and their breeding-methods, or rather the incubation-period.

They essentially impregnate a caterpillar, the eggs will feast on the caterpillar and eat their way out, where they’ll then cocoon themselves, and the caterpillar’s body will move to cover them, thrashing wildly at any approaching threat.

When they mature, the caterpillar dies.

It felt like a fun concept to play with, in how horrifying an experience it must be. Of course, insects in general is a world of ideas, like playing around with a cockroach-based creature, where reader manages to behead them but finds they're not safe yet, as it doesn't die, so reader has to outlast them for another week as it starves to death.

Parasites

I have too much parasite ideas to ever settle on one. Parasites taking over others around reader? Parasites taking over reader without understanding what humans needs, leading them to slowly kill the reader, who eventually collapses despite the parasite trying to force them to stand, their death being their first successful act of defiance, as they crumple to the floor, starved and exhausted? Reader being the parasite?

Ahh, whether the parasite targets others, targets reader, or reader is the parasite, there’s a billion ways to take a story.

Artist with a dash of body horror

An artist who considers you her muse, except she may like you better as an interactive piece. Painting in your blood, braiding your nerves, pulling into her skin, letting you live beneath the surface of her muscles, hidden behind her jugulars, running in her veins – when that’s not viable, she’ll find other ways for you two to merge into the ultimate masterpiece.

The idea was kickstarted by the image of her dragging you into a waltz, as you finally pinpoint the unpleasant smell in the room to be from patches of her discolored, marbled skin stitched onto you, as it slowly rots.

The result of not finishing anything means my unfinished drafts look like this (or actually, much worse, this is just what fit into one picture):

Proof of my sins as a writer. I’m honored you took interest enough to ask, even though I’m not the most prolific writer!

[anglingforlevels]

i hope i never ever ever see this image while im high or it will also straight up kill me. it would make me so scared my skeleton would run away And id be a boneless scared heap on the ground

[anglingforlevels]

Love & Cruelty: Yandere Bully Victim x Bully Reader

I thought I’d write a piece for the first day of the year, just something mild to start the year off, but I slept through and cleaned most of the day, so instead I wrote it for the second day in the year, huzzah.

CW: Yandere, bullying, depiction of domestic violence and abuse, mention of alcoholism, violence (against reader), not proofread, dead dove

Minors DNI

Present Time

You had done something unforgiveable.

Everywhere you went, you were reminded of it. You saw it reflected in your parents’ eyes and teachers’ disappointed glances, heard it in your classmates whispers and murmurs, the way they’d avoid you, the way you’d spend lunches alone, the way they’d warn other students not to go near you, and most of all, you saw it in Elias.

The guy you had been relentlessly bullying for years.

Ten Years Ago

It began in elementary school. Your hometown was too small to have any more than one, so everyone were familiar with each other. It was a sense of comfortability, the trust and familiarity carried the brunt of most conflicts, thus, the atmosphere always felt so light, even amidst the middle school dramas and awkwardness.

Then a new kid from another town enrolled. In hindsight, the discomfort had perhaps just been the introduction of something new, something foreign, because even that first day – the air had felt stifled.

“This is your new classmate, Elias.”

He was small and scrawny, like the wind could knock him down without any notice. You had taken notice of the glasses he had worn, held together by tape, concealing a pair of pale blue eyes, to how baggy his clothes had been, and how his brown hair looked so messy and unkempt.

 Even without anyone needing to say a word about him, the atmosphere around him felt heavy.

“Please take the empty seat.”

That was all the teacher said, as if he had been in a hurry to get it over with. So, unceremoniously, Elias took the single empty seat there had been added to the room and kept his head down low.

Even if the air felt off, there was a certain buzz as well. Everyone was curious, how could they not be? So once the bell rang, everyone all but flocked to his desk, asking about where he came from, why he had moved, what did he like to do, any question they thought of.’

You remained in your seat, your head in your arms as you watched the interaction.

Elias struggled to keep up with the barrage of questions, though he weren’t given much time to answer any of them until a new one popped up. Still, he’d always take a second to look thoughtful, as if he genuinely gave thought to each question, even if it was clear the excitement would overwhelm any possibility of a reply.

“Enough.” The teacher’s voice had rung out sharply. “Go hold your own break.”

In other words, leave him alone.

Deflated, everyone moved away. Looking around, you disliked the way everyone’s shoulders were slumped and the awkwardness. Tipping in your chair, you let yourself fall back, catching everyone’s attention.

“Ah, I was paying attention!” You cried out in fake alarm, to which everyone laughed.

“As if, you were totally asleep!”

“No, no. I was definitely awake and paying attention.” You denied.

“Pfft- It’s break already, y’know.”

“Gah-“

Like that the bitterness dissolved and the classroom was once again familiar, warm, and filled with laughter. Even the frigidness of the teacher melted away as he shook his head and rolled his eyes with a small smile.

With normality restored, the break proceeded as it always did. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Elias’ solitary figure.

Though that moment had been dealt with, the rest of the day kept its spotlight on Elias, as rumors began spreading.

“My moms were talking about him the other day, so there must be some big deal about him.” Sophia had shared, and many others similarly could share anecdotes on how their parents had been whispered about him.

“We all know our duty, I trust.” You said, even though your parents hadn’t given any hint of knowing something about Elias. Everyone nodded, taking their self-decided job of detective seriously; there was a secret and none of you were content with letting sleeping dogs lie.

*

You were eager to go to school the following day, in case of any breaks in the case. In your case, it seemed your parents genuinely didn’t even know a new student had begun, though they were always too busy with their own matters to pay attention to that kind of thing.

You came up with all manners of ideas and scenarios, while tossing and turning in bed, though most of them grew outlandish, if not outright impossible, by the fourth idea. Though, you quite liked the idea of it being an intergalactic exchange program.

When morning came, you happily obliged the alarm, a fact there seemed to be so unlike you, that your mother jokingly checked if you had a fever. But nothing got the blood pumping like a mystery, so for once, you got seated at the breakfast table without needing any help.

Your little brother was much less willing, groggily trailing after your mom who had woken him up, though he apparently still had the energy to both watch cartoons and list up the entire catalogue of characters from said cartoon.

“Will dad be home this weekend?” your little brother asked when an ad break had given them a breather from his enthusiasm. The corner of your mom’s smile trembled slightly.

“Maybe.”

Before your brother lifted his head from the bowl of oatmeal that had held his attention – or rather, the fruit pieces he tried to single out – to look at mom, you distracted him. “His boss is like one of those villains from your cartoon, she might make him work through the weekend last minute.”

“The villains in my cartoons are way cooler than that.” He argued, preparing to explain the personality of each villain, you assumed. You didn’t doubt it. Though perhaps they were more honest, monologuing their plans out loud, regardless of what the truth would break.

“Well, they’re bad guys and so is his boss – my comparison still tracks.”

Your mom ruffled your hair with a soft smile. “I’m sure it does, but you need to begin eating if you wanna make the bus in time.”

At that, you began shoveling food, briefly considering whether chewing really was necessary – and being chided by your mom when you predictably began harking and coughing.

“I’m off!” You yelled out once you had gotten your shoes and jacket on.

At school, it seemed that everyone’s parents had been reluctant to share the secret, and so had the faculty, favoring silence instead, leaving everyone to simmer in curiosity, scrutinizing Elias’ movements.

You had boldly strolled up to him, asking “So, why are you here?”, but had been told to bugger off by the teacher himself, who didn’t seem to approve of any of the current attempts to interact with the kid. Perhaps, if you had done it in the break, you’d have gotten an answer, but now that the teacher was aware of the snooping, he dedicated ten minutes of the lesson to scolding the entire class.

But secrets often broke before silence did.

The next day, everyone had heard the whispers and rumors about Elias and why he was here, from older students in the hallways or parents who caved in. How he had been removed from his home, how he had been abused. No one knew what to say, he became a presence that was hard to acknowledge but impossible to ignore.

Elias seemed resigned to it, or maybe he just didn’t notice the difference between sitting alone as a new kid or sitting alone as a taboo subject.

“Jay, start us off.”

Jay, who had been rereading the German text furiously, stood up so abruptly that the chair almost fell over in the process, to the bemusement of his fellow students and the annoyance of the teacher. Jay looked too nervous to even be sheepish, even after the teacher remarked that there was no need to stand up to read out loud.

“Sein Bla, er, I mean. Sein Bl-ick ist vom, no, no, I mean fom!”

You were following along his clumsily pronounced words, in order not to lose track of where in the text he was at, as he kept stopping to try and repeat words, though he seemed proud whenever he caught himself making mistakes.

After another line, the teacher raised a hand to stop him, before coolly adding; “That’ll do. Next time, try practicing a bit before class, alright?”

Jay hung his head, hiding his annoyed frown. Ellie, who sat behind him, reached out to pat his back.

“Elias, please continue from where Jay left off.”

“Ah, um…” He looked around cluelessly, until the teacher sighed and gave his copy of the text to Elias, pointing at where they were at. Elias complied, clutching unto the paper.  “I-ihm,” he swallowed, “est, ist, uh, a-als orb-“

He stuttered and stumbled nervously over the words, the reading becoming so intelligible that Sophia, who was next, wasn’t sure where to begin her section. And the teacher didn’t say anything. Even though he told off Jay, who put in way more practice…

When it was your turn, you stood up – earning a scoff from the teacher. “N-n-n-n-nur m-m-manchmal-“ You loudly read out, your exaggerated stuttering earning breathless chuckles and snickers across the room.

“That’s enough, that’s not funny. Sit down.” With that dry remark, the teacher let the subject fall. Your eyes fell on the back of Elias as you sat down, you noticed the way he was trembling slightly. Then Jay caught your eyes, grinning behind his book, and around you everyone else was also laughing, and Elias’ weak trembling was soon forgotten.

For the first time today, the atmosphere felt light.

*

During lunch, Elias was sitting alone again, with what might be the saddest sandwich you had ever seen. Two incredibly thin slices of cheap bread, encasing a single and even thinner slice of ham. The dryness and how loose the sandwich was made you think there wasn’t a hint of butter or condiments to it either.

You looked down at your lunch. You could probably afford to give away one or two things. Your mom always were generous with portions, so you probably wouldn’t be too hungry if you gave something away.

“Hey, Elias!” you waved him over. For a moment he just stared at you with uncertainty. You nodded enthusiastically and gestured for him to come sit. Elias’ eyes betrayed a sense of disbelief, but he quickly complied, hurrying to your side.

You proudly slid your beloved egg-salad sandwich towards him. “My mom made way too much for me today, but she’ll be super annoyed with me if I have leftovers. So,” you clapped your hand together. “Please help cover for me!”

The others always loved it when you put on a little show, to seal the deal you sighed theatrically, the type of sigh that could only be performed tongue-in-cheek or by overeager drama students.

Elias examined the sandwich carefully, as if he thought it would be yanked away from him should he make any sudden movements. Around you, the others stiffened.

“Uh, yeah… Take one of mine too.”

“And my apple…”

The others around you began providing their own offerings, but their eyes were downcast, as if a weight hung around their necks. You furrowed your brow at that. They clearly didn’t want to give away their food.

You thought Elias would look anxious, being the center of the most painful give-away session, you had witnessed. Instead, he looked at you wide-eyed – he reminded you of a duckling with the way he looked at you, expectant yet hesitant.

It irked you. If he wasn’t uncomfortable, then why didn’t he spare a glance to everyone else who was? Somehow, lunch had become a painful event.

“Hm, nevermind.” You suddenly declared, cutting through the quiet pity, and simmering discomfort. You snapped the sandwich out of his hand. You felt everyone’s eyes on you as they waited to see where you were heading with this. “Clearly, you’ve got more than enough.”

You looked pointedly at the disjointed mix of pity-encrusted offerings. After a beat, Elphie nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, actually this is too much for one person.” And took back the apple she had given. The others followed suit, retracting their offers, and taking their food back.

The mood was improving but the stare of Elias felt like shackles, tying the mood to a subpar level. If he was going to take from you, then you’d need to even the scores.

You scoffed before smiling. “Yeah, it’s way too much for one person. But we’ll help you out, new kid.”

And with those words, you took the last thing away – the pitiful sandwich Elias had brought.

The others laughed in disbelief, throwing in light-hearted “aw, that’s mean” between giggles. Everything was restored as laughter filled the room again, and Elias was left behind.

Present Time

Trailing along the river and jumping over the thick branches, you understood the fact that you had committed a cruelty that couldn’t be taken back.

How could you forget, when no one else did, save for the one guy being bullied. He still rushed up to you, wide-eyed, even when you didn’t call for him. You didn’t really understand him, who’d wanna spend time with their bully?

Part of you felt creeped out by his eagerness, even though part of you understood he might just be scared that things would escalate if he didn’t, or even worse, that this was a survival tactic he had learned from home.

It had quickly become the school’s worst-kept secret, that Elias had been removed from his physically abusive dad’s care. Even though you never got violent, perhaps this was how Elias had learned to keep peace?

You felt disgusted with yourself, for your actions, your lack of perspective, and for, even now, seeking him out, because by the river, stood Elias, feeding the ducks. You wanted to turn tail and run away – but even if you couldn’t make amends, this was something you had to do.

Eight Years Ago

You woke up in the middle of the night and wished for nothing more than to succumb to sleep’s sweet embrace, but a dry throat proved the better negotiator, prompting you to sneak through the hallway as to not wake anyone up.

As you neared the kitchen, the sound of hushed voices proved those considerations null.

“Erik, you don’t bring that shit to my house.”

“Oh, so now it’s your house?”

“Well, I’m the one sleeping here every night-“

“Ugh, would you quit it?! I was just sleeping over, she’s a friend!”

“Uh-huh, a sleepover, was it? I’d sure like a friend like that, if this is what a husba-“

Biting your lip, you purposely stepped on the floorboard you knew creaked, and forced a yawn as you entered the kitchen. Your mom and dad straightened up, the guilty look on their faces made you think of the face your little brother pulled when he was caught trying to sneak another snack.

“Hi honey, why’re you up?”

“I’m thirsty. Can I have something warm to drink?”

They visibly relaxed at that. You wondered why they thought you wouldn’t notice that kind of reaction. “Of course, honey. We’ll make something for you.”

In the end, it didn’t matter. For a brief moment, your parents were smiling and everything was normal again.

The next day, after braving the harsh coldness of winter, you made it to school, where everyone else seemed much less well-rested than you.

It seemed everyone was bummed out about the upcoming test scores, suggesting nobody was particularly proud or confident in their own work. Then again, they were probably concerned, given it was only last year you had all graduated into middle schoolers.

Even though it was still in the same building, it felt like a big deal.

You remembered last time a test had gotten the better of everyone’s nerves, that you had “accidentally” spilled your water bottle all over yourself, that had worked like a spell, everyone too busy laughing and fretting over you to worry about their grades.

This case was particularly nasty, though. Your light-hearted jabs doing nothing to penetrate the armor of stress and anxiety they all wore.

“Anyone up for some pizza after school?” You asked, when you weren’t met with excitement, you added. “My treat.”

“That sounds good but I’m not sure my stomach can take it, if I get a bad grade.” Jay said, his anxiety clearly having turned painful and was clutching his stomach with a groan. The others weren’t much better off.

Your eyes fell on your water bottle, once again reminded of your efforts last time. But you couldn’t repeat the same old thing, complacency was the enemy of comedy.

“Elias sure doesn’t seem bothered.” Sophia noted with a hint of envy, at that, the attention shifted to Elias, who true to Sophia’s words, appeared to be enjoying a normal school day, bereft of any added stresses from the test scores, though it felt more like apathy to you.

You weren’t sure if he actually cared about his grades at all.

“He didn’t look worried at all under the test either.” Jay murmured.

“Whaat, so he was confident? Coulda offered some pointers then.”

…

You loosened the cap on your bottle and stood up, interrupting the quiet mumbling of your classmates.

“Hey Elias.” You called out, gaining his attention. He was quick to close his notebook, clutching it closely to his chest, as he hurried to your side. He was always so eager, as if you hadn’t thrown spiders or played tricks on him almost every time you called on him. “I can’t get my water opened, the others were total weaklings and failed too. Be my knight in shining armor, ‘kay?”

You held your bottle out to him, and he swiftly grabbed it, but you didn’t let go at first. You waited for a beat, so that he’d stumble slightly, and gravity would remove the already opened cap. The force made the water splash all over Elias, surprising him enough to let go of the bottle, thus leaving it in a freefall that left Elias even more soaked, as he desperately tried to keep his notebook dry.

“Wow, if I had known you were this strong, I’d have stepped back first from the splash-zone.”

The others laughed at the display, and Sophia pulled you towards the tables and away from the soaked Elias. “You’re way too nice, you’re always looking out for us.” She had said to you.

You had taken those words to heart, in a way, you considered it a duty, looking out for them and the status quo. So, you continued.

From tripping him, leaving messes when it was his turn to clean the classroom, making fun of him, playing pranks on him – everyone was laughing.

Four Years Ago

Over the year, as you all got older, the laughter began to still and the others would begin suggesting other things to do whenever you spotted him. You thought your efforts were lacking, but even though you tried harder, the gleam in their eyes were missing and their laughter rang out hollower, the sound empty and muted.

Soon they began excusing themselves from you, growing infinitely busier whenever you were in the vicinity. Were you being too mild? Maybe that was simply what happened in comedy, complacency made it boring.

So, you’d hide his stuff, steal his lunch, whatever you could think of to take it up a notch, so that you could help reclaim normality, so everyone else would smile and laugh again.

Everything came to a head during a self-study period. Having gotten up from your seat, you sauntered over to Elias.

“Lemme take a look.” You said, trying to peek at his worn-out notebook. Normally, Elias let you do anything, but this time, he closed the notebook shut. You tried to pull it out his tight grip. “Hm? What’s the big idea? Hidin’ something?”

“Just stop it, I’m telling the teacher!” a voice rung out behind you, startling you. It was Ellie, one of your classmates, who crossed her arms angrily. You had never seen her angry before.

“Uh, sorry. I wasn’t trying to actually cheat. No need to get a teacher.” You tried to clarify.

“As if that’s what we’re talking about.” You were surprised to see Jay interject. “You’re… a bully.”

…

“A what?” you blinked in disbelief. “C’mon, that’s not funny-“

“You’re not funny.” A third voice interjected. Looking around, you saw a sea of disapproving faces. “Leave him alone, honestly what did he ever do to you?”

“C’mon, we all had fun goofing around.”

“This is not goofing around. We were kids, we stopped. You didn’t.”

You stood silently for a bit, unsure what to say, until you grabbed your bag and unceremoniously left, skipping the rest of the day. You didn’t spare a single glance for Elias – worried what his expression might reveal.

How were you a bully? You couldn’t be. That was ridiculous. Everyone else had always laughed along, they always loved it. This would all blow over soon once everyone calmed down enough to talk it out.

But the next day, not a single person spoke to you. The teacher didn’t pick you or call on you either. It was as if you were invisible. The only one to look at you were Elias.

It annoyed you.

During the break, nobody welcomed you to their tables. A few even telling you to fuck off, explicitly. You wondered if this was going to continue, as you spent your break feeling sorry for yourself.

When you got home after school, you took a deep breath and put on a smile, hoping it looked genuine and carefree. But when you entered, it wasn’t normality embracing you but heated voices.

“If you spent even one weekend actually at home then-“

“Oh, so this is my fucking fault?!”

This early today?

You let your bag hit the floor to make their argument halt, before seeking them out to ease the atmosphere. “Hey mom and dad, playing that dumb quiz game again?”

You smiled at them but not even the excuse on a silverplate eased their expression.

Huh? Why do they still look so upset?

Your mom had her arms crossed and donned a frown, while your dad looked troubled.

“We got a call from your school today.”

Why would they receive a call from the school? Though you didn’t want to acknowledge it, Jay’s voice replayed in your head. “You’re… a bully.”

This... No, this wasn’t right.

“Ah, about my last test? Gah, I really screwed up with-“

“No. This is about your classmate, Elias.”

Your forced smile froze. Were they going to call you a bully too? Elias was the one who kept taking from you, your classroom, your classmates, and now your parents?

Their expressions were broken, as they seemed to decide between staring intently at you and being unable to look at you. You think your dad had wanted to weep, his eyes teary the entire night, but your parents weren’t good as sadness – so they settled for anger.

*

You still continued going to school, though it was the only excursion you were allowed for the foreseeable future. The school itself did nothing once the call had been made, happy to ignore any issues there’d reflect badly on them.

But the word had spread even further, to other grades and every teacher, and you felt the way people fell silent when you entered a room, the way they’d put their bags on empty seats to show you weren’t welcome.

During your breaks, your new routine became to retreat somewhere in solitude, after all your attempts of joining a group at lunch failed. It felt almost voluntary if you went somewhere lonesome. But it didn’t remain that way today, as Elias showed up.

“What are you doing here?”

“I thought,” he said, his own nerves seeming to leave him breathless, as he got closer “you’re alone at lunch, so we could-“

“Great, I’m being pitied now?” you sneered. “You got some nerve; this is your fault to begin with.”

He kept taking and taking.

Elias, stilled for a moment, before resuming his careful approach, as if you were a wild beast. He was within arm reach of you, and still approaching.

“Get the hint already.” You said and shoved him. You didn’t mean to push him to the ground, you just wanted to get him away from you, but even so, he landed harshly on the ground, hissing out in pain.

You stared, frozen.

You noticed the way his elbow had been scratched and was bleeding.

With no crowd, you were faced with the simple reality. No one was laughing, you were just hurting someone – there was nothing else to it. Wiping your teary eyes with quivering hands, you left.

Two Years Ago

“Today, a new student begins.” There was a ruckus in the classroom, excited murmurs, and whispers. “I expect all of you to welcome her with open arms.” Your teacher didn’t even pretend that he wasn’t looking at you, at the last part.

You kept your head down, pretending not to be paying much attention.

The town was still small, and newcomers were still a rarity, this girl being the first one since Elias – so you couldn’t help your own curiosity as well, watching her introduce herself. She said her name was Ann, she wore bright-colored clothes and had a lot of freckles.

She seemed sweet, and impressively unaffected by speaking in front of strangers. You accidentally made eye contact, and she smiled sweetly at you. You replayed the moment over and over in your head.

When break came, she was crowded as expected, but you thought you’d shoot your shot – it had been a long time since you had a friend, so you felt anxious. Your mouth was dry, and your legs felt like cement, but you had to do it.

On three, you’d get up and say hi.

One.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. You heard Ann ask about the ones still seated.

Two.

You opened your eyes, putting your hands on the table. “The guy in the front is Elias, he’s not very sociable, so don’t worry about him not coming over.”

Three.

“What about them?”

“Oh, them. They’re a bully, you should stay away from them.”

You were half-way up from your seat when you heard it. It felt as if being doused by ice water, breaking the illusion, and you sat back down.

Present Time

You swallowed, before drawing attention to yourself. “Elias.”

He turned around, shocked at your approach. Whether he was startled or was surprised at the fact you did the approaching, you couldn’t tell. Your hands felt sweaty and clammy.

“You’re-“ his voice wavered as he took a step closer to you. You held your hands up, to show you came in peace, but he came to a halt at the gesture.

“Listen, I… Shit.” You dug your nails into your palm, trying to steel yourself. “I’m sorry.”

Elias’ creased his brow. “You’re sorry?”

“Yeah, I know that might be hard to believe or, y’know, sound super sketchy coming from me but, I really am. I’m so sorry for everything I’ve done, I know no words could ever- Nothing I say could…” Your rambled, clumsy words fell apart, you had been unable to pen down anything appropriate to say before coming here, and now your tongue seemed to fail as well.

His eyes widened and his body stiff, he donned a stunned expression.

But that was only natural, wasn’t it? Expecting him to even want to hear your apology to begin with… It was nothing but arrogance.

“I… Sorry.”

You turned around to leave but he grabbed hold of your wrist. When you looked at him, you were caught off guard by the desperation in his eyes, he was crying.

“What do you mean sorry?!” His hold on your wrist was beginning to hurt, as he got closer. “It wasn’t wrong, I’m still here. Don’t say you’re sorry!”

“I- I understand you’re probably feeling a lot of different things right now, words aren’t enough, I understand that, but…” You felt his nails digging painfully into your wrist and wondered if it’d bruise tomorrow. “Please let go of me.”

“Don’t leave me alone. Don’t abandon me.”

“W-what?” You attempts to tear his hand off your wrist came to a halt at that. You were noticing the way blood droplets were pooling around his fingertips, but you doubted that he did. “T-then, we can be friends, it doesn’t have to be so mean, I promise to spend time with you.”

Elias expression fell, and for the first time, you saw a frown on his face, and his voice was quiet.

“Don’t stop.” Elias grabbed onto your shoulder, leaving almost no room between the two of you, and his voice rose into desperate yells, almost cracking. “Please! Keep going! It doesn’t matter what everyone else says, our way is definitely right. Mock me, kick me, just keep going. Don’t ever tell me sorry!”

His grab on you had weakened for a moment when tears became weeping, and you took the opportunity to rip your arm out of his hold. “You’re fucking crazy!”

Maybe there was a kinder response, even with your bleeding arm you felt bad about it, but somehow that was the only response your shock and fear could bring out. You turned to leave, vowing to yourself that you’d at least reach out after someone who could provide the help he clearly needed.

It hadn’t occurred to you that Elias could ever be a threat, as you without hesitance turned your back on him, when you felt a searing pain in the back of your head, and the world went dark.

*

From an early age, it was apparent to Elias’ what true cruelty was.

Apathy.

When he was young, his mother had suffered a stroke and passed away. His father didn’t take it well, seeking peace at the end of bottles. Most nights he might as well have been dead, as far as the world was concerned.

He saw nothing and wanted to feel nothing too.

This left Elias alone.

No matter how much he cried and begged, it only drove his father further into despair on the few occasions he took notice of him, and further into the arms of alcohol’s sweet oblivion.

He tried cleaning the house, making it look nice. Tried cooking dinner, he had burned himself a couple of times, but his dad never noticed that nor the meal. Nothing worked.

So, he began saying things his dad couldn’t and wouldn’t ignore.

“Mother was weak to die over something so small.”

“I’m glad mother is dead; she was an awful parent.”

“It’s your fault she’s dead, she was overworked.”

It never failed to draw a reaction, angry yells and stomps, arguments, even slaps. And that – that was attention! His dad was paying him attention!

Elias had finally found his perfect home life. He’d break plates on purpose and his dad would get angry and tell him. He’d mock his mother’s death and his dad would slap him. Even as the dad’s eating habits decreased, replaced by more and more bottles, Elias felt truly happy.

“I’m surprised you haven’t moved on from someone that ugly.”

Slap.

Elias was happy to start the day like that, and was ready to begin preparing breakfast, when the sound of sobs caught his attention. His dad had collapsed to the floor, weeping.

“Am I the kind of person who hits other when I’m angry, is this all there’s left of me?”

What?

Far worse than indifference and apathy, his father - the same one who only loved when prompted – cried in regret over loving him, no prompting needed. Elias smashed one of those forsaken bottles right next to his dad, causing glass to splinter, nicking his dad.

“What’s that supposed to mean, old man. Are you that useless, that you can’t even love your kid?” Elias released a bitterness that he had always swallowed and accepted.

Why did he always need to work for attention? Why was he the only one putting in effort? He smashed another bottle, this time right next to his dad’s head. Maybe the third one would actually hit him, but as Elias’ lifted another bottle, he was interrupted by a punch to the face.

Oh. This is it.

Crumbled on the ground with a broken nose, Elias felt truly loved for the first time. He hadn’t tried to make his dad do this, that meant it was genuine and almost unprompted. He had received attention, far harsher and more impactful than before.

However, the sound of broken bottles had attracted the neighbors in the apartment complex, as Elias hadn’t taken sound into consideration in the heat of the moment.

Of course, there was only one conclusion they could draw, walking in on this scene. A child on the floor with a broken nose, broken bottles amidst many, many empty ones.

Without much fanfare, Elias’ father was convicted, and Elias was taken away. But he held onto that moment of love, maybe one day when his father was released, they’d reunite and be a happy family again.

Elias got a new start in a new city but was left on his own. He felt the adults look at him with pity, and as always, pity meant being ignored and brushed aside.

He had learned it during his mother’s funeral, that grownups hated not knowing what to say or do, they hated not being able to fix a problem – so when they couldn’t, they’d look away. Soon, as his classmates learned, they began averting their gaze too.

Except for one.

Elias found what he had been looking for all this time. Without any prompting, they had shown him love. They were a shining light in the dark, the kindest person among brutes. Without fail, they’d shower him with attention and love, and they did it so boldly in front of others too.

Elias thought that this might have been what heaven felt like, but he was sure that in the future, they’d forge a genuine paradise together. He wondered who would take whose last name, and often doodled drawings of them in his notebook.

He even borrowed a book of wedding rituals from across the world, so he could draw them in all kinds of wedding attire. Then – a crack in paradise.

“You’re… a bully.”

Were they that stupid? Or maybe they were blind. If they didn’t see the love he shared with them. They pulled back after that, even when Elias tried to seek them out. They had asked if he couldn’t take a hint, but of course he could.

Their classmates told the teachers and everyone that they were a monster, and like idiots, the entire school believed it. If he didn’t want them to be expelled and separated from him, like his father, they needed to hold back, until it all blew over.

So, he didn’t poke and prod, he didn’t push. Even as they ran from him, he didn’t mind. They weren’t leaving him behind, being together like this was probably just too much for them. They really were a romantic.

Even if it took years, he waited. Graduation was going to be soon, and after that, they could be together, unrestrained. So, when they approached him, he felt delighted. Ah, they couldn’t help themselves?

How cute.

He had also felt more and more impatient, the closer graduation came – like always, they were united in their feelings. They were even stumbling over their words nervously, it was an adorable and exciting new side to them, one he had never seen.

“I’m sorry.”

…The hell did they just say?

No, that wasn’t right, that wasn’t okay – please, keep looking at him, he needs them to keep looking at him. “Then – we can be friends, it doesn’t have to be so mean, I promise to spend time with you”? Don’t make him laugh, don’t promise apathy coated with sugar-lies.

It’s no different than the others “that’s mean, we should be nicer to him”, “let’s play nice from now on”, “leave him alone, honestly what did he ever do to you” all ends the same, he’s alone and ignored. The sight of their back turned to him, was the only reason he needed.

With a nearby branch, he lunged at them.

*

You opened your eyes, the world blurry for a while before beginning to take any shape there made sense to you. A headache rung through your head, with heavy thuds, and your body felt stiff.

“Ah, you’re awake.” Elias’ voice sounded cheerful behind you, but it was first when you tried to turn around, that your slow, pained mind realized you were tied to a chair. “Don’t worry, I’m not mad anymore.”

You felt his hand on your head, and thought his touch was gentle, the weight was still enough to make you hiss in pain. Elias came into view, standing by your side.

“This is my fault, I realized. I got it all wrong, and then you got the wrong idea. I thought I needed to do things differently this time, so we weren’t separated like me and my dad, so I held back all this time, I didn’t push.

But then you kept ignoring me, no matter how much I tried to talk to you. I thought I’d wait, just like you wanted. But I was wrong. When you apologized, I was so confused and heartbroken, but I understand now! It was my fault; I didn’t get your hint.”

“Hint?” Your voice sounded slow and distant in your ears. Elias nodded enthusiastically.

“I’ve been selfish this entire time,” his words almost drowned out by the ringing in your ears, still managed to clearly fill your heart, a dreadful, unwelcome intrusion. He crouched next to your tied up form, a gentle smile on his lips and a crinkle in his eyes.

Then he harshly grabbed onto your hair, forcing your body upwards, in an awkward position due to being tied to the chair. “Love is about giving,” he let go, letting you and the chair crash towards the floor with no way of breaking the fall. “But all I’ve done is take.”

You were trembling, as you attempted to shift to a position there’d at least let your current threat remain visible. A hard kick forced your head against the floor until it felt as if your bones would shift beneath the weight.

“But that’s no good, not if I want to keep receiving.” The pressure increased, as you felt snot and spit pool together. Then – a loud crack and the blood poured.

“It’s about time I give.”

[anglingforlevels]

Ahh, seeing this was such a surprise, that I've ended up not giving any reaction, but I've been smiling like an idiot over your reblog for days.

Being reblogged by a blog I've been following is really an honor, I've always enjoyed your work, particularly your original ones! I'm happy you enjoyed my silly story

You can count me as one of your wives among your many spouses lol

Open House (Yandere House x Reader)

When people say the housing market is a nightmare, is this what they had in mind? (The story goes out to me because I’m trying to get an apartment and it is Suffering. Please pretend this count as yandere.)

CW: not proofread, unconventional captivity, swearing, I accidentally had too much fun writing Abby and forgot the point of the story-

Minors DNI

When you proudly had reached the saving milestone to buy a small house in the countryside, you had opted to spend some of that money on a real estate agent, figuring it was a good investment, hiring a Ms. Abby Bardot – who, over the phone, had insisted heavily on being called Abby rather than Ms. Bardot – who had twenty years of experience in the field.

Quite quickly, you realized that perhaps she wasn’t the most conventional real estate agent.

Ms. Abby, you quickly noticed at your first meeting, was all hand-wringing and nervous sweating, though she seemed sweet enough, having clutched a tin of home-cooked cookies in all shades of black and almost-not-black, and had heartily insisted you’d take as many as you’d like (which was zero).

She had insisted on bringing you to an open house for what she had called a hidden gem of a house, that it would be a private tour. To you, once she mentioned it would be at 1 p.m., it was quite obvious that “private tour” meant, “no one else has or will be showing up”.

Ms. Abby had also enthusiastically shown pictures of the place, pictures she had ready-at-the-go on her phone, presumably she really needed a buyer for the house.

“Ms. Abby.” You had said, interrupted with a small interjection of, Oh please, just Abby. “Ms. Abby, that’s not quite a house and more so a small manor. I went over my budget with you when I hired you.” Ms. Abby had quickly recovered from the rejection and puffed out her chest proudly.

“Why that’s the best part, this is within your budget!”

You had sent her a dubious look at this. “Are the pictures… How do I put this delicately? Are the pictures recent and unedited?”

Ms. Abby deflated so quickly that it almost felt impressive, almost urging you to clap as if it was a circus performance. Of course, it felt mean had you clapped at her dejected look.

“It’s well-kept, I assure you. These pictures are all recent, I’ve updated them every year for almost my entire career!” She said proudly, and you almost felt pity at the fact she didn’t seem to realize her own slip-up but instead paraded it around like a badge of honor.

Though, all-in-all you were charmed, and somewhat endeared, by the honesty. But not very much by the house at all. “I think I’d like to look at other options, it’s awfully big for just one person.”

“Ah, wait!” Ms. Abby said urgently. “Please, before we continue with other options, let’s first try out the open house this Friday.”

“Is this protocol, Ms. Abby?” Ms. Abby’s lips wobbled at this and… “Are you crying?!”

“No, I’m a professional. Real Estate Agents don’t cry, I’m simply sweating, is all.” Ms. Abby sniffled, dubbing her eyes with a handkerchief, presumably you were meant to believe her eyes were suffering heat stroke on this fine autumn day.

“…Alright, I’ll go to the open house. Just give me the address.” You eventually relented, if only to avoid seeing the pitiful sight of a teary-eyed Ms. Abby.

That’s how you ended up before a grand house out in the middle of nowhere, the closest town was an hour-long drive away. Forest and fields were most of the surroundings, which was why the house was in such stark contrast, standing as a sole presence, the forests and fields shying away to make room for it, leaving a vast vacancy around it, stretching on for at least fifty meters.

It really was a pristine house, when comparing it to the pictures, it seemed to match right down to the placement of every rock and plant in sight. As if someone had consciously placed each leaf and pebble.

The plants and trees of the garden donned vibrant colors despite the season. You wondered how often Ms. Abby came by, or if she had hired a crew for maintenance, as you could not spot even the slightest hint of dirt or spiderwebs.

The only thing that looked aged was, unfortunately, the “For Sale” sign.

It felt a little unnatural, but you chalked it up to currently being a display house, and thus not lived-in either. You took notice of the way the trees beyond the reach of the garden were withered and wrinkled, and the grass yellowy, dry patches, barely hiding the dirt beneath.

“Some more forest could really do this place some good.” You mumbled. You hesitated for reasons you didn’t fully understand before stepping beyond dead plants clinging loosely to your feet and entering the garden.

You felt a prickling sensation behind your eyes the further you traveled, the door felt so far when the weight of something cloyingly attentive seemed to drag you down as if to prevent your advances.

“You’re here!” A delighted Ms. Abby yelled out before the sound of pitter-patter was interrupted by a loud thud against the door that rattled the frame. With her energy dampened, a sheepish Ms. Abby appeared behind the front door, simply saying; “It opens the other way.”

Right, something attentive could only have been the attention of the overzealous Ms. Abby.

“Come in, come in!” She invited, all but pulling you stumbling into a most decadently, lavishly decorated foyer. From distasteful stuffed animal heads to the ruby red furniture and mosaic glass tables, it felt quite uncomfortable, all sharp angles and very little homeliness to it, like an ornate display of wealth rather than a welcome into a household.

“Not very welcoming, huh?” You commented, which Ms. Abby elected not to respond to, though the small “eep” suggested she had heard the negative impression.

Looking the room over it was impossible for your eyes not to rest at the centerpiece of the foyer: A huge painting above the staircase. A solemn-looking guy stared out into the air, curly locks framing his face. Old paintings always looked miserable, yet you couldn’t help but feel there was a glint of genuine misery in his eyes. Noticing your attention had wandered, Ms. Abby followed your eyes.

“Oh, that was an owner of the house who had it commissioned back during the Renaissance, they wanted it right here, in the heart of the house.” She explained though you couldn’t say you agreed to a decadent foyer being the heart of a house, and if it was, that wasn’t boding well for Ms. Abby’s already poor sales chances.

“I’ve never understood why someone would want to pay money to look miserable in a painting, like you’re paying for it, at least make yourself smile or something.” Your jab was met with Ms. Abby’s impressive ability to carry on like you had said nothing negative at all.

“You know, the owner claimed it was a Jan van Eyck-original too.” Ms. Abby said as if letting you in on a secret, or town gossip. “Really, we’ve had it appraised.”

“And the appraiser confirmed it was a Jan van-whatever original?”

“…The owner really loved art; you’ll see plenty of paintings throughout the place.”

So that was a no. And speaking of no’s:

“Listen, Ms. Abby, I don’t exactly have the budget for a big house, as I already said. I especially don’t have the kind of budget that the kind of person who’d commission an artist to paint them for their foyer would have.”

Abby laughed nervously. “Well, you see, the value’s dropped as I mentioned. We haven’t been able to sell it for a long time, so the price just kept falling.”

“Right. But even so, it can’t have fallen that much.”

At this, Abby avoided eye contact, wringing her hands before, after a big breath, blurting it out. “The person in the painting was the last person to own the house.”

…

“Is this place built on top of an oilfield or something?”

Ms. Abby laughed a hearty if a bit shrill, laughter, before sighing and mumbling. “If only.” She clapped. “But! This is a charming house, why, let me show you the many rooms!”

“Ms. Abby, have you ever considered a field outside of sale?” You asked dryly but nonetheless followed along, eager to leave behind the painting, as you felt watched. The house consisted of many sprawling hallways, enough to almost make one dizzy, and you struggled to remember where everything was.

The house had many rooms, none of them particularly inviting, reading more like a historical display room lacking any warmth or heart (and perhaps even worse, any semblance of renovation despite old age), and all absolutely clustered with trinkets, knickknacks, and in the case of the walls, paintings – leaving very little free space.

It really did read like a historical display, as some rooms seemed older than others, suggesting partial renovation must have been done on some of the rooms. You’d like a word with whoever had been in charge of that lackluster, nonsensical effort.

Perhaps the lack of replaced furniture or renovation was why the house periodically seemed to creak and moan in odd ways, at times you almost confused it as Ms. Abby groaning or sighing, only to realize it was the sound of the house itself.

As for Ms. Abby, she remained undeterred regardless of how many snide remarks you made, which you had to commend her for, though the charm you initially had felt from it was quickly wearing off. Ms. Abby actually seemed increasingly happy, humming to herself. She didn’t think the sale was going well, did she?

“How much of the house is there left to see, Ms. Abby?” You asked, increasingly impatient and tired, having been dragged through an unreasonable number of rooms, which inexplicably, almost all were bedrooms (and yet, you had yet to see more than a single bathroom).

“Well, we’re still missing a couple rooms like the kitchen, oh! I know, how about the master bedroom since you’ll be spending every night there.” She said with a beaming smile.

“That’s awfully optimistic, Ms. Abby.” You noted, at this you received a good-hearted chuckle.

“Oh, this place is too lovely to pass up on, I think it likes you – it’s a match made in heaven. If you don’t like some of the features or decorations, it’s easy to change those, so it would be a waste not to live here.”

“I can’t imagine a house as empty as this holding much affection, and I’m not up for a big project.” All you wanted was a small but cozy house, a simple place. You felt exhausted just thinking about the amount of work you’d need to pour into a house like this to make it feel like home.

“Well, it’s perhaps not an easy house,” Ms. Abby admitted, her cheer at this point an unshakeable force, as a sense of confidence seemed to have sprouted in her. “But that’s why when that rare fit comes by one must take the leap and hold onto it.”

You’d feel insulted by the suggestion you were a good fit for this distasteful and unpleasant house, had Ms. Abby not already shown herself as incompetent but well-meaning. You simply sighed, giving up the conversation, figuring you’d find another real estate agent when you came home.

“Well, take me to the master bedroom then.”

Ms. Abby led you through the foyer again, the bedroom apparently at the other end of the house. Your eyes were drawn to the painting once more, its eyes felt more sunken in than before, shadows forming beneath, to which you tiredly sighed. “Me too, buddy. Me too.”

The master bedroom seemed to be at the stopping point to the sprawling hallways on the right. You were just aghast at the fact you had gone through another set of sprawling hallways, you wondered who had come up with the confusing layout of the place.

Ms. Abby tried to imitate a trumpet to build up suspense but trailed off after you shot her an impatient look. After a weak cough, she simply said “Tadaah” and opened the door.

You stopped up, your right foot hanging in the air, about to cross into the room. A sense of foreboding filled you; it was a bit different from the first time, however. The prickling sensation you felt and the cloying attention, it felt smothering, less like a shove away and more like… Being held in place.

Ms. Abby waited patiently inside the room, not commenting on your hesitation, though you had been snarky and displeased the entire tour, so perhaps this just seemed like more of that. You swallowed and ignored the pressure as you put your foot down and entered the room.

The air felt different here. You had hoped the odd sensation would disappear if you just carried on, like when you entered the house, to begin with, instead, it worsened. The air clung to you, terribly heavy and sticky. It took you a moment to actually focus enough to realize Ms. Abby had spoken, so when you finally snapped back to reality, Ms. Abby was standing in the hallway.

“-tively spellbound already. I’ll give you some time to look around and get acquainted together, one-on-one.” And then she closed the door in your face. The room was, oddly empty, compared to every other room. Nothing but a big, red bed, the empty walls that you could’ve sworn were further away when you entered, and that feeling of being watched, lodging into your skin like stitching.

Nothing except an almost empty room that didn’t feel empty enough.

That’s it. Ms. Abby had officially used up all her pity points, you were leaving. You opened the door, a tad more aggressively than what was perhaps called for, but Ms. Abby was nowhere to be seen in the hallway.

For how annoyed you were with her at this point, you found that you missed her company as you walked down the hallway, nothing distracting you from the odd sounds of the house that seemed to have increased. It felt as if the floor beneath your feet moved and rumbled slightly, the velvety carpets uneven and bumpy, as if walking on something breathing, something living.

You wished that Ms. Abby had given you the floor plans, as you struggled to remember how to return to the foyer through the hallways and occasional rooms you had to cross seemed to hold no real rhythm and didn’t feel as if it obeyed any rules about directions.

At one point you could have sworn you turned back, only to be in another room than where you had emerged from originally. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you found the foyer again. Even in your rush to find the door, your eyes were drawn to the painting, though you continued to rush by it. In your haste, it almost looked as if the painting’s colors were smudged.

You attempted to open the door but found it didn’t budge. It was an odd choice to lock the door, but you were certain that was the reason, it had to be. A locked door was no issue from the inside, but even after hearing the click of the lock, the door didn’t budge when you attempted to open it.

You attempted to kick, pry, tear, and even throw your body weight at the door, but with no luck.

Settling in the foyer after your final attempt at prying the front door open, you huffed, out of breath. You laid on the stairs, trying to settle your heart and pulse, when your eyes landed on the painting again.

…You rubbed your eyes and sat up, thinking what you had seen was owed to your tiredness and the upside-down angle, but no. The painting really did look smudged. Like someone had blurred colors and borders together, the hair’s vibrant color having lost its radiance.

And the mouth, it was oddly smudged between the lips, that it almost gave the impression of a mouth being pried open.

…

No, that was silly, you were being silly. The painting was smudged out, which was already creepy enough on its own, or rather, the house was already creepy enough on its own – your mind was just working overtime and was making up new things to get scared over.

“Well brain, if you like overtime, I guess I’ll have to put you to use and think of an escape. But you don’t have a union, so it’s unpaid hours for you, I’m afraid.”

If the front door was a bust, then you’d find a window. You struggled to recall any windows on the ground floor, but surely there had to be some. Or… That’s right! The kitchen, it had a glass door. You never got around to seeing the kitchen, having mainly been shown the upstairs so far, but you recalled Ms. Abby mentioning it back when she had given her pitch for why you should show up.

You hadn’t been on the left side of the house, at least not on the ground floor, so you figured that was a good direction to begin, in your search for the kitchen. You opened the door, urgency in your steps, only to find you weren’t in an unfamiliar room.

Instead, you were back in the empty master bedroom, which somehow felt much more crammed than any of the other rooms. But… That didn’t make sense. The master bedroom was upstairs, you had fought through a confusing hallway to find the foyer, so this… this didn’t make sense at all.

The air felt oppressive in the room as if your heart would be forced to a halt from the sheer weight of it, like a physical presence. This time you were sure that the walls were closer than they had been before. A bed table had been added next to the bed, and the part of you still delusional enough to hope thought maybe it meant that Ms. Abby was still around. As if this was an elaborate prank.

You tried to swallow despite how dry your mouth felt, your heart hammering painfully against your chest. This was ridiculous. You slammed the door open again, the door shaking on its hinges. Beyond the door, it revealed a hallway, but even if the hallway was confusing, you had been through it twice by now, you could do this, you could find the kitchen or a ground-floor window.

Hurrying along the hallway, it felt as if the floor and walls shifted and moved. Were you dizzy, or was this actually happening? The restrictive air of the master bedroom followed you, as you dragged yourself through.

“Huh?” you furrowed your eyebrows when you opened one of the doors. You were sure this was the one you had gone through before, but the room behind was unfamiliar. Cold dread filled you as a horrible thought crossed your mind.

No, no, no. You ran to the next door but behind it was another unfamiliar room. Were the layout… Changing? Your hand trembled as you tried to open a third door, and you felt like crying when all it revealed was the master bedroom again.

A lamp now stood on top of the bed table. Were new things going to be added each time you returned to the room? You thought back to the cramped bedrooms Ms. Abby had so cheerfully shown off. You weren’t sure what to make of it but felt sick all the same.

“I don’t have time for this.” You had to snap yourself out of it. You could spiral and panic later, but for now, you needed to get out. So, turning on your heel, you returned to the hallway. You’d go through each door that didn’t lead to the master bedroom, hoping to somehow find your way downstairs.

You almost cheered audibly when you finally saw the staircase, rushing to it. Once again, as you passed it, your eyes were drawn to the painting.

The painting no longer looked the same as before, the person it had been long erased by smudged and changing lines. You couldn’t tell what it was changing into but felt your heart race with familiarity all the same.

The mouth was a gaping hole by now, outstretched awkwardly. You thought it might have been a smile, but it looked much more like a pained grimace to you.

You only took this as further encouragement to get out of there.

When you failed to find anything of use, you realized there was one room that you seemed to always find. So, as counterintuitive as it seemed, you walked upstairs again, and as confusing as the changing layout was, it didn’t take you long to find it.

You saw the familiar bed, the bed table, the lamp, and the newly added clock on the wall (which didn’t seem to be working) and closed your eyes for a moment. You took a deep breath. And then you decisively walked in to grab the lamp, shivering a bit as you brushed against a much-too-warm wall.

If you couldn’t find the kitchen or a window on the ground floor, then fuck it, you’d find one up here. Whatever broken bones or bruises you’d get from the fall, you’d accept. Finding a window upstairs proved much more doable, as one would line the walls every now and then.

You threw the lamp against the window and braced yourself for impact.

But nothing happened.

The lamp fell to the floor with a hollow thud. When you opened your eyes, you found not a single scratch on the window. So, you tried again. And again. You tried punching the window, earning nothing but a stinging fist.

Yet you continued. At some point, it became more of a tantrum, an expression of your desperation colored in violence, than an attempt to escape. Hitting the window, kicking the wall. “Why-“ you hated this house. You hated it. Hated, hated, hated it. You just wanted to leave. Your ears rang, whether it was from your headache, or the way the house’s groans and creaks had grown in severity, you didn’t know, didn’t care, couldn’t care.

Already unsteady on your feet, your final kick caused you to lose balance entirely.

Stumbling and falling onto the floor, without realizing it, you found yourself by the stairs, and face to face with the painting. Your blood ran cold as you stared into your own lifeless eyes staring down at you from above.

 

Quiet had fallen over the house like a blanket, only the slow rumble throughout the house bellied any activity. In the heart of the house rested a painting, donning a toothy smile and a certain glint in their eyes.

A satisfied Ms. Abby removed the “For Sale” sign out front and drove away with a hum.

[anglingforlevels]

Another Generic Slasher (Yandere Slasher x Reader)

Don't mind me, accidentally deleting this story and having to repost it. It was my first attempt at writing gore, so nothing too egregious in here.

CW: Graphic Death Scenes, Character Death, Violence (A Little Against Reader), Gore, Yandere, Swearing, Reader is referred to as “handsome” but not in reference to a gender, Dead Dove, Not Proofread

Minors DNI

Life was far away, and you hoped it wouldn’t catch up to you anytime soon. So, you thought, as you arrived at the summer getaway you and your friends had planned. When the car stopped, everyone jumped out and, perhaps inspired by their own anticipation, began unpacking without missing a beat.

“Ah, let me help you with that, Ms. Browning.” Jake said, already grabbing some of the boxes that Ms. Browning had brought with her.

“Why thank you, how reliable. What a good kid.” She hummed, pleased. Ms. Browning was the lady who owned the lovely house out in the wood that you and your friends had rented for vacation. She wore her red hair in a tight bun, and donned black, thick glasses.

“No problem. Ms. Browning.” Jake smiled. That sap was always offering to help people out, so he no doubt meant it. He had never minded a bit of hard work even on his days off. You, however, were happy to leave him to do the heavy lifting.

You had come here with three of your buddies to get away from the city and enjoy your time-off with some extra flair. Jake had suggested it back when you helped him dye the tips of his brown hair a lighter shade.

You had jumped at the idea, and begun calling up the others, so much that you had forgotten about the dye for a moment, leaving Jake’s tips white, which you had insisted contrasted well with his brown hair and dark skin (though he continued pouting, not entirely convinced).

Someone gently tapped your shoulder. Looking over a bespeckled, freckled visage greeted you, as she waited patiently for you to give the go-ahead to talk. “What up, Aisha?”

She hesitated for a moment. “…Is there anything I can help with?”

You had the feeling that wasn’t what she had been wanting to say, but didn’t want to push her, so instead, you simply nodded with a grin. “Yeah, for starters, you could bring your luggage inside?”

“Right. Of course.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, a little worried for her. Your attention was called elsewhere when Sara, the finale member of the group, yelled out, her voice echoing in the forest. “Jake let’s race to see who gets their box inside first. Loser has to make dinner tonight.”

Sara emerged from the hood of Ms. Browning’s car, with two boxes stacked in her arms. Which seemed impressive, had you not seen a pillow peeking through one of the boxes. The only disadvantage was the lack of visibility, but given Sara’s buzz cut versus Jake’s long bangs, it didn’t count for much.

“You wanna race in that long dress?” Jake asked dubiously.

“Scared?” Sara smiled that crooked smile she always did when she got competitive, and Jake rolled his eyes, despite eagerly getting in position. Those dorks.

“I’ll do the countdown.” You offered. “On now. 3. 2. 1.” You kept them waiting in suspense for a moment before shouting. “NOW!”

They both kicked off and… “I won.” Aisha’s voice rang out, and there she stood with a small box in the doorway, with a little smile on her lips.

“Whaaat?” Jake exclaimed. Sara shook her head in disapproval.

“Judge, I call foul. Aisha was already by the porch.”

“We never agreed to a starting line.” You pointed out, having seen Aisha moving toward the porch mischievously while you did your countdown.

“The judge and Aisha are clearly cooperating. Outrageous.” Then, Sara smiled a cat-like smile. “Then, we’ll just have to make sure the judge comes in last place, right Jake?”

“Huh.” You said, but by the time you processed the words, they had already taken off. “Hey now!” You ran after them, but predictably lost.

“Lookin’ forward to tonight’s meal.” Jake said, looking mighty satisfied with himself. You shook your fist at them playfully.

“The energy of youth really isn’t to be overestimated.” Ms. Browning laughed, entering the house with the last of her boxes.

“Youth? Tell that to my lower back, please.” You sighed, earning an eye roll from Jake who had been subjected to that specific complaint the most, as your go-to carrier.

“At my age, anyone under forty seems young.” Ms. Browning placed her box on the table and clapped her hands satisfied. “There, that was all of it. Again, thank you for helping me carry the boxes, that’s no trivial thing. It’s been years since I’ve rented this place out, so I thought I’d replace a couple of things.”

“It was no problem, Ms. Browning, you let us stove our stuff in the car too after all. And we’re just excited to vacation somewhere so beautiful.”

“That’s true. Beautiful places seems to make the spirit brighter, don’t they? It’s like I always say, trivial is as trivial does, and ugly things are trivial.”

…

Exchanging looks, none of you knew how to respond to that, to your luck, Ms. Browning simply continued on, allowing all of you to push past it as well.

You began zoning out of the conversation, your eyes idly looking at the interior. When your eyes flew past the open door, you thought your heart would stop for a moment. You could have sworn that, for just a second, you saw a man, an impossibly tall, large man. But after blinking, he was gone.

You relaxed, certain it had probably just been your mind playing tricks on you, and that it had merely been a tree.

Sara and Jake was busy discussing who had actually been the fastest runner between the two of them, so much so that most of Ms. Browning’s introduction to the place went on deaf ears, as she prattled on about the privacy and view. Something about how it was one out of only ten buildings in the entire forest.

As you looked over the place, your eyes drifted over a dresser there seemed a little too far from the wall. Something about it piqued your curiosity, though you weren’t sure what it was, but approaching it you were awarded for said curiosity with the discovery of uneven, barely eligible letters scratched into the wall.

“Trevel?” you read out loud. Jake, who was losing the argument against Sara, eagerly joined to see what you had found, none of you noticing the way Ms. Browning shifted uncomfortably.

“It’s a name, dear.”

“A name? I’ve never heard it before.”

“Well, that makes sense. It’s an ugly name, fit for ugly boys.” You were caught off guard by the harshness of her words. Then she smiled at you and Jake. “And trivial is as trivial does, and ugly boys are trivial. Something like that would be out-of-place with such handsome kids.”

You were distracted by a loud noise outside before you could reply. A look outside revealed the neatly stacked firewood having collapsed, and by the time you looked away, Ms. Browning had already moved on from the conversation.

Before leaving us to ourselves, Ms. Browning diligently gave us a run-down over where everything was, from the firewood outside by the woodchipper, which we were allowed to make use of for fires, to the rooms, even considerately telling how far away the nearest doctors, police, and firefighters were, most being quite far with the exception of a small, local police station, so small it couldn’t even be considered small-town cops but rather forest rangers.

With our ride gone, we began packing out and taking inventory, in case something was missing, and we’d need to call a taxi for shopping. By the time all the boxes had been sorted through for the most crucial stuff, it had begun to grow darker outside.

“Man, I’m starving.” Sara grumbled.

”We could tell by the fact you only unpacked the food.”

Sara playfully stuck her tongue out at you, but even with that rude display, you obediently began collecting ingredients. Jake looked over your shoulder.

“Yellow onions are better for stews.” He commented, as he threw one of the red onions from hand to hand.

“And the red one carries more whimsy.”  

“I can carry that whimsy to the pantry and get some yellow onions instead.”

That was promptly rejected. As he examined your other chosen vegetables, you got out a cutting board.

“Not gonna handle the meat first?” he asked.

You sighed. “What happened to ‘loser cooks’ that you forced me into?” you asked with a hand on your hip. Jake conceded and stepped back. The others had begun getting out the new plates that Ms. Browning had brought along.

“Remind me again, why exactly are you getting plates out already? We haven’t even begun the fire, I’m only at the prep-part?”

“Explain why you began the prep-work before the fire-“ they were interrupted by a loud crash. A plate had slipped out of Aisha’s hands, and now laid shattered on the floor. Aisha stood frozen, her eyes wide.

“I… I’ll clean it up..” She said, her tone sounding a little off.

“I think Ms. Browning mentioned that there’s a broom closet in the hallway.” Sara said, before Aisha even left, you got distracted by Jake crowding you again. By the third interjection (or advice, as he called), you put down the peeler you had used for the carrots.

“Ugh, Jake, you clearly want to do the cooking.” You said. Jake opened his mouth but seemed to think better of it and decided not to protest your words. You sighed. “You and Sara are way too competitive; you’ll even fight for a loss. I’ll go get some firewood for the fire; you get cooking duty.”

“Deal!”

You walked outside, hoping that the firewood wasn’t too damp, as you really didn’t want to cut new firewood, even if there was an axe available. These contemplations were lost as you found Aisha sitting on the porch.

“Trouble finding the broom?” You asked lightly, making Aisha jump a little, startled.

“Just needed a bit of fresh air.” She said, this time you took notice of her tone. She seemed downcast but you couldn’t quite place your finger on it. Not quite sad but definitely not happy either.

“Hey man,” you scratched your neck awkwardly. This stuff weren’t your strong suit. “don’t sweat the plate. We’ll just get Ms. Browning a new one.”

Aisha hummed in agreement, still looking at the sky. Your eyes flickered between her and the sky, trying to think of something more to say. “Uh, you know, I mistook a tree for a person, like some kind of horror movie. Which, well,” you trailed off. “What I’m trying to say, it’s more embarrassing than the plate-thing, so don’t worry about it.”

Aisha smiled at that. Whether it was your words or your clumsy attempt that made her smile, you weren’t sure. Aisha sighed, “Sometimes I wish it was a horror movie.”

She looked at you with a surprised expression, as if she hadn’t expected herself to say that either. “I don’t want to be in a horror movie, of course. Not actually. It’s just nice sometimes to imagine.”

“Escaping the jaws of death?”

Aisha was silent for a bit, as if contemplating whether to say her next words. “No. In the horror movie I meet my end. It’s not dragged out, maybe I’m one of the first ones to go. In either case, by the end of the movie, I’m dead, and when the credits are playing, they forget my name. But that’s just running away.” She looked at you and then at the ground. “I’m sorry, that’s a lot to hear.”

It was. You weren’t sure what to respond but you could see Aisha was suffering, you didn’t like seeing that at all. “You’re away from everything right now, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I am. And I really want to enjoy this, I do. I really do. But I didn’t come here to enjoy myself, I came here to run away, somehow I can’t bring myself to relax at all. I’m sorry.”

…You scooted closer to her. “You’re out here talking with me though, that’s not running away.” Even being able to share something, however small, was still something. You thought for a moment, trying to find the right words:

“Listen, you’re… good.” You’re good? It didn’t get any clumsier than that. “Er, I guess that’s not really what you wanted to hear-“Aisha laughed, the sound comforted you.

“No, no. that’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

“Really? Uh,” Gotta keep up this momentum somehow. “Maybe we’ll go on a trip together again, next year. It’ll be like running away from running away. No, wait, that doesn’t make sense.”

“Pfft, you’re so bad at this.” Aisha laughed, this time her laugh felt a little more genuine and unrestrained. “How am I supposed to feel melancholic with that kind of cheering up? Let’s definitely go on a trip next year. And…Thanks for coming out here and talking with me.”

She stood up, and the air felt a little lighter around her.

“Well, I should get some firewood going.” You said, begrudgingly, and stood up as well. Only for the both of you to be distracted by rustling from the trees and bushes. You blinked. You were from the city, so you weren’t used to a place with wildlife, and while you could hear the sound of birds and insects nonstop as a reminder of their existence, other types of wildlife had been forgotten by you.

You felt as if something watched you from the trees, meaning the animal probably still was there. You crouched and held out your hands, in what you hoped was a disarming gesture.

“Hey,” you said gently, “Sorry did we frighten you? It’s okay, yeah?” Your hushed words seemed to cause a stop in the rustling before the animal decided to outright leave. Your attempts to soothe apparently left a lot to be desired.

You sighed, only to be faced with Aisha staring at you in disbelief. You looked at her questioning.

“Why are you trying to befriend a wild animal? You know there’s coyotes in some parts of the forest, right?” at that you just rolled your eyes.

“Not this part of the forest, else Ms. Browning wouldn’t be renting out a vacation home.”

“Seriously…” Aisha didn’t seem any less exasperated by you. “I’ll help gather the firework, since if a beast attacked you, you might try to talk to it.”

While you didn’t appreciate her claim, you did appreciate the company and additional helping hands, the broom long forgotten. Especially once you arrived at the scattered firewood. While a pain to fix back into a neat stack, it was a relief to feel how dry and crisp the wood was, as if newly cut.

This meant the axe leaning against the woodchipper, would need no use.

“Can you grab the basket?” Aisha asked after having selected the, in her opinion, finest firewood. You looked around but couldn’t find any. “Hm… Maybe we can carry it ourselves?”

At that, the both of you took one look at the firewood you had picked to last throughout the entire night and decided against it. “I’ll go grab something to carry with.” You volunteered.

You slipped inside, your presence going unnoticed by Jake who was too absorbed with cooking and Sara who was busy crying over newly cut onions. Basket, basket, basket… Satisfied you managed to find one in the living room, by the fireplace, which in hindsight felt a little obvious.

You looked out of the window, rolling your eyes playfully after spotting the way Aisha was sneakily rearranging your half of the pile. She had felt it wasn’t neat enough, while you had argued it would all be thrown into a basket either way.

A large figure emerged from the woods, and you froze. The impossibly tall frame, the one that had you convinced it had to have been a tree, there was no way you wouldn’t recognize that. The figure was huge, in every sense of the word, a bulking presence, enveloped by a long jacket.

He turned his head towards the window, and you duck, panicked. But you swore you had seen nothing but white for a moment. You barged into the kitchen once more, catching the attention of Jake and Sara, but any jokes about your explosive entrance died out when they saw your expression.

“What’s wrong?”

“I saw a stranger outside.” You swallowed. “I have a bad feeling about this, he’s-“ Dangerous. You could feel it, if not feel it, you could certainly tell he was capable of being dangerous from his build alone.

“Where’s Aisha?” Sara asked concerned, seeing as she not only hadn’t returned earlier, but wasn’t with you. You confirmed her fears.

“Outside.” You heard a mumbled “fuck”. You wanted to panic and swear as well, but you needed to do something. “Alright, you two, call the police. And I’ll get Aisha back inside.”

“What about the guy?”

“I- he didn’t attack or anything. If I keep acting like I don’t know he’s there, Aisha might be able to get inside. I just have to act natural.” You hoped you sounded confident and reassuring, but even if you didn’t, there wasn’t many other plans being thrown around, so all of you nodded, before you returned to the main entrance.

You opened the door askew, so you could see out but couldn’t be seen.

You needed to call Aisha inside but found yourself hesitating. The words struggling to make it past the lump in your throat. He hadn’t done anything yet, so if you acted like before, then maybe he’d do nothing, it was your best shot at least. Even so, you hands grew clammy as you thought to keep your voice from shaking.

“Hey Aisha!” you called out, watching her from the creek of the door. You worried that if she could see your face, then she’d be able to see your fear, barely concealed. “Could you come help find the basket?”

“Did you check by the fireplace; it might have one?”

“Uh, yeah, I did.”

“Maybe there isn’t one, then? Just come out and we’ll carry i-“

“No! Um, I’m sure, yes. Ms. Browning mentioned a basket at some point,” you interrupted hastily. Worry crept up that you had let panic color your voice in a far too obvious way. You swallowed. “It’ll drive me crazy if I just give up, please, just a quick look?” You pleaded.

“Alright, if it’s that big of a deal to you.” Aisha shrugged. You held your breath as she approached, only able to breathe once she was inside, no looming figure following as far as you could see. She opened her mouth, but you didn’t even let her form words before you spoke.

“Aisha, there’s someone outside.”

Maybe there was more delicate ways to share this fact. Ways that didn’t make her bemused expression shatter like that. But you didn’t have time to navigate that kind of delicacy. Aisha furrowed her brows, tentatively glancing at the door.

She looked back at you, as if hoping to find a trace of insincerity or joking but faltered as she found nothing of the sorts. Neither of you said anything else as you locked the door and joined the others in the living-room.

They had finished their call already and was standing back-to-back. You assumed it was to avoid getting snuck up on, though they were left with two blind sides.

Any words one might have ushered, choked in the tension, and instead all of you stood together silently, anxiously.

None of you knew how long time went before the cop arrived, though it couldn’t have been long. Even so, each moment felt like an eternity, as frazzled nerves turned every sound of the forest into a foreboding sign.

So, at the sound of wheels, all of you hurried to the door. A cop car that looked like something from a period piece, revealed what must have been a lackluster budget at the tiny station. Out of the car, a middle-aged man stepped out, using his hand to move his long hair aside.

“Hey kiddos.” He greeted them as he approached, stopping a little past the firewood. His voice had a condescending tone to it. “I’m Mr. Davidsons, so y’all say you saw a perp?”

“Well, we saw – or, well, they saw – a strange man walking around here.” Aisha explained, stumbling over her words. At this Mr. Davidson lifted an eyebrow, glancing at you briefly.

“Did anyone else actually see someone? Or was it just this one there?” He laughed, it was a somewhat unpleasant sound, grating in the way only an adult’s dismissive tone could be, doubly so given all of you were adults.

“Sir, I’d be happy if it was just me being paranoid but…” Your eyes darted around nervously scanning the area. You wondered if the car alone might have scared him off. “I saw a man. He looked really big and strong.”

Those words didn’t seem to do much in the way of convincing. “You guys city folks? Out here in the country, especially this lively piece of forest, there’s plenty of critters. You probably just saw an ugly bear.” He snorted.

Sara looked about ready to school him but all of you froze when he appeared. This time he didn’t simple stand or walk aimlessly around, he was heading straight towards them, though you couldn’t see his face clearly from his red hair and hunched posture, you spotted glimpses of a white mask.

Mr. Davidson noticed the way all of your attention had shifted, and following your eyes, he faced the hulking mass making his way towards them all.

“Sir, this is the police, stay where you are.” Mr. Davidson said. He was much more serious now that he realized there was someone. He was on guard, his hand ready to draw out his gun, you noticed the way his hand shook, and felt any sense of security vanish, as you watched the pale, sweaty cop attempt to talk down to what felt like a monster of a man.

Similarly, he didn’t seem very convinced by Mr. Davidson either, as he only made a grunting sound and continued his slow gait forward, stray pieces of firewood being kicked out of the way. “Sir, I’m serious. If you continue moving, I’ll consider it contempt of a police officer.”

But he only got closer. Mr. Davidson held out his gun when the man was within arm-reach. A proximity that left your guts churning. However, the man did stop, a fact that made Mr. Davidson breathe a sigh of relief, as the man spread out his arms. Perhaps it was the way it made him look bigger and emphasized the sheer size of his arm muscles and shoulders, but you felt more threatened by it, though Mr. Davidson just nodded in approval at what he perceived as a sign of submission.

And then an axe nestled into Mr. Davidson’s neck.

Someone shrieked, a shrill and piercing sound. Then you realized it was yourself. The man grabbed the axe’s handle, but instead of nestling it free, he forced it to slice through the rest of Mr. Davidson’s neck, freeing the axe.

Mr. Davidson’s head thumped to the ground, rolling slightly.

You felt a pull on your arm, flinching until you realized it was Jake pulling you the last few steps toward the door, before shutting it close, and locking.

“Oh my god, oh my god-“Aisha was breathlessly chanting, intercut with small “what the hell”, unable to provide anything more poignant. Sara, who had been no worse for wear, straightened up at this. She took Aisha’s hand, and though nothing else was said, Aisha seemed to be reeled back to her senses, enough to break up the broken chant.

“We don’t have time to waste.” You said, fishing out your phone. Your hand shook so badly that it took a few tries to unlock. “Call the police?” you asked, which Sara scoffed at.

“Right, that turned out great last time.”

“They didn’t take us seriously last time, but now we got a dead cop on our hands. Who else are we gonna call, the fire department?”

“Please just make the call, before he gets in.” Aisha requested, anxiously looking around, Sara relented with a nod. You only got halfway through dialing the police’s number before it was interrupted by a call, which you accidentally accepted.

“Shoot.”

“Well, hello to you too.” Ms. Browning responded drily.

“Ah, Ms. Browning. Sorry, this isn’t a good time. Actually, could you call the cops?” The less time they had to stay in one place, the better.

“The cops?”

“Yeah, there’s some crazy freak out here, Ms. Browning. He killed a cop!” Jake said panicked. “It’s some huge dude with a mask.”

“After all this time. He’s still…” Ms. Browning didn’t sound surprised, only forlorn.

“What does that mean? Did you… know about him?” At this, Ms. Browning laughed joylessly.

“I left him here in the woods, decades ago. Anyone else would have died. Ah, but not little Trevel. Instead, he grew.” She was quiet for a beat before continuing pensively, her voice distant, “These woods are… Unusual. Things don’t grow right here. Why, my little Trevel was my height by the time he turned five.”

“Trevel?”

“I wasn’t ready for a baby, you see. That’s why… I figured the next year, when I prepared this place for renters, it would be over, no corpse left, no baby left. Just life back to normal. But it wasn’t. He was still here.

He’d stare. Just following dumbly along, staring at everything I did. I couldn’t stand those inquisitive eyes, I didn’t ask for any of that, you know?  When he was four, to avoid seeing those cursed eyes, I gave him a mask, told him never to take it off, and what would you know? Seems he grew up right along with the mask.”

“Grew up along the… Huh? Ms. Browning, we’re not following?”

“It couldn’t be taken off, as if it had grown into his face. I suppose it might have, what with his growth spurt and all.” Was all the clarification Ms. Browning gave, as she continued recounting, as if in a daze. “At first, I was… Startled. But you can get used to all manners of things, when the surprise settled, I was just relieved. The mask didn’t have a mouth, so, surely he’d starve to dead.” She lamented. “But no, oh no, not my little Trevel.” There was a bitter edge to her voice. “He was always a good-for-nothing kid, couldn’t even do something as trivial as die.”

Somehow, disgust was all you could feel for Ms. Browning.

“That’s… Horrible.” Aisha said quietly. All of you looked at each other for a moment. Evidently, Ms. Browning agreed to Aisha’s words, sighing deeply.

“So, it is. This was a mistake, returning here like this. I won’t make it again; this’ll be the last time this house is used.”

“You’ll call the cops, right Ms. Browning?”

“Some things are better kept hidden, kiddo. I’m truly sorry but… Goodbye.” And then she hung up. All of you stood in stunned silence for a bit. But you didn’t have time for stunned silence. You began dialing the police’s number again but stopped in your tracks at the sound of weight violently thrown at the door.

“Are you kidding me,” Sara whispered, “We wasted what little time we had on Ms. Browning?!”

As if to answer her question, you were blinded for a moment, as an axe nestled into the door. Then another hit. None of you waited till he was able to enter through the destroyed door, before running. You and Jake hid behind the dresser, while Sara, still holding Aisha’s hand, pulled them into the small pantry-room.

You looked once more at the clumsily written “Trevel” but didn’t have long to look at it before your focus was forced elsewhere, as Trevel himself emerged from the hall, with the sound of his axe dragging against the floor.

You held your breath, as thudding footsteps carried the guy through the room. Your close proximity allowed you to make out that the dirtied jacket enveloping his figure seemed to actually be multiple articles of clothing, sewn crudely together, or… Not sewn, that wasn’t quite right.

There were no stitches or strings to see, despite the clumsy, crude nature, rather, it looked as if the clothes had simply melted together. He turned around, allowing you a clear look at his face.

Or it would have, had his face been visible.

The white you had spotted earlier seemed to have been the mask, which covered his entire face. A white, round mask, decorated only by dirt. You couldn’t see where the mask ended, and his face began.

You felt your phone vibrate against your leg. Taking it out, carefully using your hand to cover the light of the screen, you saw a text from Sara.

Cop car still here. Sneak out.

Right, that’s right. It was still out there. You could drive away. You and Jake were close to the entrance, it was feasible that you’d be able to sneak out as long as Trevel didn’t turn around. The harder challenge was for Sara and Aisha, the pantry-room further into the room.

You shot a quick text back. Me and Jake will go when you reach the dresser.

Slowly, you saw Aisha and Sara emerge from the pantry. Carefully placing each step to avoid the creak of floorboards, trying to move whenever Trevel took another thundering step, to mask their own sounds. Trevel flipped the couch, and you flinched.

Sara and Aisha rounded a corner and reached the kitchen island, receiving a natural cover. Once they made it past the kitchen island, they’d almost be by the dresser. It would be doable to get away. Trevel turned around, and your heart sank as he got closer to the kitchen island.

You still had your phone in your hand, so you tossed it. When it hit the wall, it caught his attention, causing him to stop up and turn around. They just needed to wait, hopefully he’d walk towards the sound… Wait, what are they doing?

Sara tugged on Aisha’s hand, and they began sneaking away under Trevel’s inattentiveness, an arm reach away from him. Trevel lifted his foot, and you felt relief, he was going to investigate your bait. The relief was visible on Jake’s face as well, Sara had made it past the kitchen island, Aisha not far behind, and then…

A crass, clicking sound.

Aisha had stepped on the remains of a shattered plate.

A large hand shot out, grabbing Aisha’s face, forcing her glasses to shift awkwardly and press into her face. When he lifted his arm, you witnessed the way Aisha’s entire body were left to dangle helplessly in the air, forcibly separating her and Sara’s hands, and then… He tightened his grip.

The glasses bent and broke, glass and frames cutting into her skin, and her skin seemed to cave under his fingers, blood pooling around them as they sunk into flesh, white bones protruding through skin as if pushed away from their rightful spot.

Aisha’s whimpers and cries of pain were replaced by a painful gurgling as her nose caved into her mouth. After a while, her body stopped moving at all. And he simply let go of her, her limp body falling to the ground awkwardly.

It had all happened too fast for any of you to react, but the sound of her body hitting the floor brought you all to action, running as fast as you could. Though he pursued, it was a relief to know all of you were faster.

You swung the doors open once you reached the car, able to see Trevel’s silhouette move through the windows of the entrance. “What’s the hold up, Jake?”

At that question, Jake looked up at them. “There’s no key.”

What. If it wasn’t in the car, then that meant…

Instinctively all of you looked at Mr. Davidson’s headless corpse. And only a few meters behind, stood the hulking figure of Trevel, having reached the door.

“I’ll go get the keys.” Sara said, to which you and Jake shook your head furiously. “Please, back in the kitchen, I pulled Aisha too fast, and she… Let me do this, okay? I am the fastest, after all.” She said with a weak smile. You didn’t have the heart to point out the tears in her eyes.

Sara made a dash towards Mr. Davidson’s body, basically throwing herself at him. Trevel, similarly, made his way towards her. It was true that Sara was faster than him but that meant very little with such a small distance.

She fumbled through Mr. Davidson’s pockets, when he descended upon her. A sickening crunch as his foot crushed her ankle. Sara howled in pain. Then he moved further up, delivering a stomp to her back, pressing her against the corpse.

You could have sworn you saw the mushy flesh of Mr. Davidson give in, but maybe it was just your imagination adding to the wet, snapping sounds mixed with that same sickening crunch. Even so, she still desperately clawed at Mr. Davidson’s pockets.

You didn’t have time to react when he had gotten Aisha, but there was no way you’d just watch now.

You jumped out of the car, and though you didn’t look, you could hear the sound of Jake following along. Finding one of the larger wood pieces, you charged at him.

You swung the wood at him with all your might, but he barely seemed to notice, instead shoving you away like a pesky fly. You were flung to the side, and crashed into something hard and metallic, the sudden loud humming noises suggested it had been turned on.

You felt a sharp pain in your foot, having landed on it wrong, and struggled to stand up again, leaning against the machine, that turned out to be the woodchipper, for support.

Meanwhile, Sara had fished out the keys but with Trevel looming above her, reaching out, she didn’t wait for his next move. It wasn’t a meaningful act of defiance or defense, but an act of someone too close to the jaws of a predator to escape, but close enough to rip and tear. Sara flew towards Trevel, grabbing onto the edges of his mask.

Trying to tear the mask off. You didn’t know what had gone through Sara’s head as her fingers to the corner of face – and you assumed, the mask – you only knew that she gasped and let go as if on instinct. “But… It’s a mask?” she feebly whispered, confusion on her face.

Though Sara had lost her grip, there was no chance of falling as Trevel held onto her, drawing her closer. Sara struggled but was rendered immobile by the tight grip. Even from the sidelines, it was easy to see the way the grip tightened, to hear the sound of metal bending as Sara’s accessories caved under the pressure, the way her breathing grew ragged and wheezing, hear the sounds of bones and joints snapping.

You had managed to get up but was struggling to keep balance, that wasn’t the case for Jake who was ready to rush at them. Sara, through ragged, bloody breaths, yelled for him to stop, forcing her awkwardly bending arm to shoot out, throwing him the keys.

Jake looked between Sara, who had taken to wildly flailing, punching, clawing, till her fingers were left bloody, and you. He stood there for a second before, with a conflicted expression, running to you, Neither of you looked as Sara’s pained sounds turned to gurgles, or when she stopped making sounds altogether, instead Jake dragged you to the car.

” We’ve been outrunning that freak the entire night, so…” He swallowed and steadied his breath before continuing, trying to be strong, as if he wasn’t as shaken up as you were. “If we just make it to the car, everything will be okay. If we can outrun him on legs, then we can outrun him on wheels.”

Even as you heard Sara’s body being dropped, Jake didn’t let go of you, making sure you got into the car. He didn’t even circle around the car, simply crawled over you, and into the driver’s seat. He put in the keys. You could see Trevel’s bloodied mask, the remnant of Sara’s vomit.

The engine coughed. Jake hit his hand against the steering wheel. And then, the car started. You laughed, not out of joy but from the adrenaline pumped relief. The car moved backwards, Trevel’s charging figure growing smaller.

“Fuck yeah!” Jake hollered out. “An old, stubborn car but you got the job done, hah!”

None of you mentioned Sara. None of you could bear to. Not yet.

“Jake, we’re going to have to turn around.” You said, looking behind at the countless sturdy trees. It was a narrow, winding road. They wouldn’t be able to do it backwards. Jake cursed under his breath.

“It’s okay. I don’t need to drive all the way back to the house to have enough room, just a bit closer.” He said reassuringly, you weren’t sure who he was trying to reassure. The dull, warm pain in your foot only seemed to grow.

Jake drive forward but before the house even came back into view, from the shadow-covered bushes, a large figure emerged, only meters away. You weren’t sure if Jake intentionally rammed into him or weren’t able to stop the car in time, but the hood of the car hit the figure with a loud thud.

And he hadn’t budged. You could vaguely make out a huge dent in the now-still car, and the small, sad stutters the car made from the impact. The large figure reached behind his back, but his body remained completely still, fixated on them.

Jake’s hands were shivering; “Jesus chr-“

“No time for prayers.” You interrupted, shifting in your seat to grab the reverse gear and stump on the brake pedal, pain shooting up your leg, the car moved backwards in a sudden jolt. Trevel held up his axe. He lifted it into the air, and as the car began to move away, he swung it into the hood.

The car were making concerning wheezing noises but by now, Jake’s adrenaline had returned to spur him into action, and he forced the car to continue. To your shared horror, the car didn’t budge. The wheels spinning helplessly as the car was kept in place.

Then he pulled the axe closer, dragging the car closer with a screech. You and Jake didn’t even exchange glances as you both flung your respective car doors open, jumping out. Jake couldn’t make it over to you, without Trevel who stood in front of the car, making it to you, so you both ran on your own, even as your foot ached and bent oddly, a searing fire spreading.

But you noticed, Jake hadn’t run away from Trevel and the house, but towards the house. It was a long travel to make it to any actual road and it was getting very dark, was that why? But even so, Jake had a phone on him, still – unlike you.

You didn’t know why he hadn’t run that way, but you changed your own course, rushing to him. You couldn’t be separated now. Not after Aisha and Sara. Jake, disorientated from the crash, was losing his speed advantage, the distances between the two far too little for comfort, as Jake had reached the firewood pile.

You made eye contact with Jake, whose eyes widened. “What are you doing? Run away, I’m buying time!”

So that was why. He had just hoped you wouldn’t notice in time. But the moment of distraction meant Trevel, who was steadily becoming the fastest of the two, caught up to him. He grabbed onto him, and you half-expected him to crush him like he had Aisha and Sara, instead, he shoved Jake against the woodchipper.

As Jake’s arm and shoulder disappeared into the machine, his face twisted into a pained grimace, and a red mist of blood, minced meat, and viscera descended from the machine with splintered bone shards like macabre snowflakes. You didn’t even think as you continued running, you should have had half-the-mind to at least curse yourself out for wasting the sacred seconds he had sacrificed.

Yet all you could think was you needed to get him out. Only as his face were pressed against the machine, did you stop up. You felt your stomach churning as the metallic smell coated the air. Trevel seemed to spend a moment just looking at the shredded innards and minced remains of Jake.

Then he flexed his finger around his axe and turned towards you. So, you ran.

But you had gotten too close, so running in the opposite direction of him meant running towards the house. Going past the house would mean venturing further into the forest, further away from any civilization. You didn’t fancy your chances with coyotes, and you didn’t fancy your chances with Trevel.

Maybe that instinctive desire to escape to something civil made you run into the house to hide, you’d like to think it was a strategic choice, somehow. But you knew that wasn’t the case, you just sought the familiarity.

Inside the house, you dashed upstairs, worried he’d be able to break down a wall or window in any room downstairs. You could hear him by the time you closed the door, and for a second debated if it was best to be silent and hide, but then again, you didn’t have many hiding places in this room.

What you did have was a dresser. So, knowing how it would lead him upstairs, you desperately pushed the dresser in front of the door. Then the bed. Anything you could get hold of in the room was pushed in front of the door.

And then you scurried to the other end of the room, trying to ignore the fiery burn of your foot. You heard his approach but still jumped when the axe cut into the wooden door. Your breath grew ragged, as his masked face showed through the cracks.

You didn’t know what you had hoped for from this barricade. It wasn’t a surprise that filled you, when the furniture moved along as he shoved the door. Even so, the world seemed to blur out the second he stepped into the room, from ruined and moved furniture that now seemed more a barricade for you than him.

Your heartbeat rang out, thump thump. He was closing in with heavy footsteps. Thump, thud, thump, thud. Even with the mask, you felt his eyes on you. Thump, thud, thump, thud. You could see his fingers flex around the axe.

Grasping at straws, you shifted between staring at him and around you, for anything you could use. Behind him, a now ruined dresser stood. Its familiar look made you realize it was identical to the one downstair. “It’s an ugly name, fit for ugly boys.”

…It was worth a shot, right?

“My,” your voice were shaky, “What a handsome guy you are.”

Was that how she said it? He stopped dead in his tracks. He was so close; you could touch him if you reached out. The air felt crushing, under the weight of silence. Then, he crouched down. Your shivers stopped, frozen.

He leaned closer. His free hand on the floor to support his weight as he leaned closer. Your eyes flickered to the axe. He was still holding it.

“I,” your voice cracked but you forced yourself to continue, “I didn’t get a good look before. But, really, you are handsome. Big and strong.”

He was close. You could smell the lingering scent of sweat and pine. Hear the deep rumbling hum he made. Feel his warmth breath. From where it came, you weren’t sure.

God, what else? What else did Mr. Browning say?

Suddenly, a hand reached out and you flinched. He had let go of the axe. And yet, you had seen what he could do with his hands. Your breath were stuck in your throat, as you braced yourself. But his hand only lingered near your cheek.

Not quite touching, but close enough for you to feel the warmth of his fingertips. This… Was a good sign, right? He was hesitating, he didn’t do that with the others. He didn’t do that with Aisha. The anxiety buzzing didn’t ease, the gory memory playing relentlessly in your head.

In your mind you envisioned the way his hand could still decide to grab onto you harshly. So, gently with fingers that shook far too much, you touched his hand. His head made a sharp movement, causing you to flinch, but he didn’t stop you.

So, you lead his rugged, scarred hand closer to your cheek, closing the small gap. His fingers stiffly on your cheek, which was better than lingering above your face. Like playing dolls, you hoped positioning him into a less hostile position would have any effect.  

You looked at each other for a while in deafening silence. You were worried about losing the temporary fascination, the stiffness of his body warning you that you weren’t quite safe yet. What is it that worked so far? What does he want to hear?

…

“You’re good, Trevel. You’re good.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond or react. Then the touch seemed to melt, his finger brushing against your cheek. Not pleasant or even soft, but you could tell he was trying, or maybe he was just exploring? You didn’t dare to move, worried you’d set him off.

By the time his hand dropped down, light had begun to filter through the tree leaves, and exhaustion clinging to you. Trevel seemed placated, simply staring wordlessly at you.

Cautiously, you stood up. You could feel the way he followed your every movement. But it felt like a curious gaze, like a dog equally confused and curious about its owner’s actions. You weren’t sure if he’d be okay with you leaving, but if you could buy yourself some time, perhaps you’d be able to get to a road and hitchhike.

“I’ll just go fetch something, if that’s okay?” You asked carefully, taking a demonstrative step towards the door.

Swish

Past your head, the axe flew, nestling into the door. Before you even could look back at him, he grabbed your wrist and tugged you toward the floor, a little too harshly for your injured foot, where he returned to simply stare at you, growling whenever you moved too much.

Life was far away, and by god, you hoped it would someday catch up to you again.

[anglingforlevels]

Non-Human Yandere Thoughts

CW: Yandere, Monsterfuckery, Light Body-Horror, Suggested Death of Pet. Just some quick thoughts i had floating in my head.

Been thinking about trying to express affection in human ways by something so decidedly not human. By something that loves in ways you don’t understand, and in turn, doesn’t understand you.

Something that seems to recognize when you respond positively to something, but they just can’t seem to figure out why.

You bring home an object that creates heat but sweats and faints when the walls, ceiling, and floor do the same.

You eat meat but throw up when your vegetables start bleeding as you bite into them.

You close doors but cry when the openings disappear, cry even harder when they make new openings appear throughout the place, never mind the fact they were across ceilings and floors, leading nowhere.

You keep plants that wither and regrow but seem frightened when your pet withers before your eyes only to greet you again the next day.

You place a sharp blade on your nightstand but bleeds when they fill every surface with sharp edges.

You seemed to love your pet but keep it at bay now – have you grown bored of it? Then why do you weep when it doesn’t regrow the next day?

You react well to soft, flowy blankets yet shriek when your teeth take on the same texture.

You’ve stopped eating altogether and you look worn out – are you withering too?

They don’t understand but they keep trying nonetheless and how you wish they wouldn’t.

[anglingforlevels]

Title: Illuminated.

Pairing: Yandere!Apollo x Reader (Greek Mythology).

Word Count: 1.0k.

TW: Stalking, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, No Specified Gender For The Reader But They Are A Hunter Of Artemis, and Implied Kidnapping.

[Commissioned Piece. Donate To Palestine's In Gaza Here.]

“You, my love, are the poet’s demise.”

You stiffened at the sound of his melodic voice, shrinking into yourself before thinking better of taking on such a mouse-like posture and straightening. Still, you failed to stop yourself from crossing your arms over your chest, pulling your knees up and hoping beyond hope that the silvery water would be enough to hide your form from his unfaltering stare. You thought it’d be safer to bathe at night, apart from your sisters, when the softened moonlight protected you from his burning gaze, but you’d been naïve to think that any hour could be late enough to spare you haven. During the day, you lived under the burning gaze of his blazing chariot, busied yourself with shooting down hawks and ravens carrying gifts in their beaks, and at night, he had no burdens to keep him from closing the distance between you using less... ancillary methods.

“I’m afraid you must be mistaken, my lord.” You forced yourself to laugh, glancing over your shoulder. Sure enough, Apollo stood on the river’s opposing bank, his tanned skin nearly radiant in the darkness. If the sight of him hadn’t brought you such dread, you might’ve thought him beautiful. “As of late, my aim’s been so poor that I can hardly call myself a stag’s demise, let alone a man’s.”

You were quick to look away from him, but you could still hear his gentle hum, picture the way his lips would lilt upward as he shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s deathly true,” he went on, taking a step forward. The water rushed to part as he stepped where it had once been, and in turn, you scrambled for the robes you’d left on the shore, barely managing to pull the ashen cloth around yourself before Apollo came to stand in front of you, his light quickly doing away with what little protection the shadows offered. It was only after you were haphazardly dressed that you considered it might be considered an affront to hide any part of yourself from divinity, but the worry was quickly forgotten. It was only natural to want to create yet another barrier between you and him. Even insects knew to run from their betters. “For even the most talented bard would struggle beyond words to describe your beauty. They could be chained to their desk for an eternity, study under the Muses’ own tutelage, and still be unable to write a single line.”

He held out a hand to you, but you pretended not to realize he meant for you to take it. “You’re far too kind. If you have a message for Lady Artemis, there’s no need to bribe me with such—”

“My love,” he cut in, his smile unwavering. “If I had any desire to speak to my sister, your help would not be necessary.”

“A prophecy concerning our next hunt, then? If there’s something we mustn’t do, I ought to get the Huntmaster, she’ll—”

“My love.” You felt your throat tighten, your mouth go dry. “Although your voice is sweeter than honey and lovelier than birdsong, I’ll admit – I do find myself rather irritated when it’s used to employ such thinly veiled excuses. Any more, and I might think it better to encase your tongue in gold. At least, then, I might have something charming to admire while you lie to me.” His fingers grazed over your jaw as he moved to cup your cheek. It was not a gesture you had the luxury of ignoring. “You know why I have come here.”

Oh, how you wished you’d gone with your sisters.

“I… I can’t, my lord.” Unlike his, your voice was perfectly capable of trembling, of shaking, of plummeting into the sort of jarring, unsteady downward inflections that would’ve been the death of any proper storyteller. “My vows are to Lady Artemis, and—” It was your turn to smile, now, to lilt your head to the side apologetically. “—she’d never forgive me if I broke them. Especially with you.”

For the first time, his good humor seemed to ebb, giving way to not anger, but a melancholy sort of disappointment. “I suppose you’re right,” he relented, his golden glow dimming ever so slightly. Suddenly, it did not hurt quite so unbearably to look at him. “It’s a terrible thing. Me and my sister never did learn to share.”

Relief nearly managed to overshadow your revulsion. “I really am sorry. My desire is not to insult you, but—”

This time, when he interrupted you, it was not with a teasing remark, a nectar-dipped pet name, the vague implication of an affection he expected you to return. Rather, there was a sudden brightness in his golden eyes, a sharpened point to his smile, and then, his lips were pressed into yours. The kiss was shallow, but lingering, and when you tried to draw back, the hand on your cheek kept you firmly in place – his hold not crushing, but steadfast, resolute. His unoccupied arm wrapped around your waist, his hand finding its place at the small of your back as he sapped the last of the breath from your lungs. It was only when your palms pressed into his chest, your blunt nails burrowing into his bare skin in a silent plea for air, that he pulled back. Panting and flushed, you made a desperate effort to pull away, to escape back to your encampment, back to your sisters, back to your goddess, but he only cooed, his bowstring calloused fingertips fanning over your cheek.

“Such a terrible thing,” he muttered, and you considered, briefly, that you might’ve been the first mortal to realize just how wretched his voice truly was.

“How fortunate it is, then, that you’ve caught the attention of such a selfish admirer.”