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bettyfrommars · 8 months

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The Nightmare Factory

an Eddie Munson x Reader series

The Fabric of Moonbeams

Masterlist

18+Only for mature themes, mention of sleep disorders and sleeping medication, longing, afab!reader, astral travel, horror icons. wc: 4.2.

Eddie got demoted to Ominous Thuds & Ghostly Whispers status after the whole Headless Horseman debacle. Not because Steve or Saul narced on him, but because the eye in the nightmare sky sees everything.

He tried tapping the morse code that Wayne taught him on your bedroom wall one night, but only succeeded in making you sleep upright in the chair in your living room with all of the lights on. You had dark circles under your eyes the next day, and almost dozed off at your keyboard.

You spent a lot of time looking at the sketch you had done of him, and the description of the headless horseman dream that you remembered with fascinating clarity. You could close your eyes and smell the soap and leather of his skin now, and you could see the way his mouth moved when he spoke to you. He knew your name, and you felt like you knew him.

You found a book at the library called, “My boyfriend, My Nightmare” about a woman who believed she was in a relationship with a man in her dreams for years. No one believed her, of course, and she was diagnosed with a particular type of rare disorder that had her on such heavy sleeping medication that it was impossible to remember her dreams, if she even had them at all.

You sank down on a soft chair and almost read the entire thing in one sitting. According to this woman, there is a place called The Nightmare Factory where your nightmares punch a clock and take lunch breaks together and collect a paycheck. Apparently, it sits on a separate plane of existence, and you go there when you sleep. Nightmares can exist during waking hours as well, the author said, and you sat up straight to read that paragraph.

“The membrane that keeps our worlds apart begins to dissolve when you are able to perceive the nightmares, when you begin to understand that there is no true distinction between reality and dreams.”

“If you can imagine it, it exists somewhere in possibility,” the author continued. “The Nightmare Factory workers are a form of entertainment to save us from the true horrors of human existence.”

What ever happened to the woman? Did she ever get to be with the man she fell in love with in her nightmares? You skipped to the last chapter, and skimmed a few pages until you found what you were looking for.

Her final words were very vague, but she admitted to going off of her prescribed sleeping medication, which made her have insomnia for a week, but then she started to dream again.

“I know that no one will believe me, and that’s fine, I did not write this to convince anyone. I’m having it published through a private company to help those who might find themselves in a similar situation.

By the time you read this, I will be gone.

The physical particles of my body have a hard time assimilating when I return from dreams now, and one day soon, I will stay there with him and not return through the secret door. I’m not sure if I will ever be able to get back to this astral plane as anything more than a visitor, so please, if you are able to cross over, find me.”

You checked the clock on the wall, knowing you should head home, and then you found a few more books to take with you. One was a manual on how to decipher your dreams, and the other was another memoir, though not as detailed, that someone had written about moving through the dream world with your physical body.

That’s impossible, you mused to yourself.

But still, some strange blossom of hope in your gut moved you to tuck it under your arm.

Meanwhile, Eddie flirted his way into the 7am Unexplained Voices & Creaking Stairs class by offering to service the teacher’s car for free. She was a ghostly apparition who wore glasses and a pair of gloves to give students a hint to her presence. She finally accepted after some hesitation, knowing full well that there was a waitlist.

Anyway, her ghostmobile was not only serviced, but detailed, and there Eddie was, in the front row, bouncing his knee, eager to learn anything and everything he could.

His band played a show at the Hideout that night. The Hideout in Eddie’s dimension was a place where a lot of Nightmare Factory workers went after their shifts, so it often looked like the bar scene from Star Wars, but with ghouls. The factory was the biggest employer for a thirty mile radius, and everyone who grew up in Hawkinsville had worked there at least once in their life.

It had been difficult when Eddie and Wayne first moved there when he was young. Eddie was what they called “a normie”, meaning he was not born into the nightmare life. He hadn’t been raised by evil clowns or wolves or demons who walked on goat legs. He’d picked up shapeshifting pretty fast though, and he’d learned to make his eyes go completely black whenever he wanted to by the time he was ten.

There were more than four drunks at the place that night, Eddie counted at least six, and then there were a few normies at a table, but he didn’t recognize them. The bartender had a beer ready for him and slid it to the end of the bar before giving him a “thumbs up” motion. Corroded Coffin did not get paid by the venue to play on Tuesday nights, so the beer was always on the house. They had a tip jar at the edge of the stage that usually only had a couple bucks in it by the end of the evening, or a sprinkle of loose change.

They were halfway through the set when Eddie looked out into the crowd and saw you.

He blinked hard, squeezing his eyes shut for a beat, but when he opened them again, he saw that it was really you—standing there, staring back at him, plain as day.

Sure, the room was dark and filled with smoke, but there seemed to be some type of luminescence around you.

Eddie cleared his throat into the mic and wiped his hair off his sweaty forehead, waiting to make sure to make sure you weren’t a mirage for the thirsty man that he was. Some shrill feedback sounded through the speakers, and he mumbled an apology to the crowd.

You lifted your hand up slowly to wave at him, and you mouthed a little, “hi,” as a smile twitched across your lips.

But this time, it was Eddie who woke up.

He was back in his own bed, gasping for air, wanting to cry, wanting to return, needing to know how you had made it into his dream.

You were looking for him now. Somewhere, behind the scenes of time and space, an invisible membrane was getting thinner.

—------

“Are you coming or what?” Your friend Ellie turned to see that you had stopped short at the entrance to the Haunted House attraction you were about to enter. You’d already paid, and had your hand stamped, but all of a sudden you wanted to be back in your bed, reading.

You loved Halloween, but you weren’t a huge fan of jump scares, unless they were coming from that guy you kept dreaming about, the one named Eddie.

You wrote his name down in cursive and blocked letters all over the inside of your notebook, wanting to press it into the wrinkles of your brain. It had been weeks since you last saw him, and every night you hit the pillow, you were hopeful.

“I’m coming,” you jogged a bit to catch up, listening to the evil, mechanical cackling and high-pitched screams coming from inside.

You caught up to her and stayed close. There were strobe lights inside and menacing figures loomed in the narrow hallway before you turned a corner into a dining room full of people with decapitated heads. A few scare actors jumped out to lurch at you from dark corners while thunderous organ music played.

After the next room, there was a shuffle of people as one of the animatronic spiders dropped down from the ceiling, and one of the scare actors with a pig mask blocked your path right when the hallway split, so you lost Ellie, and all of a sudden, you were alone.

You spun in a circle and called Ellie’s name.

Surely you’d still be able to hear the sounds from the haunt? But everything was quiet, the crowd was gone, and the noises from earlier were muffled, as if coming from far away.

Panic rose in your throat as you felt along the wall for a light switch or a door. You stumbled around a black, velvet curtain and caught sight of the glowing EXIT sign with a rush of relief.

“Ellie? Anybody?” You eyes were having a hard time adjusting to the inky darkness, but the illumination from the sign gave you hope

This was fine, you’d wait for the other’s outside and tell them you had to duck out because you weren’t feeling well, which was not a complete lie.

Beyond the door were aged, wooden stairs that went down. A single light bulb dangled from the ceiling to offer a weak, ocre glow. You didn’t remember climbing stairs to get into the building, but you must’ve been mistaken.

You hurried down the steps, hearing the door slam shut behind you with unexpected force, enough to shake the walls.

Something didn’t feel right; the further you went down on the creaking steps, the darker and danker it seemed to get. There was a sudden heat emanating and you could make out some soft rattling and hissing sounds.

By the time you realized you’d gone down into a sealed basement, it was too late.

It wasn’t just a basement, though—it was a…boiler room?

There were metal tanks producing steam mounted with temperature gauges, and you couldn’t see to the other side of the space because they were massive.

“Hello?” You took a tentative step forward, looking around the concrete walls for some type of door to get out of the building. Your heart was in your throat, and your breathing was getting rapid as your eyes jerked from side to side like a scared rabbit.

You wrapped your arms around yourself. “Can anyone hear me? I got turned around and I’d like to leave now.”

There came a high pitched scraping then, like nails on a chalkboard, and it was so shrill, you had to cover your ears.

“I can hear you just fine,” a deep, gravely voice chuckled from somewhere to your right.

Your attention snapped in that direction. Instinct was telling you to start backing up, to get further away, to go bolt up the stairs, but that’s not what you did—you just froze there.

It wasn’t long before you spotted a pair of glowing eyes peering at you from between two of the pipes, against the far wall.

There was a person standing there.

It had to be one of the scare actors, down there on their break, or maybe this was a part of the haunt? But where was everyone else? And why was there a huge, poorly lit boiler room in the basement of that old house?

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he spoke in an evil sneer, like a villain in a cartoon.

“This isn’t funny,” you shouted. “I just want to get out of here, please.”

He gave another diabolical cackle, and then there was the sound of nails on a chalkboard again.

The man in the basement with you stepped into view with a flourish, brandishing the long, metal daggers on his hand, flexing each finger for you to see each one individually; the tips were sharp and the blades caught the light. He had on an old, brown fedora, a green and red sweater, and his skin was covered in scar tissue from severe burns.

You were down in that boiler room with Freddy Krueger.

The scream you let out as he charged toward you might’ve cracked fissures in the concrete.

You spun on your heel—

—and landed face first into the body of the person that had been standing behind you. You felt the ragged, torn nature of a shirt under your cheek as whoever it was had enormous height, and then you pushed back and looked up in time to see a hockey mask with black eyes staring down at you, expressionless. His shoulders were broad and his body massive. Out to the side, he brandished a gleaming machete that was the length of your arm.

“Hi baby, get behind me!” The person in the Jason Voorhees mask said, sounding slightly echoed and muffled. The look he had was the same as in the movies, but this one had curly, almost frizzy dark hair that was long past his shoulders.

That voice…it was Eddie.

It was your Eddie.

You stammered a partial question, but then you were already moving, letting his arm guide you around so that his body acted as a shield from Freddy who was cackling and swiping his finger knives around; you could hear the sharp whistle of air against the metal.

You held on to the hips of Voorhees Eddie from behind and peeked under his raised arm to look at Freddy. This Eddie in front of you was tall and massive, much more so than you remembered from the last dream you had.

“What the hell are you doing here, maggot?” The Freddy Krueger guy growled, saliva dripping from his yellow teeth as his pocked skin stretched over his cheeks like curdled milk.

“Don’t worry about it, Jerry,” Eddie growled with disdain, throwing his machete into the other hand with deft precision. It twirled in the air and he caught it by the handle. “This one is mine.”

“Oh, really?” The guy who looked like Freddy suddenly had a normal voice again, and his shoulders relaxed, dropping his hands to his sides. “I didn’t know, wow man, I’m sorry. Did I get the schedules mixed up?”

Voorhees Eddie relaxed too, dropping his free hand down to hold your hip, making sure you were still there. “No, you’re good,” Eddie’s voice was light now, soft, even. “I’m just filling in for Alex, he’s on vacation for a few days.”

“Paid leave?” Freddy/Jerry asked. You were trying to match his face with the voice coming out, but it wasn’t working.

“I think so,” Eddie nodded once.

“Must be nice to have seniority,” Jerry put his knives hand on his hip and scratched under his hat with the other. “Okay well, I’m going to head over to the next job. See ya, Munson.”

And with that, a black space the size of a door opened behind Jerry and he stepped through it. The door disappeared, and so did he.

“Eddie?” You said his name over the hiss of the boilers as he turned to you. You could see the realistically gray, rotting flesh of his Voorhees skin under his mask. “What are you doing in a boiler room looking like Jason Voorhees?”

“Workin’,” he smiled and dropped the machete to the concrete with a clang to be able to snake his arms around you so that his fingers clasped at your lower back. “I’ve been missing you.”

His new height was throwing you off as you tilted your head back to look up at him.

“I recognized your voice this time,” you smiled, proud of yourself.

He lowered his head to touch the mask to your forehead. “I didn’t mean to disappear on you. It took me a while to be able to have physical form again, to be able to see you like this.”

“It’s okay, I know,” you slid your hands up the torn clothing over his broad chest.

“You know?” He pulled back, searching your face.

“I’ve been reading this book, about where you work,” you wet your lips. “That Nightmare Factory place. I’ve been trying to figure out…how to see you more often.”

Eddie’s heart jumped. He put his hand over yours on his chest and held it there, and you could see that even as Jason Voorhees, he still wore his signature metal rings. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course,” you got a bit bashful and looked down. “I want to…get to know you better.”

“I saw you the other night in my dream,” he rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand.

You stared up into his eye sockets of his mask, and your face lit up. “That was cool, wasn’t it? I couldn’t believe I found you. There is a sort of meditation in the book that I did about a thousand times, and it was only for a second. I think it’s a type of astral projection. You looked really good on stage.”

Eddie tucked his chin almost bashfully, moving his hand to interlace his fingers with yours. “You thought I looked good?”

Eddie had been learning too. Learning new skills to come to you in your nightmares, but also learning about a rare case where a nightmare worker crossed into your dimension and stayed there. They were never heard from again, and some say they didn’t survive the crossover and their particles exploded into the ether, but Eddie chose to believe that was a lie to keep people from trying.

Suddenly, there was a banging sound, muffled and far away, but you could feel it thudding in your chest. You checked around the room, thinking it was noise from one of the pipes, but Eddie dropped your hand and squeezed your arm, checking his digital wrist watch with a sigh like he usually did when he was about to make his exit.

Back at the factory, someone was banging their fist against the transportation door, shouting for Eddie. He tightened the muscles in his jaw, frustrated that there never seemed to be enough time. It sounded a whole lot like Kevin.

He had to figure something out soon, before his heart exploded.

“Are you in trouble again?” Now that you knew a bit more about what he did, you feared he might get penalized, and you wouldn’t lay eyes on him for another month. The pounding continued intermittedly, and you faintly heard someone call out Eddie’s name.

“No, not this time, sweetheart,” Eddie stretched, puffing his chest out a bit, and then bent forward to put the mouth of the mask on your forehead. You could feel his warm breath on your skin there. “But my shift is over. I have to get back before my timer goes off.”

“Before your timer goes off? Sounds like you’re in a microwave.”

“Well,” he tipped his head to the side, thoughtfully. “The technology is similar, I suppose, but yeah, I hate to leave you like this.”

You hugged Eddie Voorhees as hard as you could and spoke into his chest. “Maybe next time, I’ll find you first.”

The distant banging got louder, more persistent.

He bent down to grab the machete, pushed a button on his watch, and the same square, black opening in the air appeared.

There was a second there when you considered just running and jumping through his door, but then you remembered a part in the book when it mentioned how that type of jarring dimensional travel could give Dreamers what scuba divers called “the bends” from the dramatic change in pressure.

You were about to tell him you’d miss him, or goodbye, or something else, but then, in a blink, you were jolted back to your senses—

—you were back in the hallway of the haunt right after the spider had dropped from the ceiling.

Wait a minute. How had that happened?

You were at a dead halt, stopping the flow of people traffic as you looked down at your hands and over at Ellie who had turned around to motion you to keep moving as another scare actor dressed like a deranged doctor covered in blood jumped from the corner.

When you got home, you rushed to your desk to open the book, and flipped to the chapter called “The fabric of moonbeams”. It talked about “dream pockets” that occurred like daydreams when you were linked to someone. The author didn’t know exactly how to explain it, but she suspected it had something to do with sudden surges of adrenaline that caused a dimensional shift, especially if you had a connection to someone at the factory.

You sketched out Eddie again that night, this time, it was what you remembered from when you’d visited him for a few seconds at The Hideout. Flanked by his bandmates, he was strumming the strings on his guitar, looking down with one knee bent out and his hair hanging down.

You wanted to recapture the scene as realistically as possible so that you could study it to prepare for the next time you tried to visit him. Next time, maybe you'd step into his world and not his dream.

Maybe next time, he’d kiss you again.

----

Happy Halloween weekend to all of you who are enjoying this series, thank you for reading 🧡

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson series #The Nightmare Factory #nightmare!eddie #Halloween fic #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson fluff #Eddie x afab reader #Eddie munson x reader

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moremousewrites · 1 month

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Nuisance Chapter 2

Sleep On It

Pairing: Rolan/f!Tav

Summary: Rolan takes a night to deliberate your request but it seems you pervade more than just his waking thoughts

Tags: wet dream, virgin rolan, self deprecation, first time blow jobs, hand jobs, smut

“Rolan?”

A far-away voice brought Rolan to his senses. Where was he? The blurred aura of his room came into focus as his eyes adjusted.

“Rolan? Can I help you?” A gentle voice in his ear. Your voice, cooing to him, far more salacious than he had ever heard it before.

He blinked and saw you before him: a white sleeping shirt barely covering your form, eyes half-lidded and lips parted. What in the hells was happening?

“Tav? What are you doing?” He tried to crawl away from you but his limbs felt like gelatin beneath him. He was uncoordinated in your gaze, sure, but never immobile.

You moved forward and pressed your lips against his. Soft. Just as he imagined the day before. He tried to lift his arms to meet your hips and they complied. You were warm, too. So warm as your body pressed against his.

Rolan's eyes snapped open at the realization that he was nude. Had he been naked this whole time? He had worn his night clothes to fall asleep, did you undress him? Oh no.

“This is a dream” he pouted and the dream duplicate of you nipped at his protruding lip.

“Always so stressed. Let me relieve you” you- or rather, dream you said.

Perhaps this really was you. Still so insistent on solving all his problems even if it meant intruding his most vulnerable spaces. Gods, you weren't a dream; you were a nightmare.

Those same pretty fingers he had studied just hours ago wrapped around his cock, squeezing him.

“Fuck- Tav!” He cried out in pleasure and disbelief. Whatever sensation his subconscious had conjured to torture him, he couldn't help but wonder how it compared to the real thing. He had never lain with anyone before, never had the opportunity. The most experience he had was his own hand and the occasional, very shameful, voyeuristic examination of demonic copulation in Avernus.

You stroked him, running your thumb over every ridge on his shaft, twisting your wrist as you reached his head. The feeling had Rolan twitching in your grasp instantly, gripping the sheets beneath him. He wanted more of you, had to feel if you were real or just something he'd conjured himself.

Rolan slid his hand under your shirt and squeezed your breast. Your skin felt so real, but the more he rolled it in his hand, the less of you he could sense. You moved to take off the shirt and he stopped you in a panic.

“Can we try something else?” He asked, cringing at the sound of his voice. He should be fucking you. You should be stupid and senseless under him and here he was, asking a dream apparition if he could switch positions. He couldn't even get a wet dream right.

“Of course” you smiled at him, softly. There it was, your perfect, beautiful face. Why couldn't you just spit on him and sneer like every other noble? You pushed away from him and got on your back.

Rolan peered between your legs, unsure of what he'd see. He'd never really gotten a good look at female anatomy. No, the closest comparison he had was the stolen glances he'd gotten of the occasional refugee in the rare moments of reprieve when they'd change their blood stained rags. Gods, he truly felt like a fiend.

This entire dream felt like he was violating you. If you ever found out… he didn't want to think about what you'd do. How was this even happening? Was this some sick joke you were playing on him- an astral projection? No, that would be too hopeful. You wouldn't deign to touch someone like him. Not even as a joke.

“Everything okay, Rolan?” You asked. No, not you. But Rolan could pretend. He could try to enjoy himself for once.

“Yes. I'm fine” he said, taking a deep breath and spreading your legs.

He couldn't even look. Just positioned himself comfortably and felt around for the damp hole. He hoped he'd have some of his bearings if he ever did lose his virginity. Soft hands on his face shocked his eyes open and your sweet face smiled up at him, expectantly.

“I can't do this” Rolan admitted to himself, and rolled off of you.

“Why not?” Dream you asked, propping yourself up on your elbows.

Rolan dragged his hands down his face in frustration. “I don't know. I should be able to. You're not even real” he looked at you and admired your form. Or at least what he assumed was your form.

You brushed a piece of hair below his horn with your finger. It still stung from when he banged it earlier that day. “But?” You asked.

Rolan didn't even respond, so consumed with shame and dread. Why couldn't he just enjoy his dream?

“I think I understand. Can I just try something else?” You asked, your gentle voice calming him down a bit.

After a moment of deliberation Rolan nodded in his hands.

He felt you pull his hands away from his face so you could press your soft lips against his cheek. Your lips trailed down his neck and he wished you'd kiss his lips again but he didn't say anything because you felt so good running your hands up his chest. You moved downward, gliding your fingertips down his strained abdomen. His breath hitched when he felt your fingers touch his hips.

“Can I do this? Can I take care of you?” You asked, looking up at him. Rolan propped himself up on his elbows and took in the image before him. You were leaning over him, face flushed and eyes wide. More clean than he'd ever seen you before, as well.

“Yes, Tav. Please” he whispered. He felt pathetic under your gaze.

You took his length in your hand again and slowly stroked. Long, languid strokes and practiced squeezing on his shaft caused Rolan to pant out your name. The dream image of you beamed in response.

Your tongue darted out to lick a bead of precum that had gathered at the tip of his cock. Rolan let out a choked sob and you sucked him into your mouth, soft lips wrapped around him and hand pumping him as he shook beneath you.

Rolan ran his fingers through your hair, less so for control and more to do something with his hands.

“Oh Gods, Tav- I'm close” he warned, gripping your hair tighter. Another wave of shame passed through him. He couldn't even last in his dream.

But you hummed around him approvingly. You never judged him before, it seemed you wouldn't start now. Not even in the recesses of his mind where he created you.

Rolan's limbs cramped, his dick twitched in your mouth. He was unfolding underneath your touch and all he could say was your name.

“Tav, Tav, Tav” he chanted like it was the only thing grounding him to reality.

Then he felt it. Release, so intense his eyes snapped open and he sat up in bed moaning your name, sleepily.

Rolan looked around at his dorm in Ramizath's tower. Everything was the same- a bit duller than before but untouched. Except, there was no you. Rolan felt his lap was also much more damp and sticky than it had been before he went to sleep.

“Oh, God's fucking damn it”

#bg3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 #rolan/tav #rolan/reader #rolan #bg3 rolan #rolan bg3 #rolan x reader #rolan smut

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zeestarfishalien · 1 year

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Part 9: Like a Muzzled Hound

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Zatanna has been dead silent for approximately 7 minutes and 40-some seconds since casting a spell allowing her to see Spooky. That’s almost half as long as it took him to convince her that Spooky was here with Jason and not in the cemetery.

Jason decides to give her another full minute before poking her in the shoulder with the end of a training staff.

“Told ya they were here,” he says casually.

“That…This isn’t…they’re not a…” She takes a breath seeming to fortify herself for something. “This is not one of The Black Dogs.” She doesn’t let her gaze stray from Spooky, she barely even blinks her staring is so intense.

“Ooo-kay…” Jason drawls slowly, “so what are they?” Spooky for their part watches Zatanna with half curiosity and half wariness. They seem to be taking their cues from Jason himself. He keeps himself purposefully relaxed just in case that is what is going on.

A strangled noise erupts from Zatanna as she chokes on whatever she’s trying to express. She waves her hand at the comatose spirit.

“I, Ive never…it shouldn’t be possible. Astral Projection is only something for living beings and those like demons and some such.”

“Zee, I’m gonna need a little more info than that,” Jason sighs.

She gestures vaguely in the direction of Spooky and the Spirit (heh, sounds like a shitty band name).

“Your friend here. Spooky?” Jason nods. “Yeah, well Spooky here is an astral projection of the soul of our friend from the coffin. It shouldn’t be possible, a projection of a soul’s manifestation. The form of the spirits of the Infinite Realms should already match what they see themselves as.”

That explains a lot. Especially why Spooky was so desperate to get Jason to dig up that coffin. But that begs another question.

“Why aren’t they back in their regular body and moving around?”

Zatanna worries her lip with her teeth and her thoughtful gaze lands to rest on Spooky.

“You can understand me, right?” Spooky perks up and slowly nods their head without breaking eye contact with the magician.

“Did you have astral projection abilities before you were put in that abomination of a spirit trap?”

Spooky shakes their head no.

“So it’s a new ability…” she says, thinking aloud. “And you were trapped, so there was no reason to wake up… Does it feel like it’s been a long time since you were buried?”

They nod this time, their gaze never leaving Zatanna.

“You don’t know how to go back, do you…”

Spooky nods even though her question sounded more like a statement.

Jason stands straighter and eyes Spooky in a odd sort of calculating way. “Wait…you’re just stuck outside your own body?”

Spooky for their part sort of shuffles in place and doesn’t quite nod or shake their head.

“I’m starting to think Marvel’s theory about hybrids is right,” Zatanna muses under her breath. Her gaze shifts from Spooky to the body on the table and back again.

Finally deciding to break the tense silence, Jason asks, “so, what do we do from here?”

Zatanna has the audacity to shrug (no, it’s not infuriating, just…mildly annoying).

“It’s not a matter of energy levels,” she says thoughtfully. “Spooky here has enough power to awaken and unless there’s some curse or something keeping them down, the only other explanation is that they need time to figure out how to stay within and wake up in their own body.”

Jason eyes her blankly. “A helpful explanation, but that doesn’t answer my question.”

“Yeah yeah, I’m getting there.” She waves him off. “Just staying here should be fine. They’ve clearly developed an attachment to you. It’s just a matter of getting a handle on their new ability. Right Spooky?” She turns to face the shadow dog.

They nod again, their eyes sparkling with determination as they shuffle closer to Jason’s side.

Those radioactive neon green eyes should not be able to look as pitiful as they do right now. Jason can’t help but soften under the hopeful gaze of the spectral dog…or, well spirit? Apparition?

Whatever Spooky may be, it doesn’t much matter to Jason. They’re someone/something that needs help. Besides, something about them is familiar and oddly comforting.

~*~

Jason is pretty sure that Spooky would follow him on his whole route if they could. As it is, they follow him as far as they can go and meet up with him as soon as he is within range again. Zatanna said it’s because they’re tied to their corporeal form. At least that’s what Jason got out of her long winded ramble about how Spooky’s ability “shouldn’t be possible for a spirit” and how, “nothing makes sense Jason.”

He’s startled out of his thoughts by something wet nudging his hand. Spooky is watching Jason carefully as they put first one front foot and then the other on the couch next to him. It takes him a moment to realize that they’re asking his permission.

“Go ahead,” he replies softly. He reads the relief in Spooky’s eyes as they complete their climb onto the seat next to him.

It’s weird how the cushions don’t dip or show any signs of Spooky sitting on them. He understands that they can’t interact with the world, but it’s easy to forget when he’s death adjacent enough to be one of the things Spooky can actually interact with. Their head in his lap is real and tangible, his fingers tangling in the long black fur that’s so soft and silky to the touch.

Jason has a tablet propped up against an ammo box on the coffee table with a cheesy romcom movie playing. It’s more for ambient noise than to watch since Jason is so far in his own head. The female lead is tackling some big DIY bed and breakfast house renovation. There’s a goat that keeps scaring her and every time that happens, Spooky huffs in what Jason imagines is the ghost-dog version of an amused snort.

A nudge against his hand has Jason noticing that he stopped petting Spooky. They wriggle their nose under his hand.

Jason chuckles, resuming with gentle strokes.

Spooky’s gaze finds his and there’s something there…he can’t quite pinpoint what it is but suddenly he’s all too aware that Spooky’s true body and form is on the table, half way across the room. He’s all too aware of how humanoid Spooky is, despite their actions being something an attention seeking dog would do.

The feeling washes over Jason with an eerie chill.

Spooky’s sneeze fractures the moment. All that’s left is Jason, the ghost dog, and the body on the table.

And wow doesn’t that sound like the start of a bad joke?

Jason returns his attention to the cheesy romcom and running his fingers through Spooky’s long silky fur.

First | Previous | Next

Oh hey. Hello there, I am alive. Kinda fell off the mental health bandwagon. Not that I was exactly sitting’ pretty there to begin with. Anywho, I’m still around and I’m still writing. Depression might be kicking my ass seven ways to Sunday but I’m not gonna let that stop me. I’m just slow(lie); been reading instead of writing and bc I haven’t been reading Dc, Dp, or dcxdp I forget I have this. But I’m drafting chaps in my notes now instead of on here so that should help me. No guarantees on when I’ll update but if I think of extra content or if anyone has any questions, feel free to ask away, either in the comments or in my asks, I’ll try to post more in between stuff. The romcom referenced here is called Falling Inn Love (It's on Netflix). Super cheesy and troped up to the gills but entertaining and not completely unbearable.

[Tag List] @emergentpanda-blog @my-perfect-storybook-love @gunebugfic @thegatorsgoose @thewondersoflebanon @bobred18 @d4ydr34min9 @ver-444 @redafi @echoednonny @greenmuffinofdoom @mentalcarebear @fisticuffsatapplebees @vythika96 @writer-extraodinaire @meira-3919 @yjfk @oddlydrawnpuppets @crystalqueertea @lazy-bouqet @darkthunder1589 @mnemovoid @keimiwolf @aarinisreading @love-has-no-labels @terzatheunderscorerima @idkmrpianoman @mur-ururu @chip-thief @kawaiikenna

@rangerhorsetug @treepainting @thatonegirl10 @demiourgias @spooky-fm @antagonisticly @fluffy23sblog @manglethemingle @kyrianclawraith @layyeschips @shepardking @asphyxia778 @ballzfrog @fluffen-spooky @drowningroane @deathsdaisy @malaayna @mistyaltair @potatoeofwisdom @heartsong18 @nixthenerd @icedbluesoul @the-church-grimm @overtherose @sara0055 @banishedthumbs @tired-yet-awaken

@dannyphantomphan @nonbinary-disaster @depressed-bitchy-demon @8-29pm @addie-lover-of-stories @lifefilledwithstories @apointlessbox @skulld3mort-1fan @katgirl05 @spookytragedyshark @mandyne-1001 @ascetic-orange @booklover9114 @qualifiedpasta @mouzerequis @fleeting-mists @gin2212 @rollthatcritical @kaitouhime @itsloveleo @litlecameron @phantom-dc @hippityhoppity-iownyourbones @pastalavistamf @kokoroluna @legowerewolf @riasthelustful @agreatcheesecakestudentstuff @mysterimax

@akintoabitch @snowblub @isaactheautobot @jaguarthecat @ventureingonwings

[its been a hot minute since i last posted so i'm sorry if I forgot to tag anyone]

#dp x dc #church grim danny au #the black dog danny #jason todd #dc x dp #danny phantom crossover #dc crossover

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blazestar3450 · 3 months

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My first try at fanfiction that I actually finished.

Have some VR-LA and MR-SN... fluff? angst? I don't know what it is.

It was done pretty quickly so constructive criticism is accepted as I want to get better at writing

Newfound Memories

As VR-LA walks through the ship, his newly found memories start springing back to him. Talking to K-LB about the mechanics of the ship, playing a game of Dragon chess with C-RA, learning about what it’s like being devoted to a deity from AS-TR and enjoying some calm silence with E-DN. Yet one memory seems to be nagging at him the most.

So he goes up to the deck. He walks over to the railing and looks out on the Astral Sea. The reflective surface showing just his own face. Until something else comes up next to it, a familiar face. One he’s only seen a handful of times before regaining his memories. The calm yellow eyes of one of his best friends, MR-SN, stare back at him.

“So, still trying to get used to the sea huh?” he says to VR-LA. VR-LA sort of stands there stunned for a second, unsure of what to say, his face still showing that inquisitive look he always sports. “Yes. It is strange yet… comforting. Just a new feeling to try and understand”.

“Good”, MR-SN replies. “I’m glad it’s not too uncomfortable. It took a couple other members some time to get used to the sea.” VR-La stands there, still trying to process what he’s seeing. “You know I’m glad we found you. You’ve been a fantastic scribe VR-LA. I imagine Vigil would be proud”.

VR-LA seems shocked to hear the name of an Ad Astra crew member. “Vigil?” he questions. “Oh yes!” MR-SN exclaims. “I haven’t told you about that yet have I? Well, you remember the Ad Astra right? The ship we found in Thuldanin. Well, it’s my theory that each of us are descendants from that crew. While I can’t confirm it, I still feel we all have a part to play in finding where they all came from.” MR-SN explains.

VR-LA sort of sits with that for a moment. “Hm… It’s certainly possible. They did seem to all scatter after they crashed the ship” he says. “Exactly!” MR-SN exclaims. “Plus it would explain at least the subject of my dreams”. VR-LA remembers when MR-SN first confided in him about the fact that he could dream. It was something he had never heard of before. Mechanites couldn’t dream, right? Yet he trusted MR-SN. He hadn’t lied to him yet.

“Do you think we’ll actually do it? Break through the Blue Veil?” VR-LA asks. “Of course we will. We haven’t failed at any task put in front of us yet. This crew is set for anything. All of you are fantastic at what you do and I have no doubt that you’ll all make it to where we need to be.”

“MR-SN…? I um… I don’t know what to say except thank you. I really appreciate your confidence in me.” VR-LA says. MR-SN smiles. “Of course. You’ve shown time and time again that you’re skills are needed on this ship and that you’re a perfect fit for this crew”.

At this moment VR-LA reaches out to try and hug MR-SN. But before he makes contact a voice breaks through. “VR-LA!! We’re here!!”. As the memory fades away and MR-SN disappears much the same way his Starry Apparition faded a couple months prior, VR-LA looks to the helm to see Kyana looking back at him. “Get the others!” she calls out to him.

VR-LA, trying to hold back tears, nods and goes to find Dani and Vhas. “Thank you Mystra. It was nice to see him again” he says as he descends back into the lower decks of the ship.

#rolling with difficulty #rwd #vr la rwd #mr sn rwd

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possibly-astraeus · 1 month

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Please explain therians

OKAY

So the definition of a therian is someone who spiritually identifies as an animal, but STILL PHYSICALLY IDENTIFIES AS A HUMAN!!!

This is not by choice. People who are therians feel connected to the animal in some way, whether that's because they had dreams or shifts of a past life, or they can can connect their behavior to an animal

Shifts are basically little episodes where they feel like and/or act like the animal in which their theriotype is.

There are two kinds of main shifts:

Voluntary Shift

A shift that occurs due to being consciously induced.

Involuntary Shift

A shift that occurs without will or conscious control.

Then, these are split into multiple other kinds of shifts, like the following

Mental Shift (MS or m-shift)

A change in mindset, thinking more like the theriotype.

Phantom Shift (Ph-shift)

Feeling supernumerary phantom limbs or a full phantom body of the theriotype.

Sensory Shift (SE or Se-Shift)

One's senses temporarily become more like that of the theriotype.

Perception Shift (PE-shift)

Perceiving things in a way which is more associated with the theriotype.

Auditory Shift

Experiencing a shift by sounds they notice around them. This can be linked to a sensory shift if oneself's theriotype has a strong hearing ability.

Emotional Shift

Shifting occurs during a certain emotional state, e.g. stress or anger; usually with another type of shift.

Dream Shift (DS or d-shift)

Becoming an animal within a dream, either partially or entirely.

Cameo Shift (C)

Feeling like an animal that is not a known theriotype.

These next ones are more rare ones? I'll be 100% honest. A few of these are new to me.

Aura Shift (A)

The shape or form of an auric field or life energy field changes to that of the theriotype.

Astral Shift (As)

The astral body separates from the physical body, travels to the astral plane, and shifts to the form of a nonhuman animal.

Berserker Shift

Strong emotions push away the human side, including empathy and logical decision-making; can be voluntary and involuntary

Bilocation Shift (Bi)

Therian appears in two locations simultaneously, with the double appearing in the form of the theriotype in the physical plane.

Shadow Shift (SW) / Ghost Shift

Therian sees the animal form around themself as a transparent apparition, or when the appearance seems to change.

Spiritual Shift (S or S-shift)

The spirit takes on the form or shape of the theriotype, while the physical body remains unchanged/

Physical Shift

Human body transforms into the physical shape of another creature; agreed to be impossible.

Envisage / Self-image Shift

Therian's mental image/awareness of themselves changes to closer reflect that of their kintype; similar to a phantom shift, but lacks actual phantom sensation.

Koita Shift

Therian experiences a cameo shift when they look at an animal. An example of this goes as followed: A therian would look at a deer(or other animal) and experiences a phantom shift, mental shift, etc shift, of that deer(or other animal) meaning they feel the appendages of that deer(or animal) like antlers, ears, tail, hooves, etc. This is similar to Cameo shifting.

I know this is a lot(?) Lol

Some therians experience little to no shifts, while some have some every day. Nobody can choose to be a therian, and nobody can choose what animal their theriotype is.

Some therians experience species dysphoria, where they hate what they are and they just want to be their theriotype. But it's different for everyone!

It's very important to research therians and what they are if you're curious, but please, PLEASE stay away from any "am I a therian" quizzes, they are always inaccurate. Everyone experiences being a therian differently, and it sometimes it takes longer for someone to find out if they are one(I've heard of a person that took 2 years to find their theriotype). A quiz will never help you, I learned that the hard way.

Some therians do something called quadrobics or quads for short. It's an actual sport, and here's a video as an example

youtube

It's good to keep in mind that a large majority of the people in this community are minors who discovered the term and really connected to it!

And, fun fact, the term "therianthropy" has been used since 1901! The term is first used in the book "The Religious Systems of China" by J.J.M De Groot.

The term has been really popular recently, especially in 2020! There are tons of therians over tiktok, youtube, and probably hundreds of other social media platforms.

I recommend the YouTube channel "Therian Territory" which is ran by an amazing person who goes by Thorn which basically explains what therianthropy is and other stuff!! They really helped me figure out what my theriotype was :).

Hope this helped! Make sure to do lots of research if you can, because I may have gotten some facts wrong. :3

Stay safe and drink water!

All information in bold and italics are copy and pasted from this page.

#the god speaks #looong text post #text post #therian #therianthropy #therian things #video

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sspedrocalungsodandpiergiorgio · 3 days

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The Torchbearer

ok I've been seeing a lot of takes on the Torchbearer (TB), his abilities, and role within the wider story happening in Dema/Trench. I just want to address one today:

The Torchbearer is REAL. He is real when he appears to Clancy. Full stop. Whether he is corporeal is yet to be known, but he is really there. Tyler said as much during the livestream.

The direct quote from the livestream is at 1:06:46: “we could talk about the torch barer and he also has an ability, we call his ability to guide. So that’s why there’s like a triangular existence of him. But I will say to clear it up the bandito torch bearer is the real one” (Thank you reddit user @RepresentativeGood21. But what does this mean?

It means the Bandito Torchbearer is the one bilocating; other Torchbearers (such as Voldsoy, or the one in Overcompensate) are secondary to him, as well as actually being him. They are not seperate versions of him, and they are not nonexistent. Think of it similar to the super power of astral projection, or in Catholicism bilocation or an apparition of a saint (I guess in this case the most apt is Our Lady of the Pillar).

I know some confusion may come from the direct reference in the 'Navigating' mv to the 'My Blood' mv, but the Torchbearer is able to affect the environment around him aside from things Clancy does, which is shown to be untrue of the older brother in 'My Blood'. For example, during the 'Saturday' mv, while Tyler/Clancy is on the phone with Jenna, the Torchbearer tapes up the holes in the submarine.

He is not a figment of Clancy or Tyler's imagination. Bandito TB truly appears to Clancy when Clancy is not within a travelable distance from him; otherwise, he would just walk/boat/etc.

#sorry to get passionate on main #but like this is important to me #my special interest will not be treated this way #twenty øne piløts #josh dun #the torchbearer #voldsoy #dema #trench #sai #twenty one pilots lore #clancy #navigating #my blood #saturday

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weirdass-cryptid · 8 months

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Bill Cipher's power list:

Immortality, nigh-omni(everything), genius level intellect, invisibility, flight, chronokinesis, parafrosynikinesis, voice mimicry, possession, supernatural powers, world manipulation, madness inducement, hydrokinesis, mind walking, mental manipulation, animation, materiokinesis, alternate universe travel, hypnokinesis, clairvoyance, dimensional awareness, dimension awareness, illusion manipulation, laser manipulation, molecular manipulation, oneirokinesis, fourth wall awareness, soul removal, time and space distortion, electrokinesis, energy projection, replication, object creation, nightmare inducement, hypnosis, apparition, geokinesis, materialization and de-materialization, biokinesis, reality corruption, duplication, necromancy, umbrakinesis, pestilence creation, instangibility, elasticity, petrification, deflection, atmokinesis, chronokinesis, weirdness inducement, limb expansion, energy beam emission, optic blasts, fantasy world creation, chain creation, dream materialization, fortress creation, light vision, thought manifestation, anger empowerment, logic manipulation, life creation, reality warping immunity, univers/dimension/world creation, temporal protection, contract bestowal, Astral projection, psychological torture, superhuman resistance, wish granting, aerokinesis, thermokinesis, weather altification, levitation, dream walking, teleportation, pyrokinesis, shape-shifting, telekinesis, sancti-pyrokinesis, advanced pyrokinesis, dimensiokinesis, regeneration, size-shifting, reality-warping, advanced essokinesis, mastery of intimidation, trickery, mental projection, mastery of manipulation, deception, and telepathy.

#gravity falls #bill cipher #power list #damn thats alot

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jacksgreysays · 3 months

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neat curse/power idea: when you look at someone, you can sort of see any children you would have with them as apparitions either in front of, behind, or around them. More detail if you sort of go cross-eyed while looking at them. The reason I'm bringing this to you: the idea that you suddenly start seeing MORE. Around people you'd never seen them around before, around people that you'd previously thought had incompatible meatware, etc. Personally, I blame Shikako.

Incompatible meatware is one of the funniest phrases I have ever seen, loveelemental, congrats! That is also a very interesting twist on “I see the ghosts of all my/your ancestors.” I have to assume it’s not just biological children, though, because why would that ability differentiate in that way. I also suppose… is it an any children you WOULD have or any children you COULD have? Which isn’t too big of a distinction but would vastly affect who/where you see these apparitions…

And is it children or, like, any shared descendants? How many generations deep are we going here?

Because one very quick way I can see how this would be Shikako’s fault is if she at some point either invents via seals or manifests via Uchiha with Mangekyo Sharingan witnessing her goddess status a way for future people to view their ancestors’ lives as a sort of “learn from the past”/Assassin’s Creed Animus type thing maybe as a somewhat safe training simulation, but for some reason the person who has the curse/power in modern day can SEE all of the future people looking back at them?

Like, for example, if this was Sasuke and all of a sudden he’s seeing a bunch of strange ghosts looking at him and his life choices and, well, as kinda gross as it is, I do headcanon that Konoha would attempt an Uchiha repopulation program provided it is a sane/not evil Sasuke. Like, probably not ALL of them are descended from Sasuke (because I do also headcanon that there were a bunch of “half-blood” Uchiha that weren’t accepted into the clan before the massacre and then kind of felt like they had dodged a bullet by not claiming the name, or some Uchiha children that weren’t Sasuke that Danzo had scooped into ROOT—hence the “kill your training partner” thing, he was trying to kickstart a brainwashed army of Mangekyo Sharingan users loyal to him) but a good chunk of them are. And he was, for a while “The Last Uchiha” so if you have to learn how to be an Uchiha from someone, maybe start with him and work your way backwards?

Basically, if you’re an Assassin’s Creed fan, just imagine Ezio being able to see Desmond and Clay as they watch his life via the Animus. Or, if you’re a Avatar The Last Airbender fan, it would be similar to if Roku could perceive Aang’s spirit watching him from the future (if Aang could astral project himself into the past, that is). I’m trying to think of other metaphors, but I’m not sure…

So maybe it is biologically Uchiha future people only who can do this technique (if it is a Mangekyo Sharingan power via witnessing Shikako’s goddess status), so it would be a bunch of future Uchiha descendants via the repopulation program watching Sasuke’s life and their touchstone into the past is their non-Uchiha ancestry. But if it is seals, then I guess anyone could theoretically astral project to the past, though that wouldn’t explain why the present person is able to see the future people… Anyway, that’s my real quick sideways take on it, loveelemental. Hope you enjoyed :D

#jacksgreyson #loveelemental #asks #answers #brainstorm #meta analysis #prompt response #fanfiction #dreaming of sunshine #walking around (like regular people)#sasuke uchiha

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imthepunchlord · 8 months

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Butterfly/Moth's Possible Powers

As Wu Xing are set to have 3 powers, and all have at least 1 power, the winner and runner up will be the established powers.

Meta: grant power to another, so long as they enact your bidding. Can mimic the power of other Miraculous, but they are weaker in comparison to the real thing. This power only effects humans, cannot be used on inanimate objects or animals, at most, they can be extensions of a human if they are important to the human.

Butterfly Effect: have the ability to make minor alterations through your butterflies, project your desires through them and they will enact them. E.g. a locked door can become unlocked, a moving car will slow to a stop; it can even be used on people, altering what mood they feel, someone angry can be compelled to calm down.

Fancy Flight: astral projection, spiritually travel as a butterfly or moth (what kind/appearance depends on the user) that will never be touched, appear as an apparition that can talk to others, slip into dreams and influence those dreams, and if your will is strong enough, have the ability to possess another.

Behemoth: making use of your swarm, form them into any desired projection, be it a floating head to talk through, or having them form a giant butterfly or moth that you puppeteer; technically can't attack with it and it is easily broken up, but it just as easily reforms. Largely used as a means of communication and disorientation.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous poll #ml poll #butterfly miraculous #moth miraculous

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the-otherspace · 3 months

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Draconity and the Astral Plane

Nonhumanity, for me, has always been an experience comparable to escapism. It’s not a coping mechanism or a chosen experience, but it feels like the “other” in otherkin refers to another world. My dragonself exists in the astral plane, typically tied to headspace. I'm one of three headmates, all nonhuman and all existing in a space that's literally… space. I'm a space dragon.

I've always felt that I was some form of not-human, going through sporadic childhood phases of animal roleplay. I would cycle through various types of animals - a lion from the Lion King, a gorilla from Tarzan, sometimes alligators (which was really fun to roleplay in a pool.) I’d stalk the tall grass of my yard like a tiger, climb the stairs on all fours like a dog, tear into pork chops with no hands. Animality was a staple of my childhood imagination. Eventually this turned into dragon roleplay.

Dragons are incredibly flexible as a species, so I could stalk the grasses and tear up meat and growl and swim and attribute it all to draconity. I found myself looking up pictures of dragons online, loving the designs that had fur or feathers. I loved dragons that weren't the typical scaly, fire-breathing ones because they felt more like me. I imagined myself as those dragons, feeling the fur and scales and feathers on my own body. I didn’t realize at the time that I was seeing my own dragon body parts on another dragon and relating to it.

I don't remember when I learned about otherkinity, but hearing about it unleashed a wave of relief and validation and clarity. I wasn't alone in those moments when I would imagine myself with ears that could pivot toward the source of a sound or a tail that would swish back and forth behind me while I walked. Other people out there experience this same thing and there’s a name for it, which helped me to better understand myself.

When I discovered a bit more recently that I'm a system, I started working toward developing headspace. I needed a fully-formed plane of existence where I could go when not fronting. In a meditation session one day, I found myself taking the form of a dragon when I finally accessed headspace for the first time. I could never imagine flying around in “meatspace” (due to my fear of heights), but it felt so natural in headspace because it's all just actual space. Instead of the typical individual homes or rooms for us headmates (which is a common way to form headspace), we have planets. Instead of grassy hills or dense forests, there are galaxies and stardust. While a lot of dragons are exploring lakes and mountains and jungles, my natural habitat is among the stars.

When I am in my most dissociative state, I am also most like my dragonself. I escape to the astral realm to be in the quiet of the void for a while. I fly through star systems and visit the planets of my headmates. I explore my own planet, a home representative of me. Nothing here can hurt me or do me any wrong because it’s the closest to home I’ve ever felt. Sometimes I fall asleep while away in headspace and when I wake up, I feel the tingling remnants of my astral wings on my back and when I stretch, the wings stretch with me.

I don’t have a very conventional dragon experience. I don’t breathe fire, collect gold, eat meat, protect myself against knights, or see myself as a species that lives any place that would exist on Earth. My fur is white like starlight but sometimes also ghostly, like a galactic apparition (and I’ve drawn my dragonself in both these forms.) I have paws and claws, with a flowing mane of hair and a long non-prehensile tail. I look like the plainest OC ever created. But my story is still important because it’s a small part of a very large community with all sorts of different experiences. My story matters because it’s a part of something much bigger than myself.

#other.txt #otherkin #dragonkin #alterhuman #dragon #otherkin essays #plurality #headspace

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myhauntedsalem · 7 months

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6 Dark Places Aleister Crowley Performed His Particular Brand of Magick

Born in the late 1870s, England, Aleister Crowley was one of the great characters of the 20th century—a poet, a magician, a journalist, an alchemist, a philosopher, a spy, a self-affirmed drug fiend, and a sex addict. He was also known as “The Great Beast” and the “wickedest man in the world.” He played a major role in the creation of alternate religions like Wicca, the A∴A∴, and the Ordo Templi Orientis, and he founded the Order of Thelema, a semi-Satanic cult whose famous edict was “do what thou wilt.”

Crowley is to the occult as Tolkien is to fantasy—he set the stage that everyone else plays in. Basically, if you’re dabbling in things dark and dastardly, Aleister was probably there first.

In all of his doings, Crowley traveled a lot. He pursued exploits in Egypt, India, the Far East, Australia, all over Europe and North America, dotting the map with sex magick and weird stunts. Here are a six places in the Atlas where the infamous occultist left his mark.

1. 36 Blythe Road

LONDON, ENGLAND

Though he was interested in the occult from childhood, Crowley’s first foray into organized magic (or “magick,” as he preferred to spell it) was with the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn. Well liked by its co-founder, Samuel Liddell MacGregor Mathers, Crowley advanced in the ranks very quickly. However, not everyone was a fan. The London chapter, which had already found faults in Mathers’ leadership, particularly disavowed him for the eccentric, bisexual Crowley. This caused a decisive rift between two factions of the Order, but Mathers wasn’t ready to concede his leadership.

In 1900, while the poet and London chapter leader W. B. Yeats was heading a meeting, he was attacked by an “astral siege” from none other than Aleister Crowley. Crowley, wearing a black Osiris mask and a kilt, and his mistress burst into the temple, casting spells and brandishing daggers. They intended to take the temple for Mathers’, but were unsuccessful. The police came, the scuffle went to court, and the London chapter of the Golden Dawn won (as they paid the rent on the space). Now the nondescript George’s Cafe resides in the former site of the secret society’s temple, with no indication of its former life.

2. Boleskine House

INVERNESS, SCOTLAND

Boleskine House was steeped in darkness long before Crowley moved in. The manor is allegedly built atop the ruins of a 10th century church that burnt to the ground during a service, killing all the congregants inside. Crowley bought Boleskine House to seclude himself and perform magic from The Book of Sacred Magic of Abramelin the Mage. It was during this period that Crowley became famous for his occultism and black magic, both around the Scotland and later, the world. Sometime during this period Mathers called Crowley to Paris. He left without dispelling the “12 Kings and Dukes of Hell” he had summoned, and many locals blame the house’s unlucky history on evil spirits left behind.

First, Crowley’s housekeeper’s two children died mysteriously and abruptly. Crowley also bragged that one employee of the estate who had long abstained from alcohol got drunk and attempted to murder his entire family. After the house had changed hands, it still wasn’t free of dark energy. In 1965, the army major who owned the house committed suicide by shotgun. The next owner, Led Zeppelin’s Jimmy Page, spent very little time at the estate, instead bequeathing it to a friend who didn’t mind the unexplained creaks, groans, and various ghostly apparitions, but was bothered by the Crowley and Page fans who frequently attempted to break into the house and defile the grounds. Later owners dismissed any notions of hauntings or witchcraft at the house, but in 2015, the residents returned from a shopping trip to find the house completely in flames.

3. Crowley’s Magickal Retirement

HEBRON, NEW HAMPSHIRE

In 1916, Crowley spent four months at the home of renowned medium Evangeline Adams in what he called a “magickal retirement.” This didn’t mean taking a break from cocaine, heroin, sex magick, and prolonged rituals. Quite the opposite in fact. In Hebron, Crowley doubled down and did a great deal of writing, poetry and magical instruction alike. He was even a ghost writer on several of Adams’ books of astrology.

4. Esopus Island

HYDE PARK, NEW YORK

In another magickal retreat, Crowley spent 40 days and 40 nights (a la Jesus Christ) on a tiny island in the Hudson River. His mission was translating the Tao Te Ching, a 4th century Chinese philosophical text. He hadn’t brought much food but had packed plenty of red paint, and also put himself to work painting Thelemic graffiti on the island’s rocks. Curious families watching the bald, robed man on the island from the banks of the Hudson began bringing him rations. He was also visited by fans and artists, who brought him food, drugs, and company.

Much later Crowley reported experiencing visions of his past lives during his stay on Esopus Island, all of which were somehow very influential figures. His former selves included legendary Taoist Ge Xuan, Renaissance Pope Alexander VI, alchemist Alessandro Cagliostro, and the magician Eliphas Levi. Today, the island is open to the public so long as they can reach it by boat. There are even camping amenities for those who wish to follow in the footsteps of the infamous occultist.

5. Boca do Inferno

CASCAIS, PORTUGAL

Any eccentric worth his salt has to fake his own death at least once. When visiting Portugal in 1930 and feeling annoyed by his current mistress, Crowley gave appearance he had committed suicide at the Boca de Inferno (“Mouth of Hell”) caves. His friend, poet Fernando Pessoa handed Crowley’s suicide note to newspapers, helpfully explaining the magical symbols and translating the mangled Portuguese to police and media alike. Three weeks later, Crowley reappeared at the opening of an exhibition of his works in a Berlin gallery, suggesting this whole affair was more publicity stunt than anything else. Today, there is a small white plaque mounted on the rock provides the text of Crowley’s note: “Não Posso Viver Sem Ti. A outra ‘Boca De Infierno’ apanhar-me-á não será tão quente como a tua,” which translates roughly to “Can’t live without you. The other mouth of hell that will catch me won’t be as hot as yours.” That might be touching if any of it were genuine.

6. The Abbey of Thelema

CEFALÙ, ITALY

Crowley’s magickal career came to its peak in a little Sicilian town. For a small amount of money, he, his two lovers, their small children, and miscellaneous followers moved into one story house facing the Mediterranean sea. They called it the Abbey of Thelema. The common room was dedicated to ritual practices and held a scarlet “magick” circle marked with the sign of the major Thelemic deities. Crowley’s own bedroom, labeled by himself as “la chambre des cauchemars” (or “the room of nightmares”) was entirely hand-painted by the occultist with explicitly erotic frescos, hermaphroditic goblins, and vividly colored monsters. This private room was used for specific night initiations involving psychoactive drugs which gave terrifying cinematic life to this Bosch-like vision of hellish debauchery.

Crowley considered his temple a school of magick, and gave it an appropriately collegiate motto: “Collegium ad Spiritum Sanctum”—”A College towards the Holy Spirit.” The Cefalù period was one of the most prolific and happy of his life, even as he suffered from drug addiction and had to write the scandalous Diary of a Drug Fiend to finance his community. The growing interest in dark magic and the occult provided him with an ample student body (pun intended). But in 1922, the experience in monasticism ended when Raoul Loveday, a young disciple, tragically died from typhoid fever contracted from drinking contaminated spring water, though Loveday’s wife maintained it was from drinking cat’s blood.

Crowley and his people were evicted by Mussolini’s regime in 1923. The dictator had no sympathy for pornographic art or mysticism. Once the Abbey closed, the villagers whitewashed the murals, which they somewhat correctly saw as demonic. This erased much of the history and work of Crowley in Cefalù. The Abbey of Thelema is still there, a hidden monument of mysterious, magickal decay.

#6 Dark Places Aleister Crowley Performed His Particular Brand of Magick #aliester crowley #ghost and hauntings #paranormal #ghost and spirits #haunted locations #myhauntedsalem #haunted salem

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stovepiperat · 2 years

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terror camp ‘22 day 1: an informal reclist

HOW A-FUCKING-BOUT that CAMP huh guys!! Good shit!! Anyway, here’s two (variably) related recs (that weren’t previously mentioned in the server, to the best of my knowledge!) for every TC22 panel. Just because.

Please click through to AO3 to see full individual taglists, warnings etc. Other half of this post is in progress. Also, you may have noticed that the descriptions get a little bare-bones as the post goes on. This is because I am slapdash and sleepy. Sorry. But please let me know if I need to fix anything, as always!

(Get in contact with the mods at terror.camp to get access to recordings and Discord!!)

‘There Will Be Poems’: Franklin, The Terror and the Noble Failure Narrative

Principles of Magnetism (a Comedy of Manners) by acaramelmacchiato (Fitzier, 21k)

Less horrific consequences than in canon, but this IS a noble failure narrative, one which, fittingly enough, pivots nimbly around a pastiche of Britishness and features the futility of attempting to reason with Sir John Franklin.

the waiting room by Ias (Fitzier, 10k)

Maybe the real noble failure narrative was the delirious, calcifying regrets that haunted us along the way. I think there are deeper reasons this fic relates to the theme, but it would be a disservice to its understated angst for me to try and drag it all out and dissect it here.

Imperial Apparitions: Victorian Periodicals and the Search for Franklin (1848-1860)

My Name Is John Franklin And I Like To Fuuuuuuuuuck by Charlotte_Stant (Lady Jane, 1k)

I know the title is... but it’s a Lady Jane character study! I promise! Gosh, speaking of things I love about Terror fandom, EXEfest is so neat.

Three Winters, Four Springs by halotolerant (Fitzier, 50k)

“Han,” I hear you say, “I love psychic wolf sex, but what does it have to do with contemporary British imperialist propaganda takes on the lost Franklin expedition?” Well, that’s a fair question, but there’s some really fascinating worldbuilding specifically relating to the gaps between the filthy, miserable, selfish-surviving reality of expedition life and the memoirs that make mint on it.

Always Simple & Sincere: Protestant Doctrine & Difference In The Franklin Expedition

Like Unto a Man by disenchanted (Hickey/Crozier, 6k)

Crozier has weird psychic powers like in the book, but good. This fic is basically just him lying there and unwillingly astral projecting into Hickey’s sex memories but he is very Protestant about it, somehow.

old habits die hard by MOUSE9000 (Terror lieutenants, 5k) I don’t really want to explain how EXACTLY the modern AU vampire roommates and their ambiguous relationships are kinda Protestant with it, but they are.

The C, the C, the open C: Classics and The Terror

A More Appropriate Hole by chatterleysghostwriter (Hodgson/Dundy, 6k)

Hodglove, Catullus, having an ever-so-slightly anachronistic depressionwank. What more could you need?

Ex Illustri Vagantium Ordine by annecoulmanross (Fitzier, 3k)

Meta-classicism with a touch of everyone’s favorite (Latin footnotes.)

(I’m going to level with you guys 100%: I feel like probably most heavily classics-referencing fics in the fandom are Bridglar, which I don’t really read (just not my thing) and as such that’s just, like. A gap in my knowledge. Sorry, Bridglar, I don’t want to erase you from this narrative! If you want to add your own rec in reblogs, feel free.)

and sang no more: The Fictional and Historical Impact of Traditional Music in The Terror

all seasons, at all hours, and in all places by Gwerfel (3k, Hickey/Tozer) “Rat Catcher’s Daughter” song played for horror. Spooky and crawling.

A delightful God-fearing man by Lilliburlero (3k, Gibson/Irving)

Irving seeks out a songbook, in a delightful romp which also happens to be very well-cited.

Poetic afterlives of the Franklin Expedition

Something different for this one—let’s have a little fanpoetry!

Northwest Passages by kitsuneartemis

Spoon River Anthology, but make it The Terror.

An Arctic Sonnet by hangingfire

Sonnet 130, but make it Fitzier.

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