you are the dark.

¹  a woman will return, looking for the girl she was.

[011374]

lee harker from osgood perkins' longlegs film. expanded upon by sabrina (she/they, 23). plot-based, heavily selective, low activity.

RULES: hi! i'm sabrina, 23, she/they, lesbian, living in the southern part of the USA. i love writing and appreciate you checking out my blog! this is my indie, highly selective, and low-activity portrayal of lee harker from osgood perkins' film longlegs. while having seen the film is a huge plus to guiding interactions here, i'm more than willing to lore-dump about both lee/the movie if you allow me! (at principle though, lee is a light clairvoyant and autistic rookie fbi agent.) extremely alternative universe/crossover/original character friendly! shipping probably won't happen here, lee is like a bug to me, and bugs reproducing are weird. yeah, idk, let’s just keep it groovy folks! i just want to write and have fun x

pinterest

[011374]

Guys I’m a fortnite tiktok influencer now

[011374]

This is soooooo sad of me

[011374]

I NEED ONE MORE DAY YALL

[011374]

Playing Fortnite festival and realized how much apple by charli xcx fits lee 😵‍💫

[011374]

I would kill for someone to write Ruth

[saintmelangell]

girls when the rot created them

[011374]

any plotters arounddddd 🫨

[011374]

at 03:78 a.m., another victim had been found inside of an abandoned seoul warehouse by local police. the third of the month, the eleventh one of the year. (with each crime scene becoming more elaborate than the rest.) common sense pointed to an indication that the murderer is trying to convey a message; expressing their murder isn't purely a standard form of murder. it, in fact, means something more to them. from the displays captured by crime scene investigators, it appears to be a form of art to the murderer's mind.

lee, on the other hand, sees it as blatant murder. but, for now, she keeps the initial concept pinned with a bright red pinpoint pressed inside her brain.

the case lacks evidence as the staggering amount of victims continues to rise— local police waited too long to pick up their feet with investigating. (it's only a matter of time before the killer perfects their art form and attempts to show the rest of the world.) the cctv footage procured from across the street of the warehouse paints a grizzly sight: a man wearing a luxury-styled coat, hood covering his face, the soon-to-be victim hog-tied, and the eventual cacophony of screams. from the design on the back, it was traced back to a local seoul designer— high-end, meant for celebrities and influencers. with some extra convincing and help from local police, a list was created naming those owning the same coat. seven celebrities in total. (and that didn’t even begin to tackle the license plate spotted in the footage.) it's not enough evidence to make an arrest in the case, but it's enough to bring the sole suspect down to the station. (for minor questioning, at minimum.)

@cheiian [ji-woon]: i spent the day at home. where else would i be?

the special agent's lips press themselves together momentarily, brown irises darting to the ground. a deep breath in, deep breath out— her mouth opens to respond. “i understand, but you still need to come with me for questioning.” she finally looks up, but doesn't make eye contact. “you're not being placed under arrest,” (yet.) “...but i have some questions i need to ask you.”

[011374]

who is the man downstairs? who is the man downstairs? who is the man downstairs? who is the man downstairs? WHY DON'T YOU ASK YOUR MOMMY?

[crimeshowsource]

Linden: Aren't you a vegan? Holder: No? I'm a vegetarian...and it's a doughnut.

The Killing 1.10 – "I'll Let You Know When I Get There"

[outlaste-a1]

the orange hue of the porch light put him at the foreground of the frame, his shadow swallowing the ground beneath; holly jones was watching him from the window, david could tell without looking. she had watched him retreat and pause, phone pressed to his ear and waiting. he felt it like an itch [the prickling sensation of being seen crawls through his skin, the sudden desire to vanish into the vacuity of his silhouette feels like an anvil upon his chest]. david was a man of few words; lee, a woman of contestably less. but the static hums in response and it soothes him somewhat. that simple crackling of the receiver that heralds the presence of another person is enough to take him out of his own head and bring him back to the task. a tether. it takes her a moment to answer, he doesn't mind; neither were prone to filling silence with idle words, equally comfortable in the knowledge that conversations didn't always require expeditious answers. david is slow to answer himself cautious not to reveal too much to his faraway spectator, a pair of squinting eyes tunnelling into his shoulder-blades. he lowers a knee to a small mound of wet gravel [there's audible movement of stoney steps underfoot], sleek with the recent patch of rain that tore through conyers. the winters were always wet, attempting to wash away the evidence of small town sinners.

‘footprint. deep tread. size ten maybe.’ david spoke as if speaking to himself aloud: quiet, methodical murmurs always thinking, always calculating. he traced the outline of the boot's impression with studious blues, blinking hard; like worker's boots, he noted. feels off. out of place. water had pooled at the heel, softening the print's shape; it was hours old. the cogs turn with a jaded reluctance, protesting against the lack of sleep that had begun to darken the plum circles around his eyes. ‘what size would you say mr dover is?’

[011374]

some might find the dual silence awkward, unnerving even with the winter season upon them in conyers. lee finds it comforting more than anything. silence, the rain, and even the winter is when the best thoughts are allowed to come life. all three can also provide the serenity to allow conflicted minds to think, touch, smell, and feel whatever has been presented in front of them. for her, in this circumstance, it was needed with this type of case.

she doesn't waste time asking where he is— the footprint and mention of mr dover paint a clear enough picture from the start. (his carpentry work-truck parked outside of his house, mrs dover still laying in bed— the way she was the day they left, the teenage son in his room pretending none of this was actually happening.) the question of the shoe-size catches lee off-guard, though. david's already made an estimate by the time it's settled inside her brain, the same one she would've made based off appearance, but lee goes along. as a partner does. "size ten or eleven."

her eyes remain glued to the ceiling as the realization hits like a ton of bricks: david is asking about mr dover's shoe size. he's not at the dover family property. (a question like that is unnecessary and near irrelevant at his own place of residence.) he's somewhere else— the conflict of earlier in the day plays out in lee's head. (mr dover in the police station parking lot, alex jones being released, the claim of him saying something to mr dover.)

immediately, lee sits up, left hand wrapping around her forehead. "he visited the jones family, didn't he?"

[putrific-deactivated20250308]

@011374 : 8:57pm, TUESDAY, THREE HOURS TO AIR.

practiced hands all but attack her cold skin, buffering out white foundation well into her cleavage line. she’s already in costume, chest spilling out of her dress, but she’s yet to put on today’s wig. her natural hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, light roots sticking out like a sore thumb. assistants and producers swarm around her, a flurry of action reflected in the mirror in front of her. this is all business as usual, right as rain. the production assistant in the corner avoiding meeting her eyes at all costs is less common.

“you’re new.” her voice projects over the hubbub, and a volley of heads turn to listen. always at her beck and call, always interested in the slightest lilt of her voice. their blind faith is annoying, uncompetitive. they don’t push her, don’t inspire better performances. that’s just the state of show business, she supposes. bloodsuckers leading the cattle’s flesh into their teeth. lilith twists her spine, honing in on the irregularity in the room. it’s not that she’s done anything wrong, no, it’s that the show is small and lilith is particularly aware of her surroundings. some say to a supernatural extent. she inclines her head, beckoning the woman over. come, lamb, bare your neck. “first day?”

[011374]

she doesn't belong here. she doesn't belong anywhere, she thinks, but there's one thing for certain: she doesn't belong here. california is more stressful than oregon by a long shot. if not for the atmosphere, then by the types of people occupying the states. she knows why the fbi sent her here, even if she would disparage otherwise— she's not your average woman. not strikingly beautiful, not abnormally buff, just another ordinary girl. (a girl who was allowed to grow up.)

at first, lee doesn't even recognize the television host is speaking to her. too many voices echo throughout her ears, brown eyes darting to look at anything but anyone. it's easier said than done to not make eye contact with passing eyes. she also knows: lilith is her target, which makes this even more uncomfortable. lee's beckoned to come closer and at first, she hesitates. hands are quickly shoved into the front pockets of her jeans, gaze falling to the floor. two seconds pass and she breathes in, breathes out, and finally chooses to approach. as the distance ceases to exist, something tangible in the air becomes clearer to the brunette— something that doesn't quite meet the eye. (she can sense it, but a finger can't be placed anywhere.) a mist covers the already-painted canvas from its entire view. (can't she have a glimpse through?)

"yes," she finally answers once standing in front of lilith. there's a stark comparison between the two of them: one's molded for television, the other for a job as gas station clerk. there's a saying in hollywood that fame can create monsters, some more transparent than others. at first glance, most wouldn't understand why the fbi are remotely interested in her. but then, they would take a glance around, and recognize how the energy in everyone else shifts when she comes around. how they don't see a human like them, but something more. something worth worshipping the ground she walks upon for. it's frightening in more ways than lee could possibly express, but it's even got a finger wrapped around her own collared shirt. "i'm lee, the new production assistant." lips are pressed into a straight line, hands remaining shoved away.

"excited for tonight's episode?"

[dailyflicks]

I know you're not afraid of a little dark. Because you are the dark. Longlegs (2024) dir. Oz Perkins

[011374]

@nonpareil [david]: can you stay on the line?

silence stretches from lee's end of the phone call. the ruby-colored blackberry cellphone remains pressed to her ear, hickory gaze drifting over the scattered files across the carpet. two six-year-old girls abducted over thanksgiving > the only suspect, a man with an i.q. score of a whopping ten. he was, by all definitions, incapable of orchestrating such a crime. no one else had surfaced on the list of suspects either. not even the fathers of the missing girls. and everyone knows, like primetime nancy grace on the television, the fathers are always the first suspects in cases like this. but not here. this time, both men had airtight sealed alibis: themselves. they had been in the same room, under the same roof, in the shared company of their living wives, when the girls vanished from their small quaint neighborhood.

there had been a parked rv that'd lured the children over to investigate, but when david had spoken to alex jones, it led nowhere. another dead end leading straight back to square one.

the brunette's lips part, but no sound follows. her eyes flicker between the documents, trying to piece the puzzle together. any small piece she, or david, may have missed over the past forty-eight hours. there's a nagging feeling in her gut, a tension pulling tight on the threads inside her stomach. something's slipped past them. a someone, lee surmises from the feeling in her gut. they're right on the verge of a discovery, but nobody can see it yet.

looks can be deceiving, but if you stare long enough, even the most unlikely truths can come into view.

"yes," she finally answers. her free hand sliding to her neck, massaging the knot formed beneath the skin. leaning back, lee stares up at the popcorn ceiling. "have you found something?"

[trashmemes]

THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS SENTENCE STARTERS   —  quotes pulled from the 1991 film. contains nsfw content and dark themes. feel free to make alterations.

i think it would be quite something to know you in private life.

what a naughty boy he is!

look at it, [name]. tell me what you see.

you know i can’t make that promise.

i do wish we could chat longer, but i’m having an old friend for dinner.

people will say we’re in love.

what is the first and principal thing he does, what need does he serve by killing?

i am going to show you why we insist on such precautions.

he’s a monster. pure psychopath.

you’re so ambitious, aren’t you?

you’re not more than one generation from poor white trash, are you, [name]?

i ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti.

you call this easy, sir?

you don’t know what pain is!

all good things to those who wait.

i was so scared to look inside, but i had to.

don’t you feel eyes moving over your body, [name]?

he won’t come after me.

would you fuck me? i’d fuck me.

whenever feasible, one should always try to eat the rude.

just do your job, but never forget what he is.

believe me, you don’t want [name] inside your head.

most serial killers keep some sort of trophies from their victims.

please let me out!

if you didn’t kill him, then who did?

quid pro quo.

i tell you things, you tell me things.

i’ve no plans to call on you, [name].  

the world is more interesting with you in it.

my family will pay cash. whatever ransom you’re askin’ for, they pay it.

put the fucking lotion in the basket!

i drink your blood, i eat your flesh.

i’ll help you catch him, [name].

[notmorbid]

longlegs.

dialogue prompts from longlegs (2024).

half psychic is better than not psychic at all.

maybe we'll just call you 'highly intuitive'.

can you stay on the line?

you know, there's such a thing as looking too long.

i must have lost track of time.

i'll drink while you tell me things.

it's almost like ____ was never there at all.

you didn't call to say goodnight.

even veals grow a little, and they grow up in a box with their legs all tied up.

i spent the day at home. where else would i be?

i'm okay. i just can't sleep.

i saw more than my fair share of nasty stuff.

i think i just need to be quiet for a little bit.

somebody's birthday is coming up.

be careful they don't work you too hard, alright?

are you still saying your prayers?

you're not afraid of a little bit of dark because you are the dark.

i've seen you before.

you've been to my house.

it's like a long dream, and so dark. a world of dark.

do you remember coming here?

what aren't you telling me?

when was the last time you talked to your mother?

will you tell me the honest truth about something?

i never said my prayers, never once. they scared me.

all our prayers don't help us. prayers don't do a goddamned thing.

nobody ever came to visit. no family, no strangers, no big bad wolves. not anybody.

you're not a child because you were allowed to grow up.

this is a cruel world, especially for the little things. not all of them are allowed to live.

i might have forgotten everything i could, but i never threw anything away.

you really don't remember?

now you're free, too.

i'm just a friend of a friend.

i'm doing this for you. just like i've always done.

don't call me that.