#horror and suspense fic

[saladmix]

We have become a 200K word fic. Is this a feat, or a symptom of me simply not being able to shut up?

The world may never know.

Come join us for some miserable end of the world multiverse turtle fun! This chapter has been graciously beta read by @shyalia who is amazing thanks a billion.

[its-in-the-woods]

Coyote Head - Part 11 - Screams in the woods

master list

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part9, Part 10,

Pairing: Cooper Howard x Lucy Maclean 

Includes many other characters from Fallout

Synopsis: Lucy reaches for him, “Don’t let go!”

MINOR GET OUT. Rating/Warning:  Animal/people death, dead animal mutilation, general horror, religious themes, Alternative Universe, Slow Burn, Death, Aging, Family Feuding, Older Man/Younger Woman,

Note: that I will not be spoiling any of the reading. So you have been warned. I will keep my tags relevant without spoiling what is happening in the story.

**Strap in and get ready for a ride kiddos**

Harris and Margie are looking between Cooper and Lucy, the Bible between them. Lucy had brought it over to show them and ask questions about the names on the front page, but she was now being stonewalled. The whole thing felt ridiculous, Lucy was still doubting the validity of any of what was happening.

“I don’t know about these names,” Harris said, looking over the names, his glasses making his eyes look huge. The large man had been on edge since they arrived, his shoulder scrunched body tight.

Lucy blows some air out through her nose, “You said you were lookin’ for the bible, the night me and Cooper got attacked.”

Margie glares at Harris, “Harris, for Saint Peter’s sake, just tell the girl what you know. Or I will piece together what I can, and give her what I know.”

Harris sighs, Cooper looking at Lucy trying to figure out what the heck was going on. Lucy shrugs at him, fiddling with her cup, her fingers itching for a cigarette. It had been a bad idea to start that up while all this stress was happening.

“Margie, you know I was never close with my Dad. Anything he knew about the bible was passed to Tim. Not to me.” Harris was still trying to skirt the subject, fingers twisting around each other as he looked at everyone. 

“Oh, horseshit!” Margie hollered, the little woman’s face going red, as she glared at him. Lucy was taken aback by the sudden outburst. “Fine. Fine.”

Margie stood up grabbing a black jar and pouring a tall glass. “None of you get any, 'cause I sure ain’t in the mood.” 

Harris, Lucy, and Cooper both cringing back as if being scolded with a belt. Lucy’s heart pounding as she tries to keep herself composed, hoping against hope she gets some answers. 

“Now, the MacLean’s have always had secrets. Their crops always good, and cows are always plump. Back in the day before vaccines, they barely ever lost a child. Heck, I barely ever saw any of them get sick.” Margie took a sip of her black drink. “Now we all had theories, all wondered what they were doing. They never cut back more forest than they needed, and always leased at low rates. Yet they wanted for nothing.”

Margie takes a moment to look at everyone, at the table, before she continues. 

“Then Albert died, and Tim took over. What Harris won’t tell y’all is that the whole family had been practicing devil magic.” Margie states no venom behind her words. “Bring offerings to this forest spirit, god, whatever. Not for me to judge.” 

Cooper fiddles with the edge of his cup, his shoulders moving forward, as he makes himself smaller. Lucy felt her stomach twist, she had never been religious, but calling it devil magic seemed too harsh. Even with the Anton Lavey quote in her Grandpa’s handwriting. 

“Whatever Tim did, it worked. But your Grandma was raised in the church. I loved Shirley and she put up with a lot of stuff. When Tim wanted to bring Hank into the fold.” Margie looked over at Harris.  “She said no. Said all of it had to stop, wasn’t going to be a part of it passing down.”

Harris shifts, taking his glasses off and putting them on the table. “As soon as Tim stopped, things started to go south. It wasn’t instant. It was little things, minor flooding in a field that had never flooded before. Seeds not taking as well as they should. Losing more calves than normal.” 

Margie nods, letting out a sigh, she got up and brought some glasses over. Pouring small amounts for each, before sitting down, still glaring at her husband as he speaks about his family.

“We wrote it off as a bad year.” Harris sighs, fiddling with the cup but not taking a sip. “But it kept getting worse, and worse. Blanche kept telling Harris that he needed to start doing the offering again.” 

Lucy took a sip of the black drink, it was bitter, but also strangely sweet, most likely gooseberries. 

“Shirley kept saying no, and then Blanche died.” Harris swallows, “Found her lying right by her chickens.” He finally takes a drink, wincing at the sweetness. “All her chickens were gone, and the thing had taken her eyes.” 

Cooper looks pale as he stares down at his cup, Lucy finishing hers in a quick swig. She rubs her hand along his knee hoping to help ease him. The thought of her great grandma laid out dead by her prized chickens was horrid.

“So, Tim decided it was time to start up again.” Harris says, “Shirley was beside herself, thought her husband had lost it. “

“But it worked,” Lucy spoke, “Things got better, crops grew, cows birthed easily, no one got sick anymore.” 

Harris nods, finally sipping the drink, “I didn’t want to believe it either. How could bringing a loaf of bread, or bundle of herbs, make the ground seem so much richer.” 

“Why didn’t you tell Lucy?” Cooper interjects, fingers running over the rim of the glass in several circles. 

Harris leans back, taking another small sip of the liquid, Margie pouring everyone a little more of the makeshift brew. 

“Tim said it ended with him.” Harris finally spoke, “When he came to tell me he was dying.” The man looked out into his yard, eyes glassy as he spoke. “He was different, it was the first time I’d seen him look so content with life. Tim kept going on and on about how it was finally going to be over. That he would finally be free, the whole family won’t have to worry anymore.”

“We should have told you Lucy, should have been more forward about the whole situation. But Tim was adamant it was over,” Margie adds, Lucy feels a cold spread of anxiety spill from her ribs out into her stomach. 

“But then we found the coyote head, us being attacked in the trailer,” Lucy states, “But you still kept it from me.”

“I didn’t think you’d be ready for this, especially after what happened. We wanted to give it some time. So you could heal before we dropped the family past on you.” Harris replies, reaching to squeeze Lucy’s hand. She pulls away, a feeling of betrayal still sitting tight in her chest. 

“You’ve barely been here two months,” Margie states trying to calm the room. “We know now, and we can help make it right.”

Lucy shakes her head, “We don’t even know what we need to make right.” She slides her chair backward. “We are going to go help John this afternoon. After that, we should all sit down and go over the journals and bible together, maybe?” 

Harris’ brows furrowed, “Lucy, I don’t think it’s wise to go in there. I know you want to help-”

“It’s my land, my property, my problem,” Lucy states as she stands up, “I am not sitting on the sidelines anymore.”

***

Lucy, Cooper, John, and Bert stand at the edge of the forest, Lucy had done up a crude map of the trails she could mostly remember. She had photocopied them so each person had one, radios, and compasses were passed around. Each ATV was checked over making sure fuel tanks were full. Guns carefully strapped into place, along with extra clips. Lucy hoped they wouldn't need them. On top of that they strapped on crates with rope, knives, tools, and first aid kits, along with anything else they might need. 

“So we each take a trail, stick to the path, mark it as we go so we can find our way out. The yellow fence line is parkland, we won’t go past that. Barbwire is either John’s land to the west or Cooper’s to the east. If you make it that far there should be gates that you can use to circle back up to the road. See anything-” Lucy stops her speech for a moment collecting herself. “I mean anything, weird, strange, cow, whatever, you radio. There is no point in any of us getting hurt. Sunsets around nine, but we should try to get out by no later than eight.”

The men nod, at her words, Lucy surprising herself by how calm and level-headed she felt. Not to mention the men listening to her, and not arguing with what she had to say. It felt odd being the one in charge, but this was also her land. It didn’t feel like hers, it didn’t feel like anyones, but if there was anyone who needed to be held accountable for it it was Lucy. She was tired and scared, but she was not going back down, not now.

“The radios we have should cover the whole area without an issue, if you run into issues and can’t get a hold of us come back here,” Cooper adds, making sure everyone nods. “All the families have been told if they don’t hear from us by nine to send emergency crews in.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Bert chirps, looking out towards the gaping mouth of the forest. 

Lucy inwardly cringing, she and Cooper had decided not to fill in the others about the supernatural possibilities. Having people scared would help no one. Lucy wasn’t even sure she fully believed any of it. Was something really haunting the woods? Was her grandfather really feeding it? Had it taken her Dad? 

“It’s just precaution,” John adds, peering towards their destination and waking Lucy from her musing. “Never know, better safe than sorry.” 

“Well, let’s get going.” Bert smiles, jumping onto the four-wheel, he starts it up and takes off towards the trees. 

Lucy feels her heart clench in her chest, a low ringing buzz just above the sound of the engine. She takes off after Bert, heading down southeast, Cooper goes directly east, Bert goes southwest, and John goes west. The trees had fully flushed out, leaves defusing the light, and the trails were clear despite having not been used much. She rode at a good clip, fast enough to keep moving but slow enough to take in what was around her. 

The radio sits on her handlebars crackled occasionally, Lucy wanted to stop every time it made a sound, but made herself continue. Every shadow, discoloration, and movement had her head turning. The further she went, the darker the place seemed to get. The hair on her arm starts to stand up, even under the heavy sweater. She couldn’t help but look over her shoulder, feeling like something was following her. Something was watching her, just on the other side of a tree or bush. 

Lucy stops as the radio crackles, her heart pounding in her chest, waiting to hear anything. When nothing came Lucy went to start up again, when a twig snapped to her right. Head turning almost painfully fast to look that way, nothing. Another snapped behind her, hair prickling at the back of her neck. Turning slower this time, Lucy nearly screams, as a black shadow slinks away behind a tree. 

Her hand is on the radio now, tensed up in a panic, her shoulder gathered up against her ears. With no other movement, she goes to turn the machine back on when it crackles.

“This is John, did someone else go directly west?” John’s voice crackles across the forest. Lucy grabs her compass from her pocket seeing that she is still pointing mostly southwest. 

“Lucy here, I am heading southwest,” Lucy replies, Bert comes over the radio saying that he is also mostly south. It was a tense moment before Cooper replies that he had turned so that he was going northeast. 

“Alright, umm, guess we’ll call that weird then. I am gonna start heading up the northwest side towards the gate.” John radios, before it goes silent again. She couldn’t help but hear the hesitation in his voice, whatever was out there had spotted them.

Lucy takes one last look around her, eyes narrowing in on the grey flesh of a stripped tree stump. She gets off her ATV and walks towards it, her heart thudding against her ears. The image of a fresh coyote head on top of stripped wood flashed in her mind. As she walks up to it she can see bones lying around. If you weren’t looking for it, it would have just blended into the forest. She stops a yard or so from it. The tingling feeling of anxiety rushes down her neck like cold water. 

Turning around in a full circle Lucy could just see further another stump. She would bet money that it was also surrounded by bones. Walking quickly back to her ATV she pulls out the map and marks it approximately. How many were out here?  Was this like the stumps that were in the bible? The illustration had shown sigils or ruins, but now they were worn from years of wear.

She turns her ATV on and continues southeast, eyes peeled for any other out-of-place signs. As she drove she would stop and note down other stumps, if she went and stood at one looking west she could see all of them in what was becoming a half-moon shape. Four total, Lucy’s gut feeling was there would be thirteen, one for each month. Placed on purpose, spaced evenly, all surrounded by bone. Every single one made her skin crawl and made her wonder if she was losing her mind. 

The radio crackled again, Lucy stopping immediately and listening. More crackling, muffled noises, then nothing. Her heart lurched, stomach twisting as she waited for any word. 

“I think-” Interference, “A cow,” It was Bert, “Least what’s left off it.”

“Where are you?” Lucy asked, already turning the machine around so that she could head in the right direction. She’d start to head west and hope that she could find Bert.

“If you head to the main trail-” Static, Lucy fires up the ATV keeping the radio turned up. “Southwest-” Lucy strained to hear, “-go directly south.” His voice seemed softer and softer and Lucy roared towards him. “next fork - west“

“Roger, roger,” We are heading your way, Cooper's voice rang over the radio. She felt her heart clench knowing that he was not far away, it was both comforting and concerning. 

“Shouldn’t be far,” John added, Lucy's heart thundering in her chest, fingers aching from holding onto the handlebars so tightly. She kept looking over her shoulder, searching for something in the woods she couldn’t see. The bumps and jumps of the machine propelled her forward. The trees opened into the middle clearing, Lucy skillfully following down southwest. Behind her she could make out the roar of another engine, looking back she could just make out Cooper’s white hat. 

It was a comfort knowing that he was close behind her, hitting the fork she went south. Her radio crackling but nothing, she continued along the path ducking past brushes as they slapped towards her. Mouth dry as she tries to urge the thing forward. A burst of static echoed louder than the previous almost stopping Lucy. 

“HELP,” 

Lucy grabbed the walkie doing her best to continue to drive one-handed. “BERT.”

“It’s here,”

“What what is it,” John calls out over the radio. “I am not far, Bert. Hold on.”

“Oh god,” 

“Oh god.”

Lucy clipped the walkie back on, riding as fast as the old ATV would go, she could hear Cooper not far behind her. As she hit the fork to head west a scream rang out, Lucy felt her ears ring. Her eyes blurring as the world spun, she blinks several times trying to make her eyes work. 

“Bert, Bert,” Cooper called over and over, Lucy hearing his voice behind her and in front of her as they roared towards their destination. 

Lucy spotting John flying up coming to join the west trail, his hat had been lost somewhere along the way. Lucy slows down to let him go ahead, Cooper now only a dozen yards behind her. Bushes and trees slap her face as they road toward Bert should have been.

As they came up over a hill Lucy had a split second of red lights warning her as she skidded to a stop just beside John. The man was off his ATV, gun in hand as he made his way over to the empty four-wheeler. Lucy parked hers, grabbing her gun and extra clip in her pocket. Cooper is skidding to a stop a moment behind them, the three of them gathering at the empty ATV.  There are skid marks behind the machine, a few scuffs in the ground, and his gun was gone. 

“Bert,” Lucy calls out, his name echoing through the tree, her voice bouncing around like she was in a funhouse. “Bert! Come on, answer us!”

“No sign of the Bert, or the cow,” John says, looking around the place, all of them naturally staying close to each other. Lucy faces one way, and Cooper faces the opposite of her. A perfect triangle as they move. “No sign of anything really.”

Cooper moves over, Lucy watching him as he walks past the ATV. Her eyes spotted what he was looking at, another stump, stripped of bark. Some of the symbols were more pronounced on this one, almost looking fresh.

“Is that another stump?” Lucy asks, moving towards where Cooper is now crouching down. He’d take out a knife to uncover some bones that lay covered in dirt around it. Lucy reaching out to trace over the ruins, the ringing in her ears stopping as she followed them all over the stump.

Cooper looks up, his hazel eyes barely visible under the shadow of his hat, “I saw some when I was driving around. All had bones around them like this.”

“W-w-what are those?” John’s face was pale, his hand fiddling with the stock of his gun. He had walked over to stand near the other two. 

“I am not sure. I don’t remember seeing this many before.” Lucy replies, trying to keep her voice level and calm. Her mind played over all the different illustrations of symbols, people standing around a stump. The face of the coyote flashed behind her eyes. 

“But these are old. Like really old.” John points out, jumping when a twig breaks, his breath is ragged as he looks around. 

Lucy and Cooper both stand looking towards the noise, Cooper swiftly pocketing the knife to replace it with the rifle. They all stand for a moment, the silence swallowing them. 

“Bert! Bert!” Lucy calls out again, hoping that it was him walking back towards them. “Where are you? Call out so we can come get you.”

John was now backing up towards his ATV, Lucy could see that he was shaking as he looked out towards the forest. It felt darker, much darker than it should have been for mid-afternoon. It was as if all the light was slowly being sucked out from around them. 

“Somethin’s wrong,” Cooper murmured, making Lucy jump as his hand clasps her shoulder. He was starting to push her towards the four-wheelers, she could feel her heart start to hammer in her chest. 

“We should call Harris,” Lucy says the dread had now seeped into her bones. Cooper was right, Bert wasn’t replying and there was no sign of him.

“No signal this deep in.” John replied phone in a shaky hand, “Probably thirty minutes from anywhere that would have a signal.”

Another twig snap had them all whirling, again facing nothing but trees and bushes. 

Lucy

Ringing splitting Lucy’s head as her name came spilling from every direction. Double over she covers her ears, trying to get it to stop. Cooper is in the same position, forehead creased as he groans. John stares at both of them as he stands perfectly still, eyes wide, phone dropping to the ground as his mouth falls open.

Cooper

John swings around, clearly hearing what they are. Lucy slowly tries to right herself, her eyes blurry as she tries to focus. Cooper leaning heavily against the stump, the forest is spinning past them. She falls and hits the ground, her body screaming at her to keep moving but it feels like someone has put a lead blanket across her body. 

“John,” Lucy croaks, trying to get his attention. He looks like he is miles away, a small pin prick in the distance. “Go, get Harris.”

John is stooping down behind herm helping Cooper up. “No, I am staying with you.” He is beside her now, his hands under her arms as he hoists her against the machine. 

Lucy - Cooper - John

They all stood now, heads as clear as possible the sound of their names coming from all directions. The echoing impossibly around them as if it was coming from hundreds of different voices, tones, and places. The place is so dark they might as well be in a cave, not able to see more than a few yards ahead of them. The wind picking up moves trees above, sending shivers across all of them, the only noise beside their panting breath. 

“That-what- what the fuck,” John states, eyes wide as he looks around. Lucy barely kept herself standing, her legs wobbly as the voice kept screaming their names

“Lucy!” Bert’s voice carries, this time sounding less like static ringing and more human. 

Lucy moves towards it, her feet moving without thought, Cooper immediately grabbing her arm. “Lucy, we can’t. We don’t know what that is.” 

“It’s Bert,” Lucy protests, trying to move away from him, Cooper’s grip only tightening further. He was right, she knew that, she knew it didn't sound right. Yet she wanted to go to them, she needed to go to them. 

“Lucy, think about this. We need to stop and think.” Cooper demands, somehow breaking through the fog. “We gotta stick together. Can either leave and get help, or we all go look for Bert.”

A screech breaks through the air, right in front of them as John’s body falls forward, something grabbing his ankle and starting to drag him backward. Lucy is stunned for a moment before she jumps forward, gun abandoned as she chases after John. His face rubs against the dirt hands desperately trying to grab onto anything and everything he can. A shot rings out in the air, Lucy instinctively duckling down. Her knees hit the ground and she rolls for a second before she is back up. John continues to scream as he grabs for purchase onto a tree.

Lucy reaches for him, “Don’t let go!” Her hands find his, his eyes wide as he screams.

Part Twelve

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

*I I know I know cliff hangers, but what's a horror read without a cliff hanger?

*want to be on the tag list? add your name below

@toogaytofunctiondangit , @hiddlebatchedloki @whatsorceressisthis @dichromaniac @autumncryptids

@therealcozyaxoltol

[writeouswriter]

Reading a fic that's so well written I wish I could close my eyes and just let the descriptions and atmosphere wash over me, but the dilemma with closing my eyes is, well, I then would not be able to continue reading this fic, now would I.

[crimeronan]

outlining something and going "hm. this is......... ambitious" and then committing to writing it anyway even though you know you'll probably be dissatisfied by the end product because it's a good challenge and hopefully it'll work well enough bc you also know that you're skilled and are your own worst critic and you're working on having a better-adjusted sense of your creative capacity. while also. tearing your hair out,

[cochineal-leviat]

I finally finished this fic! I'm so happy! This was one of my favourite projects to work on. Even if it took a while, I loved writing the setting, the world and the characters.

To be short, this is a medieval fic where Kirby, a traveller seeking adventure, stumbles upon a mansion in the woods. They enter a world of wonder and mystery and meet a handsome Marquis who seems out of this world. Together they make merry in this strange world. Kirby's worries fade away as do their inhibitions.

Please enjoy!

I know it is weird to post the finale when I have never posted the first chapters (but I didn't have a Tumblr back then), so here is the first chapter for any new readers.

[sandersidesbullshit]

ok, there is exactly NO fan content for this lovely podcast and so im using my itty bitty following in hopes that someone finds this and makes some art damn it. bitches got it all we got:

healthy relationships

unhealthy relationships

all the queers

at least one ace

it’s funny as fuck

stunning world building

actively choosing to believe this is the world after the eye-pocalypse in tma even tho it doesn’t make sense but it makes me happy

there are cats

genuinely good horror and suspense without being super gory or explicit

i quote this shit on a daily basis

i cannot possibly overstate how gay it is there is not a fucking hetero in sight

actually some really good witchy advice? which i was not expecting?

the voice acting is stunning (aka scourge should be a tumblr sexyman, there, i said it, you happy?)

wonderful audio design and editing!

genuinely made me cry at least once

it’s pretty short by podcast standards: run time of about 45+ hours (for context tma is 70+)

hopefully ive convinced you...

SPIRIT BOX RADIO

is so wonderful. please try it out <3

[writingandstories]

Drabble Challenge #1 @hollandroos

Part 1

(Some say exactly 100 words for drabbles, this can vary)

Suspense/ Triller (Nancy Oglesby for 22/06/24)

“You can’t leave- not yet.”

The wind blows violently as rain patters heavily against the half-open door. Thunder fulminates just as angrily.

"You can't." Lily says again, with a near whisper.

"Why not?" Adrian responds indignantly, "Why the hell not? You've been ignoring me all night!"

"I have not." Lily tries again, still quietly like she barely believes it herself.

"Half ignoring. Same thing. What's up with you and those girls? You're the one who asked me to come."

"I'm sorry. I won't do it anymore; just come back in. Stay. Please. Don't go yet."

Adrian relents. He's always been soft-hearted, maybe too soft, as his mom would say.

"Okay." he replies.

Lily drags him gently by the arm. The door bangs shut.

Image from Medium

[lotusflowerbreakingthesurface]

[𝐏𝐗 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐑𝐞𝐜 𝟏𝟐𝟕] 阴婚 𝐛𝐲 式微何采

✧ 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: Ghost Marriage

✧ 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: Zhang Qiling/Wu Xie

✧ 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐞: Unknown

✧ 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: M/R

✧ 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: Complete

✧ 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞: Chinese

✧ 𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡: 39 Chapters + 2 Ending (HE and BE)

✧ 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: AR Setting/Canon Divergence—Main Story—Ghost Marriage AU, Mystery/Suspense/Thriller

✧ 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐜: Wu Xie's First Person POV, Angst, Horror/Supernatural, Old Fanfic

✧ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Major/Minor Character Death, heavy and dark fic, including imprisonment (not long), gore, dub-con (there is a misunderstanding but it's a mutual feeling in the end), Wu Xie's complicated feelings, Blackened Xiaoge, a bit of murder case...

✧ 𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜:

This year, on the seventh day of the seventh lunar month, the almanac says that the gates of hell are open and everything is unfavorable, but it is also the day when the Cowherd and the Weaver Girl meet on the Magpie Bridge. And the day Wu Xie received a package from Zhang Qiling, it was a set of things that are used for ghost marriage.

It has two meanings. First, Zhang Qiling is dead; second, he still wants to marry me...

I will never let you go even if I die. —Zhang Qiling.

✧ 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧:

I was curious about this fic because someone said that it's some sort of continuation or an attempt to complete a PingXie fanfiction by Jiang Nan (the author of "Dragon Raja"), more info here. The fic he had written was about "Ghost Marriage" 《阴婚》 or 《冥婚》 between Zhang Qiling and Wu Xie. It's unfinished though, so someone tried to continue it with their own story.

⚠︎ Contains Spoiler ⚠︎

I think this fic is a bit dark because their relationship was developed in "a different way" from the canon PingXie. Some scenes caught me off guard, Wu Xie had a certain "issue" with Xiaoge when he was alive. He was afraid of him, couldn't trust him, and even held a grudge against him, and Xiaoge himself turned dark. Their feelings were not clear until near the end. Although I didn't expect it, it's okay for me since it's an old fic, at that time everything was uncertain, they probably never thought that "Yucun Notes" would appear in the future (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠) One more thing, I think that the HE version is also a sad ending, Xiaoge is being materialized by Wu Xie... I feel that it's not the real him.. it only makes me cry even harder (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝: Baidu Tieba | JJWXC

[devil-doll13]

Wax & Wane

(Part 2)

Tw: Swearing, Implied Death, Violence, Blood, Gun, brief mentions of Torture bc Abby is unhinged and so are the Sinclairs lbr

Part 2!!! I am on a roll here and hopefully it will follow me until the next and final chapter. Also I ended up coming up with this headcanon that baby Vincent had a secret way to get in and out of the basement as a child, I don’t know how much sense that makes in canon but who cares.

Ellie and Percy who are mentioned briefly here belong to @rottent33th and @the-pinstriped-hood respectively

Summary: On discovering that her car and therefore only means of escape has been stolen, Abigail sees no other way out other than to confront the charismatic serial killer and mechanic Bo

Part 1

Dividers by firefly-dividers

Bo hadn’t expected the dark-haired woman to return from her trip to the House of Wax.

In fact, he’d already transported her car to his storage area for safekeeping - had to hotwire the damn thing - because he was so sure his twin would get her first. He could only hope she hadn’t noticed that her vehicle was missing yet…

He swore quietly under his breath as he unlocked the door to his workshop in the gas station. It was his idea the entire time that he’d give her to Vincent to kill; Bo knew he liked the strange ones. So when he’d seen her staring vacantly into the glass door of his garage - as if hypnotised by something beyond his comprehension - he knew that there must be some miscommunication at play here. He’d have to have a little word with his brother about this later…

Bo peeked out of the doorway to see the outsider having suddenly switched intentions, deciding to stare directly at him instead of blankly into his window. Or perhaps she was seeing through him; she had a sort of glazed over look, like some kind of druggie. He forced himself to beam a practised smile back at her.

Something just wasn't right about that woman.

“Sorry, was just in a rush to get somethin.’” He explained quickly, determined not to meet her accusatory eyes. “Here I thought your car had broke down, turns out someone else’s did! Heh.” He pretended to rummage through his tools for something important.

No reply.

Bo didn’t like it when these things got complicated. He’d have to get her when her back was turned or something because was getting damned tired of her weird aura hanging around him. He walked briskly back into the shop entrance and hauled his toolbox onto a nearby workbench.

“…Where is my car?” The woman’s voice was quiet.

His left eye twitched at this.

“Just where ya’ left it!” He replied flippantly, mimicking the casual lilt of his polite victim-greeting persona; his better half.

An overlong beat until she responded.

He glanced nonchalantly over his shoulder, and continued to stir up his toolbox like he was brewing some kind of metallic soup.

“We both know it isn’t.”

He stopped.

“…It isn’t?”

“No.”

There was silence between them for some time. He grit his teeth as he ignored her chilly glare. Despite the usually stifling Louisiana heat outside, he felt the temperature drop drastically in the shop. He mistook it for a rogue gust of wind; though he realised did not remember opening that upper window…

Bo puffed out a breath as he reached up to shut it.

She knows.

It didn’t matter how she found out. Either way, she knew. And that was a problem. One that he had to fix now that his twin hadn’t…

“Huh. Well, I can’t say I do know.” He said, keeping his voice subdued and measured. All friendly like.

(The steel handle of a hefty monkey wrench gleamed in the afternoon sun. His fingers wiggled in anticipation. Her head was surely soft. Easily breakable. It would be over in an instant.)

“But between you and me, there are a few folks in this town who aren’t entirely decent…” He continued.

Bo turned around in place to give her an innocent shrug of his shoulders. There was a cold new weight in the pocket of his greasy blue coveralls.

“I can believe that.” She spat harshly.

He grinned fiendishly down at her, bracing himself against the workbench. She was poorly concealing a scowl, reminding him of some kind of nasty stray cat.

(If she was clever like one, she’d give up on fighting and let him kill her quick and easy.)

“Well, It mighta’ been one of them… But I’m afraid I can’t help you with that.” He offered a mockingly sympathetic gaze. “Real busy, as ya’ can see.”

Bo couldn’t help but relish a little in her trepidation as he prowled forward. He noticed she had her arm curled around her bag and quirked a cruel eyebrow.

Got a lil’ switchblade there, huh? That’s adorable.

He circled around her like a predator, watching her in amusement as she stiffened up. Her whole body was taut and rigid, muscles trembling. Clearly she was anticipating his next move. Bo leered at her. There was no longer any kind of pretence between them, so he didn’t bother hiding his malicious intent now.

They both exploded into motion.

His victim made a break for it; or she appeared to. Bo was too fast and caught her anyway. He swung his wrench down low and felt it make contact with something hard and breakable. Then an object made of cold, wet metal hit the side of his cheek.

Suddenly he was left blinded. All he could see was pure, searing white.

A disgustingly unpleasant taste discharged inside his mouth, sharp and coppery like he’d been crunching on coins. His teeth festered in agony like they were about to rot right in his skull. Bo clutched his head as he doubled over in pain, his weapon clattering forgotten to the ground. He could hear some kind of distant yelp just above the ringing in his ears, and the quick scuff of boots followed by the slam of a door.

For those few seconds existing itself became unbearable. Bo felt like his very soul had just been ripped out of his chest. His heart pounded violently in his ribcage and for a moment it felt like it would actually seize up and kill him. His vision swam for what seemed like an eternity until he could finally make out the garage floor again.

What the fuck had she done to him?

“Shit!” He hissed, squeezing his eyes shut as he endured a throbbing headache. That must have been like some kind of - some kind of flashbang…

There was a rusty brooch by his feet that made him feel violently nauseous when he looked at it. He kicked it away hurriedly, feeling dizzy from vertigo as he tried to form a coherent thought. His nerves were completely fried; everything that touched his skin seemed to burn it. Hot sticky sweat had completely drenched him, but his blood ran icily cold.

A sense of urgency struck him, and he spit curses as he realised that freak had made her quick escape while he was distracted by that - that fucking thing she threw at him!

Gnashing his teeth, he snatched up his wrench again and barrelled out the door of his workshop…

…But she was nowhere to be seen. Only a vast stretch of the Ambrose road - sizzling with Summer heat - met his eyes, and empty sidewalks untraveled for years.

“Hey!” Bo hollered. His voice was hoarse and cracked.

It echoed right back at him. His head throbbed painfully again as he blocked the sun from his eyes.

She was gone.

“Damn it!” He swore loudly, seething. Frustration bubbled up in his aching brain, and he stormed angrily back into the workshop, chucking the wrench haphazardly onto the floor. He stomped into the back to retrieve his double-barrelled shotgun.

Fuck it, Vincent could just hide the damage with clothing; she sure wore plenty of black to hide the bloodstains with. He was too pissed off right now to care anyway. Whatever she’d just done to him was indescribable. It felt like it had come from inside his own mind rather than his body.

That, and he had to protect his family. He knew Vincent would probably be fine, and Percy he could generally trust to look after herself, but… He had a bad feeling that he was dealing with strange forces beyond his grasp, and that lack of control was enough to drive another spike of pure fury through his mind.

And there’s Ellie… She oughta be around here somewhere. The thought of another rogue would-be-victim hurting her like that enraged him.

He couldn’t let that happen again, not to his Ellie.

A terrible thought entered his mind then. What if he hadn’t been the first person she’d attacked? What if it had been Vincent? Or… Or…

Bo shook his head as he stubbornly cast it out. No. He’d blow her guts out before she could even try.

He loaded the double-barrel up and cocked it with a satisfying click. It looked like he’d be on the hunt himself today.

Unfortunately Bo’s search in the old movie theatre had turned up no clues as to where she went, and all of the abandoned houses were completely empty; bereft of all life. It didn’t help that that godforsaken woman could blend perfectly in the shadows, so he really had to keep his eyes peeled in this case. He hadn’t heard a peep yet, and nothing from Vincent or Percy or any of the others either. It was beginning to feel like he was really living in a ghost town now. At this point he was left to wander the junkyard out in the open, which didn’t reassure him. He felt too vulnerable now in the broad open air, even with plenty of cars to take cover behind.

Bo figured she might’ve felt the same, though. And he was the one with the gun.

The saving grace here was the fact that the victim’s car was still hidden in a more secretive area, and Bo had been diligent in quickly removing all driving capabilities from the other cars lying around the place. After the last incident, he thought it best that his quarry had nowhere to run if let loose on the premises. Without the advantage of a getaway vehicle, Bo would drag them back kicking and screaming if he had to.

But the thing is, she’d just up and vanished. God knows where she’d be in the maze of old buildings around Ambrose.

Or maybe she even had the nerve to go running out on foot; he’d had those before as well.

The clouds up above darkened now, and the low rumble of thunder reverberated in his bones. The skies churned and roiled, pregnant with malevolence. Tiny, sharp spits of rain dribbled out and splashed coldly on his flesh. If he was in his right mind he might’ve been liable to see this as a warning sign.

But the fact of the matter was that he was not; what had happened earlier had affected him greatly. A dull, persistent pulse on his brain still pained him. He felt sick and feverish; he was sweating so bad he felt like he’d just gone swimming in boiling hot water.

A sudden blinding flash maybe fifteen sixteen feet away made Bo flinch, and a deafening crack like a gunshot left his ears ringing. He heard the raucous bursting of a windscreen, and the acrid stench of something like burning wires reached his nostrils.

Was that actually…

Another vicious fork of green tinged lightning erupted from above and struck the back window of a car nearby, shattering it to tiny glass pieces.

“Jesus!” He swore. How could lightning have struck in one place so many times?! Bo forward from where he had taken cover behind another car, peering over carefully toward the car that had been hit. Glass spilled over the dented bonnet, smoking thick dark fumes of noxious gas from where it had been hit.

It was getting closer now!

… But what was most disturbing was his discovery of a black tarlike substance oozing out from the windshield and onto the ground, something like he’d never seen before. It smelled strongly of rotten eggs and sulphur. He wrinkled up his nose in disgust at the stench.

This ain’t normal…

Was God just angry at him today? He seriously considered it, feeling an uneasy feeling settle in his gut. He could think of many reasons why He probably would be… Well, everything seemed to be going fine until she showed up. He wanted to grumble at how difficult she was being. While he did enjoy the chase now and again, that was usually because they were on uneven footing; with him as the aggressor of course. He didn’t like how mysterious this situation was.

Bo’s eyes scanned his surroundings, a tad bit more wary now. He kept a firm grip on his gun, prepared to dodge any further fulminations. A chorus of soft cawings and wingflaps sounded behind him as a number of forebodingly black birds took flight. He felt an ominous sense of dread well up in his chest as silence replaced the noise from earlier. Something in the air shifted, almost imperceptible. He held his breath.

But… He thought he heard furtive whispering from nearby, chanting something unfathomable to him, like in another language…

Then, a swish of black fabric, there!

He fired, at this stage not caring much about the collateral damage. His gun was monstrously loud, spraying hot metal everywhere; if she was caught in his rather broad line of fire she would surely end up mangled, and he rather liked that notion.

The black shroud flitted in panic-stricken daze from car to car and he tenaciously pursued it, reloading and firing again and again, until he was led out of the junkyard and towards the greater town area. Now that he had seen the victim and established a proper chase, the scales of fortune seemed to tip ever so slightly in his favour!

Reentering inner Ambrose, Bo’s eyes scoured the empty streets as he listened carefully for hasty footsteps and laboured breathing. He drifted instinctively toward the winding path leading up to the House of Wax and it was there he noticed his little victim’s unfortunate error:

Forgot to close the door properly, huh?

Bo smirked slyly.

He leaned against it heavily with his shoulder. It creaked steadily open, revealing the ancient and stately old halls of the House of Wax.

It appeared empty from here, but Bo knew better. The only other person in this town who had a better sense of when this place was disturbed was Vincent. He could see where dust hadn’t settled right; almost like footprints in snow. Ellie didn’t understand why at first, but part of the reason why they never properly cleaned it was in order to better flush out runaway victims…

Like this one.

He licked his chops in anticipation, creeping around every dimly lit hallway. The sickly greenish tint of the peeling wallpaper only reminded him of how satisfying it would be to see her filthy blood sprayed all over it. A floorboard creaked precariously beneath him as he came to a halt by the stairs. He listened closely and, smiling to himself, could hear the telltale wheezes of an unathletic runner, far too tired to escape him now. coming ever closer. He’d cornered her this time.

Bo searched the environment for any signs of the fluttering black fabric again, cocking his gun in preparation.

“I know you’re in here…” He chuckled darkly, “Don’t bother tryna’ hide from me…”

He thought he caught another strange whisper echoing off the and felt the air pressure drop again, and couldn’t help but recall the agitation he felt back at the old junkyard. Whatever weird trick she had pulled earlier, she was going for it again!

All so she could pull out the rug from underneath him; but he needed to keep this upper hand.

“Hey!” He bellowed, mood souring once again.

But then, a glimpse of green eyes from across the long hall; there she was, looking right back at him!

It happened all at once: the dark little figure dashed to the left and tried to make a break for one of the inner exhibition rooms, but with superior instinct he aimed and, heart racing, he fired straight at her with a thunderous shotgun blast!

In the din, his ears strained to pick up a quiet gasp, strangled in an attempt to restrain itself. Silence followed, and the lack of footfalls almost made him believe his victory was already won. He prowled forward eagerly to survey what damage he’d done, and with a gleaming eye he looked down…

There, on the floor: a tiny splash of blood pooling on the floorboards, leaking into the basement below…

A triumphant smirk graced his lips.

Heh… Got her.

Abigail's breath hitched as she clamped down on her upper arm, dark crimson rivulets of blood escaping through her pale, trembling fingers.

Her corrupted brooch obviously wasn’t enough to slow that mad bastard down, though it did give her a opening at that crucial moment… Must’ve been a rather strong-willed one this time… Shit. Her mind was completely frayed with unanswered questions and adrenaline. She tried to gather herself together to develop some kind of… Some kind of plan, but she was exhausted and starving and in pain, and all her thoughts led to nowhere.

She had hidden in a cramped and unlit little wall passage, probably too small for her attacker to fit in at all. He was bigger and stronger than her - as all men generally were - and therein lay the problem. Abigail had no hope of taking him in a physical fight. Now that she realised he had a shotgun, and had already felt the painful sting of a bullet cluster, she knew it would be only a matter of time before he caught her with it and then it would all be over. Abigail licked her lips. She wasn’t quite ready to die just yet. Not again; not in here, at least. She really had to think of an escape plan, and fast.

She grimaced in frustration. There were many situations she could have predicted and prepared for, but a murder town? Now that was a new one… In her haste she’d so stupidly come waltzing in, practically defenceless, and fell right into his orchestrated little death trap. She wouldn’t be making that idiotic mistake again, assuming she survived all this.

Luckily she had been only grazed by that shot, but next time she might not be so fortunate. Another sharp, stabbing pain through her chest told her that she probably had a cracked rib from when he’d got her with that wrench too. It hurt her to breathe, but she was cautiously mindful of keeping her presence here concealed. She could still hear Bo’s heavy footsteps weighing on the floorboards outside…

Damn it. She chewed her lip anxiously. If only she had her grimoire, but it was still in her car… The car that had obviously been stolen and taken off to god knows where. It didn’t even seem to be in that old junkyard; and he’d chased her off rather too quickly to be thorough in her search anyway. Abigail doubted Elvis-lite knew that Black Book’s importance to her, but not having it still made protecting herself unnecessarily difficult.

The grandiose flair of piano keys, unfurling in a dramatic fashion, suddenly made her jump from where she was pressed closely together in the passageway.

Is that… Beethoven?

Abigail knit her brows together and leaned down to try and listen more clearly. It was Beethoven…

It was dark, but the walls stank heavily of half-melted wax and felt rubbery to the touch. They were narrow and winding, but apparently they led somewhere. She shimmied forward, feeling a tad claustrophobic. It almost seemed like it was meant more for a small child than an adult… Either way, she was eager to move farther away from the immediate threat of the gun-toting mechanic.

After sliding herself across the passage for a few seconds, she felt her wounded body hit a tiny door just like the one she’d used to get in moments ago. Wincing in pain at the impact, she felt around for a door handle and found one. The music was loud and clear now; it vibrated straight through the knob. She considered for a moment if this was a sensible idea or not, but going out the alternate way was basically just suicide at this point.

It squeaked open ever-so-slightly, and she peeked cautiously out to see into the basement. Perhaps it would’ve been more apt to describe it as an art studio; a number of scattered easels and paint littered the space, although organised in a manner that implied they were still in frequent use. On the walls hung various tools and equipment, some appearing strangely surgical. There was also an unfinished wax figure standing upright in the centre of the workshop, illuminated by a large number of flickering wax candles. It felt ritualistic, almost. It reminded her of her own black magick altars.

This must be that place… a sense of recognition came over her as she connected the dots.

All she had really garnered from Brian’s anguishing spirit was that he had been murdered by a man here; out of nowhere had his achilles tendon cut, dragged into this basement and encased in wax until he died a slow, painful death. He was rather too beside himself to tell her anything else.

To be frank, Abigail didn’t care too much about him, but what bothered her was the fact that she was clearly supposed to be Bo’s next victim to be presumably displayed in the museum. Now, he didn’t immediately strike her as the artistic type, but he was obviously hiding plenty behind that mask of his as it was.

Speaking of masks…

A collection of them decorated the walls. They appeared eerily like wax recreations of the Bo’s charming features, progressing from crude and almost malformed, to neater and more sophisticated castings. She knit her brows together thoughtfully. This came across to her as slightly odd. Why would he make so many based on his own image when he clearly had plenty of other material to work off of? Was he just a narcissist and wanted to admire his own face? Now he did strike her as someone who would do that.

A little amused at the thought despite her situation, she crawled out of the little space once she made sure there was definitely no one else around. Now Abigail realised the source of the music was an ancient gramophone perched on one of the workbenches. It was extremely hot in the basement, and a sort of dampness clung to the air, as humid as it was in the Louisiana Summer outside.

She felt damp sweat build up on her face and let out a puff of air. It seemed like she would be momentarily safe here, if slightly uncomfortable. Examining the room a little more closely, she noticed there were a few more obvious signs of the basement being regularly used: several articles of clothing hung up on a coat-hanger, mostly cable-knit sweaters and paint stained aprons, though some appeared speckled with what appeared to be blood. Some of them seemed to belong to a man, but others that were there were also smaller and brighter in colour… And they seemed to be older, as well.

Abigail roamed curiously around the studio, picking out choice pieces among the artworks. Some of them were finished, but had not been displayed for some reason, When she came closer, she realised they had also been signed ‘Vincent’ as the ones upstairs had been…

She saw an icy blue light appear from behind her in a nearby hand mirror. She was almost about to consider what electronic devices were being kept in this room - which seemed distinctly old and dated - when she suddenly recognised it as a human eye.

Abigail had barely any time to react as a sharp, ornate knife sliced at her uninjured arm, and she reeled around with a cry of pain. The eye belonged to a tall man with hair as long and black as her own; and she noticed he was wearing a mask just like the ones on the wall. It was an unnaturally smooth, familiar face that dipped him straight into the uncanny valley.

Shit. So there was another one!

A sting on her cheek and she flinched back. He had made a broad swipe to slash her neck but was too far away, striding forward with long, slender legs to close the distance. Abigail’s hands reached for anything she could possibly slow him down with, settling on upturning a nearby table and several art supplies. They clattered noisily to the floor as she dashed just out of his arms’ reach.

Heart thundering wildly in her chest, she scrambled up a path of waxen stairs and out of the basement into the foyer, then further into the deeper parts of the museum, past all the wax statues and ghostly beckoning calls. She even barrelled into an unsuspecting Bo and sent him swearing angrily to the floor along with his gun.

She didn’t have the time to worry about him. Her murderous pursuer gave chase behind her; a cold malicious spike pricked the back of her neck and she felt him try to grab at her hair. Abigail threw several objects at him and once or twice made obstacles from furniture and supernaturally locked doors. But she knew he would eventually gain on her with his powerful gait; furiously kicking through wood and sending splinters flying through the musty air.

Abigail shielded her body from the debris with her bare arms, earning herself numerous scratches as she did so. She could hear Bo shouting at his long-haired clone from down the hallway and was forced into another thickly cobwebbed corner of the house in order to evade a deadly shotgun blast that obliterated the dusty wallpaper. These two clearly knew this place far better than she did; and she was steadily running out of options. The maze of exhibit rooms was closing in and here she was scurrying about like a rat in a cage.

It was then that she rushed breathlessly into the display where she had last spoken to the deceased Brian. A rather brilliant idea came to her when she saw those lifeless brown eyes staring pleadingly at her once more, and she could feel herself grin wickedly in response.

We share a mutual enemy…

Staining her fingers against her cut cheek, she chanted an incantation and reached into his permanently open mouth to smear her vile blackened blood onto his tongue. With this, Abigail would allow him to carry out a little revenge on her behalf.

The blade meant for a killing blow to her gut instead met the waxy arms of her newly resurrected thrall. The killer’s single blue eye blew wide open in shock as it met those of his former victim, now reanimated. An impossible feat, surely…?!

But that once vacant, empty stare now glared back at him with burning hatred. A strong hand came to clamp viciously over his throat and he sliced it off instantly, but his wax creation stubbornly continued his fierce attacks. The undead monstrosity bit and scratched at him, eventually heaving its entire body weight on the masked man. It gave her just enough of a distraction to get away.

Abigail snatched up a beautifully painted floral vase and hurled it at a nearby window. The glass broke spectacularly, and she threw herself out onto the dry grass outside, whining in pain as she ripped her bare legs open. Scrambling to her feet, her pulse thudded hard in her ears as she broke into a full sprint through the nearby bush land. She almost cackled at how clean of a break that was; at his horrified reaction.

An angry shout that she knew came from Bo called out behind her. She didn’t bother to look over her shoulder to see if either of the two were following; her vision was obscured by green and brown as she charged forward. Her already injured thighs were scratched painfully by brambles and she grit her teeth achingly. She felt her ribs tighten even further into maddening pain.

Just a little more…

Night was falling now, and the dull orange hue of dusk became the evening’s only light. All she could hear was her own ragged breathing and bounding strides through the sticks. Abigail willed herself to push forward despite exhaustion trying to pull her into torpor, and her heart leaped as she suddenly escaped from the thorny thicket and saw before her another empty house. There were no lights on.

Perfect.

With the power of the only spell she could still manage, she forced open the door and slammed it shut behind her, breaking all the locks in the process.

She was submerged in complete blackness. A wave of calm washed over her as the immediate danger had passed; but she knew rightly it wasn’t over yet. She felt around for the lightswitch and a bulb hanging on the ceiling sparked to life. Her breathing levelled somewhat as she surveyed her surroundings. The house was still quite antiquated, but cleaner than any building she had been in thus far. It seemed to actually be lived in.

Perhaps it was a bad idea to break into the house of the very people who were trying to kill her, but she couldn’t do much about that now. At the very least this place looked defensible and she could feasibly hold down fort here if she was quick with her preparations. Walking briskly into the kitchen - which was again surprisingly clean and well maintained, and luckily had only way in and out - she immediately rushed over to a countertop and drew out a large, shiny kitchen knife and blocked the door with the mahogany dining table. Abigail shut the blinds without bothering to look outside. She already knew what was coming anyway.

Next she searched the cabinets for medical supplies, and quickly found them. Of course an operation like this one could prove dangerous to maintain; so they had no lack of bandages and disinfectant at least. Once she had properly cleaned her wounds up and bandaged them the best she could, she allowed herself to relax slightly. Her sore ribs still prevented her from getting entirely comfortable, though. She sighed painfully. Her body had now settled into one unending ache. She was covered in blood and dirt and sweat, and caught herself in a nearby mirror looking like a wild, feral little creature.

Right now Abigail wanted nothing more than to go full Home Alone and set up her worst curse sigils and runes for her would-be killers to run into so that she could gleefully torture them both, but… She didn’t have the time, energy or resources for all of that.

Another distant shout from Bo caused an alarm bell to ring in her head. They already knew where she was and were getting closer… She decided to stack up chairs on top of the table for extra reinforcement; it was the only door that connected to the landing, the other one led upstairs. If she really had to, she could retreat into the bedrooms and figure something out from there.

Then Abigail’s gut squirmed in a desperate plea for food, and she knew she couldn’t ignore it any longer. Her impulse led her to open the fridge door and pull out the first edible looking thing she saw: a hefty sandwich. She didn’t even care that she didn’t like onions; it tasted absolutely delicious at this moment in time. She wolfed it down eagerly, still gripping the blade in her right hand and keeping her eyes peeled. She needed to be ready.

What she didn’t notice was a white piece of paper that had floated down from where it had been dislodged. It was a small note that read:

“Property of Bo Sinclair.”

(Taglist: @rottent33th, @slaasherslut, @the-pinstriped-hood, @goldrose-star, @soupbabe, @bluecoolr, @flower-crowned-lady, @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better, @solmints-messyocdiary)

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[mysteriouslybluepirate]

Hey, has anyone written a 'The King In Yellow'(Cosmic Horror Creature) X OFMD fic yet?

(The Artist's Deviant Art)https://www.deviantart.com/deimos-remus/art/Fantasy-Characters-The-King-in-Yellow-827541473

He doesn't target the powerful, the strong, or anyone high in class or government. He spreads his influence through a book, 'The King In Yellow', giving Lovecraftian, horrific, dreams to the artists of society.

Most just get their usual or non threatening dreams. But not the artists and creatives. Only corrupting those with imagination and vision. Driving them to madness.

'The King In Yellow' is actually a 10 part short story anthology.

The work vaguely follows later known as 'Hastur', as his work ruins people's lives and drives them to sin(murder) and art... There is no in-text description of the figure, but the original print cover depicts a King in robes.

[sylvanfreckles]

The Walrider: Pt 5 of 5

(For Day 06: Proof of Life)

Fandom: Supernatural x Outlast Rating: M Chapter warnings: violence, death, burning alive/self immolation Story warnings: intense violence and gore, eventual body horror, references to torture

Summary: Run, hide, or die.

An investigation brings the Winchesters to Mount Massive Asylum, a supposed research hospital deep in the Colorado mountains. But what they thought was a run-of-the-mill exorcism turns into a terrifying tour of hell on earth as they come face-to-face with the inmates of a place built to feed off of their worst nightmares.

And deep at the heart of it lies something ancient and dark, waiting for its chance to walk the earth again. (read on AO3)

...

The first thing Dean noticed was the light. It was softer yet somehow more intense than he was expecting. Just a big, bright blur in front of his eyes. He was vaguely aware than he’d been unconscious again, with no idea of how long. He remembered struggling with the priest in the basement, but he wasn’t waking up there. This place was warm, almost feverish, and there was the bitter tang of gasoline in the air.

He was lying on his back with his hands resting on his stomach, like a corpse in a coffin, and his body almost hurt too much to move. It was all catching up to him—the fall through the window, the fight in the basement, too many knocks to the head and too much time unconscious.

“What the hell?” Dean murmured, bringing a hand up to cover his eyes. The smell was getting to him, and he realized his clothing was soaked. He sat up, regretting it instantly as the world tilted around him and he had to close his eyes until everything settled.

He was in the back of a small chapel, with the smell of gasoline and flare of candlelight surrounding him. Not a very safe combination. Dean staggered to his feet, arms clutched to his sides, and squinted through the light.

“You’re awake, my son.” The priest was standing down at the altar, arms raised. Dean could see a few others gathered around him on their knees—inmates or patients or victims, whatever they were.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re playing at,” Dean said as he limped toward the priest.

“No, you don’t understand. But you will. You will bear witness to this final sacrament.”

Dean slowed, his shoes squeaking on the gasoline-slick for. “Final sacrament? You gonna kill all these people?”

The priest shook his head piteously. “The promise of the prophet is always freedom from death. And here it is.”

“Doesn’t look like any freedom I’ve ever seen, pal.”

“This is resurrection,” the priest hissed. His chest heaved and he tilted his head back. “You will witness my death and resurrection, and together we will be free!”

Dean swore and turned to hobble toward the back of the chapel, toward the door. The gasoline, the candles…they were going to burn this whole place down with everyone inside.

“Walrider!”

Other voices joined the priests, followed by the roar of flames. Dean had reached the door, but it was locked, and he slammed his shoulder into it. The old wood creaked but did not give. Heat was lapping at the back of his neck, and he tugged his jacket off with another oath as a spark caught the hem. He rammed the door again, the screams of the burning men behind him filling his ears.

“Come on,” Dean panted. He slammed into the door one more time and it gave, sending him stumbling into the cool darkness beyond. Strong hands caught him, and he struck out wildly, though his fists met something far too solid to be human.

“Dean!” The voice finally registered, and Dean froze as his eyes focused on the being in front of him. Blue eyes, furrowed brow, hair that looked like it had been styled by a busted-up jet engine.

“Cas.” His legs nearly buckled with relief, but Cas held him up. Dean didn’t even put up a fight as the angel hustled him over to a nearby bench and sat him down. “Don’t worry about me,” he gasped, trying to wave away Cas’s concerned touch. “Sam—Sammy’s still….”

“He’s alive.”

Hearing those words, Dean felt the knot of fear in his gut finally loosen. “You got him?”

“I spoke with him on the phone an hour ago.”

Dean blinked at his friend blearily. “Phones’r out.”

Cas squinted at him, peeling down his lower eyelids to look into his eyes. “You have a severe concussion.”

“M’okay,” Dean slurred, batting at Cas’s hands. His body had finally registered safe and Cas and Sammy alive and was letting him know, in no uncertain terms, that this would be an excellent time for a nap.

Cool fingers rested against his forehead, and with a surge of energy and the smell of ozone Dean’s mind cleared. “Thanks.”

Cas still didn’t look too happy, and he rested a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Wait here. I’ll go get Sam.”

“Cas…”

“Dean!” Cas’s hand was firm on his shoulder, holding him strongly enough that he couldn’t get back up. “Wait. Here.”

Dean huffed out a sigh as Cas strode away, back towards the massive asylum crouched beneath the moon.

He was most certainly not pouting.

…

Sam had been poring through Chris Walker’s file ever since his call with Cas. Skimming over the details of Walker’s life, he focused on the reports detailing the events of his death.

Two of Murkoff’s agents, Pauline Glick and Paul Marion, had been investigating the murder of three inmates at the asylum. Their investigation had led them to Walker, and he had been killed in the subsequent confrontation.

Which didn’t explain why he was here. He hadn’t died here, and his body had been cremated. There could be an object tying him to this place, but that would be impossible to find.

Unless….

Sam leaned closer to one of the pictures, trying to angle his flashlight to get a better look at it.

It was a partial shot of Walker’s body, sprawled across his living room floor among the blood splatters and destruction of the confrontation. In the corner of the picture, barely visible, was a ragged-looking stuffed pig.

Little pig.

His phone rang. He answered it without looking, still staring at the photo. “Cas?”

“Where are you?”

“What about Dean?”

“He’s safe.”

Sam let out a sigh of relief and closed his eyes for a moment. If Cas had already gotten Dean out, that was one less thing to worry about. “Can you meet me on the second floor? Administrative wing, look for the executive elevators.”

“Sam?”

“There’s one more thing we have to do.”

Cas didn’t sound happy, but he’d agreed to Sam’s request. Sam stared dully at the body sprawled out in front of him before slowly pushing up to his feet to pick his way to the door. At least this floor should be safe now; it seemed like Walker never came up here.

Well. Walker’s spirit. It made sense. The inhuman strength, the tireless way he’d chased Sam, his ability to find him no matter what corner of the second floor he’d hidden in. Sam doubted Walker was the only thing haunting Mount Massive Asylum, but he had to be part of it. They’d need a full investigation to properly clear this place, which would be a hell of a lot easier without Walker.

He found the executive elevator and took it down to the second floor. The doors opened to reveal a worried-looking angel, already stepping forward to steady Sam.

“Am I glad to see you,” Sam’s voice shook as he grabbed a fistful of Cas’s trench coat. “We don’t have much time. We have to burn the pig.”

Cas caught Sam’s left hand by the wrist. He flinched, nearly pulling out of his friend’s grasp. “Your fingers?”

“Right.” Stomach rolling, Sam dug into the pocket of his jacket and produced the fabric-wrapped bundle. “I’ll just, uh…” he swallowed and turned his head away, closing his eyes. He heard the rustle of fabric as Cas unwrapped his severed fingers, then the pain as the angel unwound the blood-stiffened bandages on his hand. He knew it was bad, even if Cas didn’t say anything. It hurt. Bad enough to make his vision go dark at the edges.

Cas’s hands were warm and gentle as he cupped Sam’s mangled digits between them. There was a spark, a glow Sam could see through his closed eyelids, and the pain receded fast enough to make him gasp.

“That should do for now,” Cas announced. Sam held his hand up and studied it, flexing the fingers. They still ached, but they were solidly on his body now.

“Thanks, Cas.” He knew the angel’s grace was more limited now, so just doing this much was amazing. “Come on, we have to find Pauline Glick’s office.”

Cas followed him as Sam explained the situation. How they’d gotten trapped in the asylum. Walker. Trager. Being separated from Dean.

“That’s when I realized, something else must be tying him to this place,” Sam finished. He passed Cas the photo, which he’d torn out of the file. “See in the corner? There’s a toy pig, and I saw it in Glick’s office—she’s one of the ones who killed him. That has to be it.”

Cas started to reply, but the jingle of chains and thunder of footsteps behind them had Sam turning in panic. “We gotta move!”

He sprinted down the hall, Cas on his heels. The halls down here were all too familiar to him as he tried to trace the way back to the place where he’d seen the pig. A shove on his shoulder sent him sprawling forward, and he rolled just enough to see Cas standing his ground in the hallway.

“Go!” Cas called back to him. “I’ll hold him off.”

Sam stared for a moment, but as Walker charged into Cas and the angel held him back, he ran for it. They were so close. Some of the office nameplates had broken off, but it had to be here somewhere.

He yanked at one door, found it locked, and moved on to the next. Pauline’s office had been unlocked. Another door, also locked. He glanced over to see Walker manage to hoist Cas up and throw him, but Cas managed to twist in the air so that he landed on his feet, braced for the fight.

Too many doors. Too many locks. Sam darted from side to side, checking each door. Had he gone this far down? How long had he sprinted until he reached the elevators? Was it the other way?

One door finally opened, and he nearly fell into it. It was a familiar office, with the massive desk and discarded papers. And there, on the bookcase, was a ragged toy pig.

…

“Come on, Sammy, come on,” Dean muttered, pacing back and forth in front of the bench. Cas was taking too damn long. The chapel was a column of flames now, surely high enough for someone to have alerted the authorities.

Hell, where was everyone, anyway? Place like this didn’t just go under with no one noticing. They needed to get out before someone showed up to cover this up.

“Dean!”

He wouldn’t admit it, but relief rose high enough in his throat to fill his eyes when he saw his oversized brother loping toward him, an angel not far behind. It was probably the smoke making him tear up. That was it.

“What took you so long,” he demanded as they drew closer. Sam wasn’t looking much better than Dean was feeling but having his kid brother here and alive was the best he could have hoped for.

“Oh, you know,” Sam shrugged. “Had to barbecue a pig.”

Dean looked to Cas for a clue, but Cas just stared past him at the burning chapel.

“I didn’t do that,” Dean announced, waving a hand behind him. “Crazy priest did. Said the Walrider would resurrect him.”

“Walrider?” Cas said, his brow furrowed even further, if that were possible.

“I think it’s a Fae thing,” Sam explained. “Causes sleep paralysis and lucid dreaming. You know that painting of the sleeping woman with the monster on her stomach? That’s it.”

“No, it’s not Fae,” Cas pushed past the brothers, coat flapping back as he walked toward the church. “The Walrider is a demon, Sam.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open and he started to protest, just as a flaming being erupted from the remains of the chapel.

“What the hell?” Dean snarled. He automatically tried to shove Sam behind him, but gigantor wasn’t moving. Not that it mattered anyway, not with Cas in between them and the demon.

“Shield your eyes,” Cas called over his shoulder. He held his hand out, and for a second blue-white light flickered behind him. Dean got the impression, almost an after-image, of great, skeletal wings arcing out from Cas’s back as he charged in to smite the demon.

Dean brought his arm up to block his eyes, though the light that streamed around it was still bright enough to make his eyes water.

Then it was over. He dropped his arm to see Cas standing over the burned-out corpse of the possessed priest.

“Is it over?” Sam asked.

“Who the hell knows,” Dean smacked his arm and turned to trudge back toward the entrance. “Let’s get out of here.”

Dead leaves crunched over their feet, but Dean only heard two sets of footprints. He twisted back enough to see Cas was still standing in front of the chapel and staring down at the burning remains. “Hey!” he called. “Angelus ex machina! Let’s go!”

[demenior]

Absolutely and without fail it is all of 'as the lion loves the lamb'

ohoho!!!

God every time I think about as the lion loves the lamb I cannot believe I actually wrote it. It's so unlike anything I've ever written.

It's so hard to pick a specific fav line because each segment just hits harder, better, and makes the previous segments hit in different ways and it's just such a good drawn-out suspense that gets your tummy in knots.

But one fav bit was absolutely:

"Shiro thinks of that terrible thing he saw Zarkon and Alfor working on in the past. The thing he couldn’t look at, the thing that watched him, that became the lion that chose him.

Alfor and Zarkon weren’t building the Lions.

They were containing them. "

[wild-karrde]

Hi Karrde!

I’d like to recommend Tethered by @thevalesofanduin with art by @impalafortrenchcoats for the CWBB.

Such a fantastic story, the author created a chilling scenario inspired by the movie Event Horizon. A Codywan space horror that you do not want to miss!

https://www.tumblr.com/codywanbigbang/712355979304615936/cwbb-team-12-masterpost-tethered

Ooooooooh this seems like a SUPER COOL concept! We all know I'm a sucker for CodyWan, but in this setting? I've never seen Event Horizon, but I'm intrigued. Thanks so much for sending it in!

Participate in Fandom Friday to show your favorite creators from this week some love! :)

[emitchellwrites]

Me.

Hello!

I’m Elle Mitchell, and I’m the disabled author of some novels. Most of them are dark, suspense-filled with secrets, twists, and a good dash of trauma along the way. I do have an LGBTQ+ ghost romance in there for good measure. Links in bio and on my main page for you to check them out and hopefully buy them.

I’ve always found photographs to be inspirational, so I’m dipping into the waters of this space, having not found any place terribly satisfying yet.

Currently, I’m editing a slice-of-life horror novel that will be out March 2023. A Certain Hunger meets American Psycho with a disabled protagonist.

I’m also working on miniatures that are a part of three collections of short stories I have coming out September and October 2023. 

Find me:

website

instagram

patreon

youtube

mastodon

[kitten4sannie]

sleepover

pairing: perverted bsf! wooyoung x fem! reader feat. a comatose mingi (he’s asleep on the bed lmao…or is he…)

summary: wooyoung is more than willing to hold you when you’re afraid during your horror movie marathon, and even more willing to help distract you like a good friend does.

wc: 1.4k

warnings: perverted dom! wooyoung, subby innocent! reader, bro is convincing and manipulative okay, cnc/dubcon-ish vibes (if that’s not your thing feel free to skip!!), coercion/corruption, exhibitionism (all of the following is done right next to mingi), brief kissing, groping, fingering, initial orgasm denial,, tit play + spit, rough unprotected sex, creampie, this is a wild one idkidkkkkk

a/n: wooyo has been haunting my brain lately so i had no choice but to write this >~< i hope you enjoy <33 alsoo i’ll be posting one more corruption themed fic very soon that feats frat boy san and minyunhwa~

song rec: if you think i’m pretty - artemas

“I told you not to put this movie on, Woo. It’s way too scary,” you complained whinily into your best friend’s shoulder, shielding your eyes from the suspenseful scene playing out on the laptop sitting on the edge of your bed.

“Mingi was the one who wanted to watch it, you know,” Wooyoung chided, causally wrapping his arm around your shoulders, rubbing your bare arm up and down in a comforting manner.

“Well, Mingi’s passed out.” Pouting, you pointed to your other friend that was curled up underneath the comforter beside you, his eyes shut. “He’s not even watching, so what’s the point?”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “Come on, Y/N. Don’t be a pussy.” His cold fingers made their way down to your waist to squeeze at it, making you jump from the sudden contact. “Oh, I see….Do you think the monster’s gonna get ya?”

“Shut up, Wooyoung!” you whisper-shouted, as to not wake up Mingi. You pushed on his chest, feeling his heart beat quickly against your hand. Was it racing like yours was? And, when did he get so close to you? His hand was already running up and down the bare skin of your thigh, causing your thin shorts to ride up more and more, but you didn’t have the nerve to confront him about it. Your pout grew. “I’m really scared, okay?”

“Oh, you poor baby,” Wooyoung cooed softly into your ear, his words laced with faux pity, his sharpened gaze focused solely on your blushing face. “Do you want me to help you, Y/N? Distract you from the scary movie?”

“Y-yes, please…”

You didn’t know what you were getting into, but you trusted that Wooyoung had your best interest in mind. It was then that he gently coaxed you further into his arms, lying comfortably against him as you faced the laptop screen once again. Goosebumps began to spread across your limbs from underneath the warm comforter, but it wasn’t from the frightening movie — it was from Wooyoung’s hand slipping underneath your shorts, his slender fingers rubbing at your pulsing cunt through your panties.

“W-Wooyoung…” you croaked weakly, your face and body growing so hot, you could pass out. Friends didn’t do this sort of thing, did they?

“Shhhh, baby, just look at the screen…yeah, just like that…” he sighed softly, his warm breath fanning over your neck, now concentrating on the way your tank top clung to your softness of your tits, how your nipples grew hard enough to poke through the thin material, groaning when he found your clit through your panties, rubbing at it in slow, small circles.

“B-but we’re friends, Woo…” You made a sad attempt at pushing his hand away, the moral debate you were having internally slowly fizzling away the longer Wooyoung touched you.

“Isn’t this what friends are for?” Wooyoung persisted, pulling your panties to the side just in time for his fingers to dip in between your soaked folds. “And, fuck, you’re so wet right now, Y/N. It feels good, doesn’t it? What’s so wrong with that, baby?”

“But, nnngh…Mingi’s right next to us…” You began to melt into Wooyoung’s arms and the soft mattress below you, unable to resist spreading your legs out for him, your thigh even resting against Mingi’s, not noticing when it shifted just as two of Wooyoung’s digits slipped inside you.

Licking at his lips, Wooyoung then pressed them onto your cheek, egging you on in a low voice, “Then, tell me to stop, baby.” He began to fuck his fingers into you at a fast pace, your walls clenching around them. “Right now. Say it.” Now, he was relentlessly rubbing his thumb into your clit with his free hand, still working your cunt, hooking his digits against the spot that made you spasm, your body growing warmer and heavier. When you pouted up at him and whined, he simply mirrored your helpless expression. “What’s the matter, baby? Hm?”

“Oh– fuck, right there…” you moaned out, not even attempting to look at the laptop screen in front of you, instead solely focused on your best friend beside you, so desperate to cum, you began to roll your hips down every time his fingers plunged into you.

“Yeah? You’re feeling really good now, aren’t you, Y/N? Now that you’re nice and full? Just look at you, baby…You can’t help but fuck yourself dumb on my fingers, huh?” Wooyoung looked like the monster from the movie now, eyes full of hunger, like he was ready to eat you up.

“Uh-huh, uh-huhhh…” Just as your sounds of pleasure began to crescendo, your mind growing cloudier by the second, pulling at the sheets below you because you were right there, Wooyoung ceased his movement completely, leaving you high and dry. “No, please, don’t stop, please…!”

Wooyoung gave you a look of indifference, much like a cat that suddenly wasn’t interested in playtime anymore. “Show me your tits. Maybe then I’ll make you cum.”

Desperate for your best friend’s attention and touch, you slowly rolled your tank top up until your tits spilled out, tears pricking at your eyes. How did you get here? Why did Wooyoung’s deliciously dark gaze successfully distract you from the paralyzing shame you felt? Or is that what made you wet? The way you were slutting yourself out for your best friend while the other was sleeping right next to you? “Please make me cum, Y-Youngie…”

“Fuck, you’re so cute, come here.” Now, Wooyoung was on top of you, leaving as much of his saliva on your tits as possible, squeezing one when he was noisily sucking on the other, his dilated eyes never leaving your teary ones. “Can I fuck you, Y/N? I’ll make you cum, I promise…I need to be inside you, baby, please, you’re so fucking hot…” Desperate for release, Wooyoung lowered his sweatpants until his heavy cock dropped onto your bare cunt, rubbing himself along it, making your mind grow that much more empty. “Just the tip, okay? That’s okay, yeah?”

Before you knew it, you were nodding, and just like that, he was inside you, your best friend, using you like a cocksleeve. Wooyoung was ramming his cock into your cunt like he was trying to knock you up. “That’s a good slut, fuckkk, taking me so well…” You tried to moan, to speak, to say anything, but you couldn’t, not with the way his tongue suddenly went down your throat.

All you could do was cling onto Wooyoung, your nails digging into his skin when it felt like the tip of his cock was pounding into your cervix, almost growing dizzy. When you heard your best friend groaning about how he was getting ready to fuck you full of his cum, you gasped, unable to talk, short, broken moans being punched out of you each time Wooyoung slammed himself into you, your thighs hooking around his waist once his hot load began to pour into you. It was then that you turned your head just in time to realize Mingi was watching you intently, his plush lips parted just enough to let drool slip past, catching onto the way that something was moving rapidly underneath the comforter somewhere near his abdomen.

“Told you she would put out, didn’t I, Min?” Wooyoung mused smugly, fucking you through the orgasm that tore through your used body, using your bruised hips like handlebars as he did so.

“You were so right, Woo, so, so right,” Mingi sighed out, tossing his head back into the pillow behind him, leaving a few watery cumshots on the inside of your comforter and his hand.

You didn’t know if you wanted to cry or to cum again, instead just trying to catch your breath, hiding your face underneath one of your wrists, at least until Wooyoung pulled it down and made you look at the both of them.

“You’ll let Mingi have a turn, won’t you, Y/N? It’s only fair, right?”

Mingi nodded in agreement, before leaning in, licking across his teeth. “Having my cock inside your little used cunt next will make another good ‘distraction’, don’t you think?”

Even though the credits were rolling on the laptop behind them, the monsters hadn’t left. They were right there in front of you, waiting for your permission to ravage you. You couldn’t help but nod. They were your best friends, after all.

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© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[lotusflowerbreakingthesurface]

[PX Fic Rec 114] 無頭

by vomisa72

Translated title: Headless

Relationship: Zhang Qiling/Wu Xie

Writer’s attribute: PingXie (unverified)

Rating: G

Status: Complete + Extra

Language: Chinese

Words: 298,221

Tags: AU Setting—Crime/Mafia AU, Criminal Investigation, Clear Water, Ambiguous Relationship, HE

What’s inside the fic: Third Person POV, Mysterious (to avoid spoilers) Ping × Police Officer Xie, Mystery/Suspense, Horror/Supernatural

Warnings: Mild Gore, Genderswap Da Kui → Pang Kui, a vicious(?) Wu Yiqiong, Minor Character Death

About this fic:

Wu Xie is a new police officer in recent years, he was assigned to work in the criminal investigation team. One day, they found a headless corpse in the mountains of the North District. And then the story began...

Personal opinion:

Honestly, I don't really remember the detailed plot since I read it a long time ago. At that time I hadn't read the book yet, so I couldn't judge the characterization, but I have a good impression of its story maybe because I'm fond of criminal investigation fics (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠) PingXie is very subtle here, that's why it's rated G, but remember that this is also a criminal investigation fic that deals with murder cases... Anyway it's an interesting story with canon ambiguous PingXie. The romance isn't the strong point, even until the end they are still ambiguous hmm... but overall, I like it! ✨

Where to read: AO3