#horror writers of tumblr

[tlbodine]

Hey, It's Release Day

In case you've somehow missed my near-constant rambling about this, NEVEREST is out today!

This book has been a bit of a journey. Wattpad fans will have read the earliest draft of this years ago, but it's had a significant facelift since then, including a new ending.

This book started with learning a few facts of mountain climbing:

Most people who die on Mt. Everest do so on the way down

When you die on the mountain, there's really no way of retrieving your body, and it's so cold that they just stay there, frozen

Sometimes, out of respect, bodies are moved away from the path or "buried" in a mountain crevasse

Sometimes bodies disappear, with nobody taking credit for moving them

Sometimes bodies re-emerge in different parts of the mountain

Now...there are scientific explanations for all of these things. I'm not saying that Mount Everest is home to any sort of hostile spirit that wakes the dead or lures people to the summit without letting them leave.

But. Like. What if....?

Pick it up today wherever you buy books. Ask for it at your local library. Request it in Libby. And, if you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a review and telling your friends. Word of mouth makes or breaks the indie writer life.

#horror books #horror #mount everest #cold weather horror #horror writers of tumblr #writeblr

[hotspurpercy]

WEEKLY UPDATE THREE —

date — 26.06.23 (late, i know!) words written — 5,436 total word count — 31,079 percentage complete — 34%

EXCERPT —

“You can — bury me — in the east —“ she begins to sing. “You — can — bury me — in the — west —“ Safire sobs, a small and wretched sound. This time, when Jesse kneels beside her and puts an arm around her, she doesn’t push him away. It feels like Jonathan’s heart is being squeezed; he knows the hymn, can all but hear his father singing it. “But I’ll hear that trumpet sound in the morning.” He joins in, coming as close as he dares. “In — the morning — my Lord — how — I long to — go —“ Annabel wheezes; blood bubbles over her lips where words fail. “For to hear that trumpet sound in the morning,” Jonathan finishes. Her breathing doesn’t stop immediately. It’ll be imperceptible for a while, but just as Jonathan is about to take Annabel’s pulse again, she’ll gasp in handful of hurried, squelching breaths. Nor do her eyes close; they’re glazed over like the beads of a bracelet, firelight dancing on their filmy non-comprehension as she gazes upwards. After fifteen minutes, there are no more hurried gasps. Jonathan rings his fingers around Annabel’s wrist; nothing. “Time of death, twenty minutes past two, December Sixth,” he pronounces.

( + TAG LIST UNDER THE CUT ! )

@villanaeve / @vandorens-archive / @nallthatjazz / @starshots-blog1 / @cannivalisms / @perditism / @spillme / @upoffringar / @thelittlestspider / @wildswrites / @brownpaperhag / @akoumi / @quilloftheclouds / @absolute-nonsense-scribblings / @birdywrote / @tiredlittleoldme / @strangerays / @ninazeniks / @authortango / @aetherwrites / @caravagest / @chazzawrites / @anavkour / @videsnoir / @karamel-pop / @philocalizt / @cryptidsandqueers / @kingsinking / @stephwriteswords / @muddshadow

#judith.txt #wip: a strange kind of hunger #askoh 2023 #my writing #writing #writers of tumblr #amwriting #writeblr #horror writing #horror writers of tumblr #it's a sad one this week

[jasper-voorhees-writes]

Cerebro Industries Investigation #47

“I have been working for Cerebro Industries for the last five years. By sitting here today, I am risking my job and potentially my life. I am trusting that you will not tell my superiors at Cerebro that I was the one who made the initial report about their activities.” Miranda Bailey spoke quickly and nervously as she shifted in the interrogation room chair. We had brought her in for questioning in our investigation of Cerebro’s activities to help hide the fact that she had already told us most of what she had seen.

“Don’t worry Ms. Bailey, we don’t make a habit of giving up our informants. You’ll be safe and if you do get labeled a whistleblower, we will put you in witness protection and give you a whole new identity and chance to start over.” Summer Pennington assured her. 

“We’ve had our suspicions about Cerebro for a while now, and just haven’t had probable cause to launch an investigation. If what you have said is true, then we need to get someone on the inside to get photos and gather other evidence for us to get a search warrant. If we were to give you the equipment, a hidden camera and a wire, so that you could get photos and we could listen in on conversations, would you be comfortable doing that?” Mason Riley, Pennington’s partner, questioned. 

Miranda shifted in her seat again, her eyes darting around the room before settling back on Officer Riley. “I… Uh… Maybe… That sounds really risky,” she stuttered. 

“We’ll be nearby the whole time. If they catch on, we’ll come in and get you. I promise,” Officer Pennington assured her. 

“We’ve worked on many undercover operations and they’ve all worked out really well. We know what we’re doing. If it would make you feel better, we have an agent who can go in with you as an intern.” Officer Riley added.

Miranda nodded, “That would make things a lot easier. I could get into more of the labs while giving them a tour as well.”

The Next Day

“Good job Miss Bailey. The investigation was called off following your interview with the police. You will be receiving a commendation and small raise for your quick thinking. We have also brought in an intern to assist you with your work. Think of her as your personal assistant. Meet Skye Erickson,” Braxton Baker, founder and CEO of Cerebro Industries, greeted Miranda when she arrived at work. 

“Oh… Thank you Sir. I really didn’t do anything special, just told them what I was supposed to.” Miranda nodded and looked over at the new intern. “It’s so nice to meet you! Let me show you around so you don’t get lost if I send you on an errand for me.”

“It’s a pleasure to work with you Miss Bailey. Just let me know what you need me to do!” Skye responded. 

Miranda and Skye walked away from Mr. Baker and down the hallway into the facilities. “The first place I’m going to show you is the break room. Honestly, I’ll probably mostly just need you to come down here and get snacks or drinks while I’m working,” Miranda explained as they stopped in front of a plain wooden door. She opened the door and revealed the break room, a simple room with no decoration, just two microwaves, a fridge, a coffee pot, and a couple of vending machines. Braxton Baker believed that a plain break room would be too boring and less tempting for his employees to waste time in. 

“It’s kind of… Empty… And uninviting,” Skye commented.

“Yeah. Mr. Baker likes to keep us more interested in our workstations than the break room. It’s really not so bad though.” Miranda responded and closed the door. She led the way down the hallway and stopped in front of a large metal door, with a scanner and keypad mounted on the wall beside it. “Can you turn around for a second? I haven’t been cleared to give you the access code but you can be in here with me.”

“Of course.” Skye turned around and listened to the soft clicking sounds of the keypad and the sound of a card being slid through the scanner. There was a loud click as the door unlocked. 

“You can turn around now. We won’t be in here long. This is the incubation chamber,” Miranda explained as she pulled the door open. She stepped inside and held the door open for Skye. The room was lined with vats containing thick bubbling liquids of various colors. The vats were connected to hoses that fed into a series of tubes in the middle of the room. 

“Woah… What is all of this?” Skye asked as she looked around the room.

“Cerebro Industries is the leading research facility into alien reproduction. This is where we keep the eggs and fetuses incubated until they’re ready to move to the next phase of research. I assume that Mr. Baker already went over the confidentiality paperwork with you?” Miranda explained as she slowly approached the tubes in the middle of the room. 

“Yes of course. We are a medical research facility and nothing more,” Skye answered as she looked around the room more. 

“The next room is referred to as the birthing room. It’s just where we remove the eggs and fetuses from the incubation chambers and allow them to hatch or start their lives. Follow me.” Miranda went back to the entrance to the lab and waited for Skye to join her in the hallway. The door locked with a heavy thud and a high pitched buzz. 

“Is it safe in the birthing room?” Skye questioned. She was getting worried because she was getting no feedback from the officers outside of the building in her earpiece.

“It’s perfectly safe! We only raise herbivores here. The liability of carnivorous creatures is more than Cerebro Industries is interested in taking on,” Miranda responded. She stopped in front of another heavy metal door and Skye turned away while Miranda entered the access code and opened the door. 

“Oh… They’re cute!” Skye exclaimed as she walked into the birthing room. There was a scaly creature, about the size of a full grown labrador retriever shaking off some yellow liquid from the incubation tube. 

“Yes they are. They’re really friendly too. Do you want to get in there and pet it?” Miranda asked as she stepped over to the door to the enclosure. 

“Oh can I?” Skye questioned, eyeing the creature carefully. It looked like a herbivore, it didn’t have any noticeable teeth when it opened its mouth, and it seemed more frightened by their presence than a predatory creature would be. 

“Of course. Go ahead.” Miranda opened the door and stood next to the entrance. “They’re a bit shy when they’re first removed from the incubation chamber so you’ll have to go in alone.”

Skye nodded and stepped into the enclosure. As soon as she was fully inside, Miranda closed the door and locked it back. Skye started trying to open the door and get out. “This isn’t funny! Let me out! Officer Riley! Officer Pennington! Help!” She screamed but Miranda just gave her a sympathetic smile and stepped away from the door. 

“They always seem so surprised don’t they?” Officer Pennington asked as she stepped out of the shadows of the machinery.

“I wonder how many undercovers that makes for us now?” Officer Riley wondered out loud.

“Officers, once again, thank you for assisting us in our research. You have no idea how much we appreciate all you do for the community.” Miranda greeted the two officers and handed them a small bag full of cash. She pressed a button near the door of the enclosure and spoke to Skye, “I’m terribly sorry for what’s about to happen to you, but there’s no use screaming, the enclosures are soundproof. You’re not dying in vain though, your body will help sustain the life of a creature that we need to study in order to further our research. Thank you for your unwitting sacrifice. I hate to be so violent, but babies are always hungry and if they don’t get proper nutrition then we can’t raise them up to move on to the breeding program.”

#jasper v writes #scary stories #spooky stories #writing #horror stories #writers of tumblr #horror writers of tumblr

[vaxolang]

•Writer•

Acrylic painting on canvas

Size 30x30 cm

#vaxo lang #creepy art #contemporary art #contemporary artist #acrylic painting #creepy #horror art #dark art #vaxolang #horror #skull #skeleton #writers on tumblr #writer

[imastoryteller]

19 Most Common Character Flaws in Horror Fiction

Curiosity: Characters who are overly curious may investigate dangerous situations or places, leading to their downfall.

Arrogance: Arrogant characters may underestimate threats or refuse to heed warnings, putting themselves in danger.

Recklessness: Characters who act impulsively or without considering the consequences may find themselves in perilous situations.

Naivety: Naive characters may be easily deceived or manipulated by villains or supernatural forces.

Overconfidence: Overconfident characters may believe they can handle any situation, leading them to take unnecessary risks.

Stubbornness: Stubborn characters may refuse to listen to advice or change their course of action, even when it's clear they're in danger.

Greed: Greedy characters may prioritize personal gain over safety, leading them to make unethical or dangerous choices.

Distrust: Characters who are overly distrustful may alienate allies or miss crucial information, making them more vulnerable.

Cowardice: Cowardly characters may abandon others in dangerous situations or fail to confront threats when necessary.

Impulsiveness: Impulsive characters may act without thinking, leading to mistakes or putting themselves in harm's way.

Lack of Empathy: Characters who lack empathy may disregard the well-being of others, making them more susceptible to manipulation or isolation.

Overprotectiveness: Overprotective characters may prioritize the safety of loved ones to the detriment of their own safety or the safety of others.

Addiction: Characters who are addicted to substances or behaviors may make irrational decisions or be more easily controlled by external forces.

Obsession: Characters who are obsessed with a goal or idea may pursue it at any cost, even endangering themselves or others.

Paranoia: Paranoid characters may see threats where none exist, leading them to take extreme measures or isolate themselves unnecessarily.

Lack of Self-awareness: Characters who lack self-awareness may fail to recognize their own limitations or the impact of their actions on others.

Insecurity: Insecure characters may doubt their own abilities or judgment, making them more susceptible to manipulation or self-destructive behavior.

Ignorance: Characters who are ignorant of the true nature of the threats around them may underestimate their danger or fail to take necessary precautions.

Desperation: Characters who are desperate may make rash decisions or ally themselves with dangerous individuals or entities in hopes of achieving their goals.

#writing tips #writing advice #writers on tumblr #writeblr #creative writing #fiction writing #writerscommunity #writing #writing help #writing resources #horror #horror fiction

[vecnamor]

#goth #horror #scary #movies #grunge #dark grunge #follow #followme #terror #soft grunge #writers on tumblr #90s #edgy icons #old horror #horror movies #horror classic #classic movies

[girlfromthecrypt]

Such Happy Campers is an interactive horror/romance novel made in Choicescript.

DEMO / COG FORUM POST

status: demo consists of three chapters + prologue, sitting at 64.385 words [excl. commands]

You are an employee of the Cloverleaf program. Your job is to organize and oversee their seasonal vacation for kids from low-income backgrounds and troubled homes. This summer, said vacation will be hosted at the rustic Camp Solace, a cabin campsite situated right next to the picturesque Lake Solace and flanked by acres of woodland.

Camp Solace is idyllic, calm and far removed from the bustle of civilization. 

V̵̲̂e̶̝͆ŕ̸͍y̷͎̏ ̷͚̎f̵͈̀ā̸̦r̵̀͜ ̸͓͘r̴̜̂e̴͉̕m̵̺̎o̷̢̓v̶̒͜è̴̘d̴̳̐ ̴̀͜i̵̡͊ñ̷̘d̸̼̀e̷̪̽ȇ̵̯d̴̜͒.̷̰̚

It'd take you quite a while to reach the nearest town in case of an emergency…

Ý̷̭ö̸͎́u̷̘͗'̴̘͘d̸̛̰ ̶̢̐ḇ̸̌ẻ̸̦t̴̝̅t̷͚̒e̷͓͑r̸͔̿ ̷̱̆m̸̜̔a̸̳̍k̵̰̍ě̸̖ ̸̦̚s̷̛̺ṵ̴̔r̵̘̅e̸̝̽ ̸͈̑n̴̡̛o̶̬͑t̶̺̊h̸͖̋i̵͎̽ṅ̵̜g̸̗̽ ̴̹̿ḧ̵̘́ā̷̦p̸̖̎p̵̻̑e̴̗͌n̵̡̒s̶̜̈.̶̥͂

But you're not alone in this! Working alongside you are Basil Laurier, the free-spirited scion of the wealthiest local family, Anita Merrick, the smart but skittish university student intern, and the Malak siblings, both skilled and experienced teachers. 

Now go take care of those happy little campers.

Customize your MC’s name, appearance, outfit and apartment!

Be a good camp counselor and protect the kids in your care!

Romance a charismatic heir, a chronically sleep-deprived psychology student, a temperamental musician or a reserved martial arts instructor!

Get to know your team and form lasting friendships!

Uncover the lakes long-forgotten secrets and save Camp Solace from the horrors that are slowly closing in on you.

TW: mentions of bullying, troubled childhoods, mental illness. Non-graphic.

#choicescript #choice script #hosted games #interactive fiction #if: intro #if: wip #interactive story #interact if #updated intro post #if: such happy campers #horror comedy #horror romance #romanceable characters #writeblr #original fiction #writers on tumblr #amwriting

[carnocus]

WRITERS!!!

my dash is feeling empty, so please reblog/comment if you post about your writing! i want to follow more people and get more taglists to add myself to.

bonus points if you write scifi, horror, and/or are deep into worldbuilding!

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #vas's posts #my writing #writeblr boost #lgbt writers #scifi writer #horror writer #worldbuilding

[spookychick78]

Wanna Be Yours

Peepaw Myers X GN!Reader

Word Count: 6,558

⚠️Warnings: NSFW (18+, MDNI), choking, dubious consent, rough sex Michael himself is a warning, proofread but I'm human⚠️

Figured it was time I take on the old man. There's not nearly enough fanfiction out there for Peepaw. Is it over 6k? Yes. Is it self indulgent? Probably. Is it smut? Eventually.(there's some serious plot leading up) Needlessly romantic? Absolutely.

You stretched your arms out while simultaneously releasing yet another yawn. This was night two of staying up far later than planned, but insomnia had an unrelenting hold on you. Finally, it seemed it was losing its battle. Your eyes were heavy, your body the same as your yawns followed one after the other. A glass of water was all you needed, then you'd call it a night. You enjoyed the soft thud your feet made on the wooden floors, the usual pitter pattering muffled by a pair of fluffy socks you'd dawned. However, you were regretting your decision in not throwing on that pair of sweatpants before you came downstairs, it was rigidly cold, even indoors that night. Your oversized hoodie did little to protect you from the chill in the air.

You opened a cabinet, grabbed the first cup your hand landed on and brought it over to the filter in the sink. A sigh escaped you as you watched the little stream take it's sweet time filling it. Your foot had just begun to tap impatiently, it was so close to being filled, when a loud thump on the side door startled you. You dropped the cup, thankful that it landed in the sink, saving you from any mess. From where you stood, you couldn't see any movement out the little window on the door. You briefly regretted your decision not to turn on any lights as you stared, frozen in place waiting for any indication that someone was there. After a few moment's silence, the tightness in your chest dissipated and you let out the breath you'd been holding. Probably just a cat, you thought to yourself before you turned, foregoing your drink to retreat to the comfort of your room sooner rather than later. You hadn't even made it halfway up the stairs when yet another thud stopped you, followed by the sound of glass shattering. Your breath hitched and without thinking, you turned to scurry back downstairs, completely defenseless. In the shadows, you could just barely make out a figure. The only thing that was clearly visible, due to the faint gleam of moonlight, was his masked face. It was white, or it had been at some point and the eyes were two pitch black voids that seemed to be focused on the floor underneath his boots. As your eyes adjusted, you could make out a few more details, some that explained why he simply just stood there; he was injured. His hand, which was missing a couple of fingers and poorly bandaged, rested on his abdomen, clutching a wound that was still bleeding. His other hand seemed to be in just as bad a state, he'd broke the glass window with it to open the door from inside, rendering it bloodied as well. As he shakily lifted his head, those dark voids refocused their attention on you. You drew an uneasy breath, fearful of what he might do now that he'd discovered your presence. It felt like an eternity under his black gaze with only the sound of his uneven and ragged breath to break the dense silence that had settled in your kitchen, but finally something gave. He collapsed, you however stayed put for a moment more, unsure of what exactly you should do. The fact that he had a mask on wasn't entirely strange, it was Halloween after all, but he did break into your house. Perhaps he needed help? You could only hope that was his intention and he hadn't moved a muscle since he'd fallen, so with immense hesitation, you approached him. 'Intimidating' described him perfectly, even as he lay unconscious and face first on the ground. He wasn't a small man, not in the slightest. He must have been well over six feet tall from what you surmised, which meant he wouldn't be easy to move, but if you wanted to inspect his wounds you'd have to find a way. You tentatively placed a hand on his back, because if you were being honest, you weren't quite sure if he was even alive. He was, the soft whistle of breath through that mask of his and the subtle way his back rose and fell which each weak one he took confirmed that much.

"Fuck," you whispered as you contemplated how exactly you were going to turn him over, "you're not gonna make this easy on me, are you?"

You put all your strength into it and, after dropping him a few times, you managed to flip him over, "Sorry," you muttered after he'd landed on his back harder than expected.

You resisted the urge to study the face hidden behind the mask and focused your attention on his injuries, which were worse than you'd previously thought. Blood had turned the blue cloth he wore blacker than the eyes of his mask. You carefully pulled some of the fabric back to discover it was bullets than had torn through him. You winced at the sight, it wasn't something you'd be able to help much with, but you intended to do your best after at least calling for an ambulance. With that thought in mind, you stood to retrieve the first aid kit you never thought you'd have a use for and your cellphone. You wondered if he'd disappear while you had your back turned, half hoping he was simply a figment of your tired imagination, but when you returned he was still there and real as ever. You quickly dialed the emergency line, deciding to leave out the part that painted him as an intruder. You were still intent on not assuming the worst and he needed help, or so you thought. Once you hung up, you knelt down beside him again and carefully unzipped the coveralls he wore. You cursed yourself for blushing at the sight of his bare chest. He was older, the small patch of gray hair made that clear, but he didn't lack for definition despite his age. He was unreasonably built, something you fought to ignore but ultimately failed, hence the heat that had risen to your face. You gently pressed the rag to his wound and heard his breath falter at the sudden pressure, but he remained still as you cleaned him. You couldn't quite tell if he was awake, it didn't seem to matter how intently you studied those black holes, you couldn't see anything behind them to determine consciousness. But he was conscious and beyond disturbed at the predicament he found himself in, so much so that he hadn't a clue of what to do other than observe.

After you set the rag down, that mask had your full attention. The more you studied it, the more intrigued you became. It looked familiar, but you couldn't quite figure out why. You searched silently for a reason to justify what you were about to do as your hand moved closer to its edge. It would be easier for him to breathe without it on, you thought to yourself as your fingers grazed the rubber, but the moment you started to pull on it,  his hand flew up to grab yours. He sat up, but doubled over as soon as he did and his grip on your wrist tightened.

"No- I'm sorry. Don't move, okay? You're hurt," you said, stumbling over your words as he flinched away from your other hand that went to his shoulder to steady him, "I just thought it'd be easier to breathe without it."

Michael's consciousness was an effort to keep, but he was aware enough to have heard what you said and it left him more than confused. The house had been so dark, he assumed it was empty, a safe place for him to rest while he waited for his strength to return. He didn't expect to find you standing there and when he did he had every intention to slaughter you, but the bullets Laurie had put in him had stripped him of that opportunity. His head whipped around for his knife while you watched, assuming he was just confused and unaware of where exactly he'd passed out.

"An ambulance should be here soon. I got you cleaned up, but you're gonna need more help than I can offer," you said, forcing his attention back to you, "you should rest though, until they get here."

Without hesitation, he shot up, entirely ignoring your suggestion and the throbbing pain in his abdomen, "Whoa, hey, what are you doing?"

Your words had little effect on him, which you soon learned as you watched him stride towards the door he'd entered from. You quickly followed behind, baffling him further. Usually, it was him who did the chasing.

"You can wait here, you don't have to-"

Naive, he thought to himself. Naive and completely out of your depth is what he made of you, but perhaps that kindness you'd shown a monster like himself was exactly what had saved your life, for now at least. He had no choice but to leave you, he'd had more than enough run ins with the authorities for one Halloween night and he knew they'd arrive any minute. He found his knife by the door and bent down to retrieve it, which was what stopped any further words from leaving your mouth. Your abrupt silence gave him pause and he turned his head slightly to find the horror of realization painted on your face. Your eyes were focused on the blade in his hand that had been decorated in red. The moonlight allowed its gleam to inform you that it was no prop, it was as real as your own blood that had run cold in your veins. It was your breath that was shaky now.

"Who are you?" You whispered.

He left you without an answer and that was weeks ago. Wondering was exactly what Michael wanted you to do and unbeknownst to you, you played along so nicely. He hadn't gone far, in fact he'd returned several times to catch you immersing yourself in his story. The night he met you, you never slept. You sat in bed with a blanked wrapped tightly around you as you listened to the details of what the man who'd broken into your home had done, of what he was. The answers you received from headlines only raised more confusion within yourself, because your name wasn't on his long list of victims. He spared you and that fact had you torn. Part of you wanted to let it go, be grateful that the shadow of death had so kindly passed over you, but there was another part that desperately wanted to know why. That part of you brought on more questions, but ones about yourself, more specifically, your own self preservation, because you wanted him to return. Sure, maybe it was simply time that was to blame, you'd called the authorities and he was a killer. He had to flee to avoid capture, but they still hadn't gotten him, he was still loose and he hadn't come back to finish you off. From what you'd learned, no one crossed Michael Myers' path and lived to tell the tale, you were alone in that. You were the first he'd left completely unscathed and unattended to, or so you thought. But Michael hadn't left you alone, not at all. He kept quite a close eye on you and with questions of his own, because in leaving you alive to wonder, he'd confused himself. The more he studied you, the worse it got. At first, it was a game, the same one he always played. The kill was always more satisfying when he had a bit of history on the subject at hand, but learning about you had become problematic. He never waited this long to strike, but you had made him hesitate. Somehow, you'd gotten to him and he couldn't seem to rid himself of the memory of you touching him. Perhaps it was because no one had before, not so gently. They'd certainly never apologized for hurting him as you had when you tended to his wounds. You cared about his well-being, it mattered to you that night. Enough so that you went out of your way to save him. He would have survived without your assistance, but it was the thought that counted, you thought about him in a way that no one ever had before. Now, you searched for him, unabashedly. He knew you weren't just gazing out of your window for the sake of it, you wanted to find him. He wondered if you a had a sixth sense, because he was always there, hidden in the shadows your eyes wandered to after the street lights turned on. You'd even begun to leave it open once you'd gone to bed, something that really piqued his curiosity. What would you do if he found his way in, what would you do if he gave you what you wanted and showed himself? Would you run or would he find himself in a situation in which he was the one who was out of his depth? Michael had gone his entire adult life without worrying about such things and he hated that finally, he'd been caught in such a trap. He wanted to hate you for it, but when you appeared in your window again and locked eyes with him in the darkness without even knowing it, he couldn't. He wanted to find one, just one single flaw that he could latch onto, but he couldn't and it ate at him. You were perfect, infuriatingly so. The way you moved haunted him in the most unexpected of ways and you were so young, so full of life that he should have wanted to drain, but death was so far removed from what he wanted to give you. His brow furrowed underneath his tattered mask as he contemplated it, because in truth, he hadn't a clue what exactly it was he wanted from you, he just knew it was you that he wanted and it was driving him to madness, to discomfort he'd never felt in all his life.

You disappeared from his view, retreating into shadows yourself once you decided he wasn't there. That was when he began to move unconsciously towards the door he'd entered through before. His heart pounded within his chest as he drew closer, unsure of what he would do once he was face to face with you again, but he needed to be, there was no question about that any longer. More than that, he needed to know what you would do, if you were different from the rest and if you could give him rest from the turmoil you'd caused within his mind, body and if he had one, soul. The house was dark, just as it had been the first time he arrived, only now, the door was unlocked. An invitation, he thought to himself with further intrigue. You did want him there, you must have, because who in their right mind left their house open for entry with a killer on the loose? He ought to teach you a lesson, but then again, no one was more of a threat than he was and he didn't intend to leave you unattended. If you wanted to leave your doors unlocked, so be it, but he would be your only visitor if he got his way and really, didn't he always?

His hand glided along the kitchen counter as he steadily made his way to the stairs, pausing at the bottom to study the stream of light that bathed the blackened hallway above in an eerie orange glow. His head tilted when it went out, leaving you entrapped in darkness. The sixth sense he suspected you had only became more prominent, he breathed easier without light to touch him and you had turned it off. Further invitation, of course, so he took the first step, then another. The faint creak of the wooden boards didn't seem to alert you to his presence, the light stayed absent and he appeared in your doorway to find you settled in bed. Sleep hadn't found you yet, but he had and you stirred when you felt the unease brought about by an unknown gaze lingering on your body. At first, the shadows all but consumed him, then his figure became clearly visible. Just an outline, tall and broad, but you recognized him.

Slowly, you propped yourself up with eyes that were wide open. You wanted this, but now he was here and you hadn't a clue of what to do, or what he would do. Words escaped you, but you didn't fear his silence this time nor the deafening hum that sat heavily between the two of you. It was energy, an unspoken desire to be near to each other was what it was, you knew that now without a doubt in your mind. He'd come back, just as you hoped he would, but for what purpose and why was it you had wanted him to?

Your legs slid off the side of the bed until your bare toes met the cold wooden floor below. He'd yet to move, so you tested the limits of what he would allow. His eyes, unseen, studied those carefully made movements closely. There was no distance to dull your actions anymore and he soaked each one in as he watched you stand, fascinated. He didn't have to hear it to know your heart was racing within your much smaller frame, you were prey approaching a predator, but it wasn't fear he found in your curious eyes, it was awe. As if he was just as unreal to you as you were him. His head lowered with his gaze, because now you truly were face to face. Your neck in turn craned up as you listened to that familiar whistle of breath through his mask.

"Michael," you whispered up at him.

He rushed forward so abruptly you didn't even have time to scream. He backed you against the wall, but didn't touch you, not right away. He simply stood there, shoulders heaving, head down in front of you. His breath was uneven and his fists were clenched tightly at his sides as if it was an arduous struggle to withhold himself.

But from what? You thought as you stood there silently searching for the answer you'd clearly die to retrieve. He didn't have his knife, at least not within his grasp or reach. His hands were his only weapons and he hadn't even used those on you, not in the way you had expected. Your hands remained at your side, unmoving and his gaze dipped to one. His breath evened as he studied it contemplatively, his shoulders stilled and he seemed puzzled, or so you assumed. Hesitantly, he reached for one. His fingers grazed your skin, slowly grappling for more purchase. Finally, he hooked one of them with yours and brought it to the other. He brought it up and you watched, confused as he traced the lines on your palm that were visible to him in the moonlight. The cool glow even allowed you to catch a glimpse of those eyes you'd searched for the last time he was in your home. One was an eerie, milky white, left without sight from one of the many wounds he'd gathered throughout the years. The other was the lightest of blue, icy in color, but there was warmth hidden somewhere inside that fought through as he allowed himself to fall prey to your touch once more. It was his choice this time, he was very aware as he pressed his palm to yours. Delicate and dangerous were the only two words that came to Michael's mind, because though you couldn't overpower him physically, he felt weakened in ways more damning than bodily wounds.

"Why are you here?"

Your whispered words did little to distract him from the dilemma he held in his hands. If anything, he should have been asking you that question. Why were you stillhere, allowing him to dive further into obsession, destroying everything he knew to be true about himself with just the tips of your fingers? It was cruel and unjust that someone like yourself, someone so small and seemingly insignificant held such power over him. It was infuriating, maddening and he wondered if you knew as his eyes met yours only to melt further. You didn't look away, no, instead you matched his intensity with brows that were furrowed in curiosity. That uncomfortable pounding in his chest returned and what he could only assume was rage forced his breath to quicken again, but then you intertwined your fingers with his, which made everything stop all at once.

"Are you going to kill me?"

The answer to that question was what frightened him most. Without warning, he ripped his hand from yours along with his gaze and turned to disappear down the hallway. It was an unforgivable mistake on his part to return to you, that much was certain, because no, he wasn't going to kill you. In fact, the encounter hadn't given him a single answer as to what he wanted with you, it only worsened his confusion and brought about doubt of himself. Perhaps he did have a weakness, a living, breathing one. He needed to escape it, kill whatever it was inside of him that betrayed him so wickedly. Your footsteps behind him made him grit his teeth as he strode through the door he'd left open to leave you to the night, but your hand found his wrist before he could vanish.

"Wait," you demanded.

The sudden and unwelcome contact forced his instinct back to the surface and before you could blink, you were forced back into your kitchen with a hand around your neck. The wind was knocked out of you when your back hit the counter and you squeezed your eyes shut, afraid that perhaps you'd finally crossed that thin line you'd been treading on since the moment you met him, but his grip didn't tighten. He watched you brace yourself and in turn, crumbled at the sight. Prey, he thought to himself, you were supposed to look just as you were with his hand around your throat. You were supposed to be frightened, you were supposed to beg for your life and yet, when your trembling hands met his wrist, it was the last thing he wanted you to do. It wasn't that he didn't want to hear you beg, he did, but he wasn't quite sure what for as he had you pinned with his own body pressed against you. He'd seen this dance before, but it wasn't one he ever bothered to learn. Human touch such as this for Michael only ended death, he'd never been forced to consider any other use for his hands. He thought back to his own worries earlier that night and realized he was indeed out of his depth, just as he was afraid he would be. He had you exactly where he wanted you, but what now? His head canted to the side as he watched your chest rise and fall in quick succession. Your eyes were still glued shut, anticipating death, but death had a different idea. The safety of darkness still surrounded the two of you and with your eyes refusing to open, Michael lifted his mask up. You felt his fingers brush your jaw and inch their way into your hair to hold the back of you head, then you felt something else. A kiss was what he gave you, gentle and inexperienced, but in his softness you received the answer you'd searched so diligently for. He lingered there for a moment, stunned by his own actions and more so when you returned them. You kept your hands on his wrist and kept them still, aware that this was his limit, this was all he could handle for the time being, but you guided him in your wordless response. Your lips pressed firmer against him, you moved slowly, but deepened it with each press. His hand began to tangle in your locks, clenching as his mind screamed for release, for violence. It was an effort to fight off those instincts, but he did so valiantly just for a few more moments of this, of softness, of you. You carefully lifted your hand to place it over his, which still rested at the back of your head, fingers knitted tightly in your hair. He relented, just slightly, but when you let out that soft sigh, it was too much. It was too intimate and just like that, his lips left you as did his hand. When you opened your eyes you were alone, as if his touch had simply been a dream all along. The only evidence of reality was the door, which he'd left ajar to leave you with nothing but the sound of wind to fill his absence.

Questions were what he'd left the first time, but now, it was frustration that consumed you in his wake. You'd gotten an answer, in a sense. He didn't want to kill you, he wanted you and you kept it safely hidden within the walls of your pericardium that he wasn't alone in his desire. He left you wanting, wishing and waiting for a killer to return and finish what he'd started, for him to claim you as his own. The mere thought had you unraveling, because what on earth was wrong with you? Why had you allowed such a thing to happen in the first place? Why did you kiss him? More importantly, why did you love every second of it? His lack of experience hadn't dulled the sensations he forced upon you, if anything it enhanced them. Haddonfield's reaper had chosen you and spared you the scythe for a kiss, one you couldn't seem to stop from popping into your mind at the most inconvenient times. It haunted you and it stripped you of each and every one of the morals you thought you'd had, based on one simple fact; you wanted more. However, this time months passed and you were forced to find ways to pluck him from your mind, which meant when a coworker called you up to ask if you'd like to go to dinner, you said yes. Of course, putting an end to the fantasy of Michael wasn't quite as simple as it sounded. Dinner was spent with your head on a swivel, half paranoid he'd find you and be less than pleased, half hoping he would and save you from the drab conversation you'd allowed yourself to endure for the sake of distraction. You were right to think he'd be watching and safe to say 'less than pleased' was an understatement. Jealousy was something Michael wasn't sure he'd ever felt before. In fact, he was convinced he really was starting to hate you for bringing so many emotions he didn't understand to the surface. Torture was clearly what you intended to put him through, but that was something he was well versed in and as he watched you kiss your date goodnight, he made a decision. You were indeed going to learn your lesson and if it ended in death, well, that would be your price for causing him such agony, because he didn't expect to behave gently after watching someone else's hands, someone else's lips touch what was his.

You kept your smile in place as you politely waved goodbye, but once the taillights disappeared you allowed it to fall with a groan and quickly wiped your mouth. Your date's enthusiasm for you was beyond unreciprocated, but you'd play the part well, perhaps too well. Hopefully he wouldn't call, you thought to yourself as you strolled up the walkway to your front door. You let out a sigh when you realized you'd forgotten to leave the porch light on and you had about a million keys to sift through in total darkness, of course. To make an already annoying night worse, you tripped. You managed to catch yourself, but the keys hadn't been so lucky. You bent down to retrieve them, cursing under your breath as you stood back up. You fumbled with them a moment more before finally pushing the key into the lock, but that was about as far as you got. You hadn't even heard footsteps to alert you to his presence, but suddenly, you found yourself pushed face first against the door and before you could let out a scream, a hand covered your mouth. It was familiar, the missing fingers were a dead give away. His other went to yours and forced you to turn the key. Why he'd even bothered unlocking it was a mystery, because he promptly turned you around and threw you over his shoulder before he broke the door open with brute force. Struggling was no use, he had a vice grip on your hips as he strode through the threshold with purposeful steps only to drop you on the counter.

"What the hell is your deal with me?" You spat out before you could stop yourself.

But before you even had time to regret your choice in tone, his hand was around your neck. That gentle grip he once had was lost and replaced with a menacing one that took your breath away. Your hands wrapped around his wrist with rage of your own at this cat and mouse game he was playing with you.

"M-Michael," you stuttered out with a pained expression, "whatever you're gonna do, just do it already."

You worried you'd come to regret that statement when he pushed you back on the cool marble with such force it made your head spin. His hand momentarily abandoned it's hold on you and you pushed yourself up just slightly, just enough to meet his eyes. The blue you'd once seen in his left one had turned dark, his pupil was overblown to erase any color, but it wasn't death you saw in that eerie gleam. Far from it. A different instinct had taken over and he knew exactly what he wanted to do to you. He quickly reached behind you and brandished a knife from the block on your counter. His movement's were hurried, frantic even as he tugged you forward by your hips so his waist rested between your legs. Then, he raised the knife up and you braced yourself. You must have mistaken that darkness in his eyes, it must have been bloodlust, you thought to yourself, but when he plunged it down it wasn't your flesh that tore. He'd taken it to your jeans, cutting them just enough so that when he tossed the knife behind you and grabbed each side of the fabric with his hands, he was able to rip them clean off of you. He didn't need the blade to remove the rest and now you were almost entirely exposed to him, save the top you silently resented him for destroying next. It looked expensive, Michael thought with a smirk behind his mask, but it looked much better torn to pieces. He was almost as unkind to his own clothes, he tugged the zipper of his coveralls down with such force the metal came loose and fell to the floor, leaving him free of any further confinement. You didn't even have time to glance down before he tossed on of your legs over his shoulder, pushed the other one to the side and plunged into you so deeply you feared you'd be ripped in two, just like your jeans. He allowed you no time to adjust, or catch your breath before he set an inhuman pace, one arm wrapped tightly around the leg over his shoulder and the other hand gripping your thigh hard enough to draw blood with his fingernails. He was silent, frighteningly so, while you failed to do the same. In fact, it seemed he was hell bent on making you scream, because once he found one particular spot that made your eyes roll back and your mouth hang open, he never left it. He managed to hit it each and every time he pushed into you and he relished in those gasps that quickly turned to wanton cries. Pain mingled with pleasure in a dizzying manner and you tried desperately to reach for him, to find anything to steady yourself on, but it was useless. He wanted to see you struggle and you were doing it perfectly, but if you wanted stability, he'd allow some. He stopped abruptly, bottoming out and drawing a pitiful whine from your open mouth so he could hook his fingers over your bottom teeth. With his thumb under your chin and his index and middle lodged in your mouth, he pulled you up by your jaw, the pain dulled by the overwhelming pleasure he'd pummeled your nearly limp body with. He brought you close, your half lidded eyes struggled to stay open as he lifted the bottom half of his mask up with his other hand and pressed his lips to your ear.

"Mine," he growled, low and harshly.

His breath fell hot over your bare neck, causing the ache between your legs to peak, begging for him to continue, but instead of giving you what you wanted right away, he pulled back and left you empty to readjust his mask. You whined, reaching for him before he grabbed your shoulders and turned you. He bent you over the counter and forced himself back inside of you while his hand snaked around your throat. He lifted you back up so that your back was pressed hard against his chest and the mouth of his mask was back at your ear.

"Say it," he breathed as he thrusted forward, slow but forceful.

You'd barely registered that he'd spoken the first time and now, with him buried so deeply inside of you, your cognizance was long gone. Each time he moved he seemed to go deeper, fully aware of the torture he was delivering in forcing you to hang on the edge of your orgasm. He could feel your body tensing around him, he knew you were dangerously close. Your head fell back on his shoulder as you struggled to form the response he desired.

"Yours," you whispered, but that didn't seem to satisfy him.

He thrusted harder, driving your body upwards. When your hand went to steady yourself on the counter, he grabbed it and held it tightly behind your back while the other squeezed your neck until you felt light as air. He grit his teeth, fighting off his own orgasm for the sake of punishing you further.

"Say it," he repeated with malice.

You were right there, so close to release that your mouth simply couldn't stay shut, but it wasn't breath you were so desperate for. You held it, brows furrowed in a mix of pain and pleasure so brutal you weren't entirely sure you'd survive another thrust. You felt his teeth at your neck, biting down as he let out a groan. It appeared he was in torment too, desperate in his own right to find release inside of you. His voice had driven you to madness, but those breathy moans he couldn't seem to hold in any longer were what sent you over the edge and that only made his struggle to maintain control harder. Your body pulsed so deliciously around him. You were tight enough to begin with, but now? It was too much and his head dipped lower in the crook of your neck to nip at your shoulder as his hips began to tremble from the exerted effort to keep his pace controlled. Not yet, not until he heard you say it.

"Michael," you gasped with your eyes wide open, though between the lack of oxygen and the intensity of pleasure, all you saw was white, "I'm yours, all yours. I'm yours."

Your whispered promises never stopped, they fell from your lips like little prayers and they had him spiraling. His ragged breath and the way each of his hands gripped you tighter and tighter should have broken you, but you clung to what little air he allowed for more of him. He'd long abandoned that slow, meticulous pace to chase his own high with a vengeance. His hand left your wrist and he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you flush against him when he found release. He bent forward, panting underneath his mask as he pressed you against the marble countertop.

"Yours," he heard you continue whispering and he loosened his grip on your neck.

He stayed like that for awhile, still buried deep within you and baffled by the entire ordeal, but you were so warm. No part of him wanted to separate from you or leave those little whispers behind. You felt his thumb absentmindedly brushing circles over your jaw and you supposed that must have been what brought you back to total consciousness, but you stayed still, afraid that if you moved he'd leave. His sudden softness was unexpected given the brutality he'd just displayed, but you found yourself melting into it. Between the exhaustion that had settled into your bones and the delirium that filled your head, those rough, calloused hands of his were exactly what you needed to bring you back down to earth with grace. He too was warm and you couldn't help but press your cheek into his palm, which caused his brow to furrow behind his mask. When his head withdrew from the crook of your neck, you let out a weak moan in protest, but he continued his departure from you in silence.

"Michael," he heard you mutter softly as he struggled through his own haze to gather himself.

He paused to observe your wrecked state. You still hadn't moved a muscle and he wasn't entirely sure you could even if you wanted to. He'd annihilated you, had you for his own and he should leave now. Right?

"Please don't leave me," you whispered.

You didn't expect him to oblige your simple request, you knew he'd already far surpassed his limits. You were killing him, he thought to himself and in such a strange way. It was instinct you'd stolen along with something else he supposed he did have after all, because as he watched you try and fail to push yourself up, it skipped a beat. He was aware he could blame it on age or his usual pent up fury, but he knew that would be a lie. It was you. You were both a curse and a cure to the quietus that possessed him, a plague upon the heart he once thought had lost it's rhythm to violence. It was mercy you'd infected him with when you touched him, when you healed him and mercy was something so foreign to Michael, but for you, he supposed he could try to give you his own version. You hadn't the energy to even feel surprise when he took you into his arms, but you had just enough left to smile as you rested your cheek against his chest. Perhaps he'd be gone when you woke or maybe he'd stay. Either way, you were Michael's. Or was it the other way around?

#michael myers smut #michael myers x reader #peepaw myers #michael my beloved #michael audrey myers #halloween #slasher #slasher fandom #horror #horror fiction #slasher fanfiction #horror fanfiction #horror fan #slasher x reader #michael myers #horror writing #writer #writers on tumblr #writing #creative writing #fanfiction #slasher fucker #slasher oneshot #slasher smut

[drchucktingle]

CONTENT WARNING be careful watching somewhere where a loud noise could scare the heck out of you

hey buckaroos did you know my first traditionally published horror novel comes out this upcoming summer. it is about a christian conversion therapy camp, and it has a queer autistic main character. i am VERY proud of this way. it is also a very cathartic story, i think.

here is the book trailer and i think it is good example of fact that even though chuck is working with traditional big timer publisher i am still unique in my ways. i do not think you will ever seen a book trailer like this.

THANK YOU to my buds in band THE LOCUST for allowing chuck to use their song. 

anyway buds if you want to preorder CAMP DAMASCUS you can right here

#camp damascus #tingleverse #chuck tingle #queer #lgbtq #lgbt #lgbtqia #horror #horror writers #writers of tumblr #the locust #autism #autistic #actually autistic #representation #scary #conversion

[jgmartin]

a confession

last year, i published my first book.

it was one of the most nerve-wracking experiences of my life. i felt ashamed. terrified. instead of sharing the news with family and friends, i hid it, horrified that if any of them read it, they'd finally realize what a fraud i was.

writers, you know what i mean. creative pursuits and imposter syndrome go together like jam on toast, or ketchup on hotdogs, or... well, you get the picture.

lately, i've been trying to develop a healthier relationship with my writing. a positive one. creativity dies with doubt, it dies when we refuse to believe in ourselves and attempt to bury our flaws. life is flawed. it's imperfect. but there's beauty in coloring outside the lines, and so this is me practising what i preach.

this is me turning over a new leaf.

last year, i published my first book; a collection of short horror. seeing as it's nearly halloween, it seems as good a time as any to do my first real plug for it-- even if that plug is a year late.

CROOKED ANTLERS is a compendium of dark fantasy and urban legends. it blends the stylings of neil gaiman, chuck palahniuk and frank miller with the 'found footage' vibe of modern creepypastas to create horror for the digital age.

is it perfect? nah. but it is damn spooky, and that's all it ever set out to be. so if you're looking for a fresh tome of ghost stories, look no further-- i've got you covered.

oh? and if everybody else could plug their own work on this post too, that'd be great. let's tackle this imposter syndrome thing together. show me what you're cooking!

thanks and HAPPY OCTOBER!

#writeblr #writers #creative writing #original writing #writeblr community #writing #jgmartin #writers of tumblr #horror #creepypasta #insecurity #real talk #creative process #am writing #fiction writing #novel writing #tumblr writers #writer community #writer problems #writers and poets #art #author life #authenticity #vulnerability #positivity

[tlbodine]

I was wondering how I am able to write a quick, but horrific death for a short story. Everytime I try, I accidentally end up dragging it.

Hi nonny! Great question!

So here's the trick with sudden, shocking events in storytelling (but especially in writing): The thing that makes it shocking is that it happens quickly, and the way to make it happen quickly is to spend not-very-many words on it.

The more detail you pour onto something, the more description you use, the more diluted the emotional impact will be.

But you don't want it to happen *so* quickly that the reader skims right past it without noticing. And you don't want the moment to fall flat in a "rocks fall, everyone dies" way.

So what do you do?

1 - You build up the suspense leading up to the moment.

2 - You choose really tight, evocative writing for the impactful scene.

3 - You let it rest for a beat, with line breaks, before characters start to react.

One way to build up the suspense is what we might call the "Final Destination" technique -- allow your description to linger over small, threatening details, building up foreshadowing before the event. Something like:

The barn door swung forward with a screech on its rusted hinges, and she crept forward, the lantern flame throwing flickering light over the walls. She could barely hear over the sound of her own breath and the way the wind moaned through the eaves. The lantern cast a sheen over something metallic, the sparkle catching her eye, and she turned her attention toward it, not hearing the footsteps behind her, then --

-- searing pain, a terrible pressure in her chest.

She looked down, uncomprehending, at the three bloodied points poking through the front of her sweater. Then then were gone, sliding out of her back just as easily as they'd gone in, and she tried to take in a breath but it felt like an iron band was tightening around her.

Blood bubbled up into her mouth, spilled between her teeth, and she slumped to her knees.

By spending a little bit of time building up sensory details in advance, you have your reader keyed in to be paying attention for what's going to happen next. Then, when the violence happens, zero in on a key specific detail or sensation rather than trying to describe the whole scene. Here I focus on the specific detail of her lungs puncturing and collapsing after being stabbed with a pitchfork. No other details are necessary -- not how the barn looks, not what she looks like or is thinking about or even where the killer is. For the moment, 100% of my attention is on the death. That's how you keep it tight and move along.

In Stephen King's Pet Sematary, the scene where Gage dies actually is not written directly in the book, the way it appears in the film. Instead, the story spends quite a few pages detailing out a fun father-son bonding scene. There's a chapter break, and the next chapter starts in with the funeral. That itself is already shocking! But we linger at the funeral and the emotions of that event for several more pages before we finally get a description of the death itself:

...one minute he was there on the road and the next minute he was lying in it, but way down by the Ringers' house. It hit him and killed him and then it dragged him and you better believe it was quick. A hundred yards or more all told, the length of a football field, I ran after him, Missy, I was screaming his name over and over again, almost as if I expected he would still be alive, me, a doctor. I ran ten yards and there was his baseball cap and I ran twenty yards and there was one of his Star Wars sneakers, I ran forty yards and by then the truck had run off the road and the box had jackknifed in that field beyond the Ringers' barn. People were coming out of their houses and I went on screaming his name, Missy, and at the fifty-yard line there was his jumper, it was turned inside-out, and on the seventy-yard line there was the other sneaker, and then there was Gage.

I think this is SO wonderfully effective for multiple reasons:

1 - It focuses entirely on the mood and experience of Louis, whose perspective we're in right here. He is a father absolutely beside himself with grief and trauma, and the form follows that. The long run-on sentences are breathless and rambling and sound like someone who's come a little bit unhinged as he starts explaining. You can really feel his pain in this.

2 - The juxtaposition of a football field is such a mundane but effective detail. Not only does it provide effective information (we know exactly how far this is), but the mismatch of the mundane and the horrible beside each other drives it home.

3 - We don't actually need to see the body to comprehend the sheer violence and horror of this death. We don't need to see blood on the highway. Focusing on the details of his clothing items scattered at such a distance does a great job of portraying the speed and violence of the collision, and it's unsettling. It paints a mental picture of a dismemberment without ever saying as much outright. And the idea of being hit and dragged with enough force to turn a jumper inside out and leave it behind on the road is absolutely horrific.

So there's a few techniques to try playing with. If you're interested, I have a couple of guides that might provide more ideas:

Description Writing guide: https://tlbodine.gumroad.com/l/pulqq

Suspense Writing guide: https://tlbodine.gumroad.com/l/uyevh

Thanks for the ask, and happy writing!

#writing advice #how to write horror #horror writing #horror writers of tumblr #asks #Thank you nonny #I hope this helps!

[marsadler]

Hello! I wrote a book and I think y'all will like it. It's for fans of Good Omens, Hannibal, Angels Before Man, and all the queer people who deserve financial compensation from the catholic church.

I present to you:

FIRST CREATION, a high heat queer horror novella with a trans angel MC and a queer demon LI!

FIRST CREATION is a love letter to fallen angels, to finding your place in the world, to connecting to religion in a way that works for you. To touch and peaches, and surviving horrible things, to finding a place to be holy if God won't give it to you. (it's also nasty, and about cannibalism and shame and guilt, too)

It's a 22k word (98 page) novella that you can read in one (or two, or three) sittings.

You can find it on Amazon and itch.io here to read an actual synopsis and look at reviews. You can also find content warnings at the bottom of my website: (I definitely encourage you to read them before you buy!)

Here's also some unhinged ao3 tags for fun

#writeblr #writing #writers on tumblr #good omens #nbc hannibal #novella #queer fiction #queer horror #indie author #indie books #book recommendations #religious trauma #religious themes #angel x demon #fallen angels #god loves you #but not enough to save you #preachers daughter #ao3 tags #how do i market a book #idk im banking on memes and character art right now #first creation #marsadler

[writeformesinpie]

A-Z Yandere Prompts w/ Dialogue Starters

A is for... Appetite

“I want to know how you’ll taste between my teeth.”

“I can never get enough of you. I’ll drink you down to the last sip.”

“You look delicious. I won't stop until I’ve eaten every bite.”

B is for... Brand

“I’m going to engrave myself into your very being.”

“We won’t stop until you’re so covered in my scent, no one will dare touch you again.”

“With this tattoo I’ve claimed you.”

C is for... Consequences

“Don’t play with fire if you don’t want to burn.” 

“Don’t complain now – you did this to yourself.” 

“You reap what you sow.”

D is for... Delusion

“This hurts me more than it hurts you.” 

“Why are you acting like you don’t know me?”  

“Why are you running? I did this for you!”

E is for... Eradicate

“You don’t need a job, baby. Your job is being mine.” 

“You’re better off without them anyway.” 

“I removed the problem. You should be thanking me.”

F is for... Forbidden

“You knew what you were getting into when you got involved with me.” 

“They will never let us be together unless we make them.” 

“It’s only taboo to those who’ve never loved like us.”

G is for... Game

“Here kitty, kitty.”

“I don’t know how to lose.” 

“One, two, Daddy is coming for you. Three, four, knocking down your door.”

H is for... Harmless

“I would never hurt you. You know that, right?” 

“Why are you scared?” 

“You’re the only reason worth living for.”

I is for... Isolation

“Why would you want to leave? I’m keeping you here for your own good!”

“There’s nothing left for you but me. Everyone else is gone.” 

“No one will ever find you here.”

J is for... Jealousy

“If his filthy hands touch you again I’ll kill him.” 

“Shouldn’t you be spending more time with me?” 

“I can’t control how I react when your eyes wander.”

K is for... Kidnap

“You say kidnap, I say date. Who’s really to know?” 

“It’s not kidnapping when your soul yearns to be here.” 

“There’s no use trying to run. This is your home now.”

L is for... Lies

“The truth would have just hurt you.” 

“I’m not lying – I bent the truth a little to protect you.” 

“Don’t you believe me?”

M is for... Manipulation

“I’ve done everything for you and this is how you repay me?” 

“If you leave me now I’ll die. I can’t survive without you.” 

“I told you they couldn’t be trusted.”

N is for... Neglect

“Stop ignoring me!” 

“Look at you, you’re skin and bones.” 

“If you won’t take care of yourself I will be forced to do it for you.”

O is for... Obsession

“It’s our anniversary! How could you forget? There isn’t a single thing I don’t remember about you.” 

“So it's a little crush when you fawn over him but it's an obsession when I pay attention to you?” 

“I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. You’re all I can think about.”

P is for... Persistence

“To my dying breath, I’ll never let you go.” 

“I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth. No matter where you run, I’ll catch you.” 

“Did you really think I wouldn’t find you?”

Q is for Quid Pro Quo

“If you do this for me I’ll think about helping you.” 

“Well, I guess it pays to have friends in high places.” 

“You owe me.”

R is for... Restraints

“I’ll let you go when you understand this is where you belong.” 

“Your poor wrists… Maybe next time you’ll do what I say the first time I ask.” 

“The cuffs will come off when you start acting like someone who doesn’t need them.”

S is for... Spoil

“I’d do anything for you, babe. Anything.” 

“Is this okay? Did I do well?”

“Nothing is ever enough for you, is it?”

T is for... Training

“We can do this the hard way or the easy way. It’s up to you.” 

“Haven’t we already moved past this? Do I have to train you again?”

“Patience is a virtue. We’ll keep going until you learn.”

U is for... Unending

“No matter how long you make me wait, our love will never die.” 

“The only way out of this house is death.” 

“There is no end. We are eternal.”

V is for... Voyeur

“Don’t act as if you don’t know me. I've been watching you watch me.” 

“I like you best when you’re sleeping.”  

“If I don’t keep an eye on you, who knows what will happen?”

W is for... Worship

“You’re my whole world, my Goddess. You're more than divine, you’re celestial.” 

“Let me show you what adoration truly looks like.” 

“No matter what you do to me, I’ll worship the very ground you walk on. That's what it means to love someone.”

X is for... XOXO

“I want to hold you but I can’t. Once I do, I know I’ll never stop.” 

“I need to kiss every inch of your skin.” 

“When we part, every caress becomes more agonizing than the last.”

Y is for... Yearn

“I’m aching for your touch.” 

“You’re my oasis. Please don’t leave me thirsting.” 

“You don’t know true pain. I’ll show you what it really means to crave something.”

Z is for... Zealot

“You are my religion.” 

“Words like radical and extremist are just a pseudonym for enthusiastic.” 

“No matter the world, we are fated. Through time and space we will always find each other.”

~Feel free to reblog and use~

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[itcamefrombeneaththeblog]

Dreams of a Soul Mate

As a boy I dreamed about this girl,

As a man she asked me why I still hadn't found her

Endless summers in my mind, mere seconds of time

I can picture your face now

They say we can't do that in dreams

I've looked for you my whole life, and only traces of her

I find in others

It's driven me a bit sad, because you're my soulmate

You told me so

So, where are you?

You told me you loved me,

Is love so fleeting even in dreams?

Sentimental metaphors

Flowery speech to impress upon depth

Meaningless bullshit.

I'm sad goddammit. And I don't feel like sugarcoating that in pretty

Language that softens the impact of my desperate need.

Alone. Loneliness causes a grand chasm pit to

Form in my stomach,

In my heart

In my soul.

I am so lost, for your face remains the same, grown only in

Beauty and desire radiantly beckoning like a lighthouse.

But never do I see the jagged rocks around you.

A warning.

I found her. She told me where to go.

The abandoned factory outside of I-60,

A rust mausoleum of prosperity.

Fitting.

Stupid.

Foolish.

My heart is all those things.

For you.

There she is.

Can't you see her?

Standing in the doorframe.

Black mold lines her pathway.

Decay becomes renewed, its smell pungent like death.

"I've waited so long." The shadow croaks, a voice like

Ice cracking

A voice catching in the throat

A storm.

My feet move, unburdened by thought.

Desire overwhelms.

There she is.

Can't you see her?

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