⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

strangers from hell is a truly buckwild batshit insane show like. imagine if you were stuck in a dead-end job and you sublimate your dissatisfaction and rage by trying to write a novel about a serial killer so you can live vicariously through them but you know it’s no good and you live in a crumbling tenement building with undiagnosed psychopaths and probably cannibals and definitely filthy singletons because you can’t afford anything better and your next door neighbour is a waiflike freak of a man that touches your neck like a lover wondering what your insides look like and who thinks you look pretty when you’re angry and who’s a respected dentist in town that everyone knows but he also kills people —at least you think he kills people— and he’s everywhere you look but nowhere when you actually need him and he loves you and it terrifies you and when you’re both covered in blood he’s never looked at you more sincerely and he calls you sweetheart even though it repulses you and when it’s all over you still look for him because he was the only one who ever really saw you for who you actually are and he gave you a bracelet made of teeth as a gift and you won’t take it off even if it makes you look crazy. especially because it makes you look crazy. and so what if you are?