#tw supernatural references

[sammygender]

wrt prev post and sam’s original ‘fed demon blood by azazel as a baby’ arc like. actually that was the most insane thing to see depicted on my television especially when it seemed like no one else i knew or followed was talking about it. it felt so explicit and yet it was sooo deep in metaphor. she walked in on us. sammy, you’re my favourite. god it must be terrible to know something happened but that you’ll never be able to remember it or tell anyone about it. never be able to rip it out or scrub it clean. so azazel could get into my nursery and- bleed in my mouth? because i wasn’t clean. these trials - they’re purifying me. anyway. augh

[super-who-locked-me-in-here]

Still waiting for Veggietales to finish the SuperWhoLock trinity

[suncaptor]

Like if you do want to engage in "Dean was raped in Hell" headcanon space you also do need to handle what I genuinely think would change his relationship with sex & sense of self even more which is that he would have also raped people in Hell because it's very safe to assume anything that was done to him he would do to others. Which, while I don't think it's unrealistic to think the torture he experienced and inflicted was intimate or sexually done in a way that is actually indistinguishable, it is not something I think comes off at all from the way he perceives and engaged with sex post Hell.

[canidaria]

"standing in the yard, dressed like a kid"

"the house is white and the lawn is dead"

inspired by Pieter Lastman's painting the Sacrifice of Isaac

[quietwingsinthesky]

straight women get to have mafia boss romance novels. why dont i get to have lucifer seducing sam winchester. of course he’d never want to have gay sex with the devil, but if lucifer makes him-

[pelmenifemme]

Hear me out. The Bentley clearly likes Aziraphale better. It could just drive after him.

In other words, the car should go to Heaven.

[garpen]

Pt. 29 Gotham Twitter AU

<<Part 28<< Happy Birthday Tim Master List >>Part 30>>

FOUR days without an update, sorry yall my brain was dried up. Hope the asks have kept you entertained while you waited. Anyways feel free to ask questions for the Q&A!

I posted a fic if anybody is interested. Mind the tags and TW at begining notes: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57526144

For the Supernatural reference: https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTNmpY9fV/

Got up to 105°F (40°C) today. But I live with no a/c and little ventilation in my home so inside was like 106°. Plus my room has NO air circulation at all so like 107° in there. And for whatever reason I thought today would be a great day to deep clean. I'm 🥵 rn.

[starstrike]

Mithrun's desire as an SA analogue

TW discussion of SA and detailed breakdown of aesthetics evoking SA. The way I discuss this is vivid in a way that may be triggering, though there is no discussion of actual sexual assault. Just survivor's responses to it.

People relate to Mithrun and see his condition as an analogue for a few different things, like brain injury or depression. And I think all of them are there. But I also see Mithrun's story as an SA analogue, and Ryoko Kui intentionally evokes those aesthetics. I think it's a part of Mithrun's character that a lot of people miss, but I very much consider it text. This is partially inspired by @heird99's post on what makes this scene so disturbing; so check out their post, too :)

So to start off with, the demon invades Mithrun's bed, specifically. There's even a canopy around it, which specifically evokes this idea of personal intrusion; the barrier is being pulled apart without consent or warning. The way the hand reaches towards Mithrun's body from outside of the panel division makes it almost look like the goat stroking over his body. It's an especially creepy visual detail; similarly, the goat's right hand parts into the side of the panel as well. It's literally like it's tearing the page apart; but gently. So gently.

Mithrun is in bed. It is his bed that the demon is intruding on. He's in a position of intimacy. The woman behind him is a facsimile of his "beloved" that he left behind; the woman who, in reality, chose Mithrun's brother. He is in bed with his fantasy lover, who is leaning over him. While this scene isn't explicitly sexual, it is intimate. And it is being invaded. The goat lifts Mithrun gently, who is confused, but not yet struggling.

The erotics of consumption and violence in Ryoko Kui's work(remember that the word 'erotic' can have many different meanings, please) are a... notable part of some of her illustrations. I would say she blurs the lines between all forms of desire: personal, sexual, gustatory and carnal, in her illustrations in order to emphasize the pure desire she wants to work with and evoke to serve her themes. Kui deploys sexual imagery in a lot of places in Dungeon Meshi, and this is one of them.

In this case, horrifically. The goat's assault begins with drooling, licking, and nuzzling. The goat could be enjoying and "playing with" its food. But it can also be interpreted as it "preparing" Mithrun with its tongue as it begins to literally breach Mithrun's body. The goat also invades directly through his clothing; that adds another level of disturbing to me. There's nothing Mithrun can do in this moment of violation. Mithrun is fighting, but he is fighting weakly, trying to grip on and push away when he has no ability or option to. All he can do is beg the goat to stop. And it doesn't care. This all evokes sexual assault.

The sixth panel demonstrates a somewhat sexual position, with Mithrun's thighs spread around the goat's hunched over body. In the next, the goat pulls and holds apart Mithrun's thighs as he nuzzles into him. The way the clothing bunches up looks a bit as if it has been pushed up. It has pinned Mithrun down onto the bed, into Mithrun's soft furs and pillows. It takes a place made to be supernaturally warm and comfortable, and violates it. It's utterly and intimately horrifying. To me, this sequence of positions directly evokes a rape scene. I think Kui did this very explicitly. These references to sexual invasion are part of what makes this scene so disturbing; albeit, to many viewers, subconsciously.

This is also the moment the goat takes Mithrun's eye. Other than this, the goat seems exceptionally strong, but also... gentle. It holds Mithrun's body tightly, but moves it around slowly. It doesn't need to hurt Mithrun physically. But in that moment, it takes Mithrun's eye. Blood seeps from a wound while an orifice that should not be pierced is penetrated. This moment, the ooze of blood in one place specifically, also evokes rape. That single bit of physical gore is a very powerful bit of imagery to me.

Finally; it is Mithrun's desire that is eaten. After his assault, Mithrun can find no pleasure in things that he once did. He is fully disassociated from his emotions. This is a common response to trauma, especially in the case of SA. It's not uncommon for people to never, or take a long time to, enjoy sex in the same way again; or at all. They might feel like their rapist has robbed them of a desire and pleasure they once had. I think this makes Mithrun's lack of desire a partial analogue for the trauma of sexual assault.

Mithrun's desire for revenge was, supposedly, all that remained. Anger at his assaulter, anger at every being that was like it; though, perhaps not anger. Devotion, in a way. To his cause. I don't know. But the immediate desire to seek revenge is another response to SA. But on to Mithrun's true feelings on the matter.

This is... So incredibly tragic. Mithrun feels used up. Like his best parts have been taken away. Like he's being... tossed aside. This certainly parallels the way assault victims can feel after being left by an abuser. Or the way assault victims feel they might be "ruined" forever for other partners. These are common sentiments for survivors to carry, and need to overcome. In the text, it's almost like Mithrun feels the only being who can desire him is a demon who might "finish devouring" him. That that's his only use. It's worth noting that Mithrun trusted the demon. Mithrun's world was built by the demon, and Mithrun, in that way, was cared for by the demon. I think this reinforces Mithrun's place as a victim.

There's also something to be said about Mithrun as a victim of his own possessive romantic and sexual desire. The mirror shows him his beloved just dining with his brother, and it infuriates him. He doesn't know if the vision is real, nor if she has really chosen his brother as a romantic partner. The goat then creates a whole fantasy world where she loves him. As Mithrun's dungeon deteriorates, she is the only person that continues to exist. Mithrun continues to have control over her. And that is the strongest desire the demon is eating, isn't it? There's something interesting there, but I don't know what to say about it.

In conclusion, I think Mithrun's story is an explicit analogue for sexual assault-- though, certainly, among other things! The way the scene plays out and is composed explicitly references sexual violation and invasion of the body. His condition mirrors common trauma responses to sexual violence. And, at the end, he finally realizes he can recover.

Let's end on a happy Mithrun, after taking the first step on his journey to recovery :) You aren't vegetable scraps Mithrun. But even if you were-- every single thing in this world has value. Even vegetable scraps.

[kkami-writes]

⛤ Black Blood ⛤

pairing. ot8 x fem!demon!reader synopsis. It was an accident, really. They were just messing around with the Ouija board - nothing was supposed to happen. They definitely didn't mean to summon a demon, let alone bound one to them. Now you're stuck with 8 chaotic idols, having to navigate this new life that's been thrust upon you while they try to find out how to break this curse. No one had planned on getting attached, especially to someone like you. genres. written series + half text fic, idol!au, angsty, fluff, supernatural elements, eventual smut, eventual romance, porn w/ plot lol, semi-slow burn cw/tws. tags contain spoilers! member x member relationships, polyamory/polycule, implied/referenced self harm, implied/referenced suicide, undisclosed terminal illness, mentions of heaven + hell (no references to any particular religion, mostly my own "lore" to fit the story), cameos from seventeen a/n. quick disclaimer that this is fiction!!! any actions or personalities of the members is not meant to reflect the very real people. I take a little bit of creative freedom in terms of the timeline as it starts from 2020-to present and I can only assume when things were filmed. anyway buckle up, this is supposed to be a very long haul fic lol. status: on hiatus. | taglist: open! sign up here. | AO3 link

wanna support my work? consider buying me a coffee?

chapter one / chapter two / chapter three / chapter four / chapter five / chapter six / chapter seven / chapter eight / chapter nine / chapter ten / chapter eleven / chapter twelve

[kkumawrites]

Here Kitty, Kitty summary: SEVENTEEN is just your average next door werewolf pack filled with college boys, trying to not blow their cover. Enter you, a mysterious girl with an alluring scent that seems to drive the boys wild. Seungcheol just wants to know why that is without ripping his hair out.

or aka, another werewolf!au pairing: ot13 x fem!reader themes/genres: werewolf!au (but not a/b/o verse, cheol is referred to as the 'alpha' but because he's the eldest and their 'leader'), college!au, reverse harem, mates, supernatural, smut, romance, drama, angst, fluff, poly, kinda slow burn (not really) a/n: this is a reverse harem fic, meaning the reader is mates with everyone. if that is not your cup of tea that's fine! you don't have to read ♡ on another note, updates will be very slow due to currently editing and still writing. I plotted this like back in 2014 and it wasn't even a seventeen fic LMAO, so the plot is shit but it is what it is, I still really wanna post this. more specific tw/cw will be listed on each chapter. status: ongoing   ────── 〔✿〕──────  one | two | three | four | five

[vermilionsun]

This post translates directly to @musas-sideblog's about how Touchstarved ties with Victorian horror and implicit/metaphorical sex, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so here is a lengthy theory. Enjoy :)

Note 1: Victorian era authors used an unholy amount of ways to imply sexual feelings/acts etc, so I here I will include only the ones that are of interest. Note 2: I've highlighted the "most important" parts. Note 3: I'm not an expert at this, so please bear with me and feel free to correct me. Note 4: Do I need to add a TW? I think it's obvious-

Overview: What is Victorian Horror?

Victorian horror refers to the genre of horror literature, art, and culture that flourished during the Victorian era, roughly from the mid-19th century to the early 20th century, coinciding with Queen Victoria's reign from 1837 to 1901. This period was marked by a fascination with the macabre, the supernatural, and the dark aspects of human nature, reflecting the anxieties and societal changes of the time. 

Key Themes and Characteristics

Supernatural Elements:

Ghosts and Spirits: Tales of haunted houses and spectral apparitions were central to Victorian horror. Charles Dickens's "A Christmas Carol" (1843) and Henry James's "The Turn of the Screw" (1898) are notable examples.

Monsters and the Gothic: The era's literature is filled with monstrous creations and gothic settings, such as in Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein" (1818), Bram Stoker's "Dracula" (1897), and Robert Louis Stevenson's "Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde" (1886).

Science and the Unknown:

The Victorian period was a time of great scientific advancement, but also of fear about the implications of these discoveries. This is evident in works that explore the dangers of unchecked scientific experimentation, like "Frankenstein" and H.G. Wells's "The Island of Doctor Moreau" (1896).

Exploration of the Human Psyche:

Victorian horror often delved into the darker aspects of the human mind, including themes of duality, madness, and the hidden, sinister side of human nature. This is seen in "Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde" and Edgar Allan Poe’s works, such as "The Tell-Tale Heart" (1843).

Social and Moral Anxieties:

The literature frequently reflected Victorian society's fears and anxieties, including issues related to sexuality, class, and the role of women. Gothic novels often contained subtexts about societal norms and the consequences of transgressing them.

Urban Fear and Isolation:

The rapid urbanisation of the Victorian era contributed to themes of isolation, alienation, and fear of the crowded yet lonely cityscape. This is evident in the settings of many horror stories, such as Arthur Machen's "The Great God Pan" (1894).

Sexual Content: Victorian literature is renowned for its strict moral codes and conservative views on sexuality. Explicit depictions of sexual activity were considered taboo and were subject to censorship. Consequently, authors developed subtle and nuanced methods to imply sexual scenes or themes.

Literary Techniques for Implying Sexual Scenes

✧ Symbolism and Imagery:

Sexuality was often conveyed through symbolic imagery. Objects, actions, or natural phenomena could serve as metaphors for sexual activity or desire. For example, in "Dracula" by Bram Stoker, blood and biting symbolise sexual penetration and the exchange of bodily fluids, infusing the act with a sense of forbidden desire and eroticism.

Clothing and Undress:

Gloves: In Victorian culture, gloves were highly symbolic. The act of a woman removing her gloves in the presence of a man, or a man assisting her in this act, could signify a moment of intimacy or vulnerability. Similarly, a man giving a woman his gloves could be a sign of affection or a deeper connection.

Hats and Bonnets:

Corsets

Objects and Personal Items:

Locks of Hair

Jewellery

Books and Letters

Touch and Physical Contact:

Kissing Hands

Hand-Holding

Food and Drink:

Wine: Sharing wine or a meal in an intimate setting often suggested a prelude to deeper connection. Descriptions of characters drinking wine together in private could imply a romantic or sexual undertone.

Fruit: Certain fruits, like apples, grapes, or peaches, were laden with sexual symbolism. Eating or sharing fruit could represent temptation or indulgence. For instance, in Christina Rossetti’s poem "Goblin Market", the act of eating the goblin fruit is rich with sexual symbolism.

Flora and Fauna

Flowers and Gardens:

Roses: Roses were often used to symbolise love and passion. A red rose might suggest romantic or sexual attraction, while a wilted rose could imply lost innocence or sexual ruin.

Lilies: Lilies, especially white ones, represented purity but could also suggest a contrasting theme when associated with a fallen or tarnished character.

Garden Settings: Scenes set in secluded gardens or amongst lush, overgrown vegetation often hinted at secret or forbidden encounters. Descriptions of characters wandering through or tending to gardens could imply sexual exploration or awakening.

Flowers Blooming or Opening:  The blooming of flowers often represented sexual awakening or the act of losing one's virginity.

Nature Imagery:

Rivers and Water: Flowing water and rivers often symbolised sexual desire and the act of lovemaking. For instance, in "Tess of the d'Urbervilles" by Thomas Hardy, Tess's encounter with Alec d'Urberville is often described with metaphors of nature and fluidity.

Storms and Weather: Storms, with their intense energy and sudden outbursts, were frequently used to symbolise sexual passion or climactic moments.

Birds and Beasts:

Animals, especially those that are wild or predatory, often symbolised primal sexual instincts and desires. The taming or interaction with these animals could imply a character’s grappling with their own sexuality.

Fire and Heat

✧ Phrases and Sayings

Euphemistic Language

Descriptive Phrasing

Dialogue and Confessions

Private Spaces:

Secluded or Dimly Lit Rooms: Scenes set in private, darkened rooms often suggested clandestine sexual encounters. The privacy of the setting allows authors to imply what could not be explicitly stated. In Wilkie Collins’s "The Woman in White", many key interactions happen in secluded spaces, hinting at secrets and hidden desires.

Dreams and Fantasies:

Dream Sequences:

Dreams and fantasies were used to explore a character’s subconscious desires and fears, often revealing their suppressed sexual longings. These sequences provided a socially acceptable way to delve into erotic themes.

Hallucinations and Madness:

Moments of madness or hallucination could serve as a metaphor for overwhelming passion or uncontrollable sexual desire. These states allowed characters to express forbidden feelings in a way that was metaphorically safe.

Physical Interactions and Horror

Touch and Proximity as Menace:

Unwanted or Forced Touch: In horror, touch that is typically a sign of affection or intimacy becomes a source of fear.

Physical Closeness in Horror Settings: Close proximity in dark, secluded places amplifies the sense of claustrophobia and vulnerability, turning what could be an intimate setting into one fraught with terror.

Undress and Exposure in Horror:

Loosening Corsets and Vulnerability: The act of undressing or loosening clothing, which can be a prelude to intimacy, in horror often leaves characters vulnerable to attack or exposure of their deepest fears.

Food and Consumption in Horror

Cannibalism and Vampirism:

Blood as Sexual and Vital Fluid: The act of consuming blood, as in vampirism, blends the themes of sustenance and sexual exchange. The vampire's bite becomes a metaphor for both sexual penetration and the transfer of life force.

Example: "Dracula" is a prime example where blood consumption is deeply eroticized, with Dracula’s victims often portrayed in a state of ecstatic submission as he drains their blood.

Food as a Lure: Food and feasting, typically symbols of pleasure and indulgence, in horror contexts can be used to lure victims into dangerous situations.

Example: In "Goblin Market" by Christina Rossetti, the goblins’ fruit is both irresistibly tempting and dangerous, representing a forbidden and potentially fatal indulgence.

Plot and Character Dynamics in Horror

Power and Domination:

Common Dynamics with a Dark Twist

Predators and Victims: Characters who prey on others are often literal monsters in horror, representing the loss of control or innocence.

Secrecy and Concealment:

Hidden Desires and Monstrous Revelations: Characters who conceal their true identities or desires often find these hidden aspects manifesting as monstrous or terrifying in horror narratives, suggesting that repression can lead to dire consequences.

Clandestine Meetings and Forbidden Encounters: Secret meetings and forbidden relationships, often tinged with sexual implications, add an element of danger and fear, suggesting that transgressing social norms leads to horror.

Common Themes in Victorian Horror

Duality and the Doppelgänger:

Theme: The concept of duality, where a character has a hidden, darker side, or encounters a double (doppelgänger), often symbolises the internal conflict between good and evil within individuals.

Connection: This theme reflects Victorian anxieties about identity, morality, and the consequences of repressing one’s darker impulses.

Gothic and Supernatural Elements:

Theme: Victorian horror is rich with Gothic elements such as haunted houses, dark landscapes, and supernatural beings. These elements create a sense of dread and evoke the mysteries of the unknown.

Connection: The Gothic setting often serves as a backdrop for exploring human fears, isolation, and the impact of the supernatural on everyday life.

Decay and Degeneration:

Theme: The fear of decay and degeneration, both physical and moral, is a recurring motif. This theme often examines the decline of individuals, families, or societies and the consequences of corruption and vice.

Connection: This theme mirrors Victorian concerns about the erosion of social and moral values amidst rapid industrial and social changes.

Madness and Psychological Horror:

Theme: The exploration of madness and psychological horror delves into the fragility of the human mind and the terror of losing one's sanity. This often includes hallucinations, obsessions, and the thin line between reality and delusion.

Connection: This theme resonates with Victorian fears of mental illness, the limitations of medical knowledge, and the impact of societal pressures on mental health.

Forbidden Knowledge and the Faustian Bargain:

Theme: The pursuit of forbidden knowledge and the resulting consequences is a central theme. Characters who seek power, immortality, or forbidden truths often pay a heavy price, reminiscent of the Faustian bargain.

Connection: This theme highlights Victorian anxieties about scientific progress, moral boundaries, and the potential hubris of human ambition.

The Uncanny and the Unknown:

Theme: The uncanny involves the strange and unfamiliar becoming eerily familiar, often unsettling the reader and characters. It blurs the lines between reality and the supernatural, invoking fear and discomfort.

Connection: This theme taps into Victorian fears of the unknown, the foreign, and the otherworldly, reflecting broader anxieties about social and cultural boundaries.

Death and the Afterlife:

Theme: Victorian horror frequently grapples with themes of death and the afterlife, exploring the fear of mortality, the possibility of an afterlife, and encounters with the dead or undead.

Connection: These themes reflect Victorian preoccupations with death, the spiritual realm, and the possibility of life beyond death, often intensified by the era's high mortality rates and interest in spiritualism.

Isolation and Alienation:

Theme: Isolation and alienation are prevalent themes, often highlighting characters who are physically or emotionally detached from society, leading to their vulnerability and descent into despair or madness.

Connection: This theme resonates with the Victorian experience of industrialization and urbanization, which often led to feelings of disconnection and loneliness.

Class and Social Anxiety:

Theme: Victorian horror often explores themes of class and social anxiety, including the fear of losing social status, the consequences of poverty, and the tension between different social classes.

Connection: This theme reflects the rigid class structures of Victorian society and the fears and tensions that arose from social mobility and economic disparity.

Moral Corruption and Hypocrisy:

Theme: Victorian horror frequently critiques the era’s moral standards and exposes the hypocrisy of societal norms. Characters who appear virtuous often harbor dark secrets or engage in morally dubious activities.

Connection: This theme mirrors the Victorian concern with appearances and the underlying tension between public propriety and private desires.

The Five Pillars of Victorian Horror & The Five Love Interests

The Supernatural and the Gothic (Ais)

Essence: Victorian horror often revolves around the supernatural, blending Gothic elements to evoke a sense of dread and otherworldly terror. This includes ghosts, vampires, haunted houses, and curses, which create an atmosphere where the boundaries between the natural and the supernatural blur.

Impact: The use of Gothic settings and supernatural phenomena provides a backdrop for exploring deeper themes of fear, mortality, and the unknown.

Psychological Depth and Madness (Vere)

Essence: Victorian horror delves into the complexities of the human mind, exploring themes of madness, obsession, and the psychological effects of fear and trauma. Characters often grapple with their sanity, facing inner demons as terrifying as any external threat.

Impact: This focus on psychological horror allows for a deeper exploration of character motivations and the impact of societal pressures.

Moral Corruption and the Double Life (Leander)

Essence: Themes of moral corruption and the duality of human nature are central to Victorian horror. Characters often lead double lives, presenting a veneer of respectability while concealing dark, sinful secrets. This tension between outward appearances and hidden truths reflects the era’s social hypocrisy and fear of scandal.

Impact: These themes critique Victorian society’s emphasis on propriety and the dangerous consequences of repressing one’s true nature. The idea of a double life or hidden self adds to the horror by suggesting that evil can reside within anyone, masked by a facade of normalcy.

Decay, Degeneration, and Disease (Kuras)

Essence: The themes of physical and moral decay, societal degeneration, and disease permeate Victorian horror. These motifs symbolise the fragility of human life and the inevitability of decline, reflecting the anxieties of a society grappling with rapid change and uncertain futures.

Impact: By focusing on decay and degeneration, Victorian horror underscores the transient nature of life and the ever-present threat of corruption and decline, whether through ageing, moral compromise, or societal breakdown.

Isolation and Alienation (Mhin)

Essence: Isolation and alienation are pervasive themes in Victorian horror, often depicted through characters who are physically or emotionally cut off from society. This separation heightens their vulnerability to external threats and internal fears.

Impact: Isolation serves to intensify the psychological tension and sense of dread, as characters confront their fears alone. It also reflects the era’s social and existential anxieties, including the fear of being disconnected or outcast from society.

Generally, I believe each LI connects with a pillair (as seen above). Perhaps by looking at the archetypes we could deduce propable endings and route elements.

Forgive me, for the following part is MESSY;

Ais

Vere

Leander

Kuras

Mhin

[dcangel]

What Hurts The Most

A fic inspired by “what hurts the most” by rascal flatts. (Peep some lyric references in there)

Context: you and stiles were the couple, always together and completely inseparable. But lack of communication due to overwhelming stress and responsibilities of balancing the pack’s supernatural problems as well as school left for a gap between you two, and it didn’t end well.

tw: emetophobia, slight intoxication (not really), no smut

she didn’t tell you. Lydia didn’t tell you stiles was gonna be here. In all fairness, she probably didn’t know. It wasn’t her fault that everyone always came to her parties; that she was popular and could fit in anywhere. After all, she was in the pack, so, naturally, she invited all of them. Just because you and stiles hadn’t ended on good terms didn’t mean that one of you shouldn’t get to come and enjoy a good night with friends, right?

So here you were: in your little red dress, having grown to love the color over the past year or so, and feeling like the world was about crumble as you froze. Lydia noticed your shift in mood instantly, probably related to the literal shifting movements you made, trying to get out of sight. Out of everyone’s sight, preferably, but most definitely out of his sight.

You tried so hard—so excessively hard—to keep your eyes off him. After finding your eyes gazing in his direction, your mind telling itself that you only wanted a quick glance, just a small glimpse for only a second, and then you’d look away for the rest of the night, you had to pry your eyes away, physically turning your body to prevent it.

Lydia knew, and she had told you it was for the better. Not that either of you were malicious during your end, but it just brought baggage along with the subject when it was even hinted at. Baggage of which you were starting to feel the weight of right now.

Kira came over with Scott as you and Lydia had been chatting about school and gossip; things you used to do before when life was simple and you weren’t constantly stuck in ‘don’t die’ mode thanks to the supernatural. To others, it would’ve seemed as if you were genuinely engaged in this conversation; talking, smiling, nodding your head, even falling back into old habits of talking with your hands. But the red-headed girl knew, even Kira—who you’d not been friends with for long—could tell. It was all just a guise.

Scott, of course, recognized a few indignations of your facade, and he figured that you’d probably just want to have a girl talk without him there. So, he told his girlfriend he’d be talking to a few other friends—probably meaning stiles—and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead before leaving.

The pda made you antsy. It reminded you of him. Of course it did, everything did. The forehead kisses, him holding you from behind as you sunk into his grip and he held you against his warm chest, and for just that moment, you two felt the unspoken sense of security and safety. But now you were alone; unsafe, unstable, and with nothing against your back other than red satin and a chilled breeze.

You must’ve spaced out, because the next thing you knew, the girls were trying to calmly usher you into the house. A seemingly normal thing, but you could tell it was rushed, a sense of urgency could be observed from their body language.

They weren’t gossiping much, telling you that they just had to change the scene because there were people around who shouldn’t be hearing what they had to say. It would account for the darted glances, aimed at people next to or behind you.

Naturally, you wondered who was around that wasn’t allowed to hear such drama. A few quick head turns—that you tried making discreet—and glancing at lamp posts covered in neatly trimmed ivy, or maybe even the roof, as if there was something interesting about them that might offset any of those who would find your directed glances unsuspicious, lead to a new discovery.

Like muscle memory, your keen eyes found him easily in a crowd. Unfortunately, you also had the displeasure of finding someone else next to him. A girl. Blonde hair, pretty eyes that you couldn’t determine the color of from this distance, on-point makeup, a perfect button nose, and just overall drop dead gorgeous. She was all over him, hands gliding and smoothing over his flannel-clad torso as she overdramatized her laughs at whatever he was saying, clearly a bit intoxicated.

For a moment, when Lydia and Kira realized that you had seen what they were trying to keep you from, they stopped fighting against your resistance. They gave you sympathetic looks that went unseen by your—now glossed over—eyes.

Your struggling stilled, your hands losing their grip on each of the girls’ arms. Your elbows dropped, then your hands did, your smiling expression long before either of them.

You felt physically ill, every muscle in your body went stiff like a living corpse—which is what you might as well be at this point. Your skin was pale—not just pale, but drained of any color, any life that had been left inside after your other half was torn from you not even a month ago.

And now he was here—as expected—but with another girl. Did they just meet or something? Did he come here with her? You could’ve sworn that she wasn’t around earlier. And if it was the latter, then that means he’s already moved on. Already found another girl to commit to when you two couldn’t even figure out the problems you had when you were together, those of which are now left unsolved; forever solidified in the black and white color of your once vibrant past.

“Oh,” you breathed out, the air in your lungs was thick and sat heavily. It was that type of slow, unsystematic but somehow still very calculated breathing that would automatically start when one would try and hold back the floodgates from opening.

Suddenly you turned back to the girls, the polished smile you held nearly identical to the one before, but tampered with the emotion you held in your eyes, and started walking inside like they wanted you to do before. “So what were you gonna say? The stuff that you didn’t want anyone else hearing.”

Kira looked a bit stunned, like she was just waiting for it all to come crashing down as if you hadn’t fully realized what you’d seen yet. But Lydia was a bit more accustomed to your insincere smiles and happy attitudes whenever something that would send the average person spiraling downwards came about.

“Well,” she started, searching her brain from any drama juicy enough to distract you, “you know Molly, right?”

You nodded like you were there and in the moment, but your eyes were distant. “From Biology?”

Lydia nodded. “Yeah, well, I heard that she and Kylie had this huge fight about shoes or something stupid…” Lydia kept talking, and you kept making interjecting comments, occasionally throwing in a surprised face or two, yet the two girls saw right through you.

You kept looking around the room, through the glass doors to Lydia’s backyard, even going as far as to strain your neck a little to see into the next room, of course, all while trying not to make it obvious. But you were slowly going insane. You couldn’t decide whether you wanted to run as far and as fast as you could from beacon hills and never look back, or if you just wanted to collapse and kick and scream like a toddler. The other things you wanted to do weren’t really options on the board.

You were drawn from your inevitable breakdown by the strawberry blonde placing a gentle hand on your arm. One look at her and you already knew what she was silently asking. No, you weren’t okay. But for the night, you were going to have to be.

Over the next thirty minutes alone, you tossed back shot after shot of diluted punch. You weren’t sure why you were taking shots of the spiked punch, to be honest. You just thought maybe it would trick your brain into thinking it was straight alcohol instead of some mild fruity concoction at a highschool party.

It did help to get you feeling a little better, and by better, it meant that you couldn’t bring yourself to care about holding things in as much. You started gossiping with Lydia and Kira, you started dancing whenever your favorite songs played, you started laughing when someone would get pushed into the pool. You started having fun and enjoying yourself.

And with the lack of restraint came the glances, the gazes that lasted a little too long, the jealousy of some girl you didn’t even know the name of, the need to breakdown and continue the almost-daily streak.

You kept talking to your friends, occasionally singing along to some songs with them like every lyric didn't remind you of him in some way, or like how the tempo didn't remind you of how his heart would beat when you laid your head on his chest at night.

It didn’t quite hit until Radioactive started playing. The song itself had no significance, but rather, the music video. You remembered sitting with stiles and watching the music video, and feeling sad because the puppets were beating each other up or something. Whatever it was, you couldn’t exactly remember since it’s been so long since you’ve even heard this song, let alone watch the video. Plus you had a bit of alcohol in your system now from how much punch you drank.

Something didn’t sit right in your stomach, and you noticed immediately. Your tipsy movements stopped, your face now one of concentration and slight fear. You had a fear of throwing up, always have and always will.

“L-Lydia?”

The strawberry blonde could tell something was wrong just by the pitch of your voice; like a scared kid thinking the world was about to end over some mild concern. “Yeah?”

You didn’t want to jinx your inevitable fate of getting sick, but the sour look on your face could pretty much convey your fears.

“Okay, it’s okay.” She said calmly. “Let’s just get you inside, alright? You’re gonna be fine, I promise.”

After leading you through her house, filled to the brim with sweaty, intoxicated teenagers, pushing and elbowing a few who barely looked conscious, she brought you to an upstairs bathroom where hopefully you wouldn’t be bothered. The bathroom was connected to one of the guest bedrooms, and you’d have to go through the bedroom to get there.

You insisted she wait outside and to not speak to or touch you at all, it was just some overstimulation problems your body had while throwing up that you wanted to avoid. You didn’t have a hair tie, and without Lydia or Kira to help since you locked them out of the pristine room, you were left to struggle with holding your own hair back as you hunched over the toilet and released the contents of your stomach.

The vile feeling of acid mixed with a fruity flavor and revolting feeling of the party snacks coming back up scorched your throat. Your fingers held a weak grip, but one that felt like your life depended on it, on the edge of the toilet as you completely disregarded all your standards for cleanliness.

Tears welled in your eyes, the extreme dislike for the revolting feeling and taste combo coming on quickly and strongly.

And then it all came crashing down.

The resistance you had for not getting sick in years—other than that one month,—the walls you put in place, the courageous and happy role you played day to day; all of it. It all went to shit.

And all because when it came down to this moment, where you were expelling every substance you ingested in the past few hours, the person you needed most was god knows where doing god knows what with whoever the fuck he wanted. And what he wanted wasn’t you. That’s how it seemed, at least.

Having been your friend years before you started something new between you two, stiles knew you better than you knew yourself. He knew you didn’t like people around you when you weren’t feeling good, and he never asked why, even though it made no sense. He knew you didn’t have an answer, it was just a matter of comfort. And you didn’t even have to tell him it was okay to sit next to you, to talk about the little things that went on inside his head, to slowly start tracing his fingers over yours. He didn’t need to ask and you didn’t need to tell him because you two had something most didn’t. A real and true connection.

And then you reverted back to most relationships, nothing special, and no communication anymore. You couldn’t understand how things just “fizzled out” or you two just “drifted apart” because how could that happen? All those promises, affectionate touches or gestures that were so sickly sweet they were toothache worthy—had they meant nothing? In the moment, they meant the world, and that was mutually agreed upon, but what about now?

You were at your worst: the lowest of the low between the combination of a breakdown and ones of your worse fears passing through your system at the moment, and the only one that could truly help you, if only a little, wasn’t yours anymore.

It was stupid, so fucking stupid. How had it managed to get this bad? You should’ve just said what was on your mind, never put it off as something to say later. You felt like you took it all for granted, and that if you had a chance, you’d trade everything, everything, to give him all those words that you left unspoken.

Between the shaking, the loss of everything your body had left to run on, and the calls of your name from outside that fell on deaf ears, you felt empty. Both physically and emotionally. You were chilled by the ever-flowing breeze in the drafty room, yet your insides felt like molten. It made you want rip your hair out, claw at your skin, dig your nails into any surface until they bled—like you wanted an inanimate object to feel as much pain as you did,—kick things, scream until your throat bled, which probably would take long thanks to the corrosive stomach acid, and bash every mirror and glass object in this room.

Of course, Lydia’s house had nothing do with your internal neurasthenia, yet you found yourself digging your nails into the slightly tarnished porcelain that you had draped yourself over, head still partially in the bowl.

You genuinely didn’t know if you could go on from here. Maybe making Lydia’s guest bathroom your forever home wouldn’t be the worst choice. The small clock in the corner steadily ticked, and despite being on the second floor and on the opposite side of the house, you could still hear the booming music that shook the frame of your friend’s home.

You tried reciting every line, every word, every beat to the currently played song that you could, hoping it would get your mind off the nauseating feeling in your gut and the equally horrendous smell assaulting your nostrils. You just decided to flush the toilet to at least solve one of your million problems.

Even if you eventually chose to leave Lydia’s bathroom, your makeup was completely fucked. You were sure your mascara flaked off in the streams of tears down your cheeks, and with the flood from your eyes carried your concealers and foundation, probably your eyeliner as well even though it was usually pretty good about staying on.

Thanks to the lack of lucidity in your semi-manic state, you didn’t hear the door handle turning, nor did you hear the soft creak of the hinges as the opened wide enough for a person to slip through. Had you been listening to the movements, you would’ve heard the silence that came when one would typically close a door after entering a room.

You didn’t realize there was another presence in this room until the shadows of their motions got closer, and you felt the heat of someone slowly walking behind you. They sat down on the edge of the shower bath, and only then when you peaked from the corner of your eyes to see their elbows resting on their thighs, their hands already starting to fidget, did you know who it was.

Your head fell on your arms that were resting on the toilet seat, your heart sinking to your feet, which, in all fairness, wasn’t that far from where your heart was. Your head was hung over the rim of the seat into the bowl, and you watched as your tears made small ripples in the filtered water. For a moment, you recognized your appreciation for Lydia’s big house and over-tidy habits even more; the toilet was probably very rarely used and was also, knowing Lydia, most likely cleaned once a week.

But that small distraction only occupied your mind for a second before your brain forced you to remember the, now awkward, situation you’ve been put in. You thought you had healed, or was starting to, but with stiles the closest he’s been to you in weeks, given the tiny room, your mind began to revert to the easygoing mindset you typically occupied—well, up until around a month ago. Being with stiles meant you didn’t have to think, unless you were with the pack, and you two would act like there wasn’t a care in the world.

Even now, you still acted like that. But not because you had someone to goof around with that matched your energy so well, rather, it was because you no longer had the will. You couldn’t bring yourself to care about things as much as you used to, despite the so called “care-free” attitude you maintained during those ostensibly infinite months.

The tears easily rolled from the corner of your eye, down the bridge of your nose, below the other eye, and down your cheek into your hair, creating a wet horizontal line. You had nothing left, so why not just wallow in self-pity?

Unfortunately, you felt the wretched sense of your guts churning, you grumbled a few small words of lost denial before using the rest of your strength, your body automatically curling over the toilet, your head partially in the bowl, and clawed at the porcelain as you gagged and heaved.

Nothing came out except for acidic spit, not even bile. That’s when you knew that it was probably over, your intestines having expelled all substances it held. The left over nutrients, or rather lack of thereof, only wished you to hold yourself over the toilet with every bit of shaky vigor left in you. You didn’t even bother looking over at the person, having lost all self preservation from losing your entire digestive tract in a matter of minutes, and also from shamelessly dry-heaving in front of them.

No one spoke, the air heavy with unsaid words, unspoken hearts. Him not seeing that love in you was the reason for your inevitable nightly meltdowns. It would be one thing if you broke up, both people still maintaining the feelings, unlucky in the sense that it just wasn’t going to work between them, but knowing that it could—it did—work between you two, and having so much left to say, so much left over in your heart for him that continued to thrive, and watching him walk away, had to have been one of the most gut wrenching, vomit inducing (literally) feelings known to mankind.

You heard him take that familiar precursory breath like he was preparing to speak, and for a moment, a stupidly naïve moment, you hoped beyond hope that this would be the moment he’d apologize for ending things, tell you that he missed you and still loved you, and maybe—just maybe—he finally realized that he was made for you, and you for him. That you fit together perfectly, better than completing a satisfying thousand-piece puzzle.

But nothing came. Not the words you foolishly listened hard for in case they were spoken under his breath, not even a saddened sigh. Not a single word was uttered from his spot.

The entire English lexicon—hell, you would’ve taken French or even Spanish—and not a single word was exchanged in order to express the locutions that made it hard for you to get up, get dressed, and live with this regret for eternity.

And yet you always thought that if you had the chance, you’d gladly exchange every breath in your lungs for what little attention he’d give back, even just a lingering look. And here was your chance: sitting to your right on a matching set of porcelain, leaning forward on his elbows, fingers anxiously twisting and gripping at each other.

Where were those words? Those extra breaths you promised him—if not him, then yourself—you’d keep for this moment? Where the hell were they? In the toilet with the rest of your self respect and preservation?

But even with the movements of reaching out a weak hand for the opulent, four-ply toilet paper stocked neatly on a mounted holder, and wiping the filth from your lips and chin before tossing the plush tissues into the slightly-soiled water below, you still hadn’t managed to come up with those lexises.

Pressing the small handle, you flushed your (somewhat) dinner along with your dignity down the toilet. You took your time getting up, feeling each of your limbs and the muscles within straining and shaking uncontrollably as they works tirelessly to keep you upright to a certain extent.

You dragged your cramped-up legs over to the sink, leaning forward and gripping the marble with a deceptive force. You weren’t wrong; your makeup was absolutely wrecked: streaks that mapped the flow of your tears through your foundation, messed up lipstick that tried its best to cling to most lips through a sheer stain, and mascara in places you didn’t even know were possible to get the black substance there.

“She’s pretty,” you heard your own voice croak, “what’s her name?”

A stutter came, like he was about to deny your slight accusations. “Charlotte.” His words sounded uncaring, and you hoped to whatever god or gods out there that it meant they weren’t a thing like you assumed.

How the fuck were you supposed to compete with a pretty girl named charlotte? Lydia would say you’re not, that you should just let it go. That it was all over now.

You hummed with a nod, pretending like this was interesting information when you really just wanted to get the fuck out of here. “Well, she seems nice.” You didn’t even know the girl and you already hated her guts. “I hope she can be all the things I couldn’t.” You whispered, biting your bottom lip to conceal the pain that was begging for an exit.

A quick glance in his direction which your heart required for your departure, and you knew that you’d rendered him speechless. Perhaps voiceless, maybe even stricken with the same sorrowful illness that consumed you.

Who were you kidding, he was probably just doing this for himself so he could have a clear conscience when he moves on to the next girl—to Charlotte. Fuck.

No matter what fabrications you made in your mind, putting in genuine effort to make him seem like the bad guy or to find a reason to hate him, you couldn’t. You knew stiles would never do something like that. He was the most selfless person you know—knew.

Your mind was in shambles, tearing itself apart while the other half burst to flames. A train wreck. So, you gathered what was left of your being as a whole, and gave him the most genuine smile you could muster as if you were happy for him, and walked out.

You left him there; a bitter tinge of guilt, jealousy, and grief all mixed into one lethal concoction. It certainly didn’t feel like closure, but you had to tell yourself it was the best you were going to get.

And, in the end, two hearts had written love letters that fate failed to deliver.

Heavily unedited

Sorry if it’s a bit cringe (especially towards the end) but I kinda rushed it since I really wanted to get this out, plus I can’t tell if I’m good at writing these depressing things or not??

Also, watch out for a pt 2 bc I might make one if yall want👀

12/21/23

[suncaptor]

I do agree like the Cage in general is. not good. it's not something I'd ideologically agree with. but in regards to the Cage trauma Sam experienced it wasn't due to being in a isolated sandbox he can make into what he wants while also being alone but rather. quite extreme abuse and torture. so like when I don't think solitary confinement is helpful for Lucifer either or that Lucifer would deserve what Lucifer put Sam through. It is funny to be like "Lucifer also doesn't deserve the Cage" when I'm talking about what Lucifer was doing to Sam. Like I'll drink to that. Not even Lucifer deserves to be treated how Lucifer treated Sam. But like he's not experiencing what Sam did he is the cause.

[whumptober]

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[legitalicat]

Crawling Back to You - part 1

AN: Hello guys! This is the debut of a new SMAU! I hope you guys love this as much as me! This is dedicated to Lana ( @zaldritzosrose ) for being such an amazing workshop partner and friend! I love working on projects with you and love showing you the chaos of my brain. Also @foxyanon thank you for your help with the title and being your wonderful amazing self. (Also don't mind the Supernatural reference lmao)

Series Masterlist here!

Summary: The road till now...

TW: use of YN, mentions of substance use (weed), fan pages being mean, slow relationship death, language maybe?

Pairings: Aegon Targaryen ii x Reader

Next Part

[subway-boss-jericho]

Queuing posts for most of my AUs! Check out this Masterpost! ᵈᶦˢᶜˡᵃᶦᵐᵉʳ ⁻ ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵉⁿᵗ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉᶦʳ ᶦᶜᵒⁿᶦᶜ ᵏⁿᶦᶠᵉ ᵇᵃⁿᵍˢ! ᴵ ˡᵉᶠᵗ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵒᶠᶠ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᶦˢ ʳᵉᶠᵉʳᵉⁿᶜᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵏᵉᵉᵖ ᵗʰᵉᶦʳ ᶠᵃᶜᵉˢ ᶠᵘˡˡʸ ᵛᶦˢᶦᵇˡᵉ.

The Spirit Keeper

-Premise- I am going to try so. hard. to summarize. (TW: Side character death(s)) When the sky turns red, all of Hisui falls into anarchy and chaos. The hero that Sinnoh sent to protect them was banished from Jubilife and never seen again- Whisked back to the present, to spare them from the calamity to follow.

Amidst the destruction caused by the worsening space-time distortions, after the deaths of too many to count, Ingo finds himself praying to a god that wasn't his atop the Shrouded Ruins that overlook the now erased Diamond Clan encampment. He offers a plea to Sinnoh, of Pearl, Diamond, both or neither, if there is anything they can do to prevent this tragedy from wiping the region away.

Sinnoh is displeased with the fighting of the clans, of the hostility between factions, and the cold betrayal of the hero it had chosen. It will not simply wipe the slate clean, after the callous actions of the Hisuian people- After their rejection of its help. However, Ingo is a brave and compassionate soul. In this moment and throughout his time in Hisui, he has never displayed these spiteful behaviors.

In exchange for a duty, those lost will be revived, that broken can be rebuilt, and this region can turn a new leaf. The stones around him bear representation of his new duty. He must collect them from all across the region- Any soul he is able to secure, protect from the distortions that would eradicate them, will be given a second chance once the calamity passes. The final condition is that, once those souls meet their second death, he must seek them out to contain them again. A punishment, a time to reflect on their actions. Once Sinnoh deems it enough, then they will be released to the afterlife and Ingo will be released from this duty.

Ingo agrees to all of these terms. And so he seeks out the souls of the fallen- Unceasingly and desperately saving every single person, and with the combined power of their lives he withstands the shattering sky.

They are reincarnated. They rebuild. The nobles have fallen, and there is much damage to undo. They may live their lives once again.

But when they fall, Ingo will return. He will collect them, and he will keep them. He will fulfill the full breadth of his agreement- No matter how many centuries pass.

-Noteworthy Points- Yes. That was me summarizing. This story is so complicated and has so many layers please understand.

Ingo is functionally a Spiritomb, Ghost and Dark type, with the combined life force of 442 souls. This makes him functionally immortal, with a supernaturally fast healing capacity and a very difficult-to-contain level of power. He can hear the thoughts of all 442 people and often manifests them in the form of little green soul orbs. Not all of them are happy with this arrangement, but some people get used to it faster than others. They are fully aware, under no strain, and are not hurt. Essentially, forcibly travelling with Ingo is their sort of limbo- It's not all bad.

Ingo unfortunately cannot say the same, it is extremely rough to be the container for so many lives and still keep oneself sane. His willpower is overwhelming, and it's the only reason Sinnoh made this 'deal' to begin with- Because it knew Ingo would be the only one capable of this sort of thing without bias or prejudice. The calamity is solved, Hisui is preserved, the people get a reasonable amount of mercy (then comeuppance,) and Ingo can be- slowly -returned to his own time period. It is not easy burden, but it will be borne. Now, all that's left is to wait.

(Forgot to mention, the reference on the far right- Spirit Farer Emmet -is a sort of branch in the timeline. It's not the canon way the AU goes, but a friend made it up and I liked it enough to keep it :> The concept is that Emmet also makes a deal with Arceus and basically helps ferry Ingo's many souls over to the afterlife, thus releasing him from his duty. Won't elaborate more, this post is already like 4x the length of all the others.)

If it wasn't obvious, this is one of my favorite main AUs and also one of the oldest

-Links- Artwork - Commission by Fronomeeps Artwork - Fanart by Pixelga1axy Artwork - Fanart by Rudeboimonster Short Comic - Being haunted by yourself