#jbnwj

Dr Peter Andover: You wake up and find he's still not in bed. You have to get up, trudge down the halls in your fuzzy socks and go fetch him.

Erik Destler: You develop a fear that he's going to set a fire with all of the candles. He says it'll be fine, but you find yourself waking up in the middle of the night to one by one blow every single candle out- just to be safe. It takes a very long time 😅

Freddy Krueger: Startles you so bad you wake up with a jolt. You always go back to grumbling what you're going to say to him in a few minutes when you fall back asleep and can remind him in person that he is a bonehead.

Ian Essko: He's either yelling crassly into the phone or you just hear a harsh hissing 'shhhhhhh' sound from a can of lysol. Chuck a cushion at him.

Inkubus: He talks to your sleeping body sometimes and you just have to ignore it. Unless he's having you admit you were wrong about an argument during the day, then you have to sit up and squint-glare through the fatigue. That's not how it works, old man.

Jim Bickerman: Your senses at this point are keened to crazy Jim sounds. You sit up ram-rod straight, fully awake when you hear a shot outside, footsteps on the roof, or anything else not-quite-right. Oh no. No. No. No. What is the crazy old man doing-

Lyle Eckert: Similar to Ink, he'll bring up arguments again while you're asleep and sarcastically have you agree he was right and you were wrong. Either ignore him or chuck a pillow in his face when he thinks you're asleep. Think again, grouch.

Mayor Buckman: Civil War re-enactments in the square. Loud ones. He acts like they were trying to be quiet and is surprised, quite frankly, that they woke you. THEY WERE YELLING AND SHOOTING MUSKETS-

The Skull Collecter: You will wake up, every now and then, to him going over his skull shelf (which is not far from the bed, mind you. It's one room hut), muttering to them like they're still alive and having them talk back in different voices. What you do in responce to this is entirely your choice 😅

Stuart Lloyd: He'll be watching something on his laptop next to you and accidentally turn the volume on. To be fair on Stuart, he truly didn't mean it.

Its freezing, the icy wind hammering your face even as you cross your arms across your chest and dip your head down; listening to Jim and Reba argue behind you. The boat buzzes under your feet, treading the salt water below as you race across from the docks and the little Greek village (And the room you were hoping to thaw out in tonight.), towards the spooky little island the locals warned you not to visit.

Because of course you have to go to the spooky little island the locals warned you not to visit. Of course.

Sure, it could be baseless rumours or a tourism gimmick, but the man directing the boat looks severe. Grim. A little scared, you think. And every legend has its roots somewhere- Jim said it himself. If its not a monster then it'll be something rare, and rare makes money appear like magic.

"My voice draws you to me. Under the sapphire waves I'll take you home. You'll love me, you'll rest forever in a dreamless sleep for me." Reba reads out loudly, over the sound of the motor and the waives; the card from the café you had breakfast at between her fingers flipping around crazily against the wind. She looks tired; she's always tired when she comes on a trip with you and Jim. Honestly so are you when you go on a trip with him with or without her. The old man somehow has more energy then the two of you do, for sure. At least when it comes to money. Conveniently, when you need the motel room tidied up- he's too old, and his joints are stiff, and he needs a nap. Sure grandpa.

... she keeps coming, though. And so do you, so are either of you much better?

"This sounds like garbage to me." She keeps going, handing the card back to Jim.

You approach the two of them then, offering your hand to Jim so he'll give you the card and you can read it over yourself. You agree, it looks hokey, but it can be both gimmick and true,.. you suppose...

Beside you Jim is clearly feeling the cold, too, pulling the beanie he'd bought earlier further over his ears. You watch his breath turn into fog before he talks; speaking as loudly as Reba. "Lady, I'm telling you its worth a shot. A guy at the bar last night said he'd seen it lotsa times. Now, he wasn't so good with English, but I think he called it a manatee. So- a mermaid, maybe."

"Oh god Jim you're gonna get us arrested. We are not hunting a manatee!" You groan/cry, the first words you've said since you got on this cold old motor boat. "Natures sweetest creations!!"

"No, no, listen- " When he turns to you there's a more beseeching look on his face then when he spoke to Reba. After all Reba is never going to sleep with him. He HAS to answer to you. "Listen, sugar, we're just gonna look around. I swear- if y'see one little manatee, we'll go back to the room. I have a feeling, though."

You give him a withering look, figuring out if he's sincere. He usually is, though. With you. So you sigh, and hand him back the card. ".. Fine, but its not gonna be a mermaid."

Jim's face drops into a grim and unconvinced look, and Reba perks up. "See!- "

"If its anything, this is a siren." You say, matter-o-fact, as he takes the card. Reba gives a sigh, and rubs her temples as a slow grin spreads across Jim's face again; pleased and cocksure.

"You heard her, miss fish and game," Reba rolls her eyes so far upwards they almost disappear into the back of her skull. Jim tucks the card away into a pocket. "We're doing this."

"-which is particularly dangerous for you, Jim." You add, your eyebrows knitting together.

"-how's that?"

"Oh yeah, siren's go after dudes, generally. Don't they?" Reba asks, and you nod, looking to her. "'Specially horny bastards." A vitriolic grin tugs across her lips, picking up the flask she brought to keep warm and taking a swig. "... So I guess you're the ideal target, huh?"

"Hey- "

You pat Jim on the shoulder. Give him an awkward look, like, 'mhm, yep'.

"Fresh meat." A grin twitches at the corner of your lips, remembering how he'd called you that before.

~

For the rest of the boat ride, Reba continued to tease Jim. That was just their relationship, so you didn't think much of it, just sat down in the back of the boat where the little dingy roof was. You were hoping that it would give you a break from the harsh icy wind, but it did not.

You took out your phone to scroll Pinterest for a bit, but there wasn't any data connection. "Rats."

When you finally got to the little tiny, unkempt dock on the island, the captain of the little motor boat who has been totally silent for the rest of the ride, told the 3 of you that he would be back in an hour- no earlier. He'd wait 5 minutes and if he doesnt see a sign of you then he's leaving again. He gave the waives a dark, cautious look- then turned the boat around and went back to the mainland.

"... spooky for no reason. Great." Reba comments, sarcastic, and obviously a little disturbed. Not enough to feel scared, she's as fearless as Jim is (At least outside of crocodiles), but definitely unsettled. Giving a nod, you turn on your flashlight. "Feels like we're in an episode of scooby doo, don't you think?"

Jim wasn't listening, focused solely at the water. Listening to it. Fully in his element. So when he says you should all split up, you consider that a bad, albeit funny, coincidence. Reba shakes her head, and wanders off. "Sure thing, Fred." She mutters, disappearing into the dark.

You touch his shoulder, before heading off yourself in the other direction, following the thin beach that was more pebbles and rocks then sand. "Goodluck!"

"Be careful for me, sweetheart." For a moment he tears his gaze away from the water, catching your smile before you disappear into the dark too.

~

Jim is still watching the ocean, daring something to come out, his hand on the gun at his side- when you come back not 10 minutes later.

Your appearance catches his attention immediately, watching you come slowly out of the darkness with a confused frown spreading across his face. Wasn't your hair different before? What happened to your jacket?, why aren't you wearing it? Its below 30 degrees out tonight. Why do ya look a little... wet? The tips of your hair dripping with seawater and your clothes sticking to you like a second skin.

But you flash him a smile, and he hears... music. Quiet, haunting music, coming from the direction of the water, almost like it's coming from the mainland or something. Far away. And all of a sudden everything is alright; You hadn't said anything, oddly quiet, but everything was fine. Maybe you're not cold. Maybe you tripped and fell in the water.

He's forgotten about what he was doing, what he was waiting for, what he's doing here. He can only think about you. "Shit, Y/N, what happened??" He chuckles, nervously. When you reach him, still not saying a word but with that sweet smile, he's taking off his own coat and pulling it around your soggy shoulders. He's cold, the wind chills him to the bone and his teeth immediately start to chatter. "You tripped or s- somethin'?"

... you just give a shrug, and smile again. Apparently you didn't know what happened to you. ... which is odd-

-Or, or maybe the sweetheart was just embarrassed. Thats fine, he wont push you.

With deft fingers, you pull his coat closer around you and you just looks so damn cute. He couldn't imagine taking it back, even though he was starting to not feel his fingers anymore. He's had worse, anyway.

... When you lean up and give him a gentle kiss, he forgets all about his icy fingers. And your lips are wet, and cold, but he cant bring himself to care about any of that either.

After he responds well, you give him another kiss; a deeper one; parting your lips against his and softly stroke his tongue with yours. Vaguely he thought this was Different; you usually didn't like to get into it with him on a job. You didn't wanna make it weird for anyone else you were with. But he would never complain about a few kisses from you.

They warmed him up. Should he be cold right now??... His skin feels boiling hot all of a sudden. That haunting music coming from the mainland gets louder, too, the humming voice seeping into his head and making him feel all... comforted. A little inexplicably anxious, but Safe so long as he's Here. With you.

When you pull away theirs a wicked smirk on your pretty face looking up at him. He recognises the smirk; at least he thinks he does.

He knew what it meant.

Next thing he knows, you're on the ground, on your knees, your jeans gettin' all muddy digging into the rocks and the grainy sharp sand. You don't seem to care at all, though, you're so calm. Which makes him Think. Are you alright? You seem off. Maybe he should-

He never even finishes that thought when your fingers, which he can see now are tinted blue at the tips and are dripping water as if you just raised your arm out of the bath tub, slip around his boots. You're lookin directly up at him from tucked between his legs; that demons smirk so pretty on your lips. You bat your eyelashes ever so softly, though.

"Jim... " Your voice for the first time since you came back to him. Or is it your voice? Its coming out of your mouth, your pretty face, but something is immediately off about it. Kindof echoey, like the two of you are in cave which- you're not, but-

Doesn't matter. Does. not. matter. As soon as the tip of your nose makes contact with his thigh, nosing ghostly cute against his jeans, still looking up at him like That, like you head's nothing but sin, all the thought in his head flickers off again. Whatever it was, it wasn't important. Could'nt've been. Nope.

~

Its not until the music gets louder again, like its playing directly in Jim's ears now, that sense truly starts to fight back. Something here is not. right.

Why the hell are you on your knees when Reba's just around the corner? Thats not like you; thats not like his Y/N. And the music's too loud, makin' his ears buzz and ring. Causing a shooting pain to crack across his mind.

The woman who looks like you notices that her spell is beginning to lose its effect, and gracefully stands up again in one fluid motion; even closer to him, pressed up against him. Silent. His coat slipped off your shoulders to thump in the dirty sand and all of a sudden there's not an article of clothing on you. Cold, slippery fingers go around his face. ... a grim frown stretches across Jim's face. Goddamnit.

"Jim... " That haunting voice. Its just like the music. Jesus Christ- The witch pouts your lips, and y'look so sad. Your eyes so round. "What's wrong??... I'm all yours right now,.. " She tilts your head to the side, sliding your hands down his arms to his hook- and his hand. On his gun. "Don't you want me??"

He knows its not you now. He knows it. But he still cant move- an invisible force holds him completely still. He cant get away from the monster that looks like you; is using you against him. The HELL is he supposed to do?? Shoot you????

Your fingers draw hearts on the back of his hand, watching his face so so intently; waiting for him to fall back into it.

... but he wont.

He's a little tougher then that. A little tougher then Reba thought. He's gotta be.

When suddenly he raises his arm, the creature jumps away from him like a frightened cat. Or a wisp. He's pretty sure he heard a hiss. It's far enough back now either way, that the butt of Jim's rifle held right out- just brushes your cheekbone.

"Back... off... " He growls, through grit teeth.

... a downright evil smile slips across your pretty face. But no fear. No fear at all, despite the panicked tone in the siren's voice. "But Jim!- "

The voice doesn't even sound like you anymore. More a nasty, water warped version of it.

"Shut up."

The evil look on your face turns miserably dark. Terrible ugly hatred shines off of it that you're almost unrecognisable until he realises 'you're' gone. All thats left is a naked woman he's never seen before, looking at him like he's filth. Rotten. Now, some men like when the pretty girls are mean to 'em. He's not one of them. "Oh you're a s t u p i d old fool."

"Yeah." Its a lot easier to pull the trigger when its not his sweet girl's face looking back at him. A loud BANG! shatters the sound of the music all around him; leaving only the sound of the wind whistling in his ears.

And the monster's gone- until he feels a presence at his back. Jim's about to turn and just try again-- but the voice speak up again. "Fine. Be that way, see if I care. I was only hungry."

Then the presence disappears entirely, and stays gone. After a few moments and Jim is sure she's gone for good, he lets out a huff of a breath. Part relieved he lived, part pissed he's not getting paid. And really fucking cold. Where'd that damn jacket go-

~

When you really come back around, he knows it's you because you're talking to Reba, and there's no more music. You must have met each other on the other side of the island. You flash him a smile. "Hey, did you see anything?" When you get a good look at him, though, hunched over on a rock with mucky jacket and a grim look on his face, your soft smile falls a little; a concern in your eyes. Oh he's gotta look a wreck right now. "... What happened to- oh- "

You recognise the look in Jim's eyes when he gets closer and let him kiss you; drawing your arms around his neck like its the most natural thing in the world which at this point it is, and only becoming more confused with the close contact. What's- is that- how is he hard!??-

What on earth has he been doing out here. Is he okay???

You attempt to ask him just that when he has to breath, mist between you from all the hot air and the cold wind, a husk in your voice from the kiss, and your eyelids half-hooded hazy with being kissed like That, but- "Oh- " He kisses you again. Okay. You'll just wait this out, then.

A few more kisses and he finally has to take a break. A crooked, wilted grin tugs across your mouth. "... what was all that for??"

"Yeah, I'm disturbed." Reba pipes up from a little further away, having wondered off during all of That. She's opening up her gun and counting her bullets.

"Uhh... " Jim looks awkward, like he's clearly unsure whether to tell the truth or not. "Heh. I'll tell ya later. Lets get outta here, hm?"

You tilt your head to the side, confused. "I thought you wanted to find the sirens, though?"

"Nope, not anymore." He shakes his head, hooking his prosthetic-arm around your waist because Fuck No he's not putting down his gun, and walking you towards the dock. "Silly idea. Wanna go back and get cozy with you in the room, okay? Whadaya say? Lets go. Where the hell is that creepy bastard with the boat, now??"

You share a look with Reba. You both know he's acting odd. "... Jim, are you sure?"

"Oh yeah. Yeah." He nods, t o t a l l y certain. "Also you're gonna haveta sit on my lap on the way back sweetheart, to hide the tent. You know the drill, heh."

"... uhuh."

Now Jim watches the water like its infested with crocs. You look, too; and see a glimmer of something shiny down there catching the moonlight; hear a teasing hum in the air that may or may not be imagination. His face is pale and he looks sick, though. You don't know why just now, whether its something to do with the dark murky waters or something else entirely (Though you do have your suspicions); you just know you need to wrap your arms around him. Bury your face in his shoulder, make sure he can feel that you're real and right there.

Erik Destler

You felt the note be tucked into the palm of your hand when everyone was panicking because the lights switched off suddenly (of course, you had an inkling who was behind that fiasco immediately. Everyone did) and everyone was plunged into darkness. You breath had hitched, but then the lights turned on and there was no one next you- just your friends asking if you were okay and saying that it was the phantom.

You kept the piece of parchment in your fist hidden until you were able to slip away, say you needed some fresh air, and step out of the theatre to stand under a street light and open Erik's note for you; doing your best to flatten out the paper from its squished state with your hands.

His scrawl is a little smudged, and two of the corners are burnt, but you manage to make out his words. He's got lovely handwriting you think, a giddy smile twinging at your mouth.

_____

My dear,

After the show is over, I wish for you to meet me in my quarters.

There will be candles lit to lead you there, you only need to slip away from your frivolous companions and sneak down into the depths of the Opera house, if you're brave enough. I'm tired of the cat and mouse game you've been playing with me. Every flirtatious wink and pretty smile you send to my loge, every flash of your skin when you know I'm hidden there in your dressing room, every kind word you speak of me when others curse me... If your efforts are coming from a genuine desire to meet, I'll be waiting tonight. If not, I'll desist my watching. My listening. My attention.

That's my promise, and my offer- please consider it.

I hope to see you later, tonight. Enjoy the show.

- The Phantom

_____

A broader grin spreads across your lips as you finish the note and flick through it again, the important bits (the fact that he noticed your attempts to garner his attention at all, his offer, his hope). You've always been intrigued by the Palais de Garnier, and especially by its phantom~ There was truly something irresistibly fascinating about it- almost sexy. You can feel the excitement literally fluttering inside you like the wings of butterflies as you go back into the theatre and eagerly away the end of the show.

Inkubus

When you got home and pressed messages on your answering machine and heard that voice, you remember it clearly because it was so distinctive, and ardent, and sure, and so thick with something equally threatening, and... licentious, you immediately felt your blood run cold. The man at the busy coffee shop. Who sat with you at your table when their were no seats left and smelled like blood and looked at you like prey.

You didn't give him your phone number. You didn't even give him your name.

"Y/N... if you thought you would just brush me off and forget me like a random passerby, a footnote in your little life, you were mistaken. I told you, I have a few tricks up my sleeve~ "

You click to the next message numbly.

"In case you haven't deduced already, I also know where you live. And in case you think that I'm bluffing," the sound of a dark, soft chuckle revibrates from the speaker. "I left a small gift for you in your lovely bedroom. I'll give you a moment to go have a look."

Without a thought, you drop your bag and rush to your room after the click, stopping when you get there and cautiously pushing open the door. There you find a small box left in the mess of pillows and unmade blankets that is your bed that definitely wasn't there when you left in the morning, placed perfectly in the middle atop the covers, which you pick up carefully in one hand and take with you back to your answering machine; assessing it warily while you walk. It's wood but painted a terrible charcoal black, the paint coming off like soot on your fingers, and theirs a lock. You try to lift the lid, but without a key you won't be able to open it.

You press next on your answering machine, once again; eyes on the box.

"You'll get the key to what's inside next time we meet- and I promise, we will.

Y/N you have my full attention, and when I want something I generally get it. This is but a warning- by the months end, you'll want me just as deeply as I want you."

Jim Bickerman

He doesn't own a phone (he used to, but the telemarketers drove him up a wall and the old flip phone ended up in a lake somewhere) so when you get to his place, using the spare key tucked away under a little daffy duck figure on the porch, you see a tape recorder with a note taped to the front on the kitchen bench. "Hm," You hum, leaning your forearms on the bench and carefully unrolling the tape off the little beat-up machine and the note that says 'Read me' in thick permanent marker scrawl. Throwing away the tape, you press play and leave the tape recorder on the bench as you open up the freezer and pull out a pack of frozen potato gems. As you practically live here, even when Jim's not there too, you feel perfectly comfortable making yourself up and after work snack.

"Hey there, pumpkin. I'm off on a spontaneous job, got approached by a fella at the bar wantin' a couple protected deer off his property in Massachusetts. So I'll be off for about a week. Wish me luck I dont get in some trouble with fish and wildlife, eh?... " Sighing, you kneel by the oven and preheat according to the instructions on the bag. A week?? Crazy old man doesn't even have an email to contact him at! "but hey, pay-out promises to be good, the kid's got that new money look in his eye, so if all goes well when I get back I'll take ya out somewhere without a funky smell hm? You can wear something real pretty, and I'll pay. Course, you know the dress I like best." A grin quirks at the corners of your mouth, shaking your head. You do, you got it while shopping with him one day. "House-sit for me while I'm gone, won't ya?" Is that even a question?? He knows you love this place, it's off the beaten track and the lake's a quick walk from here. Not the lake he grew up next to, thank goodness; a really pretty one you love to read by while he fishes. Or just sit next to alone. "I tried to tidy up a bit but as we speak I'm in a rush, here. There's chocolate in the fridge and it's all yours. I'll miss ya, pumpkin, love ya. See you in a week."

After putting the potato gems away in the freezer to wait for the oven to preheat you pick up the tape recorder and take it with you to the livingroom, opening up a window to let in the fresh woodsy air before getting comfy on the couch and rewinding the tape.

Mayor Buckman

The note with your name on it folded neatly and left on your make up table beside a perfect sunflower when you got to your dressingroom after a show wasn't a surprise. There was always a note. Buckman never missed an opportunity to remind you that you're on his mind.

Pulling one side of your shawl over one of your bare shoulders, you take a seat in your dressing room chair with all other beautiful shawls and dresses and skirts of myriad materials and styles and colours strewn and hanging over the back, fold on leg over the other and lift up the flower, first; smiling and holding it delicately to your nose, feeling the soft petals on your cheeks.

You're approached plenty gentlemen in your line of work, being an actress on the stage. They find you beautiful, they love your voice, they think you're sweet. They want to add you to their collection of lovely things they've touched, or had.

But none of them were like Buckman, which is why you chose him.

He didn't look at you like you were a thing to have had. Not something to charm once and then never put anymore effort into; he always looks at you the same way with the same cheer and interest. He genuinely likes you, he likes talking to you, and he continues to prove it.

Next you pick up the note and flick it open for to read it slowly, feeling your heart flutter in your chest like no man's ever did before him- or ever have since.

_____

Steller performance as always sweetheart! Lord, I had the worst, most obnoxious boy next to me talking all the way through the show but I swear- I barely heard a word he said when you were on stage. How on earth could a fella notice anything else?

You were just magical, darling.

Anyway, I got a couple of boring mayor things to do get done quickly now while everyone's still milling about the theatre, I just wanted to tell you privately how amazing you were, in case none of the other idiots around here convinced you. I'll see ya at home later tonight. I'll make you something tasty for dinner. I love you.

- George

_____

Taking a deep breath, pause for a moment. You try to retain your graceful, sober togetherness because you're acclaimed actor and you don't get worked up over a silly man's sweet words... and fail; using the note and cover your goofy grin and closing your eyes shut, shaking your head.

Stuart Lloyd:

Finally at the bus stop, you open your phone for the first time and check notifications after a long, long day of work. God, that cinema is driving you up a wall. You can't wait to get that Masters, get a good job and get the hell out. 2 months to go.

Noticing an audio message amongst all the school emails, personal emails, and tumblr notifications, you think how odd that is- who leaves phone messages? Why wouldn't they just text you? A gentle humorous grin spreads across your mouth when you realise that it's from Stuart.

Of course, you think. Stuart's not terrible with technology, not at all, but it still just seems very him to leave a voice message rather then type out a text to you. He would never use emojis, either, you think. He's more likely to spend an hour composing you a short poem then quickly tap a small 'dimwitted' image to express his feelings.

After pressing play, you hold your phone to your ear and look out for the bus; blowing air out of your cheeks in exhaustion.

"Hello, uh, Y/N. I hope you're well, and um... you don't mind, that I uh- that I found your phone number in the employee files. I was unsure how to reach you, and I wasn't sure that our shifts were going to match up at all before um... before you left." You should mind, you think, but you don't. Stuart is always overstepping boundaries in that odd half nervous half holier then thou way and yet you... never mind. It's hysterical and you like him. "Um- for a better job I mean. I remember you saying you were going to leave, because well- because your course is ending, right? Congratulations, by the way. I don't think I said that. You must be... you must be very proud. Um- anyway- the reason for my calling, yes. I- " abruptly the tone beeps and Stuart's voice clips away, having taken way too long and been cut off. Pouting, you take your phone away from your ear and look for another message- and there is.

"Thank goodness, Stuart." Pressing the phone once again to your ear with an exasperated, fond grin, you shake your head. "Good grief."

"Right, um, I was too slow. My bad. What I was saying is I... I was wondering, if b-before you leave and I... miss my chance, if you wanted... " He clears his throat, and you start to feel anxious, heartbeat getting faster in your chest. You chew on the inside of your cheek. Where is he going with this? Why does he sound so nervous? "If you wished to a- accompany me on a... a date? I- look, I'm sorry if you feel that this is coming out of left field but I have not met a more pleasant person to be around for a long time, and I- " Stuart's voice clicks away from you again and you curse, quickly pressing the next audio message. There is 1 more message after this.

"It happened again. I apologise. What I'm saying is I appreciate you. And I'm not looking forward to working without you again in 2 months. And you're a- a very pretty young woman. If this comes off as... creepy... due- due to my age, or something, I apologise. I only thought that I would- that I should, give it a try. Thank you."

You start the final message.

"Oh!! I'll be working the next couple of days eight am to four pm- In case you wish to call me back whilst I'm available. Or not. Um, yes that's all. Have a lovely evening."

... for a few moments you remain holding the phone to your ear, head just rolling.

You never thought about Stuart romantically until this moment, he made your insides flutter but you never dared to go there. You pushed it down, you put the butterflies away in a box as best you could. But now they're out again and the fluttering is hard to ignore.

Before you can think anymore, you're calling him back.

"Yes? Hello?"

Rarin'-To-Fuck Buck: *Stays right by the window where he can see his car so it doesn't get stolen* "Uh... nice place... " (You: Thank you! I was so jazzed to find it on the market!, it has a dishwasher and everythin- ) "I was kidding Y/N this place is a fucken dump. Lets go- "

Dr Peter Andover: "... no." (You: What. But- ) "We have rooms at the clinic, you can stay there." (You: I cant live at the clinic- ) "Ohhh yes you can."

Erik Destler: "Oh, this is near to the brothel I used to- Ehem. I mean, Y/N this is a very nice, uh... home... you found, here... " || He wants to sweep you away but also he doesn't want you questioning him on that first bit XD So I guess he's just gonna have to stalk you all the time ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ With love. For your safety.

Freddy Krueger: "You couldn't find an actual house?? Oh, and wouldja look at that! Guys with guns. *Waiving out the window* Hey fellas- " (You: Newsflash Fred its not the 60's anymore old man and you cant just b u y a h o u s e !! And put your hand down- )

Jason Voorhees: *Nope. No- Jason will not let you stay here XD He takes one look around, picks you up, and leaves.*

Ian Essko: "What filthy-fucking-hell... Oh! Wait wait wait- " (You: Don't you dare take out that black light Ian.) "What? Afraid of what you'll find in this house of horror!??"

Madame Blavatski: "Oh- this is nice. Lovely. I lived in a home just like this in my stripping days in Russia! Very lovely, very good. And you have drug dealers just two doors down, which is convenient. I already visited, they're very nice boys, and I bought you welcome-to-area 'blow'- da? They even gave discount!" *head pats*

Inkubus: *He's very calm, listening to you talk about it and show him all around, until the very end* "Y/N, love, may I ask something of you right now?" (You: Oh- sure? ^^) "Wonderful. Uh, don't be here between eleven and 3 tomorrow." (You: Why?- ) "Mmm, no particular reason... do you think these beams are good and flammable?" || If it is not clear- the man is going to burn your apartment building down so you don't live here, anymore.

Jim Bickerman: *He's been walking around peering out the windows shaking his head. When he finally looks at you waiting for his thoughts, he flashes a big smile.* "We're going gun shopping." (You: Oh no we are NOT- )

Reba: (You: So! ^^ What do you think?) "... well I noticed the police station a block away, I liked that feature."

The Doom Room's MC: "Well its better then my place, at least."

Minister Kratski: *not getting outta the limo*

Stuart Lloyd: "Y/N I saw some hooligans just down the street with switchblades. I don't think this area is safe." (You: Oh don't worry, I have a plan! ^^) "*Genuinely relieved* oh, great. Wh- what is it?" (You: I got these really big ass boots from the charity store- and I'm going to keep them just outside my door so everyone walking by thinks a lumberjack lives here!) "... ... Y/N- "

Wayne Jackson: *He's very quiet. Just wandering in and out of rooms, lookin' around* (You: ... Wayne, is everything okay?) "... preeetty sure I lived here in the 70's. Cant be sure, though." (You: Oh- ) *Pulls an open door away from a wall* "Ah! I did! Heheh, I made that w in bullet holes."