sunshiline-writes

[sunshiline-writes]

Colors of The End #4: Brown of the Earth

Word count : 2.5k

Cw: minor whump, minor character death, graphic descriptions of a dead body, manipulation, digging a grave, politics, child soldiers.

Benjamin was not a stranger to feeling like he was insufficient at his job. As the train came to a stop, he felt very much like he had failed in more aspects than one. Jeremiah seemed deep in thought as they walked out together, brows furrowed. Benjamin placed a gentle hand on Jeremiah’s shoulder. Jeremiah glanced at him and didn’t offer any type of smile like he usually did. 

Jeremiah was the youngest of the three of them. Fourteen seemed like such a young age for someone to be used as a weapon. But the fact of it was that Jeremiah was the strongest out of them. His lightning was something to be afraid of and even though he was young, he was useful. Ben hated that fact with a passion. The fact that he understood why Zachary kept letting him come on increasingly more dangerous missions. He was training all of them for something big. Ben wasn’t sure what, but it made his stomach churn. 

There was an increasing feeling of doom that hovered over him like a cloud. He felt useless in a way. The mistake of yesterday weighed heavy on his shoulders. It was something simple, keep Isobele and Jeremiah close. Don’t let them get hurt. Then Isobele goes off on her own and almost gets herself killed. Fucking ridiculous. It wasn’t his fault but it was. 

He looked back at Isobele using Zachary as a crutch to walk down the steps off the train. Zachary looked at her with a certain type of pride that made Benjamin’s anger rise to his throat. He hated him. Hated that man with every fiber of his being, even if he was the kinder option than what he had before. Barnabus used to beat him within an inch of his life if he missed a target. Zachary was more inclined to mind games. 

Zachary was a taller man with long blonde hair always pulled back in a ponytail that made him look like an idiot. He had a kind face, soft green eyes that stared into the soul. Older than most people here, sometimes he swore he saw grey hairs at the roots. Ben had made a bet once with Isobele that Zachary dyed his hair.  He rarely ever got truly mad. Never yelled. However, Benjamin had gotten a few hard slaps to the face when he talked a little too much. But Zachary never broke skin, rarely ever hard enough to bruise. The man always calmly assigned punishments like they were just chores they were meant to do in the first place. 

Benjamin hated him. He hated him less than others, but the way he presented himself to Isobele and Jeremiah. Like he was something to be trusted, confided in. This man was neither. 

“Ben. With me,” Zachary said as he helped Isobele down the last steps. Isobele was panting heavily, hand on her side. “Jeremiah, take Isobele to Sonya. Ben and I will meet with you later for the mission briefing.” “Yes sir,” came the practiced reply from Jem. He slowly wrapped an arm around Isobeles waist, careful to not touch her wound. As they walked past Benjamin, Isobele winked at him. 

Idiot.

They watched them walk into the base and Benjamin looked at Zachary. He gave the man a shit eating grin. 

“You gonna slap me again?” 

Zachary chuckled and shook his head, “No. I lost my temper with you then. I was worried about your sister.” 

“She was fine,” Ben said with a shrug, “would have been better if Henrik was on board.” 

The man was silent for a moment. It made his chest twist sideways. Silence was never a good sign. Ben straightened his back. 

“Walk with me Benjamin,” Zachary said, a possessive hand placed itself on the back of Benjamin’s neck. The weight of it felt like a brick. He forced his feet to move in time with Zachary’s.  

“What happened Zachary?” Ben asked softly as they walked. The leaves were starting to turn orange with the colder weather. He tried to shake off Zachary’s hand, twisting out of the grip and meeting face to face with the man. “What happened?” he asked again, firmer. 

“I want you to walk Benjamin.” 

“Not until you tell me what the hell is going on!” he growled, stepping backwards. 

“You’re really going to take that tone with me right now?” Zachary said calmly, looking at Ben with a plain look. “Think twice. Walk now, forward. Toward the ruins.” 

“No.”

“Walk.” 

The compulsion always hurt, always shattered the walls in his brain like a sledgehammer. He took a janky step forward and Zachary watched him with an unimpressed expression. Benjamin’s whole body was on fire as he fought the compulsion. 

“I don’t know why you insist on fighting it, it’ll only hurt worse the longer you fight. Just walk.” 

The compulsion hit again like a truck and his limbs moved on their own. Walking straight ahead. Down the little pathway he walked all the time with Henrik. Where they snuck off during drills. Mostly just to talk, to say they were committing some form of rebellion. Henrik had brought a gun once, hidden it under one of the stones. Just in case, he said, just in case. Ben could do nothing as Zachary walked behind him except look straight ahead. His heart hammered in his throat as they came to the ruins. “You can move now, don’t make me use that again. Understood?” 

Benjamin took a deep heaving breath as his limbs unlocked, hunching over slightly. 

“Yes sir.” 

“This is where you Henrik tended to hide during briefings, was it not?” 

“Yes sir.” 

Zachary offered him a soft, sad smile. He gently laid his hands on Benjamin's shoulders and moved him forward. The ruins weren’t hard to maneuver through. It was a pile of rubble from the old days, what used to be a building. The concrete now had moss growing over it, plants and weeds nearly covered the entire ground, where the rubble hadn’t suffocated the soil. It was just a place to sit by and enjoy the sun. It was supposed to be safe. Even if they knew about the cameras. They weren’t supposed to bother them there. 

“What is this?” Benjamin asked, hating how small his voice sounded. 

Zachary left him, for a moment, pulling out a shovel from behind a pile of rubble and put it in Benjamin's hands. His hands felt the rough metal, looking up at Zachary with an incredulous look. 

“Sir?” 

“Oh? Respect now that you’re afraid?” 

Ben lowered his eyes to the ground beneath his feet. The clearing between the piles of rubble that held yellow flowers from the weed. Zachary reached out to him and lifted his chin with a hooked finger. “I want you to dig until I say stop.” 

“Wh-” 

“Shut up Benjamin. Dig.” 

There was no compulsion needed for him to shake his head free of Zachary’s finger and shove the shovel into the dirt. His heart hammered in his chest so hard he felt like his chest was going to burst. Everything tunneled in his vision as he shakily kept sinking the shovel into the dirt. Over and over. Until his shoulders were sore and his hands were blistered. He dug a few feet down, when Zachary instructed him to make it long too. That was when he knew he was digging a grave. 

“You figured it out?” Zachary asked, sitting on a rock, legs crossed.   

Ben set his jaw, before shoving the shovel into the ground and leaning forward on it. His smile was forced, but he kept it on his face. He sighed softly. 

“Am I digging my own grave sir?” 

Zachary returned his smile with one of his own. Hands clasped together on top of his knee. His uniform looked strange in the bright yellow glow of the sun. He hummed thoughtfully. 

“You know? I thought about it. You and Henrik, coming out here during drills, at night. I let you have your fun. But the gun Ben. The supplies. Did you know Henrik was sending letters to rebel forces? Be honest.” 

Benjamin couldn’t even fight the words that came from his mouth, spilling out from him like water. 

“No. I knew about the gun, supplies. Not the letters.” 

Zachary hummed thoughtfully again. “I figured that was the case. I bet he thought you were a liability with your mouth. With your.. affections for Isobele and Jeremiah.” 

The man slowly uncrossed his legs, unclasped his hands and stood up. His uniform rustled with him. The dark green, almost blended with the weeds in the ground. 

“I have a gift for you Benjamin,” he said, walking behind the rubble. There was a sound of something being dragged before he saw the body. Zachary nonchalantly threw the body in front of him and the smell of rot filled his senses. He gagged and turned away from the scene in front of him. 

It wasn’t Henrik, it couldn’t be Henrik. It was something else. Something else that had Henriks eyes, his hair and his skin that was bloated and grey. The hole in his head didn’t exist and the way his whole body was awkwardly was thrown on the ground. Limbs looking strange. Benjamin turned to the side and threw up bile and last night's soup. 

“This is what happens when you try to commit treason. This could be you instead if I hadn’t found the correspondence letters. I know you’ve been thinking about it. Escaping. Little birdie and all that. If I find anything from you, that even looks like it could be used for a little escape attempt. The next grave you’ll be digging won’t be yours. It’ll be Isobele’s, or Jeremiah’s. Am I understood, Benjamin?” 

Benjamin's ears rang. He hated how casual Zachary sounded about it. The idea of harming his siblings. His stomach churned as he gasped for air. 

“I need an answer from you,” Zachary pressed. 

“Y-Yes sir,” Benjamin choked out. 

“Good. Bury him. Take the time you need, but be back for dinner.” 

Zachary left him casually, hands in his pockets and humming a tune. Calm and ever. He hated him. He preferred Barnabus’s beating over the fucking mind games and psychological warfare. Barnabus never had him bury the body of his best friend. 

The tears came up faster than he could stop them. Ben fell to his knees and screamed. His hands clawed at the ground, tearing it and then pressed his head to the dirt. He screamed until his throat was raw and the aching in his chest had diminished to a certain numbness. His head spun still as he breathed in the smell of dirt and rot. His eyes opened, he stared at the deep brown of the earth. He felt the dirt in his fingernails and he reminded himself that he was still alive.

Then he screamed again, his head pounding with power. He felt it in his blood, in his muscles contracting. It worked itself up to his fingertips and he pounded a fist into the earth. He felt the rubble lift and fly backwards. There was a loud crack as it hit a tree and snapped it in half. A groaning sound mixed with the piece of concrete thudding against the ground. The tree fell backwards away from him. Ben laughed at the sound of it crashing to the ground. Hands deep into the earth, he forced the pressure from his head to his hands again. More concrete lifting into the air and shooting away from him. Hitting trees, more concrete. He wanted to crack it all, he wanted to crack the earth in fucking half. There were sounds all around him of rubble and earth breaking around him.

 The power pulsated in his veins. There was a chemical reaction when he used it. Like his body was finally releasing pressure that had been building up for forever. It made him feel lighter, almost giddy from how good it felt. It released the weight on his chest. He could breathe finally. Even if there was still an aching hole in his stomach. His face felt wet, he put his fingers up to his lips and saw blood come away. His nose was bleeding. Maybe he went a little too far. 

He still needed to bury Henrik. Ben couldn’t stay here on the ground forever. The anger could come back later. Right now, he needed to get up, pick up the shovel. Shove everything else away and focus on the task in front of him. 

Slowly, he pushed himself up to stand.

 His eyes glanced over the body.

Henrik Ardik was dead. He was nineteen years old. He liked licorice and sunsets. Henrik was a healer. He wanted so badly to help. Henrik took Ben’s letters to the train, snuck them to rebel forces. No one was supposed to pay attention to him. His blood, it was on Ben’s hands. His letters got him killed. Benjamin would live with that. He had to. 

All in favor of getting Isobele and Jeremiah the fuck out of here. It was worth it right? It had to be worth it? Even if it was just a minute of freedom. 

Benjamin buried his best friend, the mound of fresh dirt in the middle of the ruins was almost beautiful. The blisters on his hand stung, and his chest felt strangely numb. His feet did too. He took a moment to lift his head to the sky. Listening to the rustle of leaves in the breeze. The sun coming through the leaves was close to a golden color. The weeds that grew yellow flowers swayed toward him. Ben grabbed a handful, pulling them from the ground and laid them in the unmarked grave. He’d make the sacrifice worth it. He’d make all the blood on his hands worth it. It had to be worth it. Not for himself, but for them. They didn’t deserve this. Isobele was getting closer and closer to having the same mentality as the others. He wanted her to be different. Needed her to be different from what she was. If he got her out, she could figure out she was more than the fear she used to consume others. She could be so much more. 

Then there was Jeremiah, who barely knew anything outside of orders. Who panicked when making a decision. Only knowing how to follow orders. Sometimes, Ben could see a personality coming out from the shell he currently was. A smile or a smug smirk when he hit Isobele during a sparring match. 

Was it terrible of him to wish for more? To wish for their safety and maybe his own? He never asked to be a soldier. He was given, a gift from his town, for the promise of life. One life for many. Was he spared? Or was he just being killed in a different way? He was complacent in his role. But Isobele and Jeremiah, they were taken, forcibly turned into weapons. Ben was a gift, Jeremiah and Isobele were stolen treasure. 

He would get them out if it was the last thing he did. Yellow flowers on a grave that was his, even if it wasn’t, burned itself into his mind. Ben looked one last time. He stood up straight, faced the setting sun, and gave a salute to his fallen friend. 

“See you around Henrik,” he whispered, putting his hands in his pockets and beginning to walk back to the base. 

___

:)

[sunshiline-writes]

Horror November 2024 #10: SLEEP DEPRIVATION

Word Count: 250

Cw: Hallucinations

____

Exhaustion was a living thing in their body, wrapping around every bone in their body and constricting them. Their head fell forward, against their chest and for a second they felt nothing. Floating endlessly in the dark abyss of sleep. 

It was just a second. Only one. 

Then the ice cold water sprayed over them and they screamed. Sobbing softly as they were shook awake. 

“You can’t sleep dude, come on, why don’t we sing some songs together okay? You know what happens when you sleep.” 

Yes. They knew very well, but their brain was screaming for sleep. The shadows danced in the corners of their vision. They were laughing at them. Whispering awful things that they couldn’t quite make out. They just knew from the venom in the harsh whispers that they were telling them awful things. 

“Please.. Please let me sleep. Just five minutes..” 

“I’m sorry. But I can’t. Last time you slept.. Well you know what happened.” 

They threw their head back against the wall in frustration. Sobbing harder as they struggled in the restraints. The cuffs that were linked to the chair made them want to scream. The restlessness throughout them made their legs twitch. 

“Please,” they pleaded. 

“No. We’re still cleaning up the mess from last time. The longer you stay awake, the safer everyone is.” 

They sobbed again. Why did they always have to be right? Why couldn’t they just sleep? 

The shadows danced around them again, laughing maniacally. 

They just wanted five minutes. 

[sunshiline-writes]

Horror November 2024 #9: LIGHTHEADED

Word Count: 286

Cw: Gore, dead body

____

It’s hard to breathe through the mask. The world is only seen through two holes that are screened. It makes everything seem like it has dots in their vision. Black and white. It gives the landscape a filmy look because of the dust. The gas mask they wear changes the perspective of the land, but everything is different too. The bombs weren’t supposed to go off the way they did. They weren’t supposed to be caught in the middle. 

Yet here they were, searching for survivors. Searching for signs of life anywhere. It was hard to hear through the mask too, making everything muted and distant. They poked at the rubble beneath them with a stick, watching pieces of concrete fall out of place. Everything was different now. All of the buildings were gone. The grocery store on the corner was nothing but ash. 

Everything was ash. 

Something moved behind them. There was the sound of rubble falling out of place. Concrete shifted slightly and they immediately ran to it. Hands grabbing underneath the piece of building and pulling hard to free whoever was beneath.

 Their hands felt wet. A hand reached out and they grunted as they moved the rubble to the side. What they saw made them gasp. It was only half a person. Torso was torn from the bottom half which sat under a piece of rebar. They had seemingly pulled themself apart trying get themself free. They started to hyperventilate, breaths coming in short bursts through the mask. Tears staining the leather. The world turned sideways as their head spun. They tumbled down the mountain of concrete and rebar and people. World spinning, head spinning. 

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. 

[sunshiline-writes]

Horror November 2024 #8: FREEZE

Word Count: 254

___

The man sat in the hospital bed with his head in his hands. He had just got away before the car hit him. Now he was in a locked room with no way out for now. His mind wasn’t clear. They gave him something that made everything feel foggy and made thoughts hard to come by. Joseph licked his lips, water seeming so far out of reach on the bedside. He stared at it with his cotton filled mouth and felt like crying. 

Too far away. Everything was so far away. Hopefully that thing was too. 

Joseph stayed like that for a minute or so before reaching out to the plastic cup fingers just curling around it when the cold hit. It slowly touched his fingertips then worked its way up his hand, elbow, shoulder. The water in the cup froze, ice spreading over his hand too. 

It found him. He stayed too long. Joseph screamed, dropping the water onto the ground. The cold slammed into his chest, filling his lungs. His back hit the bed with a loud thud as the breath was stolen from him. The room’s windows in his peripheral, cracked with ice. The metal guardrail on the bed turned blue with cold. His lips were blue, his breath wouldn’t come. He choked on cold air as the icy tendril shoved its way down his throat. 

He screamed but no one came. 

Joseph’s lungs were freezing. The room was freezing. 

He stayed in one place for too long. 

Cold was consuming. 

[sunshiline-writes]

Horror November 2024 #7: PINNED

word count: 285 Cw: gore, death

___

There is seven minutes of brain activity left when your heart stops. It is said that those last seven minutes are a replay of memories. I think that’s wrong. It’s not a replay of memories. It’s everything all at once. Like walking through a projector light that’s playing all the thoughts and feelings you ever had out of order in a hallway full of mirrors. 

The thing is, it starts before your body shuts down fully. When you’re still awake and aware. It's that phrase, “life flashing before your eyes”. Except it’s not your life, it's the life you wish you had. 

It is a strange thing to see all the choices you could have made differently when you can’t see the lower half of your body with the massive sheet of metal covering it. Slicing into your body. Pinning you effectively to your seat even though  you feel fine. Like you could just get up, you know its because your mind is ignoring it. That you’ve lost far too much blood and your body is slowly but surely shutting down. The car that crashed into yours had a sheet of metal that went through the windshield. Blood drips down the metal onto your car floor and all you can think is the blood is going to be so hard to get out of the upholstery.  Seven minutes left. 

Once you feel your hands go numb it’s over. 

Seven minutes.  

Fireworks of memories clog your eyes and it feels like seven seconds before nothing.

Your body was pinned between a sheet of metal and the car seat. It could not cut through your spine. Not enough momentum. You were dead before they even called 911. 

[sunshiline-writes]

November Challenge 2024 #6: BURROW

word count: 213

CW: bugs, gore

____

“Did you know that maggots eat dead flesh? They’re one of the most effective ways to keep a wound clean. Albeit, really fucking gross,” said the voice from on top of them. The gaping wound in their thigh pulsated and throbbed. There was the sound of a container opening. 

There was a wet, squelching sound coming from the container. Soft thuds as the maggots were dropped into their wound. It was the feeling of something squirming and writhing inside the wound. They jerked against the restraints, feeling closer to crying than anything else. A hand ran through their hair. 

“Hey.. hey..you’re okay… Shh it’s gonna help keep the wound clean okay?” The hand turned more firm as they pressed down on their forehead. “I won’t let them eat everything away, I just need them to keep you clean okay?” 

They screamed as they felt the maggots burrowing into their muscle, fat, and viscera. The feeling of something inside of them, digging themself into their thigh. It wasn’t painful necessarily, no. It just felt strange. Something living was too deep inside them to possibly feel right. 

“That’s right, you’re okay. Don’t worry.” 

Wet squelching of the maggots made them feel queasy and they turned their face to the side. 

“It’ll be over soon.” 

[sunshiline-writes]

November Challenge 2024 #5: Blood

Word Count: 327 

CW: Gore

_____

It was the fucking Shining hallway in this place. Red slathered on the walls, on the ceiling. Whatever sick freak did this, made sure that there was no part of the wall that did not have blood on it. It splattered over the picture frames, smeared on the walls. It smelled metallic and the whole hallway was warm. It was a wet warmth, as if the blood was radiating heat. The musty metallic smell filled his nose and threatened to gag him. It filled up his nose, his mouth, every fiber of his being. 

“God what sick fuck did this?” asked the forensic photographer next to him who snapped a picture of a family smiling. 

“I don’t know,” the detective answered honestly. It was barely human, the carnage that was spread around. It was so warm, his own sweat dripped down his neck. He stared at the picture for a few seconds more. Happy, smiling family, covered in blood. 

“Ey, Marlow, comere for a sec? You gotta see this.” 

The detective turned around to see his partner in the doorway to one of the bedrooms. His face was a ghostly pale color and he turned to retch. “Don’t fuck up my crime scene by fucking puking, go outside to do that shit.” 

Marlow made his way past his partner and stepped into a puddle. It made a wet, sloshing sound as he stepped through. It made his heart stop in its tracks. The room itself was red. For a moment, Marlow thought there was blood in his eyes. The light through the window was also red. Everything was red and slick with blood. There was no way a normal person could possibly have this much blood in their body. 

“What the fuck happened here,” he whispered to himself, before looking at the wall that the bed connected to. Written in the blood like a child playing with paint was a phrase. 

God can’t forgive me.

  Jesus Christ.

[sunshiline-writes]

[sunshiline-writes]

Horror November 2024 #4: SOFT

Word Count: 297

CW: uh.. creepy man? idk ___

The thing in the box was soft. Soft and hairy. Almost like fur but entirely too coarse to be so. Or maybe it was fur, they weren’t well versed animals. They never liked animals very much. Animals very much didn’t like them. They pulled their hand out of the box, staring up at the magician. 

“That didn’t feel like a rabbit, you said it was a rabbit,” the child accused, frowning deeply. 

“I said it was an animal. Never said it was a rabbit.” 

“What is it then?” 

“You couldn’t tell?” 

The child pouted, crossing their arms across their chest. Annoyance grew more and more as the magician smiled wider and wider. The magician took a knee, balancing the box on his thigh. His smile grew only wider. Suddenly, the child felt the chill of the night and the fact that they were alone all at once. Stepping backward. 

“Reach in again? Try to guess?” 

Shaking their head the child stepped back again, turning to go back to the parade. They should have never strayed to follow the magician. He said it was too busy to show them the animal. That all the noise and bustle would have scared it away. A cold hand wrapped around their wrist. Head tilting as they tried to pull away. 

“Stop, stop I don’t wanna see the rabbit. Just let me go.” 

“Reach in again,” commanded the magician, smile going so wide it looked like their 

cheek might split open. Their hand was forced back into the box. Soft texture rubbing against their fingertips. They whimpered as they were forced to put their hand in deeper. Fingers touching around a face and then something wet wrapped around a finger. “It’s not a rabbit,” the child said, eyes wide. “No.. it’s not.” 

[sunshiline-writes]

Horror November 2024 #3: BUZZARD

Word Count : 252

CW: GORE lots of gore.

____

The first thing she took a picture of was the teeth. Scattered across the asphalt, jawbone completely seperate. There were pieces of skull here and there. She took pictures of all of them. The blood was just a dark stain on the black road. Brighter on the yellow dashes of the road.

There were no brake marks anywhere. No one had even tried to stop for the body. The next thing she took a picture of was the chest cavity. Cracked open with bones splintered, organs no longer inside. It was just meat and visera and muscles. She took another picture.

The next part was the pelvis, piece of the hip still attached. This part was being eaten by the buzzards. Road kill. The comparison made her shudder. The buzzard picked at meat that hung to the bone for dear life. The sound of their beaks against the bone made her want to scream.

“Get outta here fucking vermin,” she grumbled, waving her hands close enough that the buzzards flew away, cawing around her angrily.

When she walked away from the scene, the buzzards came back. Happily eating their meal that was spread out for at least a mile along the road. Fucking scavengers. Couldn’t even let a dead person rest. She went to her car, looking back one more time, to see the scene before her. A buzzard that was near her car snapped its head toward her. In its mouth was a half an eyeball.

She vommited on the asphalt.

[sunshiline-writes]

Horror November 2024 #2: WHIPPED

WORD COUNT: 293

cw: cannibalism

____

The thigh is where the most bone marrow is stored in most animals. The chef hummed as he cut the bone in half with the bone saw. The dust settled around them as they inspected the inside of the bone. The hard tissue would soften in the oven. 425 degrees for 40 minutes. Usually it would be 30 but they liked to make sure that the marrow was really soft and tender before they scooped it out of the bone. The fat too had to be mostly liquid. Sometimes it was easy to forget that fat was also stored in the bone. But you needed both to make whipped bone marrow.

They refrigerated it for around 20 minutes, mouth watering. When out of the refrigerator it was the consistency of light butter. Then they whisked for about five minutes as fast as they could. It was an experiment really, seeing if it would work out. A new recipe. Simple enough as they added herbs and spices to it. It made a good spread for crackers and toast. 

The crackers crumbled in their mouth as they took a bite. Delicious. Soft and savory with the spices they added. 

They took a plate of the spread with crackers and carried it down to the basement, turning on the light for the current resident there. They stared at them with empty eyes as they knelt down next to them. Spreading the whipped bone marrow on a cracker, holding it up to their lips. 

“You know? You taste delicious. You should try it. I whipped it myself. I might take the other thigh tomorrow. I have friends coming over next week.”  

There was no response. The chef might have to refrigerate them soon. Meat goes bad easy. 

[sunshiline-writes]

Horror November 2024 #1: REST

Word Count: 277 

CW: Body horror ___

He can never rest. It always starts off slow. He wakes up with his eyes closed. Opens them toward the ceiling and he can feel himself breathing. Every inhale, every exhale. He can’t move, he can barely even blink. It’s like he’s frozen solid. Makes him feel cold too.

 A  shadow is at the foot of his bed. Its face is covered by a veil. Dressed in all black. It stays there for a minute even if it feels like hours. Then it places its hands on either side of his feet, leaning forward. There is a faint hissing sound before it starts to crawl. Limbs twisted wrong, head bent at an unnatural angle. It only gets more unnatural as it approaches him. Head turned upside down so the eyes are at the bottom. It crawls over him and he can feel the hands on either side of him, trapping him under it. Legs curled in, knees touching knees. 

It reaches up to touch his face and leans in real close. 

He can smell its breath. Like rot and shit and everything in between. One mangled hand goes under the veil and slowly lifts it. This is the worst part because he can feel every second it takes for the thing to lift the veil. Time swirls in his stomach as he waits. 

It lifts the veil finally and there is nothing. Just a black hole where a face should be. It leans forward even more, as if leaning in for a kiss. 

  The thing swallows him whole. 

He wakes up in the darkness.

He can still feel it’s breath on his cheek. 

He can never rest.

[sunshiline-writes]

Sunny's Personal Horror November 2024 Challenge

Hello everyone. I am doing a personal Drabble challenge with mostly horror concepts. It's 300 words a day and was suggested to me by my dear lovely friend @/crash-bump-bring-the-whump . The list will be posted here and the links will be updated as I write them.

Feel free to join if you feel particularly inspired and @ me if you do! I would love to see everyone's little takes in my silly little challenge. Enjoy my little drabbles! _____________

1.) Rest

2.) Whipped

3.) buzzard

4.) Soft  

5. )Blood 

6.) Burrow 

7.) Pinned 

8.) Freeze 

9.) Lightheaded 

10.) Sleep Deprivation 

11.) Delicious 

12.) Small Town 

13.) Silence 

14.) Bone 

15.) anticipation 

16.) Crucifix 

17.) Sweet 

18.) Absence 

19.) Objectify 

20.) Watching 

21.) Howl 

22.) Shatter

23.) photograph 

24.) Kettle 

25.) In the Woods 

26.) Jaw 

27.) Piercing 

28.) Parasite 

29.) Drained 

30.) Throat 

31.) Alone

[sunshiline-writes]

Reblog if its ok to spam you with boops

[sunshiline-writes]

https://www.tumblr.com/victimeyez/764741158856540160/nasty-noncon-whump-below-the-cut-ive-had-a-few?source=share

This would be so *horrible* of Caius, please write it <<<3 poor Tommy

Another ask: TYYYY for the last chapters! Do u have any more scenes of a muzzled Tommy from the flashback? 😍

~

Professional//Victim Masterlist

Original Post

Muzzled

FLASHBACK TIME, BAY BEEEEEEE!

Tommy gets some naughty corner time as Caius advances his training.

Bending someone to subservience was not done with a handful of punishments It had to be a slow, merciless grind to truly wear down someone’s resistance. 

Tommy was still resistant, but Caius could see the fissures forming. He was more hesitant to talk back. He’d stopped asking why. 

Caius was relentless. It wasn’t enough to achieve obedience - Tommy would have to heel to him willingly, regardless of his own feelings. There was no time to stop and celebrate as he began to approach reluctant compliance, Caius needed him to become an active participant even swifter. In order to get him there, Caius would need to show him that the alternative to subordination was always far, far worse. 

He’d set up a corner of the basement for certain punishments, outside of Tommy’s cell. The couch there was finer than the furniture Tommy was allowed on, comfortable enough for Caius’s needs.

Tommy kneeled between his legs in front of him, his arms bound behind his back. Caius forced his head up by his chin, peering into his face. Tommy had a dark black bruise ringing one green eye, and the bridge of his nose was split from the beating Caius had given him the day before. Tommy kept his gaze low, off the side to avoid meeting Caius’s eyes. His jaw was set, but he wasn’t mouthing off - smart, considering how painful his recent punishment had been. 

Caius pressed the metal O-ring against Tommy’s lips.

“Open.”

Tommy hesitated, and Caius only gave him a moment to fix his attitude before he backhanded him. Tommy curled over to the side, but Caius leaned in to grab his hair and yank him back into position. He held him there and slapped him again, hard, and again, his blows hard and fast. Six hits and he raised his hand again, relishing in the way Tommy cringed away in anticipation of the pain.

“Are you ready to try again?”

He relaxed his grip on his hair and Tommy’s eyes flicked to his before dropping. With great reluctance, he nodded, hanging his head. 

Caius tipped his head back up by his chin again, and pressed the O-ring to his lips. Tommy opened, his lips pulled back. Caius tucked the metal behind his teeth, forcing his jaw open, and buckling it tight against his skull. Tommy was less than enthusiastic about it, but he didn’t struggle. He didn’t have to like it - all that mattered was that he was learning. 

Caius unbuttoned his pants, unzipped, and shimmied them down below his hips to free himself. He took his cock in hand, lazily stroking himself to full hardness. Around the gag, Tommy’s lip curled in disgust and he turned his face away.

“No, stay.” Caius hooked a few fingers into Tommy’s bridle, dragging him close again by his head. With his other hand, he continued to pump his cock, his knuckles grazing Tommy’s cheek as he held him close. 

“Do you want to suck it?” Caius asked him, rubbing the head of his cock on Tommy’s lips. He teased it into the ring gag, pushing in enough to let it sit against Tommy’s tongue. He gave a few shallow thrusts, teasing it into his student’s throat. Tommy glowered up at him, his eyes betraying his defiance. Caius slipped out, catching the sticky strands of saliva that connected them and lubing his fist.

“Is that a no?” 

The furious look on his face was undercut by the gag forcing him open, helpless to Caius’s whims. Tommy managed a painful gulp and shook his head. 

“I thought you might say that. Or…well, you know what I mean.” Caius chuckled lightly. With one hand still holding him fast, Tommy was unable to resist when Caius pushed fingers through the gag, exploring his mouth. He pressed down on his tongue firmly, then curled fingers in his cheeks. He felt along his gum line, and then pushed further in to finger-fuck his throat, watching his reactions as he gagged and choked. 

“Then you’re still going to be my little lube dispenser.”

He fondled himself against Tommy’s face, rubbing his cock against his cheek and tracing his lips with the head. Tommy grimaced, his attempts to resist futile as Caius easily held him fast. He pushed his fingers down his throat, pet his tongue, wrapped his wet fist back around himself again. Even if Tommy wasn’t directly forced to give him a blowjob, he was not spared, and instead Caius used him like a prop. He rutted against his face and fisted his cock, tilting his head back to drip precum onto his captive tongue. 

He could see Tommy’s disgust written clear on his face, his frustration mounting while Caius toyed with him. He shifted uncomfortably on his knees, only to have Caius yank him back the second be sought the tiniest relief from the cement floor.

The more furious Tommy got, the more Caius enjoyed himself. He was in no rush. He didn’t need another body to cum - but he did need one to exert power. He was just having a bit of fun with it. 

Tommy glared up at him, and even his uninjured eye was wreathed in dark shadow. He’d complained that he couldn’t sleep because of the pain. Caius helpfully reminded him that he would have to earn pain meds. Peering from the shadows, his eyes were still light, a green so sweet Caius wished he could frame them. But where would be the thrill of seeing them widen when he stepped closer? Even when his eyes were red and puffy from crying, those verdant

irises remained unblemished. They already stayed in the frame they deserved, leaking limpid misery down Tommy’s cherubic face. 

Yeah. He was gonna cum. 

Caius already had a death grip on Tommy’s hair, but he pulled him closer still, tilting his head back slightly.

“Look at me. Show me those eyes.”

Tommy’s face was heated, disgraced by Caius’s degradation. When he hesitated, Caius used his handle on his hair to shake him violently, hard enough to rattle his brain. Given the headache he was already sporting, it was enough to shake him back into submission. Tommy cried out wordless little ah, ah, ah’s to admit his relent, and Caius stopped. Tommy was dizzied, but his eyes hazily met his master’s.

Caius came on his face, pumping streaks of cum across his mouth and onto his cheeks. 

Tommy spluttered with shock, as best he could with the gag holding his mouth open. He flushed deep red at his debasement, powerless to do anything but allow Caius his way as he finished with a breathy chuckle. Seeing Tommy tearful and painted with his cum was quite a sight, and he snapped a picture with his phone, much to Tommy’s alarm. 

Caius caught his breath, lazily tilting Tommy’s head from one side to the other to inspect him. 

When he was satisfied, he collected a strappy fistful of leather from where he’d stashed it between the couch cushions. He dangled it in front of Tommy’s face, who regarded it with uncertain dread. Clearly, he did not recognize it. 

Caius leaned in close, hooking two fingers behind Tommy’s teeth to hold him still. 

“If you move an inch, I’ll leave this gag on until you starve to death covered in my cum. Do you understand?”

Tommy made a soft, scared sound, but he closed his eyes and held still. 

Caius unfolded the leather mask, fitted with a wide piece that covered the entire face below the eyes. He pressed it right into the mess he’d made on Tommy, pulling the straps as tight as he could before buckling them closed. 

Tommy’s eyes were wide with horror, realizing with disgust that he would be left unable to clean himself. Caius’s release was sealed onto his face, until whenever Caius would choose to free him. 

He was dragged to the corner, his frantic whimpers ignored as his covered face was mashed into the concrete floor. His collar was clipped to a metal loop cemented in there, holding him hunched over on his knees with his nose held to the corner. He could not rest his head down without the loop digging into his throat, and he could not straighten his back or move his head an inch.

“I think you need to spend some quiet time thinking about your role here, Tommy.” Caius’s voice was soft, dangerous. Tommy’s panicked sobs were muffled by the mask as it started to sink in. 

Acceptance was a difficult road, and Caius would drag him down it kicking and screaming if he had to. Pain, degradation, and humiliation were all tools Caius relished wielding, and Tommy’s suffering was already starting to excite him again. Lucky for Tommy, Caius was ready to head to his bed. 

Not-so-lucky for Tommy, he wouldn’t see his own tonight. 

Caius mounted the stairs, making his way up. Tommy’s knees were already cold and aching on the concrete floor. 

“Goodnight,” Caius called as he closed the door, flicking out the lights and plunging Tommy into total darkness for the night.

~

Taglist: @suspicious-whumping-egg  @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday @defire @jumpywhumpywriter

@light-me-on-pyre @slightlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @knivestothroats @paperprinxe

Thank you all so much for reading!!!

[sunshiline-writes]

A Rose Amidst Thorns #22: How to Ease a Rattlesnake

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Word Count: 2.7k

CW: Aftermath of noncon, noncon mentions, blood mention, abusive relationships, breakdown, panic attack, complicated character dynamics, POC whump, lady whump, idk there wasn't much violence in this one very lore heavy.

You’re fucking afraid of him and you can’t really kill someone you’re still afraid of. 

The words stood out in her brain. How was Jesse, of all people, aware of her fear? Was it in her eyes? Her father always said that eyes were the perfect windows into the soul. They betrayed everything, even on the most neutral of faces. 

Henrietta could not see Miguel's eyes. They were too swollen and purple to even see a glimpse of white as he clung to Solomon's nightshirt in his sleep. Seeing him like this. It was the worst he’d ever been. Not even Jesse had been this rough with the kid. At least the kid could see and walk after he was done with him. 

But no. She knew Xavier. The way he liked it when it hurt a little bit. It always hurt, he was too big and too rough for it not too. Rougher still when the crying started. It turned him on more, made him more violent. God. She hoped that he’d never do it to someone else. Or at least, not in a way she could see the aftermath like this. Henrietta had hoped that she would never have to think about it again, she could leave and never come back.  

I repent nothing, she said to herself. The phrase tattooed in her mind, somewhere in between the idea of freedom and a quiet life.  

It was true she supposed, the fact that she was still afraid. That his darkness was only getting worse and he would kill her and throw away the dead body like she was nothing. That one day, she would come to a moment where she would have to choose between him and herself, and she would choose herself. That’s what Henreitta did. She chose herself. She wasn’t good like Solomon or Miguel. Henrietta had killed people to get out of this place once. She would gladly do it again and again. However many times, however many people, she would kill them all to get her chance at a quiet life. 

She looked over at Jesse who was still sitting there, back against the stall door. He had green eyes like his uncle, like his mother. The signature Reede eyes. Those eyes looked less like Xaviers at the moment and more like his mothers. Resigned, tired, maybe even a little sad. 

“So,” she whispered to not wake Solomon, who was curled around Miguel protectively, “what do you think of the plan?” 

Jesse glanced up at her, squinting for a moment before leaning his head back on the stall door.

“I dunno actually. Feels stupid. Risky. Especially if we’re leavin’ before Migs is all the way good.” 

“Better,” she corrected. 

“Hm?” Jesse asked, squinting again. 

“All the way better. Not all the way good.” 

Jesse scoffed and took a deep breath, leveling his head. He looked her in the eye with a tired smile and said, “Fuck you bitch. Don’ go correctin’ someone who doesn’t even know how to read.” 

Henrietta stopped, tilting her head curiously. Xavier never taught him? Never thought too? If Jesse was to take over the ranch, he’d need a skill like that wouldn’t he? She made no further comment other than a huff of breath. 

“Doc says he’s hurt real bad. It’ll take at least two weeks to get him functioning enough to even try your dumbass plan,” Jesse continued for some god forsaken reason. She pictured him without a mouth, or a tongue. “Didn’ know you were so popular with townfolk, always seemed stuck up to me.” 

“Shut your mouth or fucking leave Jesse,” she snapped. Henrietta bit her lip and growled slightly in frustration. “The townspeople in Red Rock were good ones. Helped me when I needed it. I returned the favor a few times. It's that simple Jess, you do good and good comes back to you.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“Whatever Jess, it’s your grave people will be pissing on when you die.” 

That one got a surprised laugh out of Jesse who had now taken to looking at the ceiling. Xavier was gonna be pissed they were talking like this. That Jesse had taken Miguel to them. They would have to return Miguel to the hayloft soon. The early blue rays of the morning were starting to slip through the cracks of their makeshift oasis. Gently, she shook Solomon’s shoulder, who woke with bleary eyes. Adjusting Miguel in his arms, he sat himself up. Miguel’s head was now laid in his lap and he ran a gentle hand through his hair. Trying to ease the kids soul. 

Hair was sacred. Held many things. Suffering, happiness, grief. It was all memory. It was all important. Her mother used to do her hair every morning before she practiced the violin. Gently pulling and stretching it. Those mornings had the best conversations, the best music and the best memories. To Solomon it was a connection to the soul. She understood that, she felt it in those mornings before church as her mother ran a comb through with warmed water. Having hair touched in a certain way, it soothed an ache that nothing else matched. It was about community, about those memories held in the hands of someone trusted. 

“Solomon we have to take him back,” she whispered softly. 

“I know.. Just a little longer. Let him have the warmth a little longer,” he pleaded. Henrietta let him have a few more minutes before she gave Solomon a look. Solomon nodded and gently tried to rouse Miguel. The boy couldn’t open his eyes but he moaned in pain. It was grating to Henrietta's ears. Hearing him be in so much pain, it made her heart shatter into a million pieces. 

“I know she’awee. I know.. I know,” Solomon said softly on deaf ears. “Jesse, you gotta take him now. He’s gonna start making too much noise soon.” 

Jesse nodded, standing up and going over to Solomon and with a gentleness that Henrietta didn’t know he possessed, took him from Sol’s arms. He left the stable quietly and quickly. There was a beat of silence. 

Then Solomon started to cry. 

Tears fell onto his legs, his hands went up to wipe them and more kept coming. His breathing hitched, and he bit his lip to quiet himself. His fists pressed into his eyes as if that would physically stop them from flowing. Henrietta sat in front of him and held out her arms. Solomon took care of everyone.. Who took care of Solomon? 

Henrietta had always been a selfish creature, but right then, she grabbed Solomon's wrist and pulled him toward her. Solomon let himself be led and then he buried his face into her shoulder. 

“Go ahead and cry Solomon. You don’t have to hide yourself right now,” Henrietta said gently. 

Solomon stopped crying and took a deep breath. Then he began to wail, full body shudders and half screams. Burying teeth into her shoulder as he screamed into her shoulder. Arms curled up between his chest and hers as she moved herself closer. He leaned fully into her as she sat next to him, feeling her nightgown and shoulder be soaked with tears and spit. Slowly, she wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Everything will be okay Solomon. Everything will be okay. We’re gonna leave this place. We are. We got everything planned. We have the food stash, the horses and we’ll send the signal soon. Just gotta wait for Migs to heal a little. Get his strength up. Melanie, Isabella and Jacob and all his men, they’re gonna help us get out of here. You’ll see Solomon.” 

The wails had died down and he was now just quietly sobbing into the crook of her neck. This would be too intimate if it was anyone else. But Solomon was good, he wasn’t like that. Solomon was a good man, a real one. Henrietta thought men like him didn’t exist anymore. Henrietta had seen the way good people interact with each other in Red Rock. The community there didn't rely on fear or hatred. They all helped one another. The garden was communal, everyone shared the sugar and they had welcomed Henrietta with open arms. Melanie, Jacob, Isabella, Ricardo, Gregory. All names that carved their way into her heart in the short three years that she lived there. She should have kept moving. Henrietta knew better and yet she stayed. The one thing she couldn’t do for Solomon and Miguel, she could do for the strangers at Red Rock. 

Leaving Miguel behind was something she didn’t really regret, she had to admit. He would have slowed her down. Shooting Terrance like that though, yeah, she regretted that. There was no guilt though. She regretted the action but it didn’t eat her alive like guilt did. 

I repent nothing.  

Henrietta needed to stop thinking about the past. She was in the here and now. Here and now is all that mattered. Solomon was here with her, her rock. Miguel was alive, he was not yet a shell of a human being. These thoughts eased the churning in her soul slightly. 

Finally, Solomon had stopped crying, opting to just sit there with his face in the crook of her neck. He breathed in deep then exhaled. Deep breath, exhale. Again and again. Henrietta let him. She would wait for him to collect himself, however long it took. 

“I am so tired,” he eventually said, removing his face from her neck. His hands rubbed at his eyes, palms digging into them. 

“I know Sol. I know,” she said softly, wiping away the wet from her neck with her hand. 

“Sorry.. I just..” Solomon started and Henrietta let out a quiet chuckle. 

“Don’t be. I was wondering when you’d break down. You’ve been holding in so much ever since I met you. You needed that. I don’t mind. You’ve done the same for me plenty of times. It’s the least I can do.” 

Solomon hummed, smoothing down his hair. It had all but fallen out of the two braids he always wore. He let out a long, tired sigh. 

“Two weeks. We have two weeks to prepare for everything.” 

“Yeah.” 

Solomon frowned. Shifting slightly from his spot he winced. He was getting old, Henrietta realized vaguely. The beating hadn’t helped either. Ever since Xavier had beaten him within an inch of his life, his movements were more stiff. Every movement seemed to cause him some sort of pain. He was weak. They were all losing strength. 

The thought that two weeks might be too long flashed across her mind. So far, her and Jesse were the healthiest of the bunch. What a sorry group they were. 

A woman, an old man, a rapist, and a deaf and dumb boy. 

They were so fucked. 

**** 

Henrietta made dinner that night like nothing happened. Like she didn’t know about Miguel’s condition. As if she didn’t half carry Solomon back to his room so he could lay down. As if Jesse and her hadn’t nodded to each other when he came back into the house to eat breakfast. 

Xavier woke up around mid-noon and he went up to their bedroom and continued to sleep until he smelt dinner and made his way downstairs. He looked haggard. Hair unruly, shirt half unbuttoned. He was still covered in Miguel’s blood. It seemed he had enough sense to clean his hands, but it was all over his clothes. 

“Wh-What happened?” Henrietta asked dumbly. The sizzle of the potatoes on the pan made her turn around to move them around before turning back to Xavier. 

“Mm,” he grumbled, sitting down at the kitchen table. “Do you really wanna know Etta?” 

“I think I would like to, yes.” 

Xavier gave her a lazy grin, laughing slightly. He groaned slightly and leaned forward with his elbows on the table, fingers rubbing into his temples. 

“Had too much to drink again, Xavi?” she growled out as she moved from the potatoes for a moment to start brewing some coffee.  

He glanced at her, expression lighting up slightly. He was amused at her, perhaps he had taken all of his violence and used it up on Miguel. She found herself feeling relief at the thought. If he took it all out on Miguel then he would have no energy or ideas to take out on her. 

Ah that’s always where it fell wasn’t it? Henrietta feeling relief over something that she was not supposed to feel relief for. It was always that selfish thought of at least it’s not me. It could be worse. She could be the one fucked within an inch of her life, bleeding from every orfice and eyes swollen shut. But she wasn’t, she was here, cooking a monster lunch and waiting for him to strike. 

Xavier was a rattlesnake, watching, waiting to strike. People always stay still when they’re near a rattlesnake. Their rattle is louder than anything else when a person is near it. It's a warning that a person is in danger. God gave snakes rattles so He could laugh at people who ignored the sound. The way to escape a rattler was simple. Slow movements. 

“I’m makin’ potatoes and cabbage,” she said slowly, blowing out the fire on the stove. She turned to face him again, leaning back on the counter, letting the potatoes cool. “It’ll be ready soon.” 

Slow movements. 

“Etta, whose blood is this on my shirt?” he asked, grin making her stomach twist into a knot. The snake shook its rattler. Deafeningly loud. 

“I think only you know that Xavi,” she said carefully.  

“Take a guess Etta.” 

Henrietta frowned, standing up straighter. She chewed on her lip and looked at him more closely. Scrutinizing him. His pants were covered in it, his hands, and the collar of his shirt. She did not want to answer this question. She could see the snake coiling up to strike, rattling sound only growing louder. 

“M-Miguel..” she said quietly. 

“Louder Etta.” 

“Miguel. It’s.. It’s Miguel's blood.” 

Xavier leaned back in his chair, lazy grin changing into something sharp. He sighed heavily and interlaced his hands behind his head. The silence only made the rattler sound grow louder. 

“I think you deserve a prize,” he said, tilting his head at her. “Give me a kiss sweetheart.” 

Slow movements. 

Forcing herself to take a few steps toward him, she tried to stop thinking about the blood. The blood and the way he cried when he woke up. The way that Xavier’s aura threatened to choke her. She stepped forward, leaned down and planted a soft kiss on his lips. Something tender, like she loved him.  

You can’t do it because you’re still too afraid. You’re not angry enough Henrietta.

Xavier reached behind her, possessive hand on her neck and deepened the kiss. Tongue in her mouth, sliding along her teeth, pressing on her tongue. Not angry enough, not angry enough. She couldn’t breathe. Slow movement. Pressure building up, in her chest, in her head. The sound was deafening, it was deafening. His hand was hot on her neck. Not angry enough, not angry enough. 

“You should have heard him scream,” whispered into her ear, “it was beautiful. A true symphony. You should play your violin to it Etta. Make a duet out of it.” 

Flashes across the forefront of her mind, one by one. Playing violin in a shitty bar, locking eyes with him, dancing, their first date, kissing him on the pier, marrying him, their first night together. All the flashes of memory pressed into her mouth along with his tongue and it choked her. 

You’re still afraid. You can’t kill someone you’re still afraid of.

Xavier finally let her go and she stumbled back, wiping the spit from her face. She stared at him and he laughed. The sound grating to her ears. Out of tune. A wrong chord. He was wrong. He no longer was a part of her symphony. He had no place there.

She refused to let him poison her song with his venom any longer. Henrietta stared at him.

Jesse was wrong. 

She didn’t need the anger. It wasn’t anger that was missing. She forgot who she was. She forgot that anger was not her weapon. Her weapon was apathy. Fuck slow movements. A gun can kill a rattlesnake just fine. Henrietta looked at Xavier and felt nothing at all. 

She could use that.

______

TAGLIST:

@demondamage @burntcoffeewhump @angst-after-dark @just-a-silly-little-whumper @tictac-murder-spaghetti @crash-bump-bring-the-whump @whumpifi

@flowersarefreetherapy @badgerwhump @whumpbees @whumplr-reader @cyberwhumper @kixngiggles

ask if you'd like to be added or removed!!

[sunshiline-writes]

letting go