Fₑᵥₑᵣ Dᵣₑₐₘ

Rebecca is a little mesmerized, having abandoned her studies for watching Tara’s pen glide along the page. She’s good, and it’s hypnotizing, the way the character appears on a blank space so efficiently. Do you like horror movies?

“Mm?”

You seem like you do, you got that vibe.

“Do I?” She chuckles, closing her book and leaning her cheek on her palm. “Not by myself”, she admits with a growing smile, “M'a coward – but if I have someone with me, I can generally take it. Got a favorite?”

for  warm  drinks,  kitchen  conversations,  &  warm  hugs.

you  didn't  have  to  bring  me  anything.

you  always  know  exactly  how  i  take  it.

it's  still  warm  -  take  mine.

you  can  stay  here,  as  long  as  you  need.

sit,  i  made  enough  for  both  of  us.

today  feels  like  a  quiet  kind  of  day.

let  me  pull  the  cookies  out  of  the  oven.

your  hands  are  freezing.

you  fell  asleep  on  the  couch  again.

i'll  be  here  when  you  wake  up.

you  can  tell  me,  or  we  can  just  sit  here.

i  have  no  idea  what's  in  this  but  it  tastes  good.

i  needed  this.

it's  chilly  out  there.  stay  a  little  longer.

i  didn't  make  any  plans  today.  just  this.

you  looked  like  you  needed  something  warm  to  hold.

there's  an  extra  blanket  on  the  couch.

i  didn't  have  the  heart  to  wake  you.

this  room  looks  beautiful  when  the  sun  comes  through  the  window.

@.BAK3R'S .. an INDEPENDENT - MUTUALS & 21+ only roleplay blog for ELENORE ❝ ellie ❞ GIBBS - an original nc.is character. easily adaptable to any universe. baked with love by spyro. ©

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖂𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖉 𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝕬𝖗𝖊 ⠀𝕷𝖔𝖔𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕱𝖔𝖗 𝕹𝖔 𝕷𝖔𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖗 𝕰𝖝𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖘.

#DELIRIUMANG3L ─── independent, selective, roleplay blog for Rebecca Philips(wraith, ghost, imposter angel), a fandomless horror oc created and penned by LIMINAL (forty +, she/her). 25+. no minors. no AI. EXTREME TRIGGERING AND DARK THEMES PRESENT. Drugs mention. Please read rules before following. Graphic credits: ©

The only word striking Jimmy is ‘pretty’ after the annoying stranger steps under the light. Lean muscles and innocent-looking with her long lashes surrounding around those crystal pools of eyes, so clear like mirror. Jimmy feels a cold shiver running down his back under her piercing gaze, shifting uncomfortably, forces the nausea back down.

“can’t blame a man wanting to defend himself.” His throat clicks. Didn’t sense the smile playing on his lips after seeing such a beauty till he raises a hand up to where her eyes are pinned, wiping the dried blood away by the back of his hand. The smile turns into a grimace; when did I bleed? What happened? Why I can’t remember a single thing?

She sits withing an arm reach, Jimmy doesn’t voice the unease aroma around her. he resumes his search for the lighter, should be in the back pocket…huh, yeah he lost the lighter on the way here. But why he can’t recall the events? Does it have anything to do with the girl?

“I’m Jimmy..” he says. “are we here alone?” swiping away the line of possible short talks of ‘what a weird name!’ and anything about his past that she might ask. A headache, faint but insisting in the back of his head comes out of nowhere. Jimmy feels the fresh flow of blood running down his nose “shit- sorry.” Wiping at it carelessly, in rush. “I never got your name.. it’s only fair if you give me yours now.” Ah, what he’s do to have a smoke now. He must look miserable, a total menace to the girl with a ridiculous cig hanging out of his mouth and sleeves bloody after all the wiping- and it keeps coming!

She sits and watches – a hawk, a predator, a scavenger. The poor thing, she thinks, and empathy from the past surfaces for a moment: something human in her shifts and feels for the man. He went through hell from the looks of things. Was Whitefield Heights responsible? She doesn’t think so: she’d have felt it, their connection too potent. No – something happened on the outside and he sought refuge here. I wonder where we’ve landed, she thinks absently.

With a cigarette hanging dead from his mouth, he looks across his pockets for what she figures is a lighter he gives up on. I’m Jimmy...

“Jimmy”, she parrots, “Jimmy...” Are we alone? “Yes”, she lies – because Whitefield Heights, The Greedy Matriarch, She is always watching; perverse eyes one cannot see yet you feel it, the eyes of a creature out of this world. Becky licks her lips. The meaty aroma of blood making her stomach gurgle with anticipation. Despite the darkness, her pupils are like pinpricks centre to crystalline blues.

When blood starts dripping from Jimmy's nose, she is quick, removing the shawl she wore and using it like a towel – it seems sweet as a gesture, but the underlying want to carry this blood and suck on it from fabric has her secretly excited. Shit, sorry... “It’s okay...”, she hums. “You poor thing... it mm-must hurt.”

Never got your name.. it’s only fair if you give me yours now. “M’Rebecca”, she says, but it’s absent, an automatic answer. Instead, she’s very much entranced by the blood cascading down his nose, staining the cigarette stuck to otherwise dry lips.

Do you... got somewhere to lie down?

“Here...”, she coos, guiding the poor man down on the cool, cracked floor. “Right here...” Her voice is distant but dripping with lust and gluttony. Eyes tongue heart eyes tongue heart eyes tongue heart eyes tongue heart... She climbs atop the man, pressed down on his groin while she wipes at the blood with her shawl – until she glances at her now bloody fingers... and licks at one, and the next.

“You can rest here – I’ll take good care of you....”