she's a killer queen

Han | She/her | Formerly known as han-not-solo | Adam Driver fan | 18+ only | I sometimes read and write ADCU reader-insert fic |

[quiteanabyss]

Masterlist

 A comprehensive list of Stuff I Have Written In The ADCU Fandom.

Please mind the content warnings I have added along with each summary.  

Reader x Modern!Kylo Ren (oneshot)

Someone Like You

Summary: This isn’t about him.  It’s about you. (NSFW.  Tw: dubcon.)

Christmas Alone

Written for Requestmas.  Not sure how to describe this one.  A bit meta-y.  A bit angst-y.  You are not alone. <3

Silent Night

Written for Requestmas.  Kylo takes you back to where it all began, and this time he has a very important question for you.  

Adam Sackler x Reader (oneshot)

Heatwave

Summary: Gratuitous weather, and sex with Sackler.  Together at last. (NSFW)

Better than DiCaprio

Written for Requestmas.  Your life might not have turned out the way you imagined when you were 12, but that’s okay.  A little bit of TLC.

Adam Sackler x Reader (series)

Touch

Summary: Written in response to an ask about how Adam Sackler would respond to a touch-starved reader.

Domestic Bliss

Summary: A continuation of Touch, in which Sackler and reader move in together, and shower time fun ensues.  (NSFW)

Home

Summary: Part three of the Touch series.  In which family sucks, communication is hard, and pizza is good.  (Tw: mention of toxic family dynamics)

Flip Zimmerman

Snowed In

Written for Requestmas.  HC-style.  You’d think Reader would be happy to be snowed in with Flip, wouldn’t you?

Ronnie Peterson

4:20

Written for Requestmas.  Friday night usually means wine-o-clock.  But not this week.  (Tw: Mentions of alcohol and drug use.)

Charlie Barber

Christmas Every Year

Written for Requestmas.  Charlie gets through his first Christmas without Henry by focusing on what he can control.  (Tw: pandemic)

Multiple Characters

First Kisses

Written for Requestmas.  HC’s featuring Clyde, Modern!Kylo and Flip.

Getting a Pet

Written for Requestmas.  HC’s featuring Adam Sackler, Charlie Barber and Paterson.  (Tw: reference to daddy kink in the second piece, and reference to fertility issues in the third.)

A Christmas to Remember

Written for Requestmas.  HC’s featuring socially distanced festivities with modern!Kylo, Christmas with Charlie and Henry, and Touch!series Sackler giving Reader the Best Christmas Ever.  (Tw: reference to age gap in the second piece, and smut in the third ... because Sackler.)

3 Types of Sex

Written for Requestmas.  HC’s featuring Charlie, Flip, and modern!Kylo.  (Tw: reference to rough sex, and an S/M-ish vibe in the first one.  NSFW.)

[quiteanabyss]

Hello there I’m just reaching out to say when I click on any of your material list links they don’t work and send me to the “ this page doesn’t exist “ page

Hi there, thank you for letting me know.  My dumb ass didn’t know that when I changed my blog name that I would have to update my links.  I’ve edited them now, so they should all work.  Thank you for your interest in my writing! :)

[halcydn-deactivated20151101]

Reblog if you write fan fiction

Doesn’t matter if you write in a frequent basis, or once in a blue moon, just how many of us are there?

[direnightshade-deactivated20240]

I am once again thinking about bringing back the weekly boys content. 🤔

[direnightshade-deactivated20240]

Anyways, think I'm bringing this back starting next week. We'll start with Kylo / Ben on Monday. But in the meantime I'll reblog some prompts & sleepover things and I'll work on some things for any of the following guys from today through Sunday:

Kylo / Ben

Charlie

Matt

Dan

Jack

Henry

Ronnie

Sackler

Jamie

Clyde

Jude

[quiteanabyss]

[direnightshade-deactivated20240]

Sweater Weather

A few pals and I took part in a little fic exchange for the Christmastime. I had the ever lovely @quiteanabyss, and this is the result. Don't look at me, I know we're long past Christmas.

Word Count: 2,152 Warnings: AFAB!Reader

As always, you can find this over on AO3.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, we ask that you take a seat and fasten your seatbelts as we begin our descent. The weather here in London is a crisp zero degrees centigrade, that’s thirty-two for all of the Americans on board our flight today. Looks like we’ve got clear skies and smooth sailing for the next twenty minutes or so. To those of you returning home after some time away, welcome home. To the rest of you: welcome to London.’

The seatbelt sign overhead illuminates, accompanied by the all too familiar ding that Kylo has grown far too accustomed to this last year. With a tap of his finger, he manages to save the document he’d been working so diligently on during the last four hour leg of his flight just before the in-flight wifi cuts out. Shutting the laptop, he stows it away in the bag at his feet before reclining back into his seat, head lolling to the side to look past the two strangers who share the row with him, eyes focused on the white landscape below.

“Coming home or just visiting?”

He is so focused on the rows of homes, no more than tiny dots that gradually grow in size with each foot they lower, that he nearly misses the question. “Hm,” he hums in question, brows rising as he redirects his gaze to the warm smile of the aged face beside him.

“Are you coming home, dear? Or have you got business?” The woman nods her head in the direction of the now zipped bag at his feet.

It’s near immediate, how the corners of Kylo’s lips twitch with the beginnings of a smile. “Coming home,” he replies.

For years he’s been flying in and out of this city, leaving on trips that take him halfway across the globe in either direction, but he never tires of this nervous anticipation—like electricity igniting his veins and spurring his tired body to life once more. It is a feeling he hopes will never leave him for it means one thing: he is so close to you.

A mixture of partially melted snow and dirt splash up from the street as a bus rumbles past, kicking up the slush only to slosh it directly onto your right pant leg.

“Are you kidding me?!” It is all you can do to toss your hands up in despair—this is, after all, just another bullet point in a long list of shitty things to have happened to you today.

You’ll tell him about this tonight, you know, along with all of the other unbearable things you’ve suffered through—like the lady who’d yelled at your co-worker for things that were simply out of their control, or the register that’d suddenly gone on the fritz in the middle of the busiest portion of your day which had, of course, caused a mound of backups and angry customers. Kylo isn’t due to be back for another week, at least—not until just before New Years, and though you’ve grown to miss him considerably, the nightly FaceTimes and sporadic texts have been enough to see the two of you through this unacceptably long time apart.

But Christmas is right around the corner and though you can appreciate the festive decor with their twinkling lights and shiny garland, you’ve told him on a number of occasions just how lackluster the holiday truly is for you. When he’d told you that he would be away during the most wonderful time of the year—according to everyone else—well, the season had only dulled for you all the more.

One more stop.

He only has to sit through one more stop of watching people simultaneously shoving their way on and off of the train—only one more stop of people sitting in reserved seats to save themselves having to stand all the way to their destination only to play it off as a silly little accident when confronted by the seat’s true occupant.

God he can’t wait to be home.

And not just because the airplane food had been bland at best or his time away had been filled with endless amounts of paperwork and networking with individuals he couldn’t give one single fuck about. No. It was the seemingly never ending nights of outstretching his arm only to find the space beside him cold and empty, the calls and the texts and the FaceTimes that only made the ache in his chest that much more prominent. He cannot wait to be home, to see the surprise on your face when you find him there a week earlier than you’d anticipated.

Kylo glances down to the watch that adorns his wrist and checks the time, cursing silently to himself. Should this train not get a move on, however, he fears his perfectly timed plan may be anything but. With an audible sigh, he drops his hand down onto his thigh and looks to his right, through the large windowpane beside him, watching the hustle and bustle of the station just beyond the walls of the train. Relief finds him only when the familiar lurch of the train’s car can finally be felt as it pulls away from the platform.

The metallic squeal of the front door’s hinges reverberate throughout the apartment, signalling your arrival to a dark and empty space. Heavily, your keys drop into the small decorative bowl that sits near the entryway and the snow that has gathered around the soles of your boots begins to melt once you’ve slipped them off, the moisture soaking into the mat they now rest on. Your jacket quickly follows, along with your scarf, both hanging on the rack near the door before you step further into your moonlit apartment.

Your dinner, the one you’d taken such great care to make well in advance for your arrival back home tonight, sits cold and forgotten in the fridge—any hunger experienced prior to your leave from your shift is now long gone, replaced by the series of unfortunate events that played out earlier in your day, coupled with the disappointment of yet another night spent without Kylo. Slowly, begrudgingly, you trudge down the hallway towards the room the two of you typically share.

It is the sound of a dresser drawer sliding shut that captures your attention first, quickly followed by the soft, warm illumination of your bedside lamp that spills out into the hallway, both of which halt your steps nearly immediately. The steady thump, thump, thump of your heart only seems to grow in intensity whilst you take a moment to collect your thoughts. Surely it couldn’t be…

“Kylo?”

Softly, Kylo pushes the one of the many drawers of the old wooden dresser closed and pivots to face you. It is instantaneous, the way that he reads you, always so quick to tell your mood or the tone of your day simply by looking at you. His arms extend outward to reach for you, soon met by the familiar warmth of your body as it collides so effortlessly into his.

“You’re here.” Your statement, spoken in bewilderment and muffled considerably by the fabric of Kylo’s shirt, only causes his smile to broaden as his arms tighten around you all the more.

He chuckles, chest vibrating against you with the sound. “Surprise,” he replies, arms loosening from around your frame as you pull back to look at him. The warmth of his hands now settle against your skin as they frame your face. “I managed to complete the job early and I thought why not come home early and surprise my girl for her favorite holiday.”

The scoff that leaves your mouth, accompanied by a roll of your eyes, elicits a grin from Kylo who has already begun to lower his mouth to your own, your lips meeting in a gentle, languid kiss. “How bad,” he asks when your lips part, referencing your day.

“Horrid.”

He listens patiently as you tell him about your day, everything from the lack of staff to the ignorance of the customers, taking a momentary break to retrieve the takeaway delivery he’d ordered prior to your arrival home. By the time you finish your recap of your no good, very bad day the two of you have migrated to the living room sofa, half-filled styrofoam containers long forgotten on the coffee table and stomachs full of delicious food.

“You would have liked Savannah,” Kylo murmurs in the low light of the living room, the back of his fingers gently grazing along your cheek as he rests an elbow against the back of the couch, his body turned slightly to face you. “Of course the one day I got to get away from the office it snowed,” he says with a slight upturn of his mouth. “It was really something to see the icicles clinging to the Spanish moss and hanging from the old oaks.”

“Sounds lovely,” you reply softly, leaning into his touch.

Kylo hums in acknowledgement of your response. “Would have been better if you were there.”

He watches, silently now, as you turn your head and press a kiss to the tips of his fingers. “You can make it up to me on the next one.”

Kylo’s chest rumbles with the onset of more chuckling, the sound accompanying a nod of agreement because of course he’d take you on the next one. He’d take you on every trip would your own job allow it. As the sound of his soft laughter dissipates, giving way to the barely audible background noise of the television that plays nearby, Kylo’s look of amusement turns to one of a different kind of hunger.

“Or now,” he replies, his voice low and full of promise.

It happens in a blink of an eye, or perhaps it feels as such; one moment the two of you are sitting side by side on the sofa, caught up in one another’s attention and the next…

Fingers dip beneath the soft material of your sweater to feel the warm skin that he’s missed so much. Hands roam down, down, down to the curve of your ass to pull your body closer to his own. He is everywhere, seeking out every part of your body that is available to him as you straddle his waist, his lips never once straying from yours.

It is a paradox, the way that he touches you; Kylo is slow yet hurried, rough and yet strangely gentle as his fingers press into the tender skin of your midsection. One by one the layers on your respective bodies are shed, dropping to the floor with reckless abandon as the two of you seek out the physical closeness you’ve been longing for ever since Kylo’s temporary departure from the country.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs against your mouth whilst his fingers blaze a path down to the apex of your thighs. The sigh that you emit when the pads of his fingers graze along the already slick folds of your cunt is intoxicating and his head swims with the sound that he’s yearned for for weeks. “Fuck,” Kylo groans into the kiss.

“Kylo.” His name leaves you in a gasp just as two thick fingers sink into your wet warmth, curling to locate the sensitive spot within you.

His cock twitches with eager interest in response to the sound, thumb now pressing small, quick circles to your clit to mirror the intensity of his fingers. “I know, baby, I know. Just need you to cum for me once. You can do that for me, can’t you?” When your head nods in affirmation, Kylo exhales a soft groan. “That’s my good girl.”

It takes little time at all to bring you to the precipice, deft fingers working you into a frenzy until your body trembles above his own and your soft cries grow louder with the relief that finally swells and crests. The sound of you, the sight of you, the feel of you…nothing, not even the nightly calls that more often than not veered into moments so close and yet so far to this moment cannot compare to experiencing it in the here and now.

“I love you,” he murmurs against your mouth as his hands relocate to your hips to help lift them and reposition above his own.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

He will never get enough of you, he knows. As the words repeat over and over and over again inside of his mind, his senses completely consumed with you, he is oblivious to the changing weather that lies just beyond the walls of the home you find yourselves in. Outside, heavy flakes fall from the heavens to collect and pile up, up, up on pavement and grass alike, but in the warmth of the home the two of you have carved into your own, nothing but you and this moment matter.

[quiteanabyss]

A literal gif of me currently:

@direnightshade This was wonderful, and you are wonderful. 😭😭😭 I am full of feels and cannot word good right now. Thank you so much. ❤️🦉

[alexwritesfiction]

reblog to show the writer person u reblogged it from appreciation and love

[desiraypark]

Hello lovely!

I am very excited that you have opened up your requests! I would like to ask for sweet Sackler and burying head in the crook of the neck of the lover.

Hello, my love! Hope you enjoy this quick scenario 🥰

Imagine…

The sun has set on a November wedding and reception in a Vermont park. Festive lighting illuminates the platform on which the guests stand—causing everyone to glow. The air smells of pine, the rosemary that had settled into the meat of the lamb chops served earlier, and there’s a light aroma of something burning—not like a fire, but that hint of match-like scent that you can only smell when it’s cold…

Some guests pack plates of food or chat it up. Many of them help take down tables. The bride and groom themselves—your friends—had long ago ditched the reception. The DJ is still playing music just for the couple that’s still slow dancing on the platform—you and Sackler.

A light breeze blows random autumn leaves of red and yellow at your feet. His suit jacket stops at your knees and keeps your body warm. You both know what’s happening. The wedding, exchanging of vows, and the love of family and fellowship in the air…it was inspiring, to say the least.

Sackler quietly exhales through his nostrils and buries his head in the crook of your neck. You lift your hand, carrying the awkward, but somehow familiar weight of his jacket sleeve with your arm—and run your fingers through his hair.

[copepods]

what if all my online friends went to my house and we made soup together. what about that.

[desiraypark]

Oh God, this graphic is horrible lmao.

Anyway, Happy November, y’all!

I’m ready to curl up in my blanket, drink hot apple cider, and write some sweet stuff. Throughout the month, I’ll be accepting requests for blurbs/imagines (no long posts or one-shots).

Pick a Fella:

ADCU: Sackler/Charlie/Clyde/Phillip Altman

MCU: T’Challa/Bucky Barnes

Others: Ralph Angel Bordelon (Queen Sugar) or Levee (Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom)

and Pick a Prompt:

Friends to Lovers

Physical Intimacy

Kisses

Or send in your own personal request, and I’ll get to it as soon as I can!

Please note, I want to keep things light! Writing fluff and sweet romance is the goal, but I won’t mind sprinkling in a little smut and a little angst. Just a little, though!

I look forward to your requests 🥰

[quiteanabyss]

For anyone who needs to hear this ...

It doesn't make you any less of an Adam Driver fan if you don't want to watch The Last Duel, or any of his other movies.

Don't ever feel that you have to engage with something that makes you feel uncomfortable. ❤

[nightmareonspookystreet-deactiv]

rb this to give the person you rb it from a hug

[oursaviorkellinquinn-deactivate]

ATTENTION

If you see this you are OBLIGATED to reblog w/ the song currently stuck in your head :)

[paterson-blue]

Summary: Charlie has nightmares from time to time. So do you.

Word Count: 1,619

Warnings: fem!reader but can be read as gender-neutral, established relationship, reader has abandonment issues (I mean who among us doesn't amirite), general anxiety, brief mentions of smut, brief hint at infidelity (sort of? relationship starts during a separation but before a divorce), nightmares, cigarette smoking, post-canon, Charlie Barber is sad, introspective/internal monologue, Nicole is NOT bashed in this bc I'm not about that — let me know if I need to add anything else!

A/N: Cheers to my lovely beta @paper-n-ashes for hyping this up while getting her feelings hurt (I hurt my own feelings too, it's fine). Also shout out to Taylor Swift for making me cry while writing this lmfao anyway...

Prefer AO3? I gotcha!

Charlie has nightmares from time to time.

He startles awake in the middle of the night with a cry stuck in the back of his throat. You shift and stir, used to it by now--knowing what’s happened. But he leaves the bed before you can speak, before you can reach out and touch his arm. He pads out of the room, his hulking form a blur in your sleep-addled gaze.

What you do next depends on the week.

Some nights you stay in bed, curling up on his side of the mattress, soaking up the warmth of his body heat. You know there’s a chance he won’t return from Henry’s room, that you’ll fall asleep alone and wake up to an apologetic kiss and breakfast in bed. He always says he’s sorry, voice hushed and big brown eyes remorseful. You shake your head, brush your fingertips over his cheek, tell him it’s okay. Of course it’s okay.

Henry complains sometimes, in the way that kids do when they’re eager to grow up. Little acts of growing independence, of removing themselves from their parents, oblivious to the sting of it. “Dad, you should stop sleeping in my room at night. I’m too old for that now; I don’t get scared anymore.”

You watch Charlie’s back tense where he’s cutting up celery for Henry’s lunch. He swallows hard, just nods. You wait for Henry to change the subject; he finishes his spoonful of cereal and asks if he can get a goldfish, oblivious to how he’s shaken his father.

He doesn’t mean it, you want to tell the man working quietly in the kitchen. He doesn’t understand that you’re never too old to get scared. He doesn’t understand that his dad has bad dreams, too.

But you don’t say it. You never do, even if you know Charlie can read it in your eyes. It’s not your place, really--you aren’t Henry’s parent. You’re some strange figure in the family unit, accepted but not quite solidified. You don’t dare to dwell on any possible future, not so soon after Charlie and Nicole’s divorce, not with how you and Charlie met. Despite his reassurances, you are fine with knowing you are a desperate rebound.

This isn’t something that can last, and you know it. You aren’t fooling yourself. You’re constantly looking for the signs for when, inevitably, he’ll want to move on—find the person he really wants. You’re what he needs right now, and you’re happy to be that.

It doesn’t stop you from loving him, caring for him, taking care of him. He does the same for you--is devoted to you. You don’t doubt his devotion, only how long it will last. Where does this go? When does this end?

Maybe you are a fool after all.

You know what Charlie dreams. He told you once, on one of the nights Henry was with Nicole--when he had no comfort to cling to but a cigarette outside on the balcony. You’d gotten up and followed him outside, standing timidly in the doorway.

It was chilly for an LA night, a strong wind coming in from the Pacific. You worry for a split second about Charlie, standing in nothing but his boxers and T-shirt; you think of saying something to him, but you know you’ll just get a wry smile in return. His East Coast constitution would never allow him to feel cold in Los Angeles of all places.

He takes a long drag of his cigarette--a nasty habit, even he admits, saved only for desperate times like these--blows the smoke out into the air in a long, slow exhale. You brace yourself against the breeze, and step out onto the balcony to perch on the rarely-used rattan chair placed in the corner. You wait until he’s done smoking, until he reaches over and smushes the butt of the cigarette into the potted plant at his feet. He doesn’t speak--just straightens up and leans against the railing, looking out across the buildings. A gust of air ruffles his hair and he brushes it out of his face when it tickles his nose.

“Charlie,” you say, quiet as can be. You’re surprised when he turns to look at you; a part of you figured the wind would take your voice along with it. He hesitates, then steps towards you, eyes soft. You stand, letting him settle into the chair; the wicker seat creaks when he pulls you into his lap, and the two of you freeze for a split second, waiting to see if the flimsy piece of furniture will hold or not. It does, and after a moment you both relax, Charlie wrapping his strong arms around you. You nestle your face into his neck, rubbing your cold nose against the warmth of his throat. He hums to himself, hands ducking under your shirt to rub his fingertips against your bare skin.

“... He keeps calling out for me but I can never find him. It’s always dark, with all this fog and dark shadows. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye but when I look for him he disappears. I just can’t seem to--to get to him. He needs me, and I’m not there. And--” he swallows hard, fingers digging into your skin, holding onto you tightly, “-sometimes he sounds like he’s crying, like he’s scared, and I’m running but I can’t--”

You lift your head to nuzzle your cheek against his, holding him tight, shushing him quietly. He doesn’t speak, and you try to breathe long and slow and even against his ear; he matches your pace, letting his residual panic slip away as the nightmare fades from his mind.

It’s not real, you could say. Henry is safe and sound, and he’ll facetime you tomorrow to get help on his math homework.

But you don’t say those things. Because there’s nothing wrong with Henry to trigger Charlie’s fear; there’s nothing bad or worrisome about Henry being with Nicole. It’s the fear and guilt leftover from the divorce proceedings causing the nightmares. Charlie knows it and you know it. There’s nothing to do but let time heal what it can.

It will. You know it will, because it always does. You just don’t know when.

When it happens—when Charlie is better—will he still need you?

He turns his head just slightly to capture your lips with his and you accept his kisses, letting him take what he seeks. You think you’d give the very air from your lungs if it’s what he wanted. His mouth is hot and soft and familiar, his large palms steady on your back. It’s the closest thing to heaven you’ve found on earth.

Another breeze cuts across the balcony and you shiver, making Charlie chuckle. He brushes his tongue over your bottom lip, traces over your cheek with the tip of his long nose, murmurs that the two of you should go back inside. He follows his words with another kiss, and then another, and another—before finally you both force yourselves up and back into the bedroom.

You watch Charlie pad to his side of the bed; he sits, reaches for the trusty glass of water on his bedside table. He chugs the last of it before slipping under the duvet, tugging his pillow under his head.

His pillow, his bedside table, his side of the bed. Because the other side was yours.

My wife is divorcing me, he’d said to you, all those months ago at the bar. You’d shrugged—what did you care what baggage your one night stand had? He was an adult, he could make his own choices. He had a pretty face, one that he’d just had between your legs as you perched on the bathroom sink. He’d take you home and fuck you silly and you’d never see him again.

You’ve never been very good at one night stands. They never seemed to end well, always felt awkward, were always something you regretted. Neither you nor Charlie regretted one another. Maybe that was worse in a way.

Where does this go? When does this end? The questions echo in your mind as you crawl back into bed, under the covers. Charlie gravitates towards you, somehow arranging his hulking form to fit against your smaller one. You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders as he presses his head into your chest, listening to your heartbeat.

You never think about the future. You don’t let yourself. You were a one night stand, then a desperate rebound, and now—what? What were the two of you doing? Playing house together?

When will he tire of you? When will he wake up and want his old life back?

Charlie isn’t the only one with visions in his head. At night, your subconscious brings your fantasies to the forefront: a life with Charlie and Henry—more concrete than what you have now. Of certainty, of stability. Where nightmares are no more and a wedding ring glints off your finger.

You always wake up in a cold sweat, chest aching, terrified of the things that only happen in your wildest dreams. You look over at the man asleep beside you, and feel like your heart might burst. You don’t have the words to articulate your feelings for him. You don’t have the words to express your fear that he doesn’t feel the same.

Where does this go? When does this end?

Charlie—the real Charlie, the present Charlie—presses his lips to your chest, snuggling closer to you. “I love you,” he says quietly, intensely, like he’s read your mind.

“I love you, too,” you answer, brushing your fingers through his hair.

You mean it.

______________________________________________________________

taglist friends!

@paper-n-ashes @leatherboundbirate @direnightshade @fathersonandhouseofgucci @mariesackler @glassbxttless @jynzandtonic @sacklerscumrag @hopeamarsu @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @millenialcatlady @peachyproserpina @cornmousequeen @icarusinthesea @heartofjakku @eagerforhoney

[quiteanabyss]

I had to go back and double check the word count. Only 1619 words? 😯 This was an absolute feast of a fic that drew me in completely. This was beautifully written and I could picture every detail like I was watching a movie. And just for the record, this reader so, so deserves her happy ending. 😭

[adcuthirsttweets]

hey kylo...my throat is really empty rn...maybe you could fill it?

I’ve got just the thing for your throat, dear anon.

Someone get my lightsaber.

[damemaree]

ADCU Creators Masterlist!

The more content Adam delivers the more new creators enter our Tumblr fandom.

In order to be more inclusive and welcoming, I would like to share a Google Form to be utilized as a comprehensive Masterlist for writers, artists, and GIF makers for our ADCU fandom.

A few quick points I would like to make:

I will not be censoring who is added to this list. Everyone is welcomed.

It will be your responsibility to add your information.

I am not responsible for any of the content that is on any of the blogs listed.

I will be adding this link to my pinned list and making sure the list stays alphabetized and not abused. I will not be responsible for maintaining it, regularly outside of what's been mentioned. This will be a community form. It is a tool to be used to make it easier to find fellow creators and boost their work!

Please share this post! Share the creators! Boost each other up!

ADCU Creators Masterlist Form

[direnightshade-deactivated20240]

Fidelity (Chapter One)

Thank you to the ever lovely @quiteanabyss for suggesting this idea for horrorfest, and also to @leatherboundbirate for helping bounce some ideas back and forth for character development in the planning stages of this fic. ♡

Chapter Two | Chapter Three

Warnings: Character Death, Blood, Violence, Murder, Stabbing, Knives, Toxic Relationship Dynamics, Slasher Fic Word Count: 2,382

As always, you can find this over on AO3.

---------------------

Nightfall has descended on a nondescript Midwest town, blanketing it in darkness. Phillip plops down heavily onto the cream colored sofa with an audible sigh, the popcorn in the ceramic bowl that he holds jostling with the movement. Though the lights remain on in the kitchen one room over, the living room is bathed only in the blue light of the television that now displays the opening credits of Halloween, which Phillip has chosen as his first of many movies for the evening.

He’s seen this movie half a dozen times, but each time is just as good as the first. It is, he’s said many times to friends and family alike, a favorite of his. There are moments where he recites lines and moments where he laughs through mouthfuls of popcorn, and though he would very much deny it to anyone that asks, there are times where he jumps—still taken aback even after having seen the film so many times. By the time Laurie runs into the hall following the discovery of Lynda and Bob, the bowl of popcorn seated in Phillip’s lap has all but vanished. Only a few pieces remain, and just as he reaches into the bowl to retrieve them whilst Michael stalks after Laurie, a loud, shrill ringing fills the space eliciting a jump of surprise followed by a string of curses.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he cries out, hand darting out on instinct and snatching up the cell phone that sits beside him on the couch.

UNKNOWN, the caller ID reads.

Phillip presses the side button on the phone to silent the incessant ringing, but continues to stare down at the screen as the call illuminates the immediate space around him. His thumb moves to hover over the ‘Answer Call’ option that has long since appeared on the screen, with half a mind to do so. But thinking better of it, he ignores the incoming call and sets the phone beside him once again before returning his attention to the movie.

Thirty seconds passes and then—

Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring!

With an irritated huff, eyes still settled on the television screen, Phillip reaches for his phone once more. His gaze lands on the screen a second time, discovering that yet again it is an unknown caller reaching out to him. He glances to the time, 10:17 PM, and scowls down at the screen. Like many others, he’d been known to receive the annoying spam call time and time again, but never has he received one at this time of night. This time, rather than ignoring the call, he answers, fully intending on shutting down what he is to assume will be the umpteenth call he’s received about his car’s warranty this week.

“Hello,” he asks as Laurie screams in the background on the television.

Static crackles on the line momentarily, and when Phillip opens his mouth to give his greeting a second time, a voice emerges from the other end of the line. “Oh, I’m sorry,” they say abruptly. “I think I’ve dialed the wrong number.”

Phillip huffs a laugh, eyes returning to the screen in front of him when he replies. “No worries, it happens. Take it easy.” He doesn’t wait for a reply as he pulls the phone from his ear and ends the call without so much as looking at the screen, once again discarding the device on the cushion beside him.

He isn’t sure how much time passes when his phone rings again, but it feels as if it has only been a few seconds. With an irritated groan, he leans forward and sets the now empty bowl of popcorn onto the coffee table before retrieving the phone for a third time tonight. “Hello,” he greets, the frustration evident in his voice.

“Hello, Phillip.” The voice on the other end of the line is gravelly and tinny, but familiar to the very same person who’d just called, claiming to have had the wrong number mere moments ago.

Phillip’s eyes widen slightly and pulling the phone from his ear briefly, he checks the screen once more. UNKNOWN it reads. Like all the other times before. “Who is this,” he asks, rising up from his spot on the couch and forgetting entirely about the movie that is now in its final act.

“Me? Oh, who I am isn’t important. But you do know me, I’ll give you that much. Do you like trivia, Philli—”

The voice at the other end of the line cuts off when Phillip hangs up abruptly, unwilling to play into whatever game this individual has in mind. It’s nearly Halloween, after all, and he knows the neighborhood kids aren’t above playing some stupid pranks just to get a laugh. Sadly for them, he thinks to himself as he reaches for the empty popcorn bowl, they’ll have to get their kicks elsewhere.

Slipping his phone into his back pocket, he carries the dirtied bowl from the living room to the kitchen in order to deposit it into the sink. Just as the ceramic bowl clatters against the stainless steel sink, the familiar ringtone sounds once more. Phillip emits a groan of displeasure and retrieves the device from where it is stored.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you that it’s rude to hang up on someone,” asks the voice from the other end of the line.

“What’s rude is you wasting my time in the middle of a Halloween marathon.” The sound of rushing water fills the space as he turns on the tap to fill up the dirtied bowl, stopping only once it’s reached the top.

A low hum of acknowledgement sounds from the opposite end of the line. “A horror movie fan. As fate would have it, I’ve got quite the game for you.”

Phillip’s brows crease and when he turns away from the sink, he begins to stride with purpose back into the darkened living room. “I don’t have time for your games, I’m busy.”

“Don’t you hang up the godda—”

With the phone now lowered, Phillip presses the red circle that flashes up on the screen to successfully end the call a second time. It’s immediate this time, how his screen flashes with a new call. He ignores it only to receive another and another and another until finally, he finds his hand forced and he answers.

“Look,” he starts, only to be immediately silenced by the caller.

“No, you look, Phillip. Don’t you fucking hang up on me again or I’ll fucking gut you, do you understand?”

A beat of static fills the line following the rhetorical question and when Phillip remains quiet, the voice on the other end speaks up yet again.

“Now, I want to play a game. For every question that you get right, you win the right to live but for every one you get wrong…” Trailing off briefly, a chuckle can be heard along with a puff of air that brings more static to the line. “You’re a horror fanatic aren’t you, Phillip? So you shouldn’t be worried about getting these wrong.”

A chill sweeps along Phillip’s spine, his eyes staring unfocused on the screen as Halloween continues to play out on the screen.

“Let’s begin with an easy one, hm? What’s your favorite scary movie?”

Phillip’s gaze sweeps away from the television screen to where the windows of the living room give way to a darkened back yard. “That’s not trivia,” he replies matter-of-factly.

“You have two seconds to answer the question. Favorite. Scary. Movie.”

“Halloween,” he says almost instantaneously.

“Good. So you should have no trouble at all answering my first question. What movie can be seen depicted on screen when Tommy and Laurie are together?”

Phillip takes a moment, glances back at the screen and does his best to recall the movie. From the other end of the line, the stranger begins a rhythmic ‘tik, tik, tik, tik’ as if to urge him on.

“The Thing From Another World,” Phillip spouts off as the memory comes careening to the forefront of his mind.

“Very good, but not surprising. Next question. Which film kills someone off by forcing them to eat too much?”

Phillip’s mouth opens and closes, his brows creasing as if attempting to recall the information being asked. Upstairs a floorboard creaks, pulling his attention upward to gaze at the stark white ceiling.

“Se7en,” he says hesitantly whilst slowly backpedaling out of the living room to make his way into the hallway.

“Bingo. Let’s make this a little harder, shall we?”

His steps come to a halt when Phillip finally reaches the staircase. Unlike downstairs where the kitchen lights remain on to illuminate the space rather brightly, upstairs is dark and devoid of anything other than blackness. Slowly, Phillip reaches to his left and flicks on the foyer light, revealing nothing at the top of the steps.

“What was Freddy Krueger’s serial killer name before he died?”

“What?!” He’s only half paying attention now, his focus divided by the creak of the floorboard upstairs and the strange caller. “He didn’t have one.”

Behind him, in an adjacent room, the sound of fabric rustling can be heard, causing Phillip to whirl around in order to investigate. As he storms towards the source of the noise, he’s met only with the sound of a breathy chuckle from the other end of the line.

“I’m afraid that’s incorrect, Philly!”

“What? No it isn’t,” he insists, flicking on light after light as he goes room to room, determined to prove to himself that he is indeed alone.

“Yes, it is. Before Freddy died he was known as the Springwood Slasher. Sorry, but that’s strike one.”

“Strike one? What the fuck does that mea—” Before he’s able to finish the demand for clarification, the lights overhead cut off completely, plunging the home into darkness. “Hey! Hey! What the fuck, man!”

“Phillip. Oh, Philly,” says the voice on the phone in a sing-song tone. “Listen up, you’re going to want to pay attention. This is your final chance at redemption, you got that?”

“Last chance?!” Stretching a hand out into the darkness, Phillip fumbles along the nearby wall in an attempt at bringing himself back to the living room. His heart hammers wildly in his chest, his mind racing a mile a minute; his only thought is to reach the flashlight that’s stored in the space for power outages. If he can just reach that then he can get the hell out of here. “What happened to strikes two and three?”

“The rules are arbitrary, Phillip. This is your last chance, so you better pick your answer carefully. Are you ready?” The stranger on the line doesn’t give Phillip a moment to answer, but instead carries on with their tortuous game. “What war is Grace waiting for her husband to return from in The Others?”

Another creak of a floorboard can be heard, and he’s certain that it’s closer now, perhaps even at the landing of the stairs. Phillip hurries, bumping into furniture and sliding along the wall at a quickened pace, determined more than ever to reach the flashlight.

“Tik tok, Philly. I’m going to need that answer soon.”

“Fuck. Fuck,” Phillip mumbles to himself in between labored breaths. “Uh,” he starts in an attempt to stall now, having finally found his way into the living room. “Well, it can’t be the Cold War, that would’ve been way too late…”

“Don’t fuck around with me! I’ll cut this game of ours short and trust me when I say that you don’t want that!”

“Fuck! Fine! World War One! It was World War One!”

Just as Phillip reaches for the flashlight, snatching it from its spot on the end table, yet another rustling of fabric can be heard. Hastily, he flicks the switch to turn on the light and aims the flashlight in the direction of the sound. The beam of light lands on a black mass just as it disappears into another room, the sight causing Phillip’s heart to leap at the realization that he is not home alone after all. For a moment, the house descends into silence, and all Phillip can hear is the crackling of static through the phone that is still pressed against his ear.

When the stranger speaks next, Phillip swears that he can hear the sadistic grin they undoubtedly wear, and a sense of unease plummets straight to the depths of his stomach.

“Wrong.”

The unmistakable sound of heavy boots clunk against the wooden stairs as the stranger makes a hurried descent from the second floor. Only then does Phillip’s flight or fight mode kick in, and choosing the former, he makes a mad dash to the back door as the sound of footsteps nears at a rapid pace. The phone tumbles freely from his hand, dropping to the floor with an audible thud.

Shaky fingers fumble with the lock on the door, the light of the flashlight wobbling to reflect off of the wall and ceiling until finally, he manages to pull open the door. He makes his escape out onto the back patio, turning a harsh left with the intention of rounding the house to run towards the road that lies parallel to the home but as he turns the corner he is stopped abruptly by a sharp pain in his abdomen.

The flashlight that he holds turns to aim the light at his torso, illuminating the glinting steel of a blade that protrudes from his stomach. He looks up with shock, now redirecting the light to the masked face of his would-be killer. The knife digs in a little deeper and the flashlight falls to the ground just before Phillip joins it, his head bouncing off of the cold, hard dirt with a sickening crack. In his final moments, he stares up at his killer who now removes the ghostly mask, blood dripping from the blade in their hand and a sadistic grin to match, Phillip’s eyes widen at the realization at just who is behind this night of terror.

There is disbelief among the pain and the fear, but as his vision begins to fade, giving way to the blackness, he realizes that he’ll never understand why him, why tonight, simply...why.

---------------------

Tagging my fellow Ben & Kylo lovers!

@livelongdolan @daydreamsofren @crimsoncounties @caillea @candycanes19 @gurl-ly @duty-isnt-always-honour @exit-goat @little-laamb @themuseic @kylosbitch @caelum-phyriina-vermillon @desiraypark @mariesackler @millenialcatlady @xxcatrenxx @mazeltovcocktail555 @historyandfandoms50 @leatherboundbirate @fathersonandhouseofgucci @alpha-lobito @cornmousequeen @tashastrange89

If you'd like to be tagged in future works, please give me a shout!

[quiteanabyss]

It's finally here! 🤩

So I'm not a horror fan AT ALL, but as always @direnightshade can create an atmosphere like no one else, and this chapter was so satisfying to read. I would definitely have failed that test on the first question though. 😂

[maulish]

Hot Girl Summer is over. Orctober is coming.