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shmorp-mcdurgen · 2 years ago

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HSH AU: Home is Where the Heart is

Mark keeps hearing and seeing things whenever near the Torres Family Home, and despite Cesar not feeling like anything is wrong, Mark can’t shake off the feeling of being watched.

TW: Friendship problems, paranoia, hallucinations, body/face horror, blood/gore, implied possession

Notes: this is. the longest fic. I’ve posted here, being around 10,000 words long, so. long read. BUT I’m pretty proud of this fic, and I hope you guys like this new au and the world in it! There’s. so much I’m excited to show, and this is just scratching the surface :)

( @deadmuttsbones [tagging cause they co-own the au])

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September 9th, 1992. 10:06 PM.

Mark couldn’t shake the unease in his gut that night. He could’ve said no; the option to refuse Cesar’s offer to hang out and stay the night at his place was there. He could’ve told Cesar how he really felt about it, yelling at him about the discomfort and dread he felt in his chest every time he stepped through the front door. Yet he didn’t, and now he was driving the long road to Cesar’s home, all while rain bounced off of his windshield and the radio played the same songs he had heard a hundred times.

Mark glanced at the rear-view mirror, seeing how his brown hair was a mess, and how he had dark circles around his eyes, sighing before glancing at the suitcase in the backseat; packed for only one night. He was wearing a black, V-neck T-shirt, a golden cross hanging in front of his chest. He had a pair of worn blue jeans over his legs, along with plain grey sneakers. His hands tapped the steering wheel with the music as he tried to shake off the sinking feeling deep inside of him, repeating a simple phrase to himself in his head: “only one night.” Besides, Cesar was going to be there, and it wouldn’t hurt to see a friend after a week of not talking to each other, right? It wasn’t like Mark had anyone else to hang out with.

Mark’s car drove down the wet asphalt road, slowing down and stopping next to the curb, his green eyes staring at the house in to the side of his vehicle, taking in a deep breath in an attempt to ease the tension. It was a one story home, with plain, reddish-brown outer walls, with a white garage to the left of the front door, which had a small, grey stone porch in front of it, with a planting pot to the left of that. The living room window to the right of the front door had yellow light pouring out in between the curtains, and Mark could hear faint murmuring as he got out of his car, pushing the door behind him closed. The rain hit his hair and shoulders as he stared at the home, his lips pursed and his shoulders tense as he gazed at the light coming from the window. He shook his left arm by his side as he swung open the backseat door, pulling out his suitcase and placing it on the grass of the front lawn. With a huff, he slammed the door shut, all before he heard the front door open.

“Hey!” A voice said as Mark turned to face where it came from. He saw a figure in the doorway, barely visible aside from his silhouette as he waved Mark over. “Come on, it’s pouring out here!”

Mark took in a breath, picking up his suitcase with one hand, holding his other above his face to prevent the rain from hitting him in the eyes. He jogged across the yard, his sneakers slamming against the concrete driveway before he ran into the home, brushing past the person in the doorway as he closed the door behind Mark. “You said you’d be here at like…eight. It’s ten already.” The man said as he turned towards Mark, who was setting his suitcase next to the couch, which sat in front of the window, before turning towards him.

“Yeah sorry, Ces…just…bad weather.” Mark sighed.

Cesar sighed quietly, walking past Mark towards the TV, turning the volume of it down, the sound of gunfire and yelling from the old western no longer drowning out their words. Cesar was a decently tall young man with tan-colored skin, with black wavy hair and a faint mustache on his upper lip. He wore a white T-shirt, along with red shorts, with a pair of plain white socks covering his feet and no doubt becoming charged with static from the shaggy carpet of the living room. Mark watched as Cesar walked out of the room, calling for his mother to tell her about their guest arriving as Mark sat on the couch, shifting in his seat as he attempted to get comfortable. Mark stared at the TV, hoping the sound of the programs will drown out the sound coming from directly behind it. He glanced up, looking back down and shifting his position on the couch again when he saw it. How stupid; he was scared of a fucking clock.

The grandfather clock in question was tall, made of reddish-brown wood, carved with intricate patterns. The pendulum behind the glass swung, the ticking of the clock echoing in the living room as its hands twitched with every second. Carved, wing-like pieces of wood protruded from the top of the clock, the shadow of them flickering onto the red, striped wallpaper from the light of the TV and the lamp on the table next to it. Mark stared at the clock’s face, seeing as the time neared 10:15 as he swallowed the lump in his throat. His eyes fixed on the center of its face, the sound of the TV being drowned out by the sound of the pendulum swinging from side to side-

“Hey Mark, you gonna sleep out here tonight?” Mark was taken out of his thoughts by Cesar, who was standing in the archway leading to the kitchen. “Or do you want like…a few blankets to sleep in the bedroom?”

“Oh…u-uhh…the bedroom.” Mark glanced at the clock again.

“Cool.” Cesar gave Mark a quick thumbs up. “You can sleep by the bed if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah that’s fine.” Mark coughed.

Cesar’s friendly smile faded as his brows furrowed. “…You alright, Mark?”

“Yeah, I’m…yeah.” Mark sighed, looking down as he rubbed the golden cross hanging from his neck with his thumb.

“…Alright, I guess.” Cesar said.

Mark looked around the room, seeing the multiple photos hanging on the walls, along with the furniture before he looked down at something that caught his eye; a grey cat bed resting beside the clock. It was empty.

“Hey, where’s your cat?” Mark asked.

“Oh…yeah, gah…Johnny…hasn’t been seen for a while.”

“What? Why?”

“We don’t know.” Cesar sighed. “We’ve been asking the neighbors but…no one’s seen him.”

“Shit…” Mark said under his breath. “I’m…sorry dude.”

“I’m sure we’ll find him, it just might…take a while.”

There was silence among the friends, Cesar noticing Mark shifting in his seat as his eyes darted around the room.

“…Do you even want to be here?” Cesar asked.

Mark’s breath hitched slightly, his chest feeling as tight as his throat. “…I mean…I’d like to hang out with you.”

“Yeah, but do you actually want to be here?” Cesar repeated.

Mark paused before he looked at Cesar with a pensive look in his eyes. “No.”

“Then why did you—”

“Cause I wanted to say I was sorry, okay?” Mark stated. “For…y’know…what happened last week.”

“That’s…it?” Cesar scoffed slightly. “Dude, you could’ve…told me at school or even through the phone.”

“I-I don’t know, I just wanted to talk to you.” Mark said. “Like…actually talk to you.”

“…About what?” Cesar asked before the two of them heard footsteps coming from the kitchen.

“Marco, I put a comforter and a few blankets and pillows on Cesar’s bed.” Ms. Torres appeared in the doorway, her Spanish accent present as she spoke. “You can make your bed on the ground, and if it’s not comfortable, I can get you some quilts.”

“Thanks…miss.” Mark said.

Ms. Torres was a shorter, middle aged woman with shoulder length, wavy dark brown hair and deep tan skin. She wore a black cardigan over a white shirt, along with a silver necklace. “Okay, Niño, I’m going to bed, come get me if you or Mark need anything.”

“Alright, mamá, see you tomorrow.” Cesar said as his mother pulled him into an embrace before walking down the hall, closing the door to her bedroom.

“Cesar, don’t you ever feel like…you’re…being watched?”

The question made a pit form in Cesar’s stomach as he turned towards Mark, who was sitting on the couch, staring at him with anticipation; expecting something from Cesar.

“I mean…yeah, I have, but…who hasn’t?” The corner of Cesar’s mouth rose slightly in a nervous smile, fading as quickly as it appeared. “Sometimes you just…feel like that, there doesn’t have to be a reason to it.”

“Do you ever hear…b…breathing?”

Cesar’s throat felt tight.

“Like…not even…from anything in particular just…almost…everywhere here.” Mark continued.

“…Mark…what are you even…talking about?” Cesar asked. “I…look, I just wanted us to spend tonight just hanging out, without the weird shit—”

“Do you?” Mark seemed aggressive with his question, leaning forward as he stared at Cesar’s eyes, being able to make out the concern in his stare. Cesar glanced around the room, shifting his weight onto one foot as he stared at the ground; thinking.

“…Yes.” Cesar’s voice was quiet, almost a squeak.

Mark let out a breath, shaking his head slightly as one of his hands clasped his necklace. “Then why…why have you been acting like I’ve been crazy this whole time if you knew?”

Cesar didn’t respond to his question, rather looking towards a bookshelf and looking back to Mark. “We have some…board games.” Cesar stated. “Monopoly? Cards? Do you want to…play anything? I-I can dig out the SNES in my closet—”

“It’s…fine. I’ll just…watch TV.” Mark responded, brows furrowing on his face as he looked away from Cesar. He could see Cesar lower his head in his peripheral vision as he walked away, sighing and scratching the back of his head. He disappeared behind the archway as Mark stared at the TV, the black and white images reflecting off of his eyes. He watched as the two characters in the western spoke to each other:

“You know, I don’t see why I stay with that bastard.” One of them stated, looking towards the taller cowboy next to him. “All he does is cause trouble for me, and for everyone else he’s around.”

“Well, Billy, I’d say it’s about time you let him go.” The older man stated. “Besides, you always have me, and we have a home you can stay in, food you can eat. You don’t need him if you think he’s nothing but trouble for you.”

“I guess so, Mr. Parker.” Billy chuckled. “Guess I’m…right at home here, huh?”

“That you are. You’re always welcome here, and never forget that.” Parker laughed. “We always love guests. You’ll love it here, Heathcliff. You’ll love it here.”

Mark looked away from the screen as his eyes were drug upwards, back at the grandfather clock, hearing the characters in the TV laughing despite their noses bleeding heavily. Mark’s eyes couldn’t be moved, hearing the clunks and ticks coming from the inside of the clock, faint bells ringing in Mark’s head. He couldn’t look away, sitting up as he stared at the clock’s face, the hands shifting and the pendulum swinging, calming, in a way. Maybe Cesar was right, and he was just on edge. Maybe he deserved to lean back, sink into the couch, and let himself relax.

Mark didn’t want to. He didn’t want to relax, feeling as if his eyes burnt as he watched the clock, every sound aside from the ticking fading into oblivion; all until he felt a hand be pressed on his shoulder.

“Mark?” Cesar’s voice shook, and when Mark looked up at his face, it almost seemed like he was…scared.

“What do you want?” Mark asked.

“What the fuck, you scared the shit out of me,” Cesar said frantically. “I tried talking to you but you didn’t respond; dude I was wondering if I should call an ambulance—”

“What? You…never said anything.” Mark rubbed his eyes, suddenly feeling as though they were dried out.

“You’ve been staring into space for over a fucking hour, Mark.”

Mark looked at him quizzically before glancing back at the clock, heart sinking when he saw the hour hand nearing midnight. “W…but I…I don’t…get it.” Mark muttered.

“I tried talking to you but you just mumbled shit at me and never even looked at me.” Cesar continued. “Dude, you’re…seriously fucking worrying me.”

“I…fuck…” Mark pressed his elbows on his knees, grasping his head with his hands as he stared at the carpet.

“…Maybe…you should go to sleep, dude.” Cesar suggested. “I mean…when was the last time you slept well anyway? You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“…Yeah…I haven’t.” Mark muttered under his breath, trying to push down the feeling of nausea in his gut. “…Fuck.”

Mark could still hear the clock, even as he laid on the makeshift bed on the floor in Cesar’s bedroom. He stared into the darkness, hearing Cesar’s faint breathing from the bed in the corner. Mark normally took off his necklace before bed, however he found himself still clutching it hard enough in his hand to leave indents in his skin. He turned onto his side, pulling the covers over himself as his eyes darted around the room before he shut his eyes, curling into himself as he tried to fall—

GONG.

The clock’s bells rang throughout the home, startling Mark out of his half asleep state entirely. He sat still for a moment, trembling slightly before groaning, throwing his blanket off of him before standing up. “Ces—” Mark paused as he stared at the bed, seeing nothing but neatly made bed sheets and pillows where Cesar once was. Mark stared at the empty bed as he felt his throat become tight, hearing the loud, echoing bells from the living room.

He turned towards the bedroom door, seeing faint blue light coming from the dark hall. He stared at it, swallowing the lump in his throat as he walked towards the door, tempted to claw his hair out when he felt that the ground was damp. He felt the carpet of the bedroom turn into the wooden floors of the hallway, puddles formed on the floor as if it had rained indoors. His heart sank when he stared down the hallway, seeing that there were more doors than before. The four doors on the side and the one behind him turned into eight, then sixteen, then thirty six. The hallway stretched on both ways, reminding Mark of a hotel’s eerily empty and long hallways. He silently stepped towards the door next to Cesar’s, attempting to open it, only to find the doorknob remained unmoved.

Mark’s breathing clouded the cool air in front of him as he looked down the hallway, seeing a white, square shaped light at the end of the expansive hall, the sound of the bells ringing in his ears, joining the sound of static in the overwhelming choir, making Mark let go of his necklace just to cover his ears. He walked down the hallway, seeing the light slowly grow closer with every step. He wanted to scream, though deep inside he knew it would only result in a wheezy whisper and nothing more. He wanted out of that damned hallway, the many doors feeling so familiar yet so alien at the same time.

His wet socks hit the wooden floors as he walked, all until the wood felt oddly soft, and warm. He looked down, seeing that the wood grain of the floorboards was beginning to twist and look less like wood and similar to-

Mark didn’t want to think of what the veins meant.

Mark looked up, seeing where the light was coming from clearly; an analog television, resting on a table half sunken into the ground. The bells had finally grown silent, and the static was all that remained. Mark waved his hand by his side as he attempted to push down the overwhelming nausea he felt from the putrid smell, as well as desperately trying to brush off the feeling of being followed. He stood in front of the TV, raising his hand towards it, pointing a finger towards the power button, and clicking it. The screen shut off, delving the hall in darkness as Mark gasped, trying to turn the TV back on, only to find it unresponsive.

“Fuck…fuck…please…” Mark whimpered as he stood still, hearing his own heartbeat in his ears, unable to ignore how it sounded like a ticking clock. He wanted to wake up, knowing it was nothing but a nightmare. Please fucking wake up.

“You’re always welcome here, Mark.”

Cesar’s choked whisper into his right ear felt like it was burning itself into his head.

Mark awoke with a gasp, feeling the shaggy carpet under his body and face. He was drenched in sweat, his breathing heavy, and his body feeling even heavier. He felt the carpet stuck to his face as he pushed his upper body off of the floor, feeling the heaviness begin to wane, even though his arms felt weak. He looked up, eyes widening when he saw something towering over his prone body; the grandfather clock. Mark scrambled to his feet, staring at the clock as he shook off the exhaustion and heaviness in his body. His chest heaved with every harsh breath as he grasped his necklace tightly, glancing through the kitchen to see the back hallway, where Cesar’s bedroom was.

Mark pushed open Cesar’s door, his silhouette blocking the hallway light as he stared into the room. Darkness cloaked his form, his face concealed in blackness, with only two faint dots of light from his eyes visible. He stared at Cesar’s still, unconscious body before he slowly approached Cesar’s bed, lifting an arm over him before speaking quietly, yet urgently.

“Cesar.”

Cesar’s eyes flicked open as he breathed in harshly, feeling Mark’s hand rest on his shoulder before he quickly sat up, smacking the arm away and staring at Mark with wide eyes, only letting out his breath when he saw it was him.

“M…Mark?” Cesar mumbled.

“Yeah?”

“…What? What fuckin…time is it?” Cesar asked, happy when he began to make out Mark’s face in the darkness, no longer just seeing the shines of his eyes.

“I don’t know.” Mark responded with a trembling voice. “C…Can you come with me for a second…?”

Cesar stared at him, watching Mark back out of the room before Cesar slid out of bed, following Mark through the hallway and into the living room. Mark stopped in front of the clock, pointing at it with a shaking hand before looking back at Cesar. “W-What…do you feel looking at this?” Mark questioned.

“…What?”

“Please, just…a-answer the…the question, Cesar.” Mark stammered over his words, not making eye contact with Cesar as he talked.

“I…I-I don’t…know?” Cesar responded.

“Please, you…y-you have to feel something looking at it, right?” Mark looked towards Cesar for approval.

“Mark, what’s going on with you, you’ve been talking about my house nonstop every time I’ve seen you for, what, a month?”

“Yeah, and I-I’m fuckin’ tired of you just…ignoring me,” Mark said, brows furrowed and his shoulders tense. “You told me that you’ve heard the breathing too, felt like you’re being watched, yet you keep pretending that I’m just out of my fucking mind!”

“Mark, I just wanted to hang out with you; a normal night for ONCE.” Cesar said, walking in front of the clock, blocking Mark’s view. “What the fuck is going on; you refuse to fucking tell me anything!”

“Cesar, there’s something seriously fucking wrong here,” Mark snapped. “I’ve told you EVERYTHING I’ve felt about this place, yet you refuse to just LISTEN to me!”

“Mark, calm down—”

“NO, I’M TIRED OF THIS,” Mark stepped towards Cesar as tears ran down his cheeks and his speech became slurred. “YOU THINK I’M FUCKING CRAZY, DON’T YOU?!”

“Mark—” Cesar felt Mark shove him away, stumbling backwards before hitting the clock, cracking the glass covering the cavity holding the pendulum before he fell to the ground. He laid on the ground, pressing a hand against the sore part of his back as Mark glared at him; all before Mark’s stare began to soften. Mark grimaced, trying to hold back tears before covering his face, sobbing into his hands.

“Fuck…Cesar, I’m…so fucking sorry.”

“Get out.”

Mark looked through his fingers to see Cesar staring back at him, the glare feeling like twenty daggers piercing his heart.

“…Cesar?”

“GET OUT.” Cesar repeated loudly, making Mark flinch as he pointed towards the front door. “If you don’t like this place, GET OUT!”

Mark stumbled backwards, looking at his suitcase, which sat by the couch as Cesar continued. “I’ve…had enough of this SHIT, Mark.” Cesar spat. “No…no I don’t think you’re crazy, I think you need THERAPY.”

Mark chest heaved with every sob, the one arm not clutching his sweat-stained shirt shaking in front of his torso. “I-I…shit…fuck…I-I-I—”

“I’ll see you at school, Mark.” Cesar stated, standing up. “Go home. Get help.”

Mark turned away from Cesar, storming towards his suitcase and grabbing its handle before freezing, feeling a pit in his chest. He could smell something similar to copper, or old coins. He shook his head, not bothering to grab anything he may have left behind before bolting towards the door, swinging it open and walking outside, slamming the door shut behind him.

Cesar glanced at the clock, seeing the cracked glass and the small shards of it breaking off of it and falling to the floor. It smelled of iron in the room, and when Cesar looked up at the clock’s face, he saw something running from the grooves around it, dripping down the wood before Cesar hesitantly wiped it off with his fingers. He looked at the liquid on his fingers, rubbing it with his thumb, staining his hand with red. “…W…what?”

Mark threw open the back door of his car, tossing the suitcase inside without much trouble as he stifled a sob. He closed the door before opening the driver’s side door and sitting inside. He closed the door, and buckled his seatbelt before grasping the steering wheel with enough force to make his knuckles pop. He grimaced as tears ran down his cheeks. Way to go Mark; you lost another one. Maybe you never needed Cesar anyway, Mark. Maybe you never needed—

“FUCK!” Mark shouted in his car. He slammed his hand against the wheel, causing the horn to blare for a moment before he crossed his arms on the steering wheel, lowering his head and pressing his forehead on it. “…Damn it. God damn it…”

Cesar woke up later than he normally did the next morning, finally waking up around 11 in the morning, rather than his normal 8 AM. He was wrapped and buried in his blankets, barely visible from beneath them before he heard a knock on his bedroom door. He stirred awake, pushing the blankets off of his head as he groggily stared at the door as it opened, revealing his mother. “Oh…sorry for waking you up, have you seen Marco?” She asked.

Cesar blinked at her, sighing before turning over onto his side. “He’s…he left.” He mumbled tiredly. “…Last night.”

“Did he tell you why?”

Cesar thought for a second, or as much as he could while half asleep. “…No.”

“Oh…are you alright?” Ms. Torres stepped into the room, folding her hands in front of her as she looked at Cesar worriedly.

“…Y…I dunno.” Cesar responded. “Just…weird.”

“Well…alright; breakfast is ready whenever you want it.” Ms. Torres walked out of the room, quietly closing the door behind her as Cesar pulled the covers over his head. He felt himself drifting off, ready to sleep until noon until the door opened again.

“Oh! Almost forgot, you have that recital this Monday, don’t forget it,” Ms. Torres said. “In fact, I’d recommend you practice a bit before then.”

“Ye…yeah…whatever.” Cesar heard the door close once again, ready to fall back asleep until his eyes shot open. “Oh…shit.” He turned onto his back, pressing his hands against his face; the piano recital. How was he going to concentrate on playing after everything that happened the night before? He wished he could’ve pushed it off another week to give him time to decompress and relax, though it didn’t seem like he was lucky enough for that.

“‘Practice a bit before then’, as if…I haven’t been practicing nearly every day for a month.” Cesar muttered as he sat up. He opened his closet door, seeing his black suit hung up next to the shelves, along with his white dress shirt right beside it. He grabbed a pair of jeans and a simple black t-shirt before closing the doors.

He walked out of his bedroom, turning towards the bathroom to get dressed before flicking on the light. He looked into the medicine cabinet’s mirror in front of him for a moment, pausing before he could close the door, staring at the mirror his brows furrowed. His eyes looked towards the reflection of the hallway behind him, seeing a portion of the kitchen. It was empty, though when he turned behind him, his breathed hitched slightly, as he could see his mother placing plates and food on the table. He turned back towards the mirror, his unease not waning when he saw that the kitchen was still empty in the reflection. He let out a shaky breath as he backed out of the room, deciding to change in his bedroom instead, unnoticing of the figure in the kitchen archway in the reflection.

Cesar quickly got himself dressed, walking out of his bedroom and into the kitchen, staring at the table before his mother noticed him. “Would you like some eggs?” She asked, though Cesar barely looked at her.

“I’m not hungry right now…” Cesar stated, glancing at his mother before walking into the living room, much to her dismay. He walked towards the couch, seeing the sun’s light bleeding into the home from the window, hitting the carpet and even the furniture on the opposite wall. Cesar’s eyes followed the light for a second before they landed on something. He stared at it quizzically, pausing before stepping towards it; the clock. He looked at the glass, seeing the pendulum swing back and forth as it always did, however, Cesar couldn’t help but feel uneasy when he realized that the glass was fixed, with not a single crack or blemish in sight. It was as if the event the previous night never happened at all.

Cesar crouched down, lightly grazing his fingers across the newly-fixed glass before speaking. “Hey, mom, did you fix the clock last night?” He asked.

“…No? Was it broken?”

The answer made a pit form in his stomach as he turned back towards the clock, swallowing his unease and standing up. “N…No, just…curious.”

Mark’s shaky breathing was the only sound in his bedroom, sitting on his knees on his bed as he stared, unblinking, at the wall in front of him. He scribbled with the black marker in his hand, leaving thin, dark lines on the grey drywall. Organic-appearing pictures formed from his mindless drawing, lines branching off like veins, with small, scribbled eyes peeking through them. He didn’t know why he was doing this; he even had a notebook he could draw in, but it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t get out his thoughts in any other way. He had to.

A knock rang from his bedroom door, though Mark barely heard it, continuing to draw even as his hands were stained with ink. It was only when the second knock rang that Mark paused, slowly turning towards the door as he stared at it with dry, bloodshot eyes. Blood oozed down from his nostrils, dripping over his mouth and chin, though he didn’t seem to react to the taste of iron.

“Mark?” It was his mother. “…You haven’t been out of your room in a while, are you alright?”

Mark took a moment to respond, blinking as he regained his bearings. “…Yeah.”

“You sure? Do you need anything?”

“No, Mom.” Mark responded, looking down at his stained hands; he needed to wash them off, the best he can, anyway. “I’m fine, just…tired.”

“Alright, just…remember to take care of yourself okay?”

“…Yeah. I…I-I will.” He looked back towards his drawings, brows furrowing as his eyes grazed over the lines. He shook his head, looking around his room before his eyes focused on something just barely out of view in his open closet; a poster, one of a horror movie he liked to watch. He hopped off of his bed, grabbing the poster, along with a small box of pushpins before climbing back onto his bed, breath heavy as he stared at the drawings, all before he rolled out the poster and held it against the wall, securing it with the pins. He didn’t even want to see them himself, so why would the others?

Mark opened his bedroom door after he finished hanging up the poster, closing the door behind him, seeing the stairway leading downstairs before he turned to his left, where the upstairs bathroom was. He stared into the dark room before flicking on the light, turning towards the mirror and seeing the state he was in. His wavy brown hair was covering his left eye, almost being a blessing, knowing how his other eye appeared. He had a dull purple ring over his sunken eyes, with the eyes themselves being bloodshot and red. He seemed paler than usual, though he swore he looked better the night before. He was wearing his pale grey sweatshirt, along with his cross necklace of course. He hated the way he looked; he had acne from stress, and his hair was a complete mess. He hated the crimson streaks going down his top lip, with every wipe of his hand only making it smear across his lower face. He hated it.

The faucet was leaking, dripping water as he stared deep into his own reflection. It dripped in rhythm, with every time the water fell onto the porcelain below making Mark want to scratch his ears off with his nails.

Drip.

Trip.

Trik.

Tick.

Mark’s hands shook as he breathed in deeply, grimacing as he stared at himself. He couldn’t take it, raising a fist before throwing it into the mirror, cracks spreading from the impact as shards exploded onto the countertop. Mark screamed, pulling his arm back and stumbling into the wall, sliding down as he stared at his fist. His knuckles were bloody, with shards half protruding out of his skin, tearing it and causing the crimson to drip down his arm.

He couldn’t find anything to say, only gasping and grasping his wrist as he stared at the blood. He could hear his mother running up the stairs, and he knew he had no explanation to his action. He barely even recognized the sound of the door opening until it hit his foot, hearing his mother’s voice worriedly asking him what happened. It was nothing more than noise to him. He could hear the pulsing in his head again as he sat, unmoving on the bathroom floor. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore, or even why.

He was scared.

September 12th, 1992. 6:46 PM.

Cesar hadn’t slept well the entire weekend.

He could feel his exhaustion creeping up on him as he adjusted the red bowtie around his neck, looking at himself in the mirror as he centered it on his shirt collar. Despite his neatly done hair, combed to the side as best as it could, and his spotless black tuxedo, the bags under his eyes alluded to his less than energetic mood. He adjusted the rose pinned to his lapel until it looked good enough before taking another look at himself in the mirror, taking in a deep breath before letting it go, shutting the light off before leaving the bathroom.

He walked down the hallway as he fidgeted with his dress shirt cuffs, feeling a pressure in his chest; he couldn’t decipher whether he was anxious about the recital in little more than two hours, or the stress he felt creeping up inside of him from the past few days. He hadn’t been able to shake of the nausea in his stomach, though he pressed it down anyway. It wasn’t like he was going to make his mother worry. He was better than that.

Cesar walked into the living room, sighing as he sat on the couch, grasping his knees with his strangely clammy hands. He took in slow, deep breaths, just like his therapist told him, though it didn’t seem to relieve the sinking feeling in his chest. He glanced around the living room, feeling oddly…unnerved by the red wallpaper; did it seem almost…redder than usual? He looked towards the corner near the ceiling, eyes squinting when he spotted something leaking from it, dripping down the striped wallpaper. It was almost invisible, blending in with the wall almost seamlessly. Cesar couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps…Mark was right to be concerned—

“Niño, are you ready?” Ms. Torres walked into the room, dressed in a black cardigan, black shirt, along with a floral skirt. “We’re supposed to be there in a half hour.”

“…I thought it was a couple hours…away.” Cesar asked, eyes still fixated on the strange substance leaking from the walls before looking towards his mother.

“It’s nearly 8 o’clock,” Ms. Torres said after taking a glance at the grandfather clock, seeing that it was 7:49 PM. “You need to be there by 8:30, remember?”

Cesar stared off at nothing in particular as his brows furrowed. “Yeah…of...of course.” He looked down at the coffee table, his eyes focusing on the stack of papers resting next to the TV. “Schubert’s Serenade” was written above the music notes, a song he was all too familiar with; even remembering how often he practiced made his hands hurt. He sighed, slipping on his black dress shoes before grabbing the stack of papers, hoping the performance would help get his mind off of…everything.

He didn’t expect Mark to show up, nor did he particularly want to see him in the audience. He didn’t need this recital to be ruined by their personal drama.

Cesar’s deep feeling of discomfort didn’t subside, even as they drove down Mandela’s streets, the streetlights passing over their car. He glanced towards his mother, who was focused on the road as she drove, able to see in her face that she wasn’t affected by the strange aura Cesar felt; if anything, she seemed excited for Cesar’s performance more than Cesar himself was. Cesar let out a soft sigh, staring through the windshield as he swallowed the lump in his throat.

“…Do I…have to do this?”

The question made Ms. Torres glance at him with a weird look in her eyes. “Do you not want to? I thought you were looking forward to this.”

“Well, yeah but…just…gah, I don’t know, things have been…” Cesar paused for a moment as he thought to himself. “…Weird, lately…couldn’t this be done any other time?”

“Nervous?”

“…Yeah, honestly.”

“You’ll do great, I can feel it.” Ms. Torres smiled. “I’m sure everyone will love it.”

“Or just…laugh at me.” Cesar crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat.

“Oh, don’t say that,” Ms. Torres let out a nervous chuckle. “Hey, if nothing else, I’ll enjoy the performance. Even though I am a little biased.” She let out a short laugh as Cesar looked towards her, her sunny attitude doing nothing to help his mood. He didn’t have much time to think about getting out of the car and walking home however, as they were already there. As they parked, Cesar looked up at the building, seeing all the cars in the parking lot, the amount of which making his heart sink into his stomach.

“There are…a lot of people here.” He said quietly.

“Niño, look at me,” Ms. Torres looked at him with a soft gaze. “It’s going to be alright, just focus on the music. I’ll be there in the audience, and trust me…I won’t laugh at you.” She smiled softly. “I’m proud of you either way.”

Despite the worry in his eyes, Cesar smiled, taking in a deep breath before grabbing the music sheets and opening the door, stepping outside and following his mother to the front door. He felt the pressure in his chest finally begin to wane, though the hesitation he felt didn’t leave him as he hugged his mother and parted ways to go backstage. He stared at the music sheets, taking in yet another deep breath as he shut his eyes. “Focus…on the music.” He muttered under his breath. “Just…breathe.”

Ms. Torres took a seat in the auditorium, sitting next to a few other parents, presumably there for their own children’s performances along with her. She looked around the large room before placing her purse on her lap, digging through it before pulling out one of the larger objects inside of it; a personal camcorder. She held onto it, looking up towards the front of the room, seeing the large, jet black grand piano resting on the wooden stage. She couldn’t wait, even if she knew there were a few performances before Cesar’s. Sure, she was biased, but she knew Cesar was going to sweep the floor with the others, even if he was less confident in his abilities.

Cesar sat backstage, trying to ignore how uncomfortable the metal folding chair was as he looked over his music sheets, checking over and over that they’re in the correct order. He felt cold, and his hands shook despite the decent temperature in the room. He could hear someone on the stage, performing and playing music that would be calming, if Cesar didn’t know he was next on the list. He glanced up at the clock on the wall, it ticking ever so slightly, nearing 9:00. Despite how quiet the ticking was, each one felt like a drill in his skull. The deep breaths weren’t helping his nausea and borderline lightheadedness anymore, and his leg began to bounce up and down as he tried to push it all away.

“You’ve been practicing for a month now,” Cesar thought to himself. “You know it by heart; it’s going to be fine. You have to impress them. Don’t be a baby about this.”

He pressed his hand against his head as he worriedly stared at nothing in particular, shutting his eyes as he tried to think to himself. The music was fading away, and the sound of the audience clapping tore Cesar out of his train of thought, making him open his eyes and sit up completely straight. He suppressed the urge to hyperventilate as he saw the teenager that was on stage walk into the room, immediately leaving to join the audience, he presumed.

He stood up, holding his papers and approaching the entrance to the stage, waiting for his name to be called. He stood still, able to hear a pulsing in his head, unsure if it was the steadily forming headache, or simply his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He took in a few breaths, exhaling after each one, and as soon as he heard his name, he swallowed his sudden fear and stepped out onto the stage.

It was complete silence as he walked towards the grand piano, glancing towards the large auditorium, the sheer amount of people in there being unclear due to being concealed by the bright spotlights limiting his view. He felt blank; unsure if the seemingly clear mind was due to too many thoughts at once or none at all. He sat on the bench, placing his papers on the music desk of the piano, looking at them, seeing the name “Shubert’s Serenade” at the top as he held his slightly shaking hands over the keys, holding his breath for a moment before playing the first note.

The solemn song echoed throughout the auditorium, the audience silent as they listened intently, with Cesar’s mother filming with a faint smile. Cesar tried to focus on the music like she had suggested, though something was itching in the back of his mind, with the quieter moments of the song making it only try and drown out the serenade he was playing. He pushed through each bar of music, without flaw, slowly beginning to feel his unease wash away. He felt calm, with the music, while gloomy, making him feel more at ease. He approached a quieter section, his hands moving across the keys as he played. He felt a sense of peace, despite the crowd of people to his right.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Cesar missed a note.

He glanced to his right, seeing that no one’s expression had changed, nor did anything seem out of the ordinary. He began to wonder if it was just his mind playing tricks on him until he heard it again; faint ticking, coming from somewhere just out of sight. He shook his head slightly, flinching when one of his fingers slipped and hit the note next to the correct one. He could feel his chest become tight again, and he had to suppress the urge to bounce his leg, lest he accidentally hit or let go of the pedal of the piano at the wrong time. He swallowed hard, telling himself that it was only for a few minutes. He played the wrong note again, the action making him grimace slightly.

Someone laughed.

He glanced towards the crowd, seeing from his limited view that none of them were necessarily happy, but he heard murmuring that he couldn’t make out. He tried to continue playing, only missing more notes, each time making someone in the crowd let out a mean-spirited chuckle. Cesar could feel his breathing quickening, hearing faint, otherworldly laughing in the distance as he played, the timing of the song becoming off the longer he went. Ms. Torres looked at him with furrowed brows and a look of concern, wondering what was going on for Cesar to act so strangely, knowing there weren’t any audible distractions she could hear.

Cesar’s jaw was clenched, and each note was becoming harder to play as his hands stiffened and shook. He was slowly losing his grasp on the song, with the notes on the page even seeming to warp in his view despite nothing changing. He felt something behind him, refusing to look back until he was done with the song. He lost track of the bass line of the song for a moment, the action making the crowd in his head laugh again. He could hear the ticking of a clock, pounding in his ears like gunfire. His chest heaved as he looked down at the keys, trying to maintain his composure until—

Something dripped onto one of the white keys; a crimson liquid.

Another drop hit the ivory, Cesar only realizing after being able to taste it that it was blood, running down from his nose. He saw something in both sides of his peripheral vision, reaching towards his head. He Cesar stared at the keys, the song becoming dissonant as the bony hands reached towards his face.

A loud bang of discordant notes echoed throughout the hall as Cesar slammed his hands against the piano, standing up and pushing the bench back as he did so. The audience flinched, letting out surprised gasps before muttering to each other. Cesar swung to look behind him, seeing nothing before turning back towards the piano, grabbing his sheets before storming off of the stage, wiping his rapidly bleeding nose with his hand. Ms. Torres stood up, watching him disappear backstage before she shut off her camcorder, shoving it into her bag before brushing past the concerned people sitting next to her. She walked down the aisle, feeling tight in the chest as she walked around the building, calling Cesar’s name as she looked for the backstage entrance.

She burst through the backstage door, looking around and only seeing the surprised looks of the other performers before she walked past them with a quick “sorry”. She looked up, seeing the door leading outside before rushing towards it, swinging it open as she looked into the parking lot. She couldn’t see anyone there, though when she turned towards the street, she saw the rearview headlights of their car disappearing down the road.

“Cesar?!” She called, rushing down the concrete stairs before running into the parking lot, watching as the car drove away, exceeding the speed limit. She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to conceal her worry and fear. “…O-Oh, no, Cesar…Que ha pasado ahora...”

Cesar pulled into the driveway as soon as he made it across town, shutting it off and hopping out, leaving his sheets in the car as he slammed the driver’s door shut. He muttered obscenities under his breath as he rushed into the house, swinging open the door and closing it when he was inside, all while holding his blood-stained hand under his nose. He walked quickly past the living room, through the kitchen, and into the back hallway, flicking on the light of the bathroom. He grabbed the toilet paper, tearing it off of the roll before pushing it under his nose to catch the blood. His breathing was uneven and his eyes watered, bordering on sobbing as his wide eyes stared at the sink.

“Fuck…y-you fucking idiot, this is the only car you drove there…” He groaned under his breath. He sighed, throwing the paper under his nose into the trash before turning on the faucet and washing his hands of his blood. Red stained water ran down the drain as Cesar felt the nose bleed subside, and as soon as his hands were at least mostly clean, he shut off the water, pressing his hands against the counter as he tried to regain his composure.

He looked up with a deep exhale, staring at himself through the mirror, seeing how red his eyes were due to the crying. His left eye appeared to be covered by his black hair in the reflection, despite it being above his eye in reality. Cesar stared at the reflection, brows furrowing when he realized that the lights in the hallway were off in the reflection, but not when he turned behind him to verify that they were on. “…Wh…” He turned back towards the mirror, eyes widening when he realized that his reflection was smiling at him.

Cesar couldn’t even let out a scream before his shoulders were grabbed by the reflection in the mirror, pulling him through it without struggle. Cesar yelled, feeling himself fall towards the floor, a water-like liquid splashing onto him when he hit the ground. He laid on the ground for a moment, feeling his clothes being stained with the thin layer of red liquid that rested above the tiles of the bathroom. The smell was nauseating, smelling of iron and rust, along with rotting wood and fresh paint. It was completely pitch black past the light of the mirror, the yellow lights from it bleeding into the mirrored room.

Cesar’s panic spiked again as he scrambled to his feet, looking down at his feet to see he was ankle deep in blood, or something that appeared to be blood. He looked back towards the mirror, seeing the bathroom he was used to, and he raised his hands, slamming against the mirror, loud bangs echoing from each impact as he began to hyperventilate. “NO! No, no NO, PLEASE, LET ME OUT OF HERE!” He cried, tears running down his face as he attempted to break the “glass.” “LET ME OUT…PLEASE…please…” He squeaked the last words out, looking through the mirror before a figure emerged from behind the counter, standing up, it’s limbs cracking as it moved. Cesar’s eyes widened in horror as he stared at the figure, his heart dropping at the realization that it was his own face looking back at him.

“A round of applause…” The alternate’s voice was breathy, sounding as if he was out of breath through his wide smile. Its bloodshot eyes stared at Cesar, thick, dark blood leaking from his nose, right eye, and from behind the hair covering his left eye. It was even wearing his suit, albeit torn and hanging together by threads. “It must feel nice…to come home after your performance. Make yourself comfortable, Cesar.”

Cesar grimaced as he curled his hands into fists, slamming them into the mirror as he screamed for someone, anyone to come to his rescue, watching as the alternate flicked the light off, walking down the hallway before closing the bathroom door. Cesar cried, sliding his blood-stained hands down the mirror as he lowered his head, sobbing to himself as he covered his face. This wasn’t happening; it couldn’t be happening. Maybe he would wake up, realizing it was nothing but a fucked up nightmare, and that everything would be okay. However, when he heard a loud, deep creaking from the dark, mirrored home around him, he realized it wasn’t as simple as that. The walls creaked, moving with every groan of the support beams. Tree-branch like marks covered the walls from what he could see, pulsing slightly.

Mark was right. The walls were breathing.

September 15th, 1992. 10:56 PM.

Mark was awoken by his cellular phone ringing. He didn’t even realize he had fallen asleep on the couch that evening, finding himself sprawled across the sofa when he groggily opened his eyes. He sleepily turned towards the coffee table, hearing the ear-splittingly annoying ringtone from his blocky cell phone. He let out a tired groan as he reached towards it, nearly falling off of the couch before grabbing it and holding it up to his ear after accepting the call.

“…H’llo?” He pinched the bridge of his nose as he waited for the response.

“Hey, it’s Cesar; I hope it’s not too—”

“Cesar?” Mark sat up, brows furrowing and his already hauntingly vacant stare becoming more harrowing. “What—why are you calling me this late? You haven’t talked to me in days and you’re calling me now?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I just…” Cesar sounded…strangely out of breath. “It’s not me, it’s my mom. She didn’t show up at my recital on Monday—”

“What? I didn’t…even know you had a recital.” Mark murmured as he rubbed his eyes. “You…didn’t…invite me—N-Never mind, fuck, what happened to your mom?”

“I don’t know, but…I’m at the police station to report a missing person, so I just…wanted to ask you a favor?” Cesar continued.

Mark remained silent for a moment, glancing around his empty living room with furrowed brows. “After…ignoring me for so long, you want me to do a favor for you?”

“Look, I-I know it’s been…rough lately, but I really need just this one thing,” Cesar sighed. “Can you please at least…listen?”

“Listen to you?” Mark scoffed. “You barely listen to—”

“You know the cameras we installed after we were robbed?”

Mark let out a sigh as his statement was once again pushed aside. “…Yes, what about them?” He asked with barely disguised annoyance.

“I was wondering if you could…turn them on. I’m worried that while I’m gone something might…happen?”

“Fuck no.” Mark’s tone darkened. “I already told you, I’m not going back to that fucking house. Besides, I thought you didn’t want me there anymore.”

“I was just…angry, okay, but I’m better now. Besides, I checked everywhere, and there’s nothing here.” Cesar responded. “Please, can you do this? Just this once? I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Mark absentmindedly scratched his neck, staring ahead blankly. “…I…God…” He thought intently for a moment before speaking again. “Alright. I’m just going to go in there, turn them on, and then leave though…that’s it.”

“And that’s all you need to do.” Cesar said. “Thank you for this, really. I appreciate it.”

“…No…n…no problem.”

Mark felt empty as he drove to Cesar’s house. No thoughts ran through his head, as much as if felt like there should’ve been, and his stare remained blank, fixed on the road in front of him. His hands were clamped on the steering wheel, grasping the leather hard enough that it hurt. His breathing was deep, yet quiet, feeling oddly calm knowing the circumstance. It was as if he felt like he made the right decision, though deep inside he wished he didn’t take the offer, no matter if it helped he and Cesar’s friendship or not.

Mark glanced down at his hand, seeing traces of lazily washed off doodles drawn on his forearm before he grasped his sleeve, pulling it over the organic looking drawings. He shook his free, bandage-wrapped hand for a second, and then pushed his hair out of his face before grasping the wheel once again. In and out. Go in, turn on the cameras, and get out. That’s all he needed to do.

Mark parked on the other side of the road, opposite of the home before he stepped out of the vehicle. His hands shook by his sides as he hesitantly walked across the street, his sneakers hitting the pavement then eventually the driveway being the only sounds he could hear for miles. Not even the crickets seemed to be chirping that night, and the air was still and cool. Mark couldn’t help but feel a chill go up his spine as he approached the front door, reaching for the doorknob before pausing. He raised his other hand, clasping his necklace before taking in a breath, and opening the door.

He felt like he was going to throw up when he heard the grandfather clock ticking again. He let go of the door, keeping it open as he carefully looked around, looking up at the living room ceiling before spotting the first camera. He walked towards it, avoiding eye contact with the clock before reaching towards the camera and locating the switch. However, when he saw it, he paused; the camera was on, and the red light was switched on as well. He lowered his arms, turning towards the archway leading to the kitchen to look for the next camera.

The next camera wasn’t much better; red light was flashing, and the switch was on. He growled in annoyance, wondering in confused silence why Cesar asked him to turn the cameras on when they were already active. If anything, it was wasting both of their time, though nevertheless, Mark decided to try his luck with the other cameras. He looked around the room, spotting the basement door, before he turned towards the back hallway, freezing when he saw the camera above the bathroom door, finally seeing a camera without its red light on.

Mark couldn’t help but notice the pit forming in his stomach as he approached the dark hallway, eyes fixed on the camera above him. It felt oddly cold as he walked further into the hallway he swore was shorter, feeling as if the floorboards were less firm than they used to be. He looked up at the security camera above him raising his left arm to find the switch, only to see it wasn’t near the back with the wires like the others, making him furrow his brows as he grazed his hand across the metal searching for it. Finally, he found the switch, being on top of the camera, where he could barely reach. He was done; at least he hoped that the others were already on as well, so his job would be short.

He tried to stand on his flat feet, no longer standing on his toes until he felt a dull, hot pain in his left hand, as if it was burning. He winced, trying to remove his hand from the overheating camera, only to find that it didn’t budge. He stared at it, jerking his arm back, though the action didn’t free his hand either, even as the pain began to increase in intensity. He muttered curse words under his breath as he pulled his arm away, all before the camera broke off of its base, the wires that didn’t sever coming with it. Mark let out a yell as he looked at the camera in his hand, beginning to fabricate stories to explain the broken tech, until he turned it around. His heart stopped beating for a moment when he saw why he couldn’t move his hand.

The skin of his hand looked as if it was melting, fusing with the metal of the camera’s casing as if they were one entity since the beginning. He could see his veins becoming one with the wires, and his skin was becoming pale and thin near the fusion point. Mark tried moving his fingers, only able to see his bones and tendons move slightly under his skin. His breathing was becoming frantic as he pressed his right hand against it, attempting to free himself as he let out surprised and horrified yelps.

“Hello, Mark.”

Mark’s gaze snapped towards the noise, seeing a figure at the end of the hallway like a living shadow. “C…Cesar?” Mark’s voice shook as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, backing away into the corner and pressing his right hand against the wall for stability. It wasn’t Cesar; he could see it.

It was tall, and malnourished, with its limbs bent oddly, as if they barely held up his body. His smile was stretched wide across his face, his one right, bloodshot eye unblinking as it stared at Mark with glee. Mark looked towards his left eye socket, feeling as if he was about to vomit when he saw that the eye wasn’t even there. Protruding from the socket was many dull colored veins, almost like wires in a machine made of flesh. The veins and arteries fused with the skin on the left side of his face, as well as wrapping around his head and fusing to the back of his skull and neck. His skin almost looked dead, a paler version of the real Cesar’s skin tone. The look of it made Mark sick, the feeling of dread overpowering the burning he felt in his right hand.

“You seem tense.” “Cesar” said softly, his smile not once fading. “Why don’t you relax? You’ll be staying here for a while.”

Mark stared at what was left of the alternate’s face, his eye wide as familiarity rushed over him. The smile Mark saw in the mirror, the tall figure he saw in his dreams; even his voice felt like a jackhammer in his skull. He could hear the ticking and beating of the clock everywhere, steadily growing louder as he turned around, seeing that his right hand was immovable, and slowly sinking into the wall. “Y…You…WHAT DID YOU DO?!” Mark shouted, eyes full of fury as he tried to free his arm, noticing that his right leg was hard to move as well.

“You…make things so…difficult for us.” Cesar tilted his head. “It chose you! You should be honored to be such…an esteemed guest.”

“Wh…What chose me?!”

“It just wants the best for you, don’t you realize that?” Cesar asked calmly. “These walls, the rooms and halls; they’re safe. Secure. I don’t understand why someone would want to leave Home like you seem to.”

Mark remained silent, looking down to see his shin halfway in the wall. The burning sensation rushed over his body as it fused with the drywall and wallpaper, all while he felt a heartbeat that wasn’t his own. He screamed, both in pain and horror for anyone to hear, hoping someone could free him despite his own flesh and bones deconstructing.

“Welcome Home, Mark.” Cesar said. “All its guests welcome you.”

White hot tears ran down Mark’s face, feeling his head throb with every tick of the clock, trying to pull himself out of the wall; away from his fate of being consumed in the belly of the beast. He stared at “Cesar” with hatred, the smile on its face making him burn with anger. “YOU FUCKING BASTARD!” He screamed, his throat shot and his nose gushing with blood. “I HATE YOU! I FUCKING HATE YOU!”

Cesar didn’t even flinch at the yelling as Mark thrashed around, all attempts to free himself being fruitless. He stared at the replication of his friend as he shouted and sobbed, all until Home took away his mouth and eyes too.

Rest, my dear.

Welcome Home.

#shmorp writes sometimes #Mandela catalogue #tmc #tmc Home Sweet Home au #blood tw #gore tw #body horror #face horror #tw paranoia #paranoia inducing #(supernaturally caused but. just in case)#mark heathcliff #cesar torres #alt cesar #uh. does. Ms. Torres even. have a tag?#anyway. this was. supposed to be the prologue but uh. I got a tad silly wacky so. here's. a VERY long fic by my standards-#But hey I think you guys will like this au for real :)#ask me if theres any tags I should add by the way. just want to make sure this is properly tagged #cause. theres a lot to this one-

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enbysiriusblack · 1 year ago

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thinking about horror film au marauders.. (tw. lotta gore)

lily the nerdy, bossy character that comes out with a giant axe and brutally beats up the killer/s to the shock of every other character

peter is either the bargaining character that tries to bargain and give the killer/s what they want just as he's about to die. or the character secretly on the killer's side that's revealed at the end

definitely giving wolfstar the making out whilst a killer is in their house/car/woods

mary, dorcas, remus, and lily all turning to each other wondering which of them is gonna die first, when they realise they're basically in a horror film cause of the black character dying first trope (i watched the blackening yesterday and the tagline "we can't all die first" gave me this hc. very good film. highly recommend)

sirius is the resident horror film expert that tells them what the killer usually does next (im imagining someone dying and everyone is just screaming over the dying body and sirius is also screaming but then adds in "this is exactly like that scene in wrong turn!"

the screamers are probably mary, remus, and james. not a definite though. i can see it being other people.

marlene gets the most jump scare scenes and emmeline gets the most hearing creaking and footsteps

james is the best at fighting but absolutely hates blood. feel like there needs to be a scene where he's like punching a masked killer and is doing SO WELL. and he gets the killer on the ground and is about to pull the mask off when the killer pulls out a knife and stabs at his hands and chest and shit. and he just screams and backs away staring at his blood until he faints.

as marlene dies, she clutches dorcas' hand and whispers "the lesbians never get a happy ending. apart from fear street... why couldn’t this be like fear street?"

the final girl HAS to be mary. ofc.

#im very much a satire horror fan. in case you couldn’t tell from this.#gonna explain how everyone dies (other than mary) in the tags cause im having ideas now i thought i was finished #idk the order so this is random and not at all chronological #remus- is high as fuck. thinks sirius or james is pranking him and then gets stabbed or whatever #sirius- tries to out horror the killer. tips a bucket of fake blood on them. has a chainsaw and mask #has a bunch of recording devices with sounds he previously made. etc. but then his fucking phone goes off #and he gets so annoyed because thats such a rookie mistake. and he asks to cut and do a retake just before the killer kills him #marlene- kinda already said about her death. but feel like it's def outside like in the street and shes only with dorcas #i already said james' death #lily- feel like there's more than one killer and she manages to kill one. just to turn around and another to get her #dorcas- she gets VERY into it once marlene dies. definitely gets hits in if not killing some of the killers.#but they ultimately get stabbed a lot and they run to marlene's body whilst bleeding out instead of the hospital #and she dies in marlene's dead grasp.#emmeline doesn't get killed for a while. is bait in a plan to catch killer/s but the plan goes wrong and she gets pushed out a high window #i havent mentioned other characters but why not say their deaths.#regulus- he's made to be involved with like a scene in a library where they go to him to ask about some secret history of the town #and then is killed the next day but has s bunch of writings and pages of books around his room about the killers and hes solved it #but the killer burns it all before anyone gets there #pandora- kinda want her to the first death for some reason idk.. like it gets framed as a suicide but so many people dont believe it #and the killings go on #barty- sees the masked killer and like jokes around touching their mask and stuff. and then the killer just like. brings out an axe #and chops his head off #evan- dont know why but im imagining him driving and getting those spikes in the road to lure him out the car #also btw didn't mention peter's death cause im leaning towards him being secretly one of the killers #and gets killed by either lily or dorcas #was gonna say barty and evan could be killers then i realised i made them kill reg and pandora and cas so people would not like that #also no mary death obviously since shes the final girl. survivor ever <3 immortal <3 #marauders era #marauders #tw. gore

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antimony-medusa · 12 days ago

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But what do you MEAN this fic where blorbo gets mind controlled might be kinky?

So I am kind of famous for saying that this fandom has a lot of untagged kinks and I get people in my notes pretty regularly going YES I"M BEGGING YOU TAG IT or YOU"RE DERANGED THIS IS PLATONIC, etc. Lots of strong emotions. But I also get people who are going uh, I knew something was going on, but I couldn't really identify it— what do you mean exactly? What kinks are you seeing?

So, this post is breaking down things I've seen and how in some cases, they start to cross the line into kink territory. These are all things that were being done platonically— no dicks were out, everybody's clothes were on (in most cases, not always with the dehumanization tropes)— but the focus of the narrative started to place special weight on specific features, experiences, or concepts— there were extended paragraphs that served no narrative purpose except to dwell on something— in a way that I started to go "the point of this fic is the squiggly feeling the author or reader gets on reading about this specific setup— this is getting kinky". And that is fine, I am not placing any moral weight on engaging in kinks— people just get wired sometimes to really like the concept of bondage— but a) sometimes it would be nice to get a heads up as a reader, b) if you like these things— there are tags out there that are FULL of this concept, you might like to do it or search it out on purpose.

So I asked some friends what things have they found in platonic fics that they went "ah. yeah. something is happening here", and this post is the result. A lot of these things don't exist in the real world or people don't necessarily want them to happen in the real world/to them, so it's understandable that a person can miss how they'd started to morph and become something new. But when we talk about kink in fiction we're often talking about things that either can't or we don't want to happen in real life, it's just that reading about them/writing them scratches our brain.

And also, to be clear, in no way do I mean that if you've written these concepts then you definitely have been writing kink. There are vanilla ways to do all of these concepts, and sometimes the idea of dehumanization is interesting to you from a narrative standpoint, for example. You can also engage with them in a non-sexual way— many ace people are very kinky— so I'm not saying that you've secretly been writing porn OR writing something you have a real desire to happen to you. Just to make that clear. However, if you keep coming back to a specific setup for writing or reading, it might be worth investigating if certain things scratch your brain in a specific way.

So.

Blorbo gets mind controlled and there's a detailed breakdown of their descent into this altered state and then they're just so biddable and out of it and vulnerable and the narrative places weight either on someone taking advantage of them in this state, taking care of them, or their own subjective experience having lost control: this is hypnokink. Hypnokink or mind control— lots of ways to do it, but there is a thriving hypnosis or hypnokink scene that you might want to look into. Sometimes this is played for horror, but even the horror stuff can be kinky if played in a certain way. This falls under a larger umbrella of "altered states" that is very popular.

Blorbo gets drugged/intoxicated, often against their will, and heavy narrative weight is placed on their experience while drunk/drugged and unable to control themselves or conceptualize what is happening: this is intox kink. Another altered state— and again this is sometimes used for horror, but even the horror can give you the special tinglies if the dread is mixed with something.

Blorbo is turned into a vampire or taken by a vampire, gets drunk from or drinks blood, and there's specific narrative focus on how good the blood tastes, blood from a wound trickling down over someone's body and maybe being licked up, a hunger being sated— so vampires are a longstanding trope that can be done in a strictly horror way, but a LOT of vampire tropes are deeply kinky along the ideas of possession, loss of bodily autonomy, fear/desire, and consumption. This, for example, I have definitely read dipping into bloodplay or consumption kink. Sometimes blood drinking scenes are directly metaphorical for sex, including narrative tension building to a release where someone feels so good, but also there are other elements, such as a focus on blood that gets kinky.

Blorbo has wings that get preened, and it feels so good they can't hold back instinctive movements and sounds (maybe bird sounds) and they're so grateful and bond so much with the person doing it with them— This is wing kink. This is actually the first trope in this fandom that I identified that some things were happening with, because I was reading these fics that had been recommended to me as family fluff going— am I crazy or is something else happening here? Wingfic has been broadly used as a platonic/familial trope in this fandom, however, the structure of the scenes in which it is written about sometimes has heavy crossover with wingfic in other fandoms, where they are using it as a smut trope— the fic just didn't have anyone literally orgasm at the end. But if there's involuntary sounds or movement from the person with the wings, a focus on how pleasurable it feels, a feeling of release or rightness that someone gives the person with wings, and then they cuddle afterwards— yeah.

Blorbo is terrified and chased by a monster of some kind, with a heavy focus on how frightened they are, how inexorable the monster is, and something bad going to happen, and/or the monster chasing them enjoying their terror— this can just be horror. OR it can be fear play or predator/prey. Sometimes it's both.

Blorbo is confronted by monsters (perhaps giants or aliens) who are much bigger than them and the threat of being eaten by them is narratively focused on, either bitten or swallowed whole. Sometimes in the narrative the eating happens, either safely or to their death— this is vore. Being eaten alive is also a horror trope so it isn't always vore, but it is sometimes most certainly vore.

Aliens or monsters/hybrids much bigger than blorbo have them as family/friends/romantic partners/captives: this is giant/tiny. Sometimes just a science fiction au but if there's a lot of weight being placed on how big they are and how small blorbo is, this could be g/t. Borrower aus can frequently start to fall into this category. If they're not THAT big but there's focus on things like "oh they can span my waist with one hand", this can be size kink, instead. (Note that to my knowledge the platonic version is giant/tiny and sexual is micro/macro— there's a thriving platonic scene I sometimes see when I'm cruising tags, so if you like this you might want to check that out.)

Blorbo is non-consensually touched, cuddled, or modified, and narrative focus is placed on this as a violation/outrage/loss of bodily autonomy: again, this is something that can just be a horror trope, but there is often a larger or smaller strain of consent issues in it. If blorbo doesn't want it at first but eventually feels at home in the nest and feels good, that's dubcon (dubious consent), and if they are fighting it and raging against it and will never be part of your family, that starts to overlap with noncon (non-consent). Blorbo's bodily autonomy is being non-consentually violated, which would put it under the consent issues umbrella. I think many people writing these tropes are simply focusing on captivity and bad things happening to blorbo— when one is a prisoner they automatically lose bodily autonomy, and I don't think that every fic set in a dungeon requires a consent issues tag— and additionally many people are writing from family settings that include bodily autonomy being violated (being forced to hug your aunt you don't want to hug, for example, is an example that many of us have experienced). Not every example of non-consensual touching is always consent issues. However, when the narrative focus is on the outrage and betrayal of it all, the loss of control, and/or the helplessness, this can start to serve a different narrative function in a story than simply illustrating that a family is touchy. I have read scenes that structurally function as a thinly-veiled metaphor for sexual assault, including things like blorbo being held down while they fight against what is being done to their body. Some of these could have used additional tagging. Note: because this is such a hot button topic I should mention that if you like writing or reading this I do not think that means you are a fan of violence happening in the real world— a) reading a bad thing happening on the page makes it containable and controllable in a way that the real world does not, people also like to read about murder and dismemberment— b) simply the presence of a happy ending tag on a fic contextualizes that the bad thing is something to be passed through in a way that again, the real world does not offer. This is a similar thing to torture, suicide, or slavery, where sometimes you want to see blorbo have a bad fictional time specifically in things that would be terrible in real life, and in your real life you do not condone police brutality or want these things to happen. Again, sometimes people like to read about people being eaten alive, and it does not mean they condone wolves on the streets.

Blorbo is captured by alien/fae and kept as a pet, sometimes kept in a cage or collared, unable to communicate with the people holding them: this is often tagged as dehumanization and it is that, but it also starts to contain elements of pet play. If there is an emphasis on having to eat pet food, be "trained" by their owner, leashing/collaring/crating— this may be pet play.

Adult or near-adult blorbo is adopted and take care of by a new dad who knows everything to keep them safe and loves them and can take care of them and they can just let go and be their new sonboy because Dad's got them: Right. So this is sometimes just someone writing a "wouldn't it be nice to be taken care of" fantasy. Sometimes this is Daddy kink. This is almost never tagged and in some cases that I have read it certainly deserves an additional tag. An adult Daddy or Mommy figure taking care of their adult Little who can just be taken care of and not worry is a d/s trope. In some cases, where you have an established adult with a job who gets taken by magical means who then finds their true home as a powerful being's new child where they don't have to worry about their former life and they mentally find comfort in their new role as sonboy, this may also be Caregiver/Little. Direct age regression (often written by people who experience it) is usually tagged appropriately, but narrative elements that nod to that while not actually being age regression, such as an adult being now treated as a child and the narrative presenting that as good, are remarkably common and often entirely untagged in certain tags/circles. If someone could look at your fic and expect adult peers and then this happens, you should consider tagging or phrasing your summary differently.

Blorbo has hybrid instincts that overcome their cognitive functioning and make them revert to an instinctive form such that they can only be calmed/soothed by another hybrid of a different type: now this at this point is basically its own trope and I am fascinated to see if this trope expands out of MCYT as people move to new fandoms. However, it shares a startling amount of overlap with omegaverse. One of the primary draws of omegaverse for many people is the biologically determined altered states and the fated-mates aspect, and hybrids reverting to instincts and needing particular care from a perfect family is often beat for beat things I've read in omegaverse, just platonic. When you have a biologically determined "protector" figure and a biologically determined "runt" whose job is to be taken care of and to submit to the protector, and this is required to calm the protector, it also has strong overlap with BDSM aus.

Blorbo is captured or contained and tied up, and narrative emphasis is placed on their experience of being bound and struggling against restraints or just how impossible to escape from the restraints are: this is bondage. I have had friends who are into this mention that they used to tie up their barbies as children, so again, as with all of these, this can be perfectly platonic— but something about that concept just seems particularly satisfying to the writer, perhaps it is more than just set dressing.

Blorbo is captured and there is strong emphasis on them being hurt or the waves of pain rolling over them as they are tortured: this is just an honourable whump trope, but a lot of whump tropes if handled in a specific way have strong crossover with BDSM. Lack of ability to move or restriction of senses, loss of control— or, as with this, an emphasis on pain or inflicting pain, which can cover sadism or masochism depending on our POV.

Blorbo is overwhelmed and only finds comfort in submitting to the authority of someone who they completely trust, whether because of past trauma or because of hybrid instincts: this is d/s, or domination/submission. If there's specific emphasis on allowing someone to take control finally makes blorbo's head go quiet, that's subspace.

Blorbo is marked or indicated as belonging to someone, either through something like an earring or a brand/tattoo or a magical mark, so that anyone who looks at them will know that they belong to someone: again, this can just be horror, but especially if it's framed as a good/satisfying thing, it also can contain strong crossover with BDSM, especially master/slave elements.

Blorbo is transformed and corrupted, often being bodily changed into a new form by aliens or fae or mobs: this is obviously body horror, but this can also be transformation kink. This is a narrative trope in SF and horror so someone can approach this completely innocently, but when handled in less of a horror way, it can take on other undertones. If there is a strong emphasis on the innocence and unprepared nature of blorbo before being changed into what someone wants them to be, this can be corruption kink as well.

Blorbo dresses up for a fancy event and there's emphasis on how specifically they look, or maybe blorbo is looking at someone else and thinking about how THEY look in their formalwear: sometimes this is just description and/or the author likes textiles. I have also read things where I think the author would get a lot of joy out of pursuing the formalwear kink tag.

Blorbo finally gets told that they did a good job and everyone is complimentary or a specific trusted figure is complimentary, they're appreciated and loved and good: sometimes this is just someone writing a fantasy of blorbo being appreciated. Sometimes this is praise kink. If blorbo is being held by their parent or mentor or trusted elder sibling who is telling them that they're good, everyone is wrong about them, they know that they're good, this could be praise kink.

Touch-starved blorbo finally is given good touch and they are overwhelmed and don't know how to handle it and it feels so good: I did even know this was a thing until I asked for examples, but a friend let me know that this falls under the "touch sensitive" or "sensation play" umbrella. If you have spent time in a touch-starved tag, you have almost definitely seen this.

Blorbo is overwhelmed and bursts into tears and either cries a lot or heavy narrative weight is placed on them crying at important moments when it all becomes too much: this is not always, but can certainly be, dacryphilia.

Blorbo fucks up and is made fun of by all their peers, placed on centre stage and just mercilessly mocked: sometimes you are just whumping the character, and sometimes this can be humiliation kink.

Blorbo is tickled. That's the whole scene/fic. Okay so you actually may know this if you cruise character tags, but tickling is a kink and there are several blogs devoted to it on this website. If the whole point of this scene is the tickling, the character losing control and being overwhelmed, the person doing it to them having them at their control— this may be the kink.

Blorbo just keeps sneezing at inopportune times, they keep losing control and can't keep themselves from being overwhelmed by this: this can be sneeze kink.

Blorbo has finally made it to safety, maybe after a time of privation and starvation, and then there's whole scenes with an emphasis on how much they eat, how full and round they're getting, maybe them eating to the point of getting sick, maybe burping, maybe them having difficulty moving because of how much they've eaten. Food as part of recovery or safety can just be a healing trope, and food as a metaphor for love and community is a favoured tag of many of us in the fandom, but if the emphasis is especially on the eating and the getting full, how full the person feels, how much they can eat— this could be feederism.

Blorbo is injured or killed and there's a huge emphasis on the wounds, dismemberment, focus on gore and how bad it is and how much they're coming to pieces: this can be guro. If the person dies at the end of it and there's emphasis on that, this can also be snuff. Or maybe it's just gore/MCD, but some fics and some scenes dwell on it in such a way that you start to ask if this is intended to be horror or if something else is happening.

Blorbo is dressed up beautifully and looks so good in their new outfit, maybe to the point that the person who dressed them doesn't want them to move, just sit and be admired: this can be dollification, or kinking specifically on being dressed.

Blorbo is going through a medical examination and specific focus is placed on the impersonal aspect, being manhandled or examined by tools or gloved hands, they are the somewhat-dehumanized medical subject of professionals: this is sometimes horror or dehumanization, but it can also be medical kink.

So. As you can see. There are a lot of possible kinks that can be handled in a platonic way, but this doesn't mean they aren't kinky. This isn't even everything possible, this is just what came up when I asked the group chat what they personally have seen where they feel that a platonic fic could have used additional tagging.

I am not saying that any of this is wrong to be interested in these kinks, either. People get wired a lot of different ways and sometimes you just feel a certain way about formalwear. Or bondage. Or vore. Or tickling. My point is just that if any of this resonates with you, you might want to consider adding extra tags to your work (you don't even have to tag "humiliation kink," "humiliation" works just fine), and you also might want to consider checking out some tags, because there is probably a vibrant community of people who also like that and who would both love your work and would love to share their work with you.

That's it. Go with god. Now if people are going to be in my notes going HOW CAN SOMETHING PLATONIC BE KINKY I have something to link them.

#discourse #fandom meta #platonic kink

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bamsywrites · 3 months ago

Text

And Comes Dawn pt ii

pairing: halbrand/sauron x reader; there will be two love triangles in the future

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: In all beings, there exists darkness. when the deciver finds one who seems to defy this, he becomes obsessed with finding it within her. and if he can't find it, he will ruin her himself.

Tag: dark romance, slow burn, sauron is Stressed™️ , sauron is so horny he contemplates murder, minor sex mention, idk what else to tag or warn

Notes: 24 hours later I already have part 2 done. I was going to have up until galadriel joins the raft for part 2 but I have a lot of ideas so I'm splitting them up. I am also stretching the time during season 1, like instead of being a couple months it's gonna be about a year because it's my fic and I can do that. Saurons pov is all over the place bc he is all over the place and yeah. Feed back always welcome and lemme know if you wanna be tagged. Oh and everything was still done on my phone so sorry if it's weird.

Series Masterlist

It was all a blur for you. You were woken from sleep by the creature attacking the ship and in the flurry of rushing water, screams, and the sound of breaking wood. You had found a pair of arms around your waist. You held your breath and clamped your eyes shut, if you were to die you didn't want your last memory on this Earth to be of the ship's wreckage and the corpses of your traveling companions floating under the water. These fears disappeared as you broke to the surface of the sea with the arms around your waist still holding you securely. You gasped and filled your lungs with air, wet hair obstructing your view, but you could see the familiar face of your savior.

“Halbrand?” You coughed.

He hummed a response, and you could feel the sound reverberate in his chest. It was comforting, the feeling of his strong arms and solid chest. Despite the cold of the waters, his body was abnormally warm, and you found yourself pressing into him for more of that heat.

“There's a raft not far. I think there's another survivor or two aboard it.” He spoke, securing one arm tightly around your body as he used his other to move through the water.

You squinted and could see what you suspected to be the raft he spoke of, but it was rather far for him to swim carrying you “I can swim. I do not wish you to have to carry me all that way through the water.”

“No,” he responded firmly. “There is some terrible beast who just destroyed our ship. I will not allow you to go out on your own in the water.”

“But then we could both die if it finds us.”

Halbrand looked down at you, looking into your eyes as he spoke. “In that case, my conscience will be clear because I will be dead. I can already see the arguments forming on your tongue, and the answer is still no.”

He gave you a pointed look at which you nodded, “Thank you. Now hold on, sweet one.”

You wrapped your arms around his waist, closing your eyes. This has been quite the journey for you. You missed home, but you longed for a new start, a new place where your family's reputation didn't loom over you, and you weren't regarded with suspicion at every turn. You couldn't allow yourself to think this was it, that you'd die like this at the sea. You'd been through too much.

You didn't know if it had been 15 minutes or 3 hours when you heard a voice call out your name from the raft, the woman who'd slept across from you. You had only introduced yourselves and not talked much at all, but it was still a familiar voice.

“Here, help her up,” Halbrand called to one of the men as he hoisted you as best he could on to the raft. “There you go, sweet one.”

You pulled yourself up on the raft, and almost instantly, you found yourself falling asleep on the wood. Exhaustion took you after the adrenaline drop of finally being out of the water. You were swept into sleeps embrace as the sun began to peak over the horizon.

You awoke, rubbing the sleep out from your eyes and looking around you. The horrors of that night replayed in your mind, but then you remembered Halbrand. You sat up and noticed that the raft was considerably larger, different pieces of driftwood tied together, and makeshift sails set up. There were also more survivors than last night, but it was a considerably small amount. Your eyes roamed the passengers, but you couldn't find the one you sought.

“Your awareness of your surroundings is incredibly lacking.”

You startled at the sound of his deep voice, causing him to chuckle. He had been lying down and sat up as you turned to look at him. “Glad you woke, sweet one. If you'd slept much longer, I'm sure they'd try to add you to our rations.”

“There's rations?” You asked eagerly, unable to ignore the emptiness in your belly.

Halbrand nodded, “There is. He”- he motioned to an older man on the other side of the raft - “didn't want to give you any because you were sleeping, but I was able to do some convincing.” He handed you a chunk of bread and a small portion of dried meat.

You gave him your thanks, and as you grabbed it, you noticed his knuckles were bloodied. A quick glance at the old man, who you now noticed was sporting a bruise and a few cuts under his eye, gave you the answers you needed.

“Tell me you didn't strike an old man for this?”

He sighed, rolling his eyes and pushing the bread and meat further into your chest. “If I tell you he fell upon my fist, will you eat it? How I came about this matters not. What matters is you will not last if you do not eat.”

You sighed, feeling guilty but taking a bit nonetheless. The feeling of the bread and dried meat hitting your barren stomach was enough to make you moan softly. Halbrand chuckled, watching you and leaning against one of the makeshift masts.

“Thank you. For the food and for saving me. I don't know how to express my gratitude for all you've done for me,” you swallowed and wet your lips. “Though I must admit I'm greatly confused as to why.”

You looked over at him, brow furrowed as you awaited an answer.

“Because you are fair of face. I can not imagine the despair I'd fall into if I was stuck on a raft with nothing but them to look at,” he motioned to other inhabitants, “it would be quite bleak indeed.”

You couldn't help the blush that formed on the bridge of your nose and traveled across your cheeks. Despite this, you still shook your head. “There is no need to be rude or dishonest. I simply ask for the truth.”

“I admit that was rude, but it was anything but dishonest. You are beautiful, and I quite like looking at you,” his eyes noticed your blush, and it caused him to smirk - if only he knew of the butterflies forming in your stomach at his affirmation.

“Though,” he continued, “you are right. That is not the reason I saved you. It's only an added benefit. When I met you on the ship, there had been many that had complained that there was not enough notice. That I would deplete the rations and that they would have to recalculate everything. But you brought me extra soup, and it wasn't a small portion either. You brought it because you knew I had been on my own and assumed I'd been without food. You had no selfish intention. You were simply kind to a stranger because you felt it was the right thing to do. There is not enough of that in the world, and humanity can not bear to lose someone like you who is kind and good for no other purpose than that it is right.”

“Oh,” your voice was small, and your entire face burned bright red at his compliments.

“I would tell you more, but I'm afraid if I do, you may burst into flames.”

The waves rocked the raft gently, the previous night it had lulled you into a nice, deep sleep but there's only so much to do on a raft in the middle of nowhere and you had spent the majority of that time asleep. Your eyes watched the stars, feeling lucky that the sky was full of them and that the moon shone bright. The thought of endless darkness, especially knowing what was out there hunting in the ocean depths, was a terrifying thought. The sound of the others snores mixed with the sounds of the waves.

There was only one other who was still awake. Halbrand was busy tightening the ropes to secure the pieces of the raft together. You had noticed he did not sleep much. You had been on the raft for 3 nights and two days, and most of that time was spent with him. Though there wasn't much conversation, you seemed to be the only one on the raft he wasn't annoyed with. You caught him looking at you at times, which made you think he really did mean what he said on that first day.

“Still looking for hope in the stars, sweet one?” Halbrand teased with a smirk as he walked to where she sat and sat down next to her so close that their legs touched.

“Have you forgotten my name? You seem to only refer to me as ‘sweet one’.” You asked, tearing your eyes from the stars to look at him.

He rolled his eyes, your name rolling from his tongue. “Do you not like my nickname?”

“It is fine. I was just curious, and I wasn't quite sure why.” You looked up at him as you awaited his answer.

“Because you're sweet. Hence, sweet one.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You're quite the flirt, Halbrand.”

“Only with you, sweet one.” He playfully pushed his shoulder into yours, and he sat there with you, looking up at the stars.

You enjoyed the moment. The heat from his body and the solid feeling of him next to you brought contentment. You wondered if it was meaningless flirtations or if he could mean all of it. You pushed those thoughts to the back of your mind. You were stranded on a raft in the middle of the ocean. Any romantic feelings you may be growing for him were unimportant in the face of that fact.

You looked over at him, and your eyes trailed down to the relic that hung from his neck. You'd noticed it before but had never thought to ask about it. Your fingers gently reached for it so you could get a better look.

“What is this?” You tilted your head, holding it in your palm.

“Have you seen it before?” His voice was soft, but his brown eyes watched your face intently.

You shook your head in answer.

“It's the heraldry of my family. I only asked if you'd seen it because it has been almost an age since we used it. I can't imagine any family in the Southlands has used heraldry in some time.”

You turned it over in your palm, examining it further. “Why do you carry it?”

He wet his lips, gently taking it from your fingers and looking at it himself. “It's a reminder, a grim one, that our fates are never certain and that fortune can change for anyone. We've seen that here,” he motioned around them.

“Is it a grim reminder? I find it quite hopeful. No matter what, nothing is certain, and nothing lasts forever. There may be evil, and there may be terribly dark times, but those times do not last forever. There is also good. Also times of wonder and prosperity.”

He laughed, smiling as he looked at you. “Of course, that is what you would say. Ever the light and so full of hope.”

It was not long after this that you had fallen asleep. He still sat next to you awake as ever. His mind reeling and racing with millions of thoughts, the conflict within him felt as though it would rip right through him. He wanted control and order. It was the only way in which this world could know peace. He also wanted revenge on Adar, on the orcs who attempted to kill him.

But he remembered Morgoth. He remembered his former master and the chase for power that ended in his utter destruction. Even before then, Morgoth had become enslaved to the power he held and the power he craved. That was a fate that Sauron did not wish to share. He did not want to lose control for the sake of power, but he would never be quenched without having power. He could not have both.

Then there was you. He had not expected you, and he was finding himself enthralled with you. He could not understand you or the effect you had on him. A human, of all creatures, making him question all he knew to be true. He had not lusted for the pleasures of the flesh in thousands upon thousands of years and it was never for a human but when your eyes gazed up at him through your lashes or when he saw the smile stretch across your lips and the dimples that followed, it made it impossible not to imagine how those same eyes would look gazing up at him as you kneel at his feet or how those lips would look parted in ecstasy. His thoughts were plagued with the idea of taking you, tasting you, and utterly corrupting you.

It was all incredibly inconvenient.

This wasn't part of the plan and if it was just lust that plagued him, perhaps he could drown you and be done with it but the infatuation with understanding you and your motives and how you became this way stopped his hand. And the damn warmth that radiated from you that reminded him of the home he could never return to. With you curled into his side, he could close his eyes and imagine a time before he was corrupted. It made him wonder if he truly was past all redemption.

When those thoughts dared make themselves known, he'd imagine you looking up at him with tears streaming down your cheeks and his cock shoved down your throat.

His eyes drifted toward the water. It wouldn't be hard. He's so much stronger than you. He could handle any resistance as he pushed you under the waves, and then his mind would be free of those thoughts. But then he looked at you, and a million unanswered questions filled his mind. He knew if he killed you, they would remain unanswered and would plague him forever.

He cursed under his breath and watched as you slept. The choir of a million thoughts did not stop, and he briefly wondered if you would be his undoing.

previous next

#halbrand x reader #halbrand x oc #sauron x oc #sauron x reader #the rings of power fanfiction #the rings of power x reader #trop x reader #trop fanfiction #× reader #///mine

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wonysugar · 1 year ago

Note

hiii!! could i request fwb switch!ryujin x reader? it's completely fine if you're not comfy to dw!!

hickeys | shin ryujin

synopsis : it was a secret nobody could know, and you would’ve liked to keep it that way, however, ryujin leaving marks everywhere on your body truly did not make that easy.

pairing : gp!ryujin x fem!reader

genre : friends with benefits, smut!

tags : like one page of texting, g!p wbk, quickie, forbidden ig??, she’s your older brother’s best friend we all know she is not supposed to be fucking you, bathroom sex, nipple play, making out ofc, fingering, clit play, ryujin is strong so manhandling kind of, daddy kink, lots of dirty talk, jock ryujin, mirror sex(?), almost caught, that funky stuff, switchy activities

warning : none!

word count : 2.5k

your older brother occasionally having ryujin over wasn’t at all a bad thing, quite the opposite, actually, considering you both were incredibly close to her growing up.

she was incredibly chill, always dressed well, was super close with your brother, was fairly muscular, attracted everyone just by being in close proximity to them and was also like, 5 years older than you. so naturally, you took a huge liking to her. you admired her a lot when you were younger, she seemed so perfect. you didn’t quite know if you wanted her or if you wanted to be her.

things took a turn, though, and that quickly clarified things for you.

13 year old y/n definitely wouldn’t believe that 20 year old y/n was having sex on the lay-low with ryujin basically every week if you told her. who would’ve thought!

it always happened randomly, too. one would get inexplicably horny, the other would have to help them out, and it was a repeated cycle every time she came over. an unwritten agreement, if you will. sometimes, you’d even sneak into her house late at night because she’d randomly call you on the phone, telling you all about how she was jacking off thinking about you. in summary, you guys would fuck frequently.

very frequently.

today wasn’t any different!

the three of you were sitting on the sofa, watching a god-awful horror movie that made you wanna poke your eyes out each time a character did something insanely stupid, which was quite often, by the way. you clearly weren’t interested in the film whatsoever, so it’s not like ryujin standing up to go to the bathroom went unnoticed. she threw you a sly glance before casually walking to the restroom.

you already knew what she was doing, she’s done it many times before, and she’ll definitely keep doing it. you decided to wait it out though, immediately giving her what she wants takes away all the fun.

upon reading the message, you rolled your eyes, wearing a smirk, then quickly peeked over your shoulder, trying to see if your brother was awake.

oh he was knocked out.

you internally celebrated as you saw him laying there with his eyes closed, peacefully resting as he quietly snored. you waited it out for a couple of minutes, making ryujin lose her patience has always been amusing to you, so, it was a natural reaction. getting up slowly, trying your hardest not to make any sort of noise, you then make your way to the washroom.

upon opening the door and entering, you were immediately greeted by a pair of hungry lips being pressed onto yours, which happened for quite a bit. you could tell how worked up she was getting over a simple kiss. she smirked against you, and you quickly felt one of her hands cupping your ass while hearing the other seemingly locking the bathroom door, just in case your brother did wake up.

once she was assured that the door was locked, she quickly gravitated her mouth lower on your body, from your lips to your jaw, down to your neck and, later on, your chest. her own body rubbing itself on yours, you felt how desperate she was for you, how badly she wanted you.

you even felt it from the not-so-subtly boner gently poking at your upper thigh.

“fuck baby i’ve missed you so much–” she told you in between kisses, embracing your body as if she hadn’t fucked the ever living shit out of you like- not even 4 days ago. you pulled away, scoffing,

“mmh- you just cannot live without getting your dick sucked, can you?”

instead of replying, she simply took your hand and lightly placed it on her crotch, breathing out of relief from the slight contact before pulling you back in, her lips getting hungrier by the second for you. you could finally properly feel how hard she was, and it was… ego flattering, really. i mean, who would’ve thought that shin ryujin, a jock who played basically every girl who breathed in her direction, would be this needy? for you, might i add.

i mean, really, she had girls sobbing over her, begging her to take them back. she ruined their lives, basically. she had the tendency to love-bomb the fuck out of her talking stages, sometimes even lasting months on end. then once they got attached, she’d ghost them out of nowhere and move onto the next.

ryujin wasn’t a marriage kind of girl, hell, she wasn’t a dating kind of girl either.

it was incredibly fortunate that you weren’t, either.

you gently rubbed your hand on her boner through the fabric of her jeans, hearing the noises coming out of her was like fuel to you, by this point, you wanted to hear more.

and despite yourself, you were getting impatient.

you unzipped the bracket of her jeans and pulled them down in a swift motion, her clothed cock bouncing up, hitting your lower stomach. you kept palming it as you kissed her, taking in every sound she let out whilst you rubbed the tip of her dick through the fabric of her underwear. feeling her twitch against your hand, you finally got down on your knees, your eye level exactly where it needed to be.

“so desperate for me, hm? i barely even did anything, and you’re already squirming.” you teased, looking up at her wearing the same smirk she had when she was headed for the bathroom in the first place.

“come on y/n, don’t play around like this—”

“you’re gonna have to talk to me in a nicer tone if you want something to be done about your situation, ryujin. just to remind you, you brought me here, at least ask nicely.” you told her sternly, earning a small, pathetic whine from her.

“pleasee..” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“please what?”

she whined more, before muttering, “pleaseee suck me off..”

you grinned, the sounds of her begs amusing you greatly as you watched her shudder due to the hot breath she felt on her dick. not wanting to tease her any longer, you simply took all of it in your mouth in one go. ryujin had to cover her mouth immediately after, afraid of being too loud. however, you were making it impossible to stay quiet.

she whimpered against her own hand, trying her hardest not to be moaning out your name like she usually would. she watched you bob your head up and down her girthy shaft as you glanced up at her occasionally with the most lustful eyes she’d ever seen. the fact that she had to be quiet, the feeling of having her cock deep inside of your warm and wet mouth, the way you pushed your hair back when it got in the way; all of it made her twitch uncontrollably.

while you blew her, she couldn’t help but ponder about what she wanted to do to you, you made it so complicated for her. she would usually just fuck girls normally then move on, but with you? she wanted to use you in the most dehumanizing ways possible, then once she was done, she’d wanna get used by you and be treated like a little bitch in heat.

you just made her feel and think things she didn’t even know she could. no seriously, who would’ve thought that ms. shin ryujin would enjoy being dominated every once in a while?

you did, apparently. hence why you’re in the situation you’re in right now.

and she truly didn’t want to admit it, but you were the best fuck she’s ever had.

she’d been breathing heavier up until now, you knew she wanted to cum, she was getting closer to the edge and it showed.

you pulled your mouth away from her dick, panting heavily from the lack of air in your lungs as you tried to catch your breath. you still gave her throbbing cock attention by rubbing the tip with your thumb, you rightfully assumed that she probably would’ve died without it, “how badly do you want to fuck me right now?” you asked before spitting in your hand and using it to keep stroking her rock hard boner.

she looked down at you, running her hand through her soft short hair as she leaned against the bathroom counter, attempting to keep her loud whines contained, “sosososo bad–” was all she managed to get out before she had to cover her mouth.

cute, you thought.

watching her lose herself under your touch, whether it be minimal or not, you couldn’t help but giggle. she always went crazy for you, and you would be stupid not to notice her efforts at pleasing you.

she’d been so good for you up until now, and you felt like she could have her oh-so-deserved reward of finally being able to cum.

you look up at her and quickly shove her dick back into your mouth, bobbing your head up and down in swift movements as she tried her hardest not to scream out your name, she could feel your tongue tracing down the length of her shaft.

“f-fuck y/n baby i’m cumming fuckfuck—“

it didn’t take long before you felt her cock throbbing, feeling it shoot out a huge load of its thick and warm juices fill up your throat as she grunted. you immediately swallowed every last drop.

what can you say? muscle memory always does its job.

still coming down from her high, she quickly pulled you back up to face her and hungrily put her lips in contact with yours, licking at them, asking for entrance. her hands roaming everywhere around your body and

soon enough, the tables turned and it was now her turn to let her tongue work wonders on yours as you felt like every nerve of your body reacted to the sensation. before you knew it, she was already pinning you to the counter, your back to her as her hands reached around your waist eagerly to pull down your piece of clothing. she kissed on the back of your neck and left her marks, and you knew she was smirking about it, too,

‘cause you felt it against your skin.

“you’ve had your fun, you’re gonna let daddy use that pretty cunt of yours now, right? that’s what i originally called you in here for, after all.” she whispered into your ear as she slowly slid her hand into your panties, middle finger gently caressing your swollen clit. she could tell you were ready for her, and it turned her on even more.

her dick, once again, gave it away.

and it hasn’t even been that long since she came.

sliding your panties halfway down to your knees, she didn’t waste any more time and carefully settled the tip of her cock under your dripping pussy, rubbing it against your wet folds. you slightly whined at the feeling whilst she breathed hot air against your skin. you needed to feel her inside you, your walls were literally clenching around nothing, and you couldn’t wait any longer.

“just put it in ryujin—“ you quietly pleaded,

“what was that? sorry, i don’t think i heard you properly.” she mocked, stopping her grinding movements altogether,

which earned a small whine from you, “fuck daddy pleasee just—“ you exhaled upon feeling her hand grope your breast, then quickly added, “i need you inside me, please..”

she chuckled, satisfied with your answer, “good girl.”

immediately, she pushed you back onto the counter and slid her dick inside of you as she breathlessly groaned. you, on the other hand, were already arching your back and holding back moans. she started by slowly thrusting into you, before getting impatient and simply just pounding into you with full force.

her cock was hitting places you genuinely didn’t even know she could hit, all you did know was that it felt heavenly. every hit of the tip pressed against the end of your cervix made you feel like you were gonna pass out.

basically, the dick was good, it was so good that you had to be physically silenced to prevent your brother from potentially waking up and hearing the both of you go at it in the bathroom.

ryujin was the one that had to cover your mouth. not only did she cover your mouth, but she also pulled on your hair when you were being too loud (which kinda made you even more loud, but that’s beside the point). in a normal situation, she’d thrive on hearing you scream out her name and be this noisy for her, but with your brother in the other room? she couldn’t exactly afford to hear that, unfortunately.

pulling your hair back and making you face yourself in the mirror, she asked, “look at you, so slutty for my dick, so pretty, too.. don’t you think?”

and she was not wrong, your hair was a mess from her constantly grabbing it, your makeup was running all over your cheeks from the tears you’ve been shedding at the pleasure, your hooded eyes all red and swollen, your marked up neck, it was all so… filthy? you looked so filthy.

god you looked so hot like this.

you could only nod in agreement as you kept moaning into her palm, feeling her dick slide in and out of your wet pussy repeatedly, you were so close to climax that you could pass out—

the sounds of knocking on the door made the both of you flinch.

“y/n, i gotta use the restroom, are you almost done? i just woke up and i think ryujin left..? she isn’t here anymore and she hasn’t been answering my texts so i don't even think she’s home yet.” is what was heard from the other side of the door.

what now??

you obviously wanted to respond to your brother but it’s not like ryujin even gave you the chance to, she just kept mercilessly pounding into you as he rambled and rambled. that is, until she pulled her hand away from your mouth.

was she actually expecting you to respond like this?? you looked at her through the mirror and saw her smirking at you with lust-filled eyes.

well shit!

you’d scold her later, now you just desperately had to think of a way to not sound like you’re getting fucked senseless. closing your eyes and mustering up all of the willpower to answer without your voice shaking uncontrollably, “y-yeah i’m almost done just give me a second i’m coming—“ was what you said.

and then your orgasm hit you like a truck when ryujin grabbed your waist and came into you.

quickly covering your mouth to muffle any sort of sound that escaped it, your eyes rolling back as you heard your brother mutter a quick “alrightt” before seemingly walking away from the door, not suspecting a thing.

thank god.

she slid out of you, the rhythm of her breath matching yours as you both tried to catch it.

god how lovely, you were leaking, you had hickeys every-fucking-where and now you had to think of a way to make ryujin flee the house without making it seem like she was in the bathroom with you.

this was gonna be tough to go about, especially with a fucked-out mind such as yours at that moment.

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glass-clown · 7 months ago

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hey so small fun facts about lyric and the process of making her, her right eye, the brown one, is a face detail slot to allow for heterochromia, which is where modder's will usually put it. however, this can cause texture conflicts with certain clothes and accessories, especially custom ones, so u'll see an eyeball texture in random places it shouldn't be. in lyric's case it was the head scarf she wears in her formal and cold weather outfits. u can even spot the white sclera part in the closeup picture of her cold weather outfit.

she also can't wear most jewelry, especially necklaces, for multiple reasons.

1. the necklaces that hang low look distorted due to her custom body preset, mainly in the collarbone area. if u use custom body presets u have to get used to this happening a lot but it's still sad because a lot of the cool witchy-wizard jewelry i had looked fucked up lol. :(

2. the texture of the jewelry would be recolored in some way. if u zoom in closely on the necklace she wears in her hot weather outfit, the crystal has small gray markings that aren't supposed to be there. i'm not sure why it's gray but it might be the shaded part of the sclera.

or 3. they replaces her eye texture completely. sometimes this can be fun! most of the time it is not.

tl;dr: why is there heterochromia options for cats and dogs (not horses for some reason btw) but not for humanoid sims? i'm going to kick ea's ass.

hey idk if u remember this post

but heres the pathetic clumsy wizard girl. if u even care 👉👈

her names lyric! she has a hard time seeing out of her left eye from a spell gone wrong and shes a wet pathetic mess <3

HAIII!! Ye, ye, ye, I like your pathetic little meow meow wizard woman!! Take this!

also aaa tumblr made it blurry ;--; looks nicer when u click on it.

#tw scopophobia #tw eye horror #<- maybe? just in case #also uhhh u mightve noticed lyric looks a bit different! i recently got the motivation to redesign my old sims which has been a lot of fun!#the way i make sims now (and build/decorate also) is different than i did 2 years ago and its kinda cool to see that #but i still love lyric's first design and the art ofc!!!!! 💕💕💕💕#i wish i could actually give her that dagger strapped to her thigh bc thats such a cool detail augh #btw im not trying to convince players to not download and use heterochromia cc‚ this is just smth u gotta deal with for ALL cc lol #a shirt texture can override a ring texture‚ a ring can override a hat‚ skirts can override a pair of shoes‚ etc. etc..#usually its a small part of the cosmetic that will be effected like u see in the head scarf and not overridden completely #its just smth u gotta learn to deal with if u wanna play with cas cc ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ its annoying‚ yeah‚ but so is the sims 4 #unless u can somehow figure out how to fix it urself. idk how. <3 #tbh i could go on for hours on the weird shit that cc can do to ur sims #i have a pair of really nice headphones installed that look totally normal in cas but gives my sim 4 arms in live mode #its pretty cool but was startling as hell when i first saw it. maybe it was conflicting with the body preset? idk #theres some cc that looks normal in cas so theyre nice if u plan on doing cas photoshoots but super annoying or weird in live mode lmao #isnt the way sims 4 custom content work amazing? /lh #btw typing this made me realize ive been spelling and pronouncing sclera incorrectly. what do u mean its not spelled scalera. what.#ive also recently been spelling jewelry wrong. i forgor how its properly spelled and have been spelling it as jewlery instead. smh.#anywayyy ummmmmm sorry for the rambling and the 100 tags em 👉👈

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gratefulcheeses · 1 month ago

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Introducing... KID PIRATES MONTH!!! A art and writing event dedicated to the coolest crew in all four blues, THE KID PIRATES!!! Taking place in January 2025!!!

I tried to make all the prompts as open to interpretation as possible, so just go fucking wild and have fun! Don’t overwork yourself! (There’s also a weekly version of the prompts under the cut if you’d feel more comfortable following that!)

I do ask that you please tag all your pieces with "#kid pirates month 2025" (without the quotation marks) so I can RB them! Thank you very much for reading and remember to have fun and not overwork yourself <3

Prompts transcribed into text and the weekly version of the prompts under the cut:

(Feel free to take inspo from the daily prompts for these!)

Daily prompts transcribed:

1. New beginnings

2. Kid Pirates as... kids... YOU GET IT

3. Victoria Lives AU

4. First island / Leaving Kutzk

5. Card games

6. Feast

7. Masks

8. Music

9. Get ready...

10. Captain's birthday!!

11. Relaxing / Winding down

12. Modern AU (Or trying on different outfits works too)

13. Horror AU

14. Minks or Kemonomimi AU

15. Role Swap AU

16. Band AU

17. Steampunk AU

18. Cowboy AU

19. Sparring / Play-fighting

20. Undercover or, well... "Undercover"

21. Haircuts / New hairstyles / Hairstyle swap

22. GENDERBEND THOSE PUNKS!!

23. Piercings / Tatoos / Body mods

24. Album Cover

25. On the news!! / Bounty posters

26. Sleep / Dreams

27. Nostalgia

28. New places

29. 40 years

30. 60 years

31. EUSTASS KID AS KING OF THE PIRATES!!

Weekly prompts transcribed:

Week 1: Past / A new start

Week 2: Party & Fun!

Week 3: Alternate Universe

Week 4: Dumbassery & Shenanigans

Week 5: Future / Hope

That is all, thank you for reading! I hope everyone has a lot of fun with this event, and truly, even if you can only do one prompt I will be very happy to see it! (Again, DON’T OVERWORK YOURSELF)

In any case, if you have any questions, comment under this post or drop an ask: I’ll answer as soon as I’m able + if several people ask the same thing, I’ll reblog this post with an FAQ section! Thanks again, & keep yourselves safe!!

#one piece #kid pirates #kid pirates month 2025 prompt list #eustass kid #massacre soldier killer #heat one piece #wire one piece #I SUMMON THEE KID PIRATE FANS #REBLOGS VERY MUCH ENCOURAGED

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aesethewitch · 8 months ago

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Ghosts 101

Spirit work has always been the ultimate base of my spiritual and magical practices. Some of my earliest clear memories are of encounters with spirits, and I’ve always had a talent for sensing them. In a horror movie setting, I’d be that person who gets the weird feeling in the hallway right before all the doors slam shut at once, feeling the shift in the air before whatever ghoul’s around makes its mischief.

I mention this right out of the gate so that you, the reader, know that most of what I know about ghosts (and spirits in general) comes from personal experience. Not books, not videos, not other people’s work. There’s a lot of UPG in this little essay. Just keep that in mind as you read.

If there’s something you disagree with or have different experiences with, I’m not surprised! Everything in the realm of spirits, including ghosts, can really only be theorized about. Disagreeing opinions, experiences, and theories are very, very welcome. Drop ‘em in the replies, reblogs, or my inbox. Or, if you want, make a post of your own and tag me in it. I want to see them!

Anyways, with that lengthy UPG disclaimer out of the way, let’s get to the good stuff.

What is a Ghost?

I think it’s important to note, though kind of obvious, that ghosts are a sub-category of spirit. All ghosts are spirits, but not all spirits are ghosts. But what is a ghost, exactly?

As with most things, theories differ. In general, ghosts are thought to be… well, dead people. Some folks think that ghosts are the soul, essence, or spirit of a person who has died. Others believe that ghosts are just a fragment of a person’s spirit. But I’ve also seen theories stating that ghosts aren’t really ghosts, they’re echoes or imprints of human energy that once existed in a place.

Then, there are folks who think ghosts don’t exist at all. I can’t really blame them; empirical, repeatable proof of ghosts is tough to get in order to be satisfying in a scientific way. The only reason I personally believe in ghosts is because I’ve had several encounters that can’t otherwise be explained. Plus, for me, it goes hand-in-hand with other types of spirit work. Ghosts being real just makes sense with the framework I use to engage with the world.

So, obviously, there isn’t one single, concrete answer as to what a ghost is. We can only theorize.

My Theories

My personal theory aligns more or less with one of the more common theories. I think that ghosts are the lingering spirits of living beings who have died. Note I say living beings — some people think that only humans can become ghosts, but I think that any living thing can become one. In the case of plants and trees, ghosts behave somewhat differently than animals; but that’s a whole other conversation to be had. For the sake of this post, I plan on focusing mainly on human ghosts.

The way I understand it, ghosts are the whole, complete essence of a person that lingers in the physical realm for a time after their physical body no longer functions. I believe there are also energetic imprints — energy left over from the living, often (but not always) caused and fueled by strong emotions and lingering ties of memory in a place. These imprints can seem like a haunting, but the key difference is that they aren’t sentient. They may echo when you call, but they won’t give answers that are intelligent or timely according to questions asked or stimulus provided by the living. Sort of like recording a ringing bell; playing the bell’s chime back doesn’t ring the bell again. It just plays the sound it knows.

Now, death does funny things to the mind. Depending on the circumstances of the death, a ghost might have full awareness that they were alive, have died, and are now a ghost. I find this is most common for people who died of old age and long-term diseases: people who knew they were nearing the end, for one reason or another.

Ghosts formed from more sudden deaths, on the other hand, are likelier to not know what happened. They may figure it out given time, or they may never learn the truth. As with most other things dealing with individuals, the exact circumstances vary. No two ghosts are exactly the same. Some people don’t become ghosts at all, I’ve found! They simply move on.

Another important aspect of my theories on ghosts is that I think they fade. Unless they’re continually tied to a space, fed a steady supply of energy, and purposely kept in the physical realm, I believe that they can’t sustain a form here. Without a physical body to keep the spirit, soul, consciousness, or whatever we are, a ghost is gradually pulled into the more ethereal side of things. The astral plane, the other side, the afterlife, et cetera; I’m not sure, personally, where they end up. Maybe it depends on what they were attached to in life, maybe it doesn’t. Who knows!

I think this is where I draw the distinction between ghosts and ancestor spirits. “Ancestor spirits,” in my practice, aren’t individual people from my past. Rather, they’re a sort of collective consciousness made up of all the people who came before me who are connected to me through familial, cultural, and blood ties. I like to believe that ghosts become part of that collective when they fade out of the physical world. All this is to say, ghosts are just people who are dead. They won’t be around forever unless they’re bound and kept “fed.”

On Hauntings

The first half of the things everyone wants to know is: How do we know when a ghost is actually present? It’s a good question, one that’s hotly debated in ghost hunting circles. For the sake of argument, I think we need to define the word haunting first.

To be clear, a haunting isn’t just when a ghost is present. A ghost just passing through or lingering for a little while doesn’t necessarily make a haunting. That would be better described as a presence. A haunting, in my opinion, is a long-term, sustained presence of a ghost or imprint.

And the first step to dealing with a haunting is to determine whether the place you’re in is actually haunted. You don’t have to have super sensitive psychic powers to detect the presence of ghosts. Some folks might have an easier time of it than others, but anyone can learn how to discern when a ghost is hanging around.

It’s important to note that commonly-reported signs of ghost presences and hauntings are also symptoms of other issues like mold, electrical issues, pressure changes, carbon monoxide, stress and anxiety, noisy neighbors, animals outside or in the walls (including bugs), sleep apnea or insomnia, and more. It’s important to consider mundane reasons before leaping to magical, spiritual, or ghostly ones.

With that in mind, let’s say that you’ve ruled out all the mundane possibilities, and you’re still left wondering whether that place is capital-H Haunted. How can you tell?

In my experience, there are a few signs that will stick out:

Disembodied sounds, such as voices, knocking, and walking

A pervasive chill or prickling feeling, particularly on parts of the body that are covered

A feeling of being touched, poked, or prodded

Visual disturbances like mist or shadows

Sudden smells that can’t be explained, such as perfume, tobacco, or food

Batteries in things like phones and cameras draining very quickly

Now, note that even with these signs, a lot of these things can happen with spirits that aren’t ghosts. The only way to know for absolutely sure that you’re dealing with a ghost and not a mischievous, physical-realm-poking non-human spirit is to make contact and ask.

My fellow sensitive individuals may experience other signs during a haunting. Depending on where your abilities lie, you might experience stronger sensations or detect signs of a haunting earlier than others who haven’t trained these senses.

What Causes a Haunting?

It’s hard to say. Some people (particularly ghost hunters with big TV shows who need to make those viewer numbers go up) say that ghosts stick around because they’re pissed off or had some tragedy befall them in life. Trauma ties them to their surroundings, trapping them between life and death as a specter, or something like that.

Honestly, all that tells me is that these guys are trying to sell you something (their show). I’ve met maybe two ghosts that were like that, and they had extremely good reasons for it. That’s not to say there aren’t traumatized ghosts out there; just that they aren’t nearly as common or the only explanation for a haunting.

I’m personally not sure what causes some ghosts to linger over others. I think it does partly have to do with emotion, but it may also have to do with the amount of energy the person had left when they died. For example, the ghost of my great-aunt faded within a couple weeks after she died, because she was old, tired, and ready. On the other hand, the ghost of a guy I went to school with who died in an accident a few years ago is still lingering on the train tracks where it happened. It’s an extremely individual thing.

Another part of lingering ghosts and hauntings, I think, is interaction with the living. Without a physical body, the ghost has no native source of energy. Part of working with ghosts, for me, has been learning how to share energy (mine or from other sources) with ghosts to help them communicate, interact, and continue existing. When the energy runs out, they fade. With a steady supply of energy sources, a ghost could theoretically haunt a place indefinitely.

So, what causes a haunting? I don’t really know for sure! What causes a haunting to linger? A steady source of energy, I think.

Making Contact

So, you want to talk to a ghost. Cool! You’ve got a ton of options at your disposal.

There are the witch-typical methods of spirit communication, most of which would work fairly well for talking to ghosts. I’ve talked a little bit about spirit communication methods before in a more general sense, but I find that ghosts don’t always respond well to divination.

In my experience, simpler tools are better. Unless I knew for a fact that a person understood tarot in life, I would be unlikely to use it to talk to their ghost. Tools you can easily explain that provide clear answers would likely serve you best for most ghosts. My biggest suggestions are pendulums, which are easy for ghosts to understand and manipulate, and ouija boards. Yes, yes, I can hear the gasping and booing already.

Listen. Ouija boards are not evil. Ouija is a game. But talking boards really are good tools for talking to ghosts. Again, they’re easy to understand and manipulate. Plus, you can get really clear answers from a talking board if your ghost is chatty.

There are other tools that have been popularized by ghost hunters that may come in handy, too. Personally, I’ve had success with voice recorders catching EVP (electronic voice phenomena) and, on one notable occasion, a ghost box.

Honestly, I’ve had little use for tools like these outside of ghost hunting scenarios where we’re trying to prove ghosts’ existence in a scientific sense. Voice recorders catching wisps of voice in the background are super cool, and I definitely would suggest having one on hand when doing a ghost adventure. But they’re not great for in the moment communication, since you have to stop a recording to listen back to it and then react who knows how long later.

Where ghost boxes are concerned, I’ve only had the one opportunity to try it out. We were in a location I knew to be haunted thanks to previous visits, and it did seem to work okay. I’d like to try it again sometime to see if it was just a fluke or if it’s an actual, viable thing to use. With any tool commonly used in ghost hunting TV shows (or that’s otherwise Popular By Spectacle), I always approach with serious skepticism. Those shows are all about creating a reaction that can be captured; and when they don’t receive a response, they’re liable to make shit up for the cameras. It’s annoying, especially when a tool might really be useful but it’s shrouded in the very necessary skepticism around these shows.

Now, my personal go-to method to connect to ghosts is to just… talk to them. I don’t usually need to use any tools for it. But I’ve spent many, many, many years honing the skills needed to do this. It’s worth learning how to do if you plan on working with spirits, but it does take effort to get good at, even if you have an innate talent for it. If you can, take some time to develop a sense for spirits. Learn what spiritual presences feel like for you. You may not get immediate results at first, but the skill of sensing energy can apply across the board. And even if you get no “real” response, you can still talk to the ghosts.

When you go to communicate with a ghost, just remember that they’re still a person. They’re not a spectacle, though they are fascinating. Not all ghosts are going to want to talk to you. Not all ghosts are going to like you. Be respectful. Treat that ghost like you’d treat any stranger out in the wild. Don’t be an asshole.

On Mediumship

This is mostly just a brief note, since it’s an adjacent topic that I’ve gotten questions about before.

Not everyone who talks to or works with ghosts is a medium. A medium is a particular career or path that describes someone who acts as a connector between the living and the dead. I tend to think of mediums as the telephone in a conversation — relaying messages back and forth. I used to do medium work all the time. It’s an exhausting path that requires a lot of self-discipline and solid boundaries dealing with both the living and the dead. I don’t do it anymore, though I do still communicate and work with ghosts regularly.

Just keep in mind that you don’t have to take on the title or mantle of “medium” in order to talk to, work with, or research ghosts.

Ghostly Q&A

I received a handful of questions about ghosts in the run up to posting this; thank you everyone who sent in a question! If you’ve got a question and want my perspective on it, feel free to drop it in my inbox or in the replies/reblogs of this post.

From @moonmargaritas: “How do you tell the difference between nervousness at discerning the presence of a ghost (new practitioner who still gets jitters 🤙) and sensing actual hostile intent?”

This is a really great question! This is something I had to work through myself when I got started. And honestly, I still get jitters sometimes many years later! It can be scary, even when you’re used to it.

The biggest piece of advice I have is to learn how your body experiences nervousness or anxiety. Where does that sit in your body? What kind of feelings to you experience?

For me, nervousness is a sort of itchy tingling around my shoulders and tightness around my ribs. It also manifests as the feeling of being watched or observed too closely. It’s easy to misattribute those feelings to a ghost’s presence — tingling and feeling like something’s watching? Those are classic ghost interactions! But I know that’s what anxiety feels like. That’s how I feel when the lights go out too fast or I hear a branch snap in the distance.

Once you know, you can work past those feelings and focus on what’s actually happening with the ghost (or spirit). I think of it like knowing when someone’s mad at me. Are they mad, or am I just anxious? It’s the same idea.

And, as a note, ghosts with hostile intent are few and far between. I personally don’t think that most ghosts, even the nastiest ghosts, can actually hurt you; they don’t have the energy resources for it. The ones that do are obvious, and you won't really have to question their intentions. However, you can always work with the communication methods mentioned above to determine the ghost’s feelings and intents. If you’re worried about negative interactions, a bit of salt and rosemary in a little pouch placed in your pocket goes a long way for protection.

From anonymous: “What’s an unusual way people could use to communicate with spirits? Like an expected divination tool or something we should pay more attention to.”

Hmmmm! Honestly, I think that classic, actual call and response is underrated specifically when it comes to ghosts. Yeah, we’ve all seen the Ghost TV Guys call out for a knock or a word or whatever, but when they get a response, they wig out and don’t do anything with it. It’s annoying!! Because genuinely, saying “tap once for yes, twice for no” and asking questions is a really, really solid way to communicate with a ghost when you have no other tools that will work on hand. I’ve had ghosts lead me to important places and objects within houses doing this. I think more people should give it a try without falling prey to the over-the-top reaction of “DID YOU HEAR THAT?!”

From anonymous: What advice would you give someone dealing with a haunting?

For a run-of-the-mill, regular old haunting? Let it run its course. Most hauntings, when left alone, will fade. However, if you’re inclined to talk to the ghost(s), get them to leave quicker, or get them to be less intrusive in your life, there are a few things you could do.

To talk to them, choose a method of communication and try to reach out like I described above. Get to know them if you can, and set some ground rules. If they won’t (or can’t) communicate with you, and you really want them gone, I would probably recommend a gentle banishing ritual. Something that doesn’t scream “get out” so much as kindly say, “It’s time to move on.”

Or, if you don’t want the ghost gone, just a little quieter at night or out of your bedroom, you could set up wards or activity-dampeners around specific spaces. Choose ingredients and spells that protect against unwanted spirits or just unwanted activity. Keep it activated all day long or just at night while you’re trying to sleep.

Thanks for Reading!

Posts like this are usually put on my Ko-Fi as exclusives first, but since the questions in this one came from Tumblr, I decided to post it in both places at once! (:

With that said, if you did enjoy this post, consider throwing a couple dollars at my tip jar. Tips, commissions, and shop purchases get you 30 days of access to my entire backlog of exclusive posts and upcoming ones. Monthly members get continuous access plus extra benefits! All support helps me keep the lights on, so it's very much appreciated.

If you've got Ghost Questions, shoot 'em my way! My inbox is open.

#aese speaks #spirit work #ghosts #talking to ghosts #hauntings #paranormal #witchcraft #witchblr #witch community #this post is Super Basic #it was going to have More Details but like. it was getting TOO long yknow #so. this is uhhhh part one #ghost post series

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samwhump · 10 months ago

Text

a (very inexhaustive, wincest-heavy) sam whump reclist

@transfemmesam asked me for Sam whump recs a few days ago, and I've had other requests in the same vein before (I can't imagine why.../s) so I thought I would throw this together, since these authors deserve all of the love and support for their contributions to our li'l fandom corner.

like I mentioned in the title, this is not at all a comprehensive list; I have at least ~200 more fics in my to-read queue that could thematically fit here, but alas, I have stupid shit like a job and a body and a dog to take care of, so. I'm always happy to get recs along these lines, so if you notice anything important missing, hit me UP. (and don't take any omissions as any specific commentary by me -- it's likely I just haven't had the chance to read it yet, haha.)

disclaimers:

some (most, honestly) of these contain potentially triggering and dark content, including but not limited to rape/noncon, torture, and suicidal attempts & ideation. I have tried to note content warnings where applicable, and most of the works are hosted on ao3, so the tags should have most of the information you need to make an informed decision. that being said, tread with caution. all of the summaries provided are from the original author, with warnings added after by me.

the list is in alphabetical order and separated into wincest and gen categories. a lot of the gen is also focused on the sam & dean relationship, because...I am what I am. and what I am a sucker for these two dipshits. there is also a brief section at the end with a few fics that don't fit into either category.

gen

All That Goes Unspoken by amnesiawife:

A case forces Sam to confront something long kept buried. (Set nebulously in season 12.)

CW: discussions of past rape/noncon, victim blaming

Beneath the Trees 'verse by Lise (5 works total, starting with Beneath the Trees, Where Nobody Sees):

Sam doesn't go to Stanford. Everything goes downhill from there.

CW: suicidal ideation

a boy is a cage by ad_castra:

After expelling Gadreel from Sam's body, Dean thinks they're in the clear. If only they were that lucky. // S9 fic wherein Gadreel's grace causes some adverse side-effects in Sam's mind.

CW: past referenced rape/noncon, body horror

body of proof by Askance (doomcountry):

There are things Sam hasn't told his brother. They're all in the envelope laid on Dean's pillow.

CW: heavy discussion of past rape/noncon

break these bones 'til they're better by redskyatmorning:

After Sam’s torture at the hands of the British Men of Letters, the latest in a long string of violations, he is rescued by Dean and Mary – and forced to ponder his broken relationship with his own body. Months later, when Sam is resurrected and tormented by Lucifer yet again, Dean confronts Mary and Sam gets his revenge against the devil.

catching my death (staring out an open window) by ad_castra:

Sam gazes at the window, catches the faint pink hue tinting the sky. It’s so realistic - he could breathe in the fresh air if he were really here. ----- They got Sam out. Sometimes, just knowing that isn't enough.

CW: implied past rape/noncon

Death of Convenience by WilsonTheMoose:

It should have been easy. Wendigos are no joke but daylight slows them. The weather's been unpredictable though and perfect, idyllic hunts don't exactly stay that way where they're concerned. Or Sam has one card to play and never stops to think that Dean would care if he killed himself.

CW: suicidal ideation, references to suicide

Echoes of Hell by The_Nightbreaker:

It wasn't real. He wasn't in Hell anymore. That's what he tried to tell himself over and over. But two centuries of torture don't disappear in a day. Sam struggles with visions of Hell, fighting to maintain his grip on reality. Dean hates that he can't protect his brother from what isn't real—but curse him if he doesn't try. When the boys stumble on a case with ties to the Devil himself, will they be able to pull themselves together in time to stop the sacrifices? Or will the echoes of Hell finally overtake them? Aka, season 7, but the plot is Hell trauma, not leviathans.

CW: suicidal ideation

Evening Shadows by withthekeyisking:

Sam is hallucinating the monster who tortured him for nearly two centuries, Dean feels like he's failing his brother, and a diner waitress bears witness.

CW: past rape/noncon

Everything Dies Given Time by Lise:

AU from 5.03. Sam discovers something wrong with himself, and learns to live with it. Only a lot less functional.

CW: suicide/temporary character death

The Freedom to Be Loud by jribbing:

It hadn’t occurred to Dean that maybe Sam remembered so much about that little nowhere town because something memorable had happened there.

CW: referenced past rape/noncon

golgotha by redskyatmorning:

There’s a vacancy on the throne of hell, and Sam is desperate enough to save Dean from Michael’s possession to give into the abyssal depths of his own darkness.

Head Space by ameliacareful:

A witch curses Sam leaving him blind, deaf, and bedridden. Left with only the inside of his own head and the occasional touch, Sam begins to unravel.

CW: suicidal ideation

Hiraeth by inkandpaperqwerty:

(n.) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past "Dean... I made a really big mistake." For a second, Dean actually thought things were going okay. He was out of Hell, Sam agreed to stop drinking demon blood, they had just wrapped up a successful hunt... for once, everything was okay. And then it wasn't. "I overdosed." Not at all.

CW: suicide attempts, suicidal ideation

if i could leave (i would've already left) by serendipity0930:

“I have a mission from God for you,” the Angel whispers to the man. “It is time for you to do what you were born to.” The man’s face twists into a smile, delighted over being chosen by Him, a purpose from God digging into his heart, carving out a place to fester. “Hunt.” ... 05x03 AU where Zachariah is even more determined to keep the brothers apart and hunters are all too willing to take Lucifer's True Vessel off the board for good

CW: referenced suicide

It's A River (But Not In Egypt) by Lise:

He's still a liar. Maybe always has been.

CW: toxic Sam/Lucifer dynamics

Kindred Instruments by PinBitch:

They’re in a tug of war and Sam is the rope. He doesn’t need to be alive for that. OR Sam dies in detox, being flung against the walls of a metal box will do that to you. Dean and Ruby pick up the pieces.

CW: temporary main character death, permanent supporting character death

lazarus trick by katsidhe:

Sam's alive, so everything is gonna be okay. 13.22 coda.

Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence by Lise:

Sam's back. He's in one piece. That's the problem.

CW: self-harm

love is like ghosts by redskyatmorning:

I’m poison, Dean had said instead of I’m sorry. Well, Sam wants to say, what does that make me? What the hell does that make me? (A look into Sam's mind in the aftermath of the Gadreel possession.)

The Other Brother by RadioFriday:

Sam and Adam are pulled from the cage at the same time. Sam is not right, and Adam, stuck as his caretaker, is not pleased.

Oxygen by inkandpaperqwerty:

“Cas! Cas, please! Please, answer me! Cas!” Castiel ignores Dean for several minutes, but then Dean gives him an opening that might help him complete his mission. So, he goes to investigate, and what he finds is a very bloody, nearly dead Sam. Dean tells him where the injuries came from, and Castiel quickly becomes confused. It doesn't make sense, but Dean tries to explain it to him, and slowly... Castiel begins to understand.

CW: suicide attempt

Post Hoc, Ergo Propter Hoc by AmberSock:

Sam waits, kneeling, for his execution. What if Dean hadn't missed?

CW: temporary character death

Safety In Distance by GalaxyThreads and SpiritClusters:

The Mark of Cain is a brand of violence. Sam was an idiot to think that he'd be exempt from it, just because he and Dean are siblings.

sometimes a kind of singing by adi_rotynd:

Sam gets cursed. They're dealing with it. Jack can see souls. That one they're not dealing with quite as well.

CW: past referenced rape/noncon

Soul Windows by GalaxyThreads and Spirit Clusters:

A few months after his birth, Jack learns how to see souls. Then he comes to a realization about the Winchester brothers, Sam in particular, and it's not a pleasant one. (gen)

Starry Night by keepcalmsmile:

Sam attempts suicide-by-monster. Dean tries to help. It sort of works...until it doesn't.

CW: suicide attempts, suicidal ideation

such fragile, broken things by The_Bookkeeper:

Sam wishes that Dean would just get it over with already.

The Tale of Sir Galahad by keepcalmsmile:

Sam once said he could never be clean like Sir Galahad. Dean assumed he was just talking about the demon blood. Turns out, Sam was talking about something else too. WARNING: Extended discussions of the aftermath of rape and childhood sexual abuse (but NO description of the actual events). Happy(ish) ending, but potentially very triggering.

CW: past rape/noncon, mentioned CSA

They Hammered in His Teeth by jribbing:

Sam has a secret.

CW: suicidal ideation

today's troubles (are history tomorrow) by a_good_soldier:

"It's not really something I know how to share," Sam had said. In which Dean figures he ought to help Sam out a bit.

Touch and Go by themegalosaurus:

Tag to 9.19 (Alex Annie Alexis Ann) in which Dean realises why, exactly, Sam is so angry about what happened with Gadreel.

trust fall by ad_castra:

“I’m nothing like you,” Sam hisses. Nevermind relating to the anguish of going it alone. Nevermind that he knows what it is to be strapped down and forcibly cleansed against his will. Sam wonders if these trials are purifying Crowley as well.

Words Like Glass by broken_cinders:

Dean never figured the cage wouldn't leave a mark. He was prepared for memories, flashbacks, and nightmares. He wasn't expecting the words Sam brought back with him or the way they made him seem just a breath beyond Dean's reach.

Wound and Unwound by fascra:

Sam stops eating spring of his freshman year.

CW: eating disorder

wincest (dean/sam)

Brittle by thecapn:

Sam Winchester has an eating disorder.

CW: eating disorder

Don't You Cry No More by sixtysevenlmpala (schittyfic):

The first time Sam gets badly hurt on a hunt, he doesn’t cry. Dean does.

Fall On Your Knees by dollylux:

Sam doesn't quite make it home on the last day of school before winter break.

The Fall Will Probably Kill You by killabeez:

Set between 7.04 and the aftermath of 7.07. Dean is not as okay as he'd like you to think. Neither is Sam.

CW: self-harm

Feels so good to feel again by Trojie:

The pain keeps Lucifer at bay, at least to start with.

Follow In Your Form by withthekeyisking:

Sam is hallucinating Lucifer in the wake of Cas bringing his Hell Wall crashing down. To make matters worse, it seems like this has his dormant powers flaring back to life.

Last Temptation by merle_p:

Sam is running a fever again, the kind of fever no Ibuprofen or cold compress will bring down, the kind of fever that is eating him up alive, eviscerating him from the inside. He is too hot and too cold and too pale, delirious and shaking, resonating with whatever divine energy the trials are subjecting him to, and Dean is not sure how much longer he can stand to see him be in this state. Because Sam is quite possibly dying, and there is nothing Dean can do to stop it. Because Sam is dying, and he just. Won’t. Shut. Up.

CW: mentioned past rape/noncon

leeches by Anonymous:

Sam discovers a spell to make everybody forget him. He’s convinced it’s for the best. Pre-Stanford.

CW: attempted kidnapping/torture

Make Thick My Blood by themegalosaurus:

“You’re going to kill me, Dean,” Sam says, eventually. And all Dean can say is, “I think I am.” A season 10 AU, set after 10x14 ('The Executioner's Song'). Cas finds a solution that might cure the Mark of Cain; but if they're going to go through with it, Sam has a terrible price to pay.

CW: mentioned past rape/noncon

Prophecy of an Abomination by ashitanoyuki:

Sam is kidnapped by fanatically religious hunters and crucified. Coming back from this won't be easy. Canon-divergent from midway through season 2.

Recall by De_Nugis:

Sam's having a hard time telling what's real and what isn't, especially when it comes to some voicemails from Dean.

The Room Upstairs by brokenlittleboy:

Sam comes back from hell, but he’s inside-out and all wrong, and Dean can’t fix him.

CW: mentioned past rape/noncon

Ruin You (and its companion fic Worth) by Mumble_Bee:

Cole fucks Sam with Demon!Dean watching from a devil's trap, snarling that anyone would dare touch what was his. “I told you I don’t care what you do to his face or his blood or his fucking nose,” Dean growled, “but you put your dick anywhere near him and I will end you.” “Better hurry up then, Dean, because I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

CW: explicit rape/noncon

Snowed In by HelloStarlingFics:

When working a case, Sam and Dean get stuck out in a shack in the woods when the snow comes in hard and fast. Trouble is, Sam’s hated the cold ever since the Cage. Time for Dean to step up and look after him.

Wake by minchout:

Gadreel has had Sam for four years, and Dean, lost in guilt and obsessed with finding a way to get his brother back, has isolated himself in a cabin in the Missouri Ozarks with nothing but the woods, a stray dog, some chickens, and all the books the Men of Letters had to offer to keep him company. Then Sam shows up one day without his passenger, and Dean learns quickly that it doesn't matter that Sam is with him again - there is still a lot of work to be done before they can find their way back to each other.

Wanting to Forget by morganaDW (morgana07):

1-shot. S1 fic. After getting Sam freed from the Benders Dean thinks all he has to cope with is some bruises and cuts. He learns quickly just how wrong he is when Sam wakes up with a nightmare, reliving his brief but bad captivity in every detail. Sam just wants to forget & Dean has to try to get him to let him help. Will one night of cruelty and pain ruin what’s been formed between them?

CW: referenced past rape/noncon

when I wake up I'm afraid, somebody else might take my place by quake_quiver:

Sam doesn’t remember the last time he cried for Dean like he did that night. And now it’s been…two weeks. Maybe more. Sam is tired, and in pain, and starting to doubt that Dean’s going to show up. He’s weak and shaking from a combination of constant pain and hunger. Sam longs for Dean. Dean would make it better. Dean would fix it.

CW: rape/noncon, body horror

Wire Inside Me by merle_p:

There are a lot of things Sam hates about his current condition, to the point where he sometimes feels for the gun under his pillow at night, blindly toys with the safety, imagines pressing the muzzle into the underside of his chin and pulling the trigger just to make it stop. But there’s nothing he hates as much as the shadows he sees in Dean’s eyes whenever his brother is looking at him these days. It’s not an expression he remembers ever seeing before, but Sam thinks it’s probably something like revulsion. Horror. Disgust. What else could it be.

CW: referenced past rape/noncon, body horror, forced pregnancy

Worth (and its companion fic Ruin You) by Mumble_Bee:

Episode 10x01 "Black" where Dean is a human, and very, very, pissed off to hear someone has hands on his brother. “It’s nothing personal,” Cole whispered into Sam's ear, too quietly for Dean to hear, “but I need to kill your brother, and I need him off his game when he gets here. I don’t wanna hurt you, kid, but I’m going to, anyway. I’m going to hurt you a lot."

CW: explicit rape/noncon

you'll never see us again by according2thelore:

Then finally, his eyes trail over to Dean. His pupils are pin-point thin, and his hair is straggling in his face so Dean can’t see most of what expression lies there. Sam usually wakes up from nightmares in one of three attitudes: confusion, fear, or calm. A scary, sense-prickling calm that Dean hates more than anything else. Resignation, almost. Or: Sam suffers from nightmares and touch starvation post-Cage. They do their best to deal.

other Sam/Lucifer noncon

Cage Fight (No Way To Do This Right) by Dyed_Red:

Sam’s visit to the cage is already going awry, but Dean’s one-man rescue ends up skidding it sideways into territory neither him or Sam are ready for. (Gratuitous episode scene re-write. If Cas hadn’t come till after, if he hadn’t been there yet when Dean ran down to the 'parole' cage after hearing Sam scream - how bad could it have got for the brothers before he made it?)

CW: graphic rape/noncon

Into Being by withthekeyisking:

When Sam wakes up in the cave on Apocalypse World after having been killed by vamps, it's not just to find Lucifer there with him. It's to find him in him.

CW: graphic rape/noncon, necrophilia, forced pregnancy

Reggie/Tim/Sam noncon

a pointless resistance for you by withthekeyisking:

Sam doesn't know how long he's been with Tim and Reggie by the time Dean shows up and tries to take him out of there. Long enough that's he's already lost one baby and is pregnant with the next. Long enough that this life is starting to feel like all he knows.

CW: graphic rape/noncon, forced pregnancy & miscarriage, victim blaming

screaming birds sound an awful lot like singing by withthekeyisking:

Sam has done his best to move past what Tim and Reggie did to him, pretending it never happened at all. But running into them again makes that very difficult—especially when Dean gets involved.

CW: referenced past rape/noncon

Waste 'Em All by withthekeyisking:

When Tim and Reggie try to force the demon blood down Sam's throat, he spits it back out. He has no interest in being turned into their own personal attack dog. They don't...take it well.

CW: explicit rape/noncon

#sam winchester #sam whump #supernatural #supernatural fic rec #wincest

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valtsv · 1 year ago

Note

I'm going thru ur angelverse tag rn cuz I'm writing a bit about computer angels and you've got a lot of neat stuff in there and it's got me curious abt what that's about. 🎤

so angelverse is this original fiction setting i made up for an rp server that no longer exists. i lost the server in the divorce but kept all the lore and worldbuilding i came up with for it. which was pretty much all of it. it's an urban fantasy/cosmic horror story set in a universe where angels are these powerful eldritch machine aliens whose species is in decline due to their dysfunctional, heavily militaristic society, near-perpetual conflict between various political factions within that society, a mass lack of purpose beyond warfare, and dwindling resources available for the continued propagation of the species.

the story mainly focuses on exiles from this shattered civilization; fallen angels banished to earth, usually for heinous crimes or extreme miscarriages of justice, and angels who were considered unfit for active duty due to personality or utility flaws and "reassigned" there under the pretense of some kind of nebulous greater purpose, but actually just abandoned for being weak links without the disgrace and ceremony of being officially exiled.

these malcontents, misfits, murderers and weapons of mass destruction, and how the people of planet earth interact with their presence, create most of the central conflicts that drive the story - death, rebirth, the horror of having a body, the existence of free will, machiavellian schemes, supernatural turf wars, epic love stories, bloody revenge tragedies, cycles of violence, and those who seek to break those oppressive, infinite loops - but the threat of the various powers of the republic of angels finally resolving their differences and turning their attention to the unresolved issue of their discarded toys, or being called to war once more, this time by the increasingly frustrated human population that has unwillingly hosted the angels' castoff scraps for the past few thousand years, remains an ever-present threat that hangs over all like a sword.

i already answered an ask where i linked all of the worldbuilding info documents before, so i'll just tack that on here in case you're interested in knowing more

#angelverse

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inevitably-johnlocked · 2 months ago

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Hey Guys!

Another weekend without a fic list ready or any asks, so I took it upon myself collect some fics for a Spooky-Themed list that I will probably have never gotten an ask about anyway. Since I've a lot of Halloween lists, I thought I would try something different and put out some Horror and Thriller Themed fics! I went through my MFL list and tag-searched "horror" and "thrilller", so these fics are ones that the author has tagged as such, so I can't guarantee frights... but I hope that y'all will enjoy this list anyway! I haven't read any of these so please heed the tags!

AND if you have a fave horror or psychological thriller story you've written or want to recommend, PLEASE do in the notes or reblogs and I'll add them to this list!

Happy Spooky Season, everyone!

HORROR / THRILLER FICS (MFLs)