#hush 2016

[cats-n-coffins]

Rewatching Hush(2016) for the billionth time. I love how sassy he is 😅😅😅

[silverspleen]

My other current girl blorbo is Maddie (Hush 2016) and like... The entirely of Hush (2016) is her worst day ever. So. Yeah.

[cassiebones]

I can't be the only one who ships Maddie and Sarah from Hush(2016)

[silverspleen]

Something slightly more Yikes. :)

Cringe af failkiller and his significantly-more-interesting-than-the-average-murder-victim prey.

She is about to fucking bite him in the face. :)

[silverspleen]

Thinking about Them (Hush 2016) again, obviously.

A little OOC, he's not that manic, but idk maybe she clipped him with his own bolt and he's being nasty about it.

[silverspleen]

@quillusquillus made me this absolutely spectacular custom Hush (2016) DVD case, which is one of the most thoughtful gifts I’ve ever received from anybody.

It’s white-out on black paper and permanent marker on the disc.

It's the little details that make it for me. The crossbow bolt on the disc, the way it actually has text and a pattern on the spine (so I'll see it on my DVD shelf!!), the backwards writing in the window, the fact that Q used the current best references of The Man's tattoo that are out there on tumblr, courtesy of me, because I am insane.

It's also just... A very tasteful case. Crisp. Striking.

Hush (2016) is my favorite thriller. I have drawn fanart I have written fanfiction I just really like it you guys something about it just itches my brain in the right ways.

[thecowboyfiles]

I just can not physically express the love I have for literally anything Mike Flanagan has done.

[thesightstoshowyou]

A Trick for a Treat

- A Series -

~~ Over the next few days, I hope to get out a few shorts detailing what my favorite characters are up to on Halloween ~~

Part I

The Man (Hush) x GN Reader

Warnings: Breaking and entering, canon-typical violence, knee trauma

At the end of a dead end street, tucked away behind towering pine and oak, sits your little home. The road isn’t paved, no streetlights in place to light the way. It’s nearly impossible to find even with GPS, which is why you’re surprised when your doorbell rings late one Halloween night.

You freeze in your kitchen. In quick succession, your gaze shifts to the clock—9:30, way too late for a trick or treater—to the pantry—no candy. You never bother buying any these days. No one has ever visited your little neck of the woods on Halloween and then you’re always forced to eat the entire bag yourself.

Maybe it’s someone new to the neighborhood?

Carefully, you approach the front door. The handle is chilly under your palm when you twist it. Hinges squeak as the door swings open to reveal a…someone on the other side.

It’s a teenager, maybe? Or perhaps a short man, judging by his build. He’s broader in the shoulders than a lanky youth should be. Either way, it’s hard to tell with the bland, white mask covering his face and the black beanie atop his head. You can’t make out his eyes through the locked storm door.

You wait for the customary Halloween greeting, curious to see if he will speak with the warbling tone of a preteen or the deep timbre of a man. He remains silent, however, apparently intent to observe you through the screen. Minutely, his head tips to the left. Unease prickles in your chest, creeps along your spine. Is this a prank? Or something more….

“I, uh, don’t have any ca—

The entryway light reveals the tattoo snaking along the side of his throat, more apparent now with the tilt of his head. The light catches something else too, something gleaming in his hand: the sight of a crossbow.

Fear plummets into your belly as the weapon raises. The trigger clicks and the string twangs, deafening in your silent corner of the woods. In the same second you react and half-step, half-fall to the side.

The bolt slips through the screen of the storm door like it’s made of spider silk. Searing pain burns along your waist as the point grazes your flesh. You crash into the entryway table, the lamp and ceramic bowl atop it tumbling and shattering on hardwood just as you plummet to the floor alongside.

Your shriek of terror is drowned out by the squealing of metal when the storm door is booted off its hinges. Heart in your throat, you roll and attempt to scurry away, but a heavy heel to the back of your knee stops your retreat.

Bone collides with the floor and cracks on impact. You feel every shard of shattered knee cap. Nauseating agony replaces all sensation and the scream you loose echoes in its frenzy.

“Where’r you going, huh?” A monotonous, deep voice cuts through the panic buzzing in your brain just as hands seize your arms and flip you onto your back. Something cold and sharp slots under your chin—knife, god, it’s a knife—and a sob rips from your throat.

Heart pounding, side stinging, knee stabbing, sight blurred from tears, you raise your gaze to the uncaring mask as the man wedges you between his legs. A hiss seeps from between your clenched teeth when his knee jams into the laceration in your side.

“Fuck,” he exclaims dryly, his tone as dull as the mask on his face. You can see his eyes now, blue and devoid of all emotion. He continues, “I hit the jackpot, didn’t I?”

Gloved fingers trace through the tears streaking down your face. The wetted tips pinch your quivering bottom lip and you hear the muffled inhale on the other side of the mask when you whimper.

“P-please—

“Uh huh, just like that, sweetheart,” he mumbles, a wry grin in his voice. The man shifts slightly, scoots a little further down. The blade is freezing against the flesh of your abdomen.

“Let’s have some fun.”