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sunder-soul · 3 years

Note

first of all your work is AMAZING- like damn that smut? 👀 but anyway- i’ve had this concept for awhile imagine that reader was the one who made the design for the dark mark for tom riddle? like y/n is an artist and likes to draw, paint, all that jazz, and she saw the symbol in like her dreams or something and decided to draw it. and then tommy boy sees it and takes a liking to it like, “...i could use that-“ i don’t if this is a weird ask or not but i thought it was interesting. 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

So this has been in my inbox for so long bc I just couldn’t crack how I wanted to tackle it and then yesterday BOOM I had an idea so here I am!! Hope you enjoy 💖

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Consume

Summary: Reader looks into Tom Riddle’s tea leaves on an unlucky day in Divination. Something looks back.

Word count: 1.5k

Content warning: none.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

You’ve heard of the domino effect before, but never has it been so grimly demonstrated to you than in that exact moment standing in front of the entire Divination classroom with the only spare seat left opposite Tom bloody Riddle.

It started (or at least, as far as you can tell) an entire week earlier when you’d walked in on Ophelia Greengrass sobbing in the fourth-floor girl’s bathroom during second period. Up until then you’d not spoken more than half a dozen words to Ophelia across your entire time at Hogwarts, but it had felt wrong not to say anything – and as it turned out, Ophelia had been in dire need of someone saying something to her. She’d been dating Lestrange for a little over three months and by the sounds of it things were not going well.

So of course you’d comforted her as best you could but it was hardly surprising when she tentatively approached again you the next day, and the next, and the next, and then every single day for an entire week there had been a new horror story until yesterday you’d finally had enough and told her that she should break up with him.

That, of course, was why he’d confronted you in the corridor that morning on the way to Charms, angrily accusing you of losing him his girlfriend. And that was why you and Lestrange had been caught by Peeves with a watering can full of Bulbadox juice brandished gleefully in his spindly hands.

Which was how you both ended up in the hospital wing for the entirety of first period, Lestrange with boils all over his face and down his back, and you with them on your hands from where you’d managed to shield yourself.

You’d left Lestrange behind complaining loudly as the matron peeled back his school shirt, sprinting all the way up to the Divination tower at breakneck speed, throwing the trapdoor to the classroom open and scrambling inside, the trapdoor falling shut behind you, the very final domino.

“Sorry I’m late, Professor,” you gasp as you spin around to face her. “Peeves caught me and Lestrange!”

The class snickers.

“That’s quite alright, quite alright…” Cassandra Trelawney says, deep and ringing, “we have not yet started, take a seat with Mr Riddle and we shall begin…”

You freeze. Riddle…?

That’s when it hits you.

Lestrange always sat with Riddle in Divination.

And you’re so late that everyone else already has partners.

You turn to see Tom Riddle sitting at the back of the room looking at you with a polite but blank expression on his face. The class giggles again. The vast majority of Hogwarts students are at least somewhat in love with Riddle – beautiful, intelligent, polite Riddle, orphaned and poor but refined and successful. Better yet he barely speaks to anyone, leaving a lot of empty space of endless possibility for people to fill in with their personal daydreams.

He scares you.

Those horrible boys that hang around him remind you of flies hanging around rotting meat. And if they’re the flies, that makes Riddle…

You grit your teeth and step forward, weaving between the other tables and snickering students to take your seat, dropping your bag to the floor and eyeing the tea set on the small table apprehensively.

“Begin your readings!” Trelawney calls.

You frown and turn to Riddle questioningly. “We’re doing tea leaves?”

“Tasseography,” he corrects smoothly, leaning forward and picking up the burnished copper pot with one hand and pouring steaming tea into the little china cup in front of him.

You blink at him silently. There’s something manufactured about his face that you can’t put your finger on.

“Shall I go first or would you like to?” Riddle asks casually, pouring you a cup, too.

“I don’t mind,” you mumble, looking away.

Riddle sets the pot down and picks up his cup in long, elegant fingers, lifting it to his lips. “The instructions are on page seventy-nine,” he says after taking a sip, looking around the room disinterestedly.

You pull out your book and find the right chapter and scan the first few paragraphs as Riddle finishes his tea, sipping absently at your own, and by the time he finally hands you his cup your heart rate has finally returned to normal from running up eight flights of stairs.

“You have a scattered-type formation,” you say, checking it against the diagram on your page, “and it’s north-west oriented.”

“Mhmm,” Riddle says noncommittedly, his dark eyes level on the parchment before him as he takes notes.

You lean forward over Riddle’s cup and frown as you compare it to the pictures in the book. “That looks like shepherd’s crook,” you say, pointing to a cluster shaped like a pinched hook, “which means… either the responsibility to protect, or the exertion of power and authority over a group of people.”

Riddle scoffs very lightly, his lips curling into a slight smirk as he continues to write.

Something about it had clearly struck a chord with him, but you pointedly train your eyes back on your book. “Oh,” you frown, checking his cup again. “Or it’s the old glyph for seven.”

Riddle stops writing. You look up curiously at the sudden lack of his quill scratching evenly on his parchment to find him perfectly still, his eyes on your face. “Seven?” he repeats, tone distinct.

You nod and push your book around to show him. “The number seven used to be drawn like that, too.”

Riddle’s eyes drop to the page and linger there for a moment before he resumes taking his notes – though his expression is much more preoccupied than before.

But something in Riddle’s cup has caught your eye. Beside the shepherd’s crook/number seven is a lump of tea leaves so distinct in form that it’s almost comical – the round of the cranium, the square of a mandible, and gaps in the leaves to indicate two eye sockets.

“Oh,” you say in surprise, pulling your book back around. “Wow, that’s pretty clearly a…”

You trail off, frowning. You’ve noticed the tea leaves below it, the long twisting trail that leads directly into the skull’s mouth. A cold, creeping feeling is curling in your stomach as something about the image before you seems to move, you can almost see the thing writhing, it almost looks like a…

“How are we going?” Trelawney asks, suddenly right beside you.

You jump, looking up at her in panic. “Fine,” you say quickly.

She lifts her brows, assessing you thoughtfully. “Hmm,” she says, before glancing at Riddle. “And you?”

“Fine,” Riddle echoes smoothly. But he’s not looking at Trelawney.

He’s looking at you.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

The image worms into your thoughts like a deep root, twisting into places you don’t expect to find it and spreading itself out more and more. The dreams are first, and then the nightmares, and finally the night terrors. The skull hovers before you, its pitch, hollow eyes bore into you, the snake coiling endlessly with its fangs yawning wide.

Something about it is cold and evil, some sort of strange perversion of an ouroboros, the eternal snake broken by the skull’s mouth.

Consuming it.

“What is that?”

Your head snaps up from your parchment feeling like you’ve just been jolted awake from a deep sleep, and it takes you a second to process the sight of Tom Riddle before you, his eyes fixed attentively on the parchment strewn on top of the essay you’re supposed to be writing.

He’d caught you drawing it for the hundredth time.

“Nothing,” you say hastily, sliding it away under a book. “Just a doodle.”

Riddle’s eyes flick to yours. There’s a cold rigidity to his expression that you don’t like. It’s a coldness that feels horribly familiar.

For a moment you almost think he’s going to force you to show him, but after a long moment Riddle looks away and he’s gone, disappearing off further into the library. You exhale in relief and pull out the parchment again.

Drawing it made the thoughts go away for a bit, like manifesting the horrible thing distracted it from its need to live in your head. You lift your quill and carefully write a single word next to the skull.

Consume.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

The parchment goes missing the next day.

You never prove that he took it, never even mention it to him, but Riddle’s eyes have a cold glimmer to them when he catches your eye in Divination next, the smallest curl to his lips like he’s daring you to bring it up.

The dreams abruptly stop.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

When you see it next, it’s in a photo on the front page of the Daily Prophet beneath a terrified headline, a spectre hovering just like it had in your nightmares at school years prior. Except this time it’s real. This time it’s above the burning remains of the family home of a prominent Muggle-born politician and Voldemort’s name is a shadow on everyone’s lips.

You stare at it on the page, the snake writhing in ink, the black, hollow eyes of the skull, and you think about Tom Riddle’s cold smile watching you from across the classroom, his manufactured beauty, the boys that hung around him like flies around rotten meat.

He’s named it the Dark Mark.

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whump-a-la-mode · 3 years

Note

Would it be possible to get the aftermath of a heroic whumpee who went up against someone incredibly far out of their league? Kind of along the lines of that one time Dazzler went up against the Juggernaut on her own (A heroine with light projection powers vs a villain with the power of unstoppable force) and ended up being beaten to the point where she was too weak to move. The other heroes become her caretakers for a little while. I loved that arc and could really use something similar.

I can hardly describe how much I love this prompt. I absolutely adore it, and I can only hope that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I think I’m somewhat familiar with Dazzler, though when I looked through the wiki, I couldn’t find anything about this story? The wiki may just be incomplete, though. It reminds me of a story arc of the original ms. marvel, too!

This is absolutely one of my favorite kinds of whump, and I really hope that I did it justice. Thank you so much for the ask!

CW//Medical settings, poison, therapy, paralysis, inability to speak, self-hatred, low self-esteem, hair-pulling

The metal doors at the entrance to the Metropolis General Emergency Room swung upon with the force of a thunder clap. And, just as thunder, they too heralded lightning.

Or, at the very least, light.

A pair of lab-coats pushed forth a gurney on ratta-tatta-tattling caster wheels, footsteps crashing on the floor in even rhythm. Close behind, an entourage of two sprinted in close pursuit: A pair of heroes in civilian clothes.

“Lux!”

To the person laid upon the gurney, the voice felt to be emanating from a thousand miles away. Or more. Maybe a couple thousand, or a million... It was hard to think about numbers when their mind was stuffed with cotton, and their vision was dominated by blurry white ceiling tiles.

“What in the world happened to them?” The doctor that spoke had had all sense of clinical professionalism drained from their tongue.

“We don’t know.” A hero, outfitted in jeans and sweater, replied in a single, slurred sound. “We just found them, and-”

It was too loud. Far, far too loud-- Lux felt as though the full force of the ocean had made the sudden decision to crash into their eardrums. And, beneath at all, the caster wheels refused to stop their clitter-clatter. Spikes piercing their temples, they let out the tiniest of cries.

A tiny sound, and all eyes were on them.

“Lux!”

“Lux, what in the world happened to you?”

“What the hell did you do?”

“Talk to us!”

“Wake up!”

“Wake up.”

“Lux. Lux, what did you do?”

Lux, what did you do?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The support beam shook against the force of the body, hurled at it. Shudders rocked from the base to the top, threatening for the thousandth time the structural stability of the building.

And the structural stability of Lux’s ribs.

With several hoarse coughs, the hero struggled to hands and knees, joints wobbling as though the ground they were braced against were the epicenter of an earthquake.

They could taste it.

They could taste what they had been inflicted with, more than they could feel it. The wound upon their side had long since gone numb-- at the very least, the poison had that benefit to it. Now, the sensation had migrated to Lux’s tongue. A bitter flavor of burnt coffee.

Even if they had the chance, they had no desire at all to examine the gash that had been torn across their side. They’d heard the stories, seen the headlines.

Lux knew what happened to Mercury’s victims.

That was why they were here, after all.

“Had enough yet, kid?”

The voice was booming, sounding from the other side of the half-toppled warehouse. In their weakened state, Lux could barely raise their head high enough to meet the eyes of their foe.

Mercury’s height was unimportant, as was their general stature. After all, it was hard to focus on his body. It was hard to focus on anything but the claws-- terrible, wicked things curling outwards from his knuckles.

A single slash from them, and flesh would begin to curl away, to rot. To necrose.

The wound they had been inflicted with was already a death sentence. But, not an immediate one-- Lux had a bit of time left on death row.

A bit of time to make this right.

Shivering, the hero stood to their feet, facing their opponent from a hundred foot’s distance. It was the most ridiculous of match-ups. A chihuahua against a pit bull. A garden snake against a cobra.

That didn’t mean that Lux couldn’t try.

“Firefly wants another round, then?” The villain’s voice curled, almost as venomous as their blades. “Try me, kid.”

And try they did.

Hands balled to fists at their side, Lux took one, single step forth, stomping onto the warehouse’s concrete floor with a decisive strike.

It was as though a bomb had gone off.

The world was swallowed, all at once, by white. Light engulfed each shadow, each color, until the universe was as blank as unexposed photo paper.

It was merely a distraction, a smokescreen. But they needed time to recover. Time to catch their breath.

Time to remember why they were doing this.

In the world of heroes, Mercury had a particular nickname-- “The Untouchable.” He was the lion in the zoo. No one dared get near him, much less touch him. It was a death sentence, to be slashed by his claws. The heroes were terrified of him, and that gave him a free license to tear the world to shreds.

It was from one of their villainous informants that Lux had heard of the plan initially. The water supply. Mercury had found a way to distill the poison held within their claws, and they intended to release it into the city water supply.

To kill every last citizen of Metropolis.

But the others turned merely a blind eye. No one would touch the villain. They had resigned themselves to dealing with the aftermath.

That would mean deaths. That would mean ‘acceptable causalities.’

To Lux, there was no such thing as an acceptable causality. Only a problem that needed to be solved.

Their teammates had insisted, begged, nearly, that they not be so careless. But, when had Lux even been known as the careful one?

Not once in their life.

“Stop this, Mercury!” The hero snapped into the expanse of white. “Just-”

Lux did not so much as see the fist before it connected. Did not so much as feel the claws, raking their neck.

Not before the world went from black to white.

Lux, what did you do?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“You did it.”

Those were the first words that Lux heard clearly, after escaping from their haze. Consciousness teased them as the world above turned from colors to shapes to vision.

White tiles, spotless and all in a row. Their perfect nature was threatened only by an out-of-place beeping that nearly forced the hero to once more fall to sleep.

But, they managed to cling to consciousness as they turned their head to the side, revealing a figure, interrupting their view of the tiles overhead.

A figure. A person. A-

“You did it, Lux.”

Nora. Nora, their friend, their teammate, their comrade. Not Mercury. Not a villain. If Nora was here, then they were safe. The hero had an almost supernaturally calming way about herself, located somewhere between her wispy tangle of black hair and the way her movements imitated the performance of a dancer.

But, wait- Why wasn’t she in uniform? No, now she bore only the clothes of a civilian.

No. No, of course she wasn’t wearing a uniform. Lux had gone on a mission, yes. But it hadn’t been with their team.

They’d tried to stop Mercury, and-

“The water’s safe.” Nora’s voice was only just as smooth as her movements. “Mercury’s been contained. You did it.”

“And by god, what were you thinking?!”

The shout sent a stabbing agony through the side of Lux’s skull. That was more so the reaction they had expected.

Nickel. The most paranoid superhero on planet Earth.

Lux struggled to open their lips, to bring forth an explanation. To state that they had been doing what was right. That they had been doing what a hero should have done.

And yet...

And yet, their lips refused to so much as twitch. Too, their tongue sat dead in their mouth, numb and useless.

The only muscle in their body that functioned was their heart, which in that moment began to race.

“You could’ve died!” Nickel’s tirade continued, despite the fact that the target was showing not a single reaction. “Or worse! You could’ve died, or worse, or both! That was so stupid.

Don’t give me the silent treatment, dammit. Explain yourself!”

Lux wanted so desperately to do so. Their heartbeat turned, now, to a pounding tattoo within their skull, the pedal of a bass drum, slamming against the inside of their cranium.

They couldn’t move.

A twitch of the head. A blink, maybe. That was all. That was all they had left.

Lux had saved the world.

Their vision began to swirl.

Lux had saved the world, but what had they given up in exchange?

Telling when the hero fell unconscious was nearly impossible. Yet, when their eyes at last drifted closed, it became clear that whatever wakefulness they had had was now extinguished.

That left two heroes, one proud and one paranoid, leaning over a hospital bed. Shivering both in their own rights, Nickel and Nora stood. It was with great care that the room’s entrance was pushed open. The doctor that did so walked backwards-- their hands were quite thoroughly occupied by a clipboard.

Nickel and Nora said not a word, as speechless as their teammate. They both knew that this was the bringing of news.

This doctor was the bearer of their friends fate.

“They’re going to live.”

That was what they started with.

“With medical care, Lux will survive this ordeal. However, they will need to stay under intensive care until their immediate symptoms subside.”

Nora stared blankly for a long moment, before whispering:

“They aren’t moving. They aren’t talking.”

The doctor could manage only the more sympathetic of nods. Again, they repeated themself, but, this time, with an addition:

“Lux is going to live. But, most likely, they will never be the same. The poison has taken its toll on their system. There’s no cure. No antidote.

One day, they may be able to move, or speak. But, they have a very, very long road ahead of them.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━��━━━━━━

Very, very long was an understatement.

No, the doctor would have been better have describing Lux’s journey as a highway from Moscow to Las Vegas.

“The rains in Spain fall mainly on the plain.”

“Da ra’zz spa- ff mm a pla.”

“The rains in Spain fall mainly on the plain.”

“Za ree z’pa fa ma- play.”

“One more try. The rains in Spain-”

“Nnn- oh! No!”

The lab-coated doctor sitting before Lux set down their clipboard with a heavy sigh, sending only another bubble of rage rising in the hero’s chest. They balled their hands into fists, shaking them furiously before placing their open palms upon their temples.

Lux hated this. Lux hated every last minute, every last instant of this. They hated the doctor. They hated the doctor’s office they had to sit in, walls covered from floor to ceiling with charts of vowels and consonants. More than anything, they hated their exercises.

It should have been simple! Eight words. Eight simple words. If they could repeat them properly, then they would never have to go to one of these stupid appointments ever again.

But, they couldn’t. They couldn’t say eight simple words. In fact, they couldn’t even say one.

A month in the hospital, and Lux could not so much as speak. It made them want to tear their hair out! In fact, they would do that, had they had the motor control for it.

But, they didn’t. They didn’t have anything.

The last month had been the longest of the hero’s existence. Hell, those thirty days had felt to be longer than the rest of their entire life, put together! Thirty days and thirty nights of utter hell.

When they had gone off to face Mercury on their own, Lux had been very well prepared to die. They had not been prepared for this.

From the outside, the progress that the hero was making was undeniable. They had begun in a state of complete and utter paralysis, able to move their head, their eyes, and not a thing else. It was only with thrice-a-day physical therapy that they had begun to move. First, it was only moving their head. Then, their arms. Their legs. By the end, they could even sit up, with the help of a helping hand.

Every day, Lux’s teammates visited. And, every day, they congratulated their friend on their progress.

But, as far as Lux was concerned, it had been a month, and they hadn’t made an inch of progress. As hard as they tried, they were still laid up in a hospital. Still broken. Still useless.

They knew that their friends were trying. They knew-- it was evident on their expressions. Those constant, stupid looks of pity. They would never speak about their own lives, about their missions. The villainous plots they’d stopped, the battles they’d won. No. They focused only on the mundane: Where they’d gone for lunch, how they’d spent their evening.

It was out of pity. Lux knew that. It was all pity. But, in all truth, those were the only moments during which they ever felt, truly, like themself. Like Lux.

Like a hero.

So they’d heard, the media had praised them, lauded them for their victory. But they never spoke of the sacrifice it had taken.

Their friends’ visits were the only parts of the day that Lux had to get forward to. The rest of their life was filled with... this.

“Lux.” The doctor coaxed. “You need to do your exercises. You’re already getting so much better! But you won’t make any progress if you don’t try.”

“Don’ thwaa ex- thwaa ta.”

“Don’t want exercises, want talk?”

Lux narrowed their eyes. But, that had been what they were trying to say. The fact that it needed to be repeated, interpreted, however, made them feel sick.

“You need your exercises, Lux. How about we just try one more time? I know you can do it. You’re already doing so well!”

Eight simple words. Eight simple words, and Lux could be a hero again. Eight words, and they could be a person again.

“Okay, Lux. Repeat after me: The rains in Spain fall mainly on the plain.”

“Tha ran-”

Yet, that was all they could make out. Lux’s throat ran dry of words, void of syllables. They couldn’t speak before, and now, they couldn’t so much as make a sound.

They never cried in front of others. Never. Yet, that rule had been broken in the hospital already a dozen times. And, so it seems, this would make thirteen.

Lux’s chest was wracked with heavy sobs as they buried their face in their hands. Soon, tears leaked from beneath their shaking fingers.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“I’m right here for you, Lux. Lean on me all you need.”

Nora’s voice carried the same cadence as water, meandering through a stream. Too, of course, did her gestures. A gentle, yet firm hand took Lux by the wrist, wrapping their arm around their comrade’s shoulder.

“It’s going to be hard, okay? It’s going to be hard. It’s okay to get tired. And you don’t have to get it on your first try. Or your fifth. Or your hundredth.”

Lux stopped listening on the last part.

This was it. The final gauntlet. Nearly an entire season spent within hospital walls-- now came their test. Everything counted on it. As far as they were concerned, it was a matter of life or death.

If they succeeded, they were home free. They could be brought home by their teammates-- of course, while still attending outpatient physical therapy, but still! They would be home.

And, yet, if they failed? They would be placed back in their hospital room. They would continue to be useless, a burden on both doctor and friend alike.

Everything was riding on this. Lux took a deep breath, and opened their eyes to face their challenge:

A hallway.

They had studied it extensively. Seven feet in width, and perhaps twenty in length. A tiny little thing, used only to get between two particular rooms. It was in the very depths of the hospital; that was why they were using it. There was no chance of distraction, of interruption.

“Are you ready, Lux?”

“Yesthh.”

“Okay.”

Their weight was leaned, nearly entirely, upon Nora. But, that didn’t matter. It wasn’t a test of standing on their own. If that was the test, they’d never get out of this hellish place. All they had to do was make it to the end of the hallway, with help. They could go slowly. They could lean. They could rest.

They only had to make it to the end.

Nora placed one foot forward, waiting for Lux to do the same, which they did, slowly and shakily. It was in this manner that they moved. One foot, one foot, staying always in the slowest of locksteps.

For Nora, it was simple.

For Lux, it was agony. Their knees felt mere milliseconds away from buckling, legs straining under the weight of the rest of them, even as the vast majority of it was leaned onto their friend.

Five feet. Five tiny, minuscule steps. That was how far Lux made it.

And then they were falling.

They did not remember the fall, not really. One moment, their knees had given out. And, the next, they were on their side, on the carpet.

Shaking.

This had been it. This had been their chance. All they had to do was walk down a hallway, that was it! Then, they could have gone home. Then, they could have been with their friends.

Then, they could have finally been a hero again.

And they’d failed. They’d failed the simplest of tasks.

In that moment, a certainty struck Lux like a dagger to the chest: They were never going to get better. Never. It didn’t matter how many exercises they did, how many doctors they saw. This whole thing was pointless! They were going to be worthless until the end of time.

On the floor, Lux screamed. It was a babbling, incoherent thing, as most sounds they made were. Too, they began to thrash, slamming their fists into the floor as they howled in anguish.

Then, they weren’t thrashing anymore. They couldn’t.

Lux had no need to open their eyes to tell what was happening. They knew Nora’s footsteps, knew the sound of her racing over. The feeling of her, hauling them into her arms. Holding them close.

They knew, also, the sounds of doors opening. Of more footsteps, familiar footsteps. Of chattering voices. Their friends’ voices.

Their whole-

Lux’s breath caught in their throat.

In order to avoid distraction, it had only been them and Nora in the room. They had assumed that it was only Nora who had visited that day. And, yet, they knew these voices.

Their whole...

Their whole team. Their whole team had come to watch. They counted every voice, every pair of footsteps. Every last one of their friends had come to watch them succeed.

But, they’d only watched them fail. Lux expected heckling, expected to be berated.

They did not expect the half-dozen pairs of arms, wrapped around them. They didn’t expect to be the center of a group hug.

“You’re doing so well.”

“You got so far!”

“Just a little more practice, and you’ll be back out there fighting crime in no time.”

“You’re almost there!”

“That’s the furthest you’ve been able to walk yet!”

“We’re proud of you.”

Lux’s tears did not stop.

And, yet, they realized something:

They were no longer tears of sorrow.

#hero whumpee #whump #whumper #whumpee #caretaker #whump community #hero x villain whump #hero villain prompt #hero x villain #hero villain scenario #hero villain whump #whumpblr #whump blog #whump scenario

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 years

Note

hi could you rec some gen fics

Hi Nonny!!

I’ve a tonne of G and T rated fics, and I’m using this opportunity to clear another list off my Check-List, T-Rated Part 3! It’s a nice long list, so hope you enjoy!

As per usual, friends, the third reblog will be the mobile post (I do that to generate the “full post”, and then “read more” the original post), so I am sorry :P

T-RATED FICS Pt. 3

See also:

T-RATED Pt. 1: Friends To Lovers Fics || [MOBILE LINK]

T-Rated Fics Pt. 2 (October 2018) (LONG POST) || MOBILE POST

Smut-Free Fics Over 50K (Aug 2019)

And When The Night Is Over by Simply Isnt On (K, 329 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Platonic Bed Sharing / Not Slash) – Sherlock and John sleep together.

When Morning Comes by Youarethelightoftheworld (T, 423 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Lazy Mornings/Morning After, Fluff and Angst, Sleepy Cuddles, Domestic Fluff, Cuddling / Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort) – “Sherlock,” says John solemnly, “I’m not sure we can go anywhere today.”

Dinner With John by Zang Bluetterfly (T, 505 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Romance) – “Let’s have dinner, John.” Sherlock secretly smiled. Irene had been right: he had rejected her dinner’s invitation because he already had John by his side, even though the doctor was still clueless about Sherlock’s true feelings for him.

The Moment When by drekadair (K, 509 w., 1 Ch. || TGG Fic, Friendship, First Person POV Sherlock, Introspection, Worried Sherlock) – Sherlock sees John in the pool, and doubts. Set during the end of “The Great Game.”

A Perfect Figure by ecb327 (K, 622 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, First Person POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Introspection, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Light Angst) – Sherlock build a spot in his mind palace for John.

Do You Love Me? by whitchry9 (K, 641 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Family, Epic Bromance) – John asks Sherlock perhaps the most important question.

New World, Old Words by thedeafwriter (G, 641 w., 1 Ch. || Deaf Sherlock, Sherlock Whump, Pining Sherlock, Marriage Proposal, Fluff, Always John) – It was disconcerting to experience. One second, he was laying on the table, breathing in the gas that would make him sleep, the next, he was dragging his eyes open to look around the bright room, trying to wake up.

Five Seconds by xXLadyLovelaceXx (K+, 658 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Introspection, TGG Pool Scene) – In the half-second before Sherlock shoots the jacket, John notices something.

I Knew You Loved Me by inevitably_johnlocked (T, 743 w., 1 Ch. || Morning Cuddles, Fluff, Clingy Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Slice of Life, Morning After, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Declarations of Love, Pet Name, Bed Sharing, Snuggles) – John and Sherlock share a lie-in the morning after their first time. So fluffy and gross your teeth will fall out. Part 4 of I-J’s Tumblr Ficlet Collection

Promises Kept by grannysknitting (K+, 844 w., 1 Ch. || John POV, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship / Pre-Slash, Sherlock’s Violin, Worried Sherlock, John Whump, Post-TGG) – When they were in hospital, Sherlock made a promise to himself. Now he’s keeping it. Set after ’Polygamous Marriage’ but before ’Back in the Saddle’

Possessive by Fang323 (T, 850 w., 1 Ch. || John Whump, Hospitalization, Possessive / Protective Sherlock, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort) – His John did not belong. Not here. Not in this blasted hospital. It simply was not logical.

Concussions And Good Old Fashioned Awkwardness by Belldere (K+, 894 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Hospitals, Mild John Whump, Misunderstandings, Platonic Relationship, Concussions, Not-Gay John, Possessive Sherlock) – When John lands himself in hospital… again, all he wants is to just get out of there as soon as possible, too bad his doctor has other ideas about where John may be getting his injuries. Good thing concussions make everything strangely funnier.

Once Upon A Time by ProfessorSquirrell (T, 908 w., 1 Ch. || Family, Snippets of Life, Romance, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Implied Drug Use, Angst with Happy Ending) – There is a room in Sherlock’s mind palace where nothing gets deleted. And it looks like this…

Burn Burn by Jenn1984 (K+, 925 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TGG, Angst, Worried / Panicked / Possessive Sherlock) – A week after the events of “The Great Game”, Sherlock returns to 221B Baker Street to find it empty.

Texts and Tea by JillianWatson1058 (K, 959 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Texting, Humour, Fluff, POV John, Cranky John) – A John who is woken up at 2:30 in the morning is not a happy John. Sherlock, frankly, doesn’t care. He just wants his tea.

My Unfortunately Average Sized Cranium by Haelia (K+, 996 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Headache, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Past Drug Use, Doctor John) – In which Sherlock has a migraine. ALMOST Johnlock. Not quite.

Do You Renounce Evil? by BenAddiction (K, 1,037 w., 1 Ch. || Family, Friendship, No Slash) – John and Mary have a question for Sherlock.

Five Times John Watson Remained Oblivious by thriceandonce (K+, 1,154 w., 1 Ch. || Five and Ones, Romance, Friendship, Asexual Sherlock, Queerplatonic Relationship) – …And one time he didn’t.

Common Knowledge by The Assassin’s Pen (K, 1,223 w., 1 Ch. || Family, Hurt/Comfort, Sort-Of Parentlock, Angry John) – John can’t sleep because his infant daughter can’t sleep. Sherlock can’t think because of all the crying. And Mary can’t seem to calm the infant either. Sherlock’s robotic response to the problem reveals something very human at his core. Fluffy one shot!

Sherlock Is Not The One You Should Worry About by AllesandraQuartermaine (K, 1,077 w., 1 Ch. || Sally POV, Character Reflection, Praising John) – Sally Donovan’s eyes are opened about a certain Doctor John Watson.

Peacock by ClassyGirlsWearPearls (T, 1,189 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, Cranky Sherlock, Soft John, Hand Holding, Soft Sherlock) – A study in Sherlock and John.

Our Bodies Bend Light by lovetincture (G, 1,211 w., 1 Ch. || Established Relationship, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Beekeeping, Retirement) – They got married. Of course they got married. Snapshots in a relationship. There’s a jar of bees in the bookstore and a cottage in Sussex. Sherlock’s not the marrying kind, and John’s tried this once before, but they’re Sherlock and John. Of course.

Sleep Tonight by Jenn1984 (T, 1,220 w, 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Bed Sharing, Worried Sherlock, Sick John, Hugs/Cuddles, Touch Neediness) – Fingers begin prying open his jacket looking for a wound and John would really like to swat at them. No, he’s not hit anywhere, he’s just damn sick.- John Watson has a fever.

Idiot by Anesthesiologist (T, 1,229 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Alternate TGG / Explosion, BAMF John, Sherlock Whump, Inner Monologue, John Saves Sherlock, POV Sherlock) – What the heck happened? He remembered the pool and Moriarty, but then what? Had he been dying?

Mizzle by MrsNoggin (K, 1,233 w., 1 Ch || Friendship, Fluff, Platonic Johnlock, Humour, Slice of Life) – John can’t decide if it’s raining or not. Sherlock doesn’t understand.

First Thing in the Morning by englishtutor (T, 1,273 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Banter, Humour) – In which John and Mary return from their honeymoon and are immediately plunged back into real life. Can they cope?

And, Usually, He’s the One Who GIVES Me a Headache by Cumberbatch Critter (T, 1,315 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, POV John, Cranky John, Headaches, Head Massage) – A migraine is never fun.

A Better Fate Than Wisdom by flawedamythyst (G, 1,339 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, John’s Sexuality Crisis, Pining Sherlock, Happy Ending, Fluff) – Nearly four hours pass between their first kiss and their second.

Five Times John Didn’t Notice Sherlock (and one time he did) by somanyhands (T, 1,369 w., 6 Ch. || Friendship, Five and Ones, 221B Format Oneshots) – Five times out oblivious John Watson didn’t notice Sherlock, and one time he really did. A short series of (five plus one) 221B fics, just because.

God Save The Queen by Alice Day (K+, 1,398 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Mystery, Friendship) – Sherlock has a new case. John is petrified. The Queen is amused.

I Was Wrong by AllesandraQuartermaine (K, 1,496 w., 1 Ch. || TGG AU, Friendship, Hospitalization / Injury, John’s Self Esteem, Sleepy Sherlock) – Sherlock and John have a conversation a few days after the pool face off with Moriarty. And John hears something quite surprising.

Angel by MrsNoggin (T, 1,513 w., 1 Ch. || Winglock, Friendship, Chromoesthesia, Drugging) – John is an angel. That can be the only explanation. A response to the challenging request for a realistic wingfic one-shot.

You Should Have Let Me Sleep! by theraggedypond (T, 1,542 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Sleepy Sherlock, Cranky Sherlock, Domestics) – After a three day case with no sleep and hardly any food, Sherlock is recovering from it by playing comatose. John finds out what happens when you wake up London’s favorite consulting detective.

Here to Stay by MockJayPhoenix12 (K, 1,574 w., 1 Ch. || Post Reunion, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Headache, Bed Sharing, Care Taker Sherlock, Hand Holding, Fluff) – On Sherlock’s first day home, John wakes with a migraine.

Happy Birthday John by Starlight05 (K, 1,580 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Friendship, John’s Birthday, Shopping, 3rd Person POV John) – When an important date comes up, Sherlock finds himself doing something he never has before - shopping! But will he succeed and manage to get his best friend a present?

Together is What we Have, Together Protects Us by Phantom of the Black Pearl (K+, 1,566 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF, Friendship / Platonic or Slash, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Sherlock, Worried Sherlock, Slice of Life) – After a case one evening in the flat Sherlock voices a concern that causes the pair to consider why they’ve chosen to stick together after all that’s happened.

3:00 in the Morning is a Great Time to Talk by Aztecwarfareandcrumping (K+, 1,775 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt / Comfort, Friendship, Bed Sharing, First Person POV John, Cuddling, Worried Sherlock, Comforting John, Platonic Affection/Love) – “Are you trying to talk your way into my bed?” “Obviously.”

Santa Knows by Itsallfine (T, 1,719 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas Party, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff, Matchmaking, POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock) – Sherlock and John both get exactly what they want from the Yard’s secret Santa exchange. Pure holiday fluff.

Upon This Throne by ifonlynotnever (T, 1,773 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-TRF, Angst, Romance, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Introspection, Imagery, Pining Sherlock, Drug Use, Passage of Time) – Inside Sherlock’s mind is a Palace. Inside the Palace are many rooms. Within the largest room is the Throne. Upon the Throne sits the King.

Love and Bombs by Spark Writer (T, 1,780 w., 1 Ch. || Post S3, Romance, Angst, Pining Sherlock, 1st Person POV Sherlock, Introspection, Ambiguous Ending) – Love and bombs aren’t all that different, John. In the end, they’re almost indistinguishable.

Quite Contrary by Hollyesque (T, 1,805 w., 1 Ch. || HLV Fic, Sherlock Whump / After Mary Shot Sherlock, Hallucinations / Flashbacks / PTSD, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Lestrade POV, ) – A short one-shot, alternate scene to Greg’s hospital visit in HLV. Instead of Sherlock disappearing, Greg is faced with an unexpected reaction to a hospitalized Sherlock and winds up figuring out something that he really would have rather not known.

The Stranger by LaKoda0518 (T, 1,844 w., 1 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, Fluff, First Kiss, For a Case, Mysterious Madman, Lonely John) – John Watson is standing on the platform waiting to board a train to his sister’s after being invalided home from Afghanistan. A chance meeting with a mysterious madman turns his world upside down and changes his life forever.

One in Ten Thousand by Blind Author (K+, 1,856 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TGG, Friendship / Pre-Slash, Discussions of Violence, Worried then Curious Sherlock, Scars/John’s Bullet Wound, Medical Anomolies) – John seems to have unusual mobility for a shoulder wound…

The Three-Word Tin Collection by TheBookshelfDweller (K, 1,885 w., 1 Ch. || First Person Sherlock POV, Mild Pining, Angst, Romance, Hiatus) – What happens when Sherlock has to store the things he wants to say to John while deconstructing Moriarty’s web, but the Mind palace proves an inadequate place to store them?

Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil by PipMer (T, 1,895 w., 1 Ch. || Deaf John, Mute Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Romance, Fluff and Angst, Character Study, Morse Code, Love Confessions) – John is deaf. Sherlock is mute. There are no two people more suited for each other.

The Adventure of the Mysterious Appearance of Tissues by Gwen’s Blue Box (K+, 1,910 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Humour, Sick John, Caring Sherlock, Hurt/Comfort) – In which there is a case, John has caught a cold and is not interested in investigating, Mrs Hudson is away and Sherlock does the shopping.

Baskerville After Dark by Ttime42 (T, 1,921 w., 1 Ch. || THoB, Friendship, Humor, Bed Sharing, Missing Scenes, Cranky John, Cuddles) – John and Sherlock have to share a bed at Baskerville. Gen, but can be preslash.

They’re Taking My Wisdom by whitchry9 (K+, 1,939 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Drugging, Dentists, Friendship, Anxious Sherlock, Humour) – Sherlock goes to the dentist. Of course, being Sherlock, things have to be complicated. Oh and drugs. They’re always fun.

The Perfect Place by SilverSmile (K+, 1,955 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Romance, 5 and Ones, Fluff, Experiments, Bed Sharing) – Sherlock attempts to find the perfect place to sleep, but his little experiment proves to be far more difficult than expected.

Fascination by xLaramiex (K, 1,959 w., 2 Ch. || Friendship, Cranky Sherlock) – Ch1: John returns home to find Sherlock sleeping on the sofa. At least, he thinks he does. Ch2: Once again, John is forced to abandon his food to trail after Sherlock. He doesn’t even know why.

Denial Isn’t Just a River in Egypt by satanatemycat (T, 2,107 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Friendship, Texting, Bored/Cranky Sherlock) – In which John makes a bet with a co-worker. If he wins, she shuts up about him and Sherlock being a couple. If he loses… well, that doesn’t matter, because he won’t lose. Because he and Sherlock ARE NOT a couple. Right?

The Imminent Danger of a Tumblr-Night by Loveismyrevolution (T, 2,135 w., 1 Ch. || Tumblr Fics, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock is Out of His Depth, Humour, Fluff, Pining Sherlock, Military Kink, POV Sherlock) – Sherlock gets into trouble when he pretends to know all about John’s favourite social media site - tumblr. To save face he seeks help from one of the bloggers and gains more answers than he had aimed for.

The Case of the Missing Blogger by nicknack22 (K, 2,147 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Humour, Friendship, Worried / Anxious Sherlock) – Alternately titled, The Case of the Oblivious Consulting Detective. In which Sherlock comes out of his mind palace to discover John missing. 221B does not fair well as a result.

Study in John by chappysmom (K+, 2,158 w., 1 Ch. || Post-ASiP, POV John, Introspection, Friendship, Nightmares, Caring Sherlock, John’s Limp) – After the events of “A Study in Pink,” John lies on the couch in Baker Street and thinks about the whirlwind events of the day. What is he getting himself into?

A Room of One’s Own by whitchry9 (K+, 2,174 w., 5 Ch. || S2 Timeline, Hurt/Comfort, Supernatural, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Coma, John Whump, Worried Sherlock, POV John, Angst, Friendship/Bromance, Hospital) – When a severe head injury lands John in a coma, somehow he ends up in Sherlock’s mind palace. It’s actually pretty nice there, and John is entertaining the notion of staying there, rather than returning to his broken body. But Sherlock isn’t taking it as well, and John can feel him breaking around him.

Crisis Averted by Spartangal22 (T, 2,188 w., 1 Ch. || HLV Fic, Missing Scene After Confronting Mary, Canon Compliant, Sherlock Whump / Mary Shot Sherlock, Family / Friendship, Hospitalization, Sherlock POV, Holmes Brothers) – Lying in the hospital, Sherlock receives some surprising visitors, and manages to deal with two problems he’s been having lately. A missing scene from HLV about a formal introduction that was never made and a visit that was never shown.

Love Hurts by Grac3 (T, 2,215 w., 1 Ch. || Magical Realism, Pining Sherlock, One-Sided Pining / URT, Sherlock / John Whump, Angst, Ambiguous Ending) – In a world where someone’s physical injuries manifest themselves on the person who is in love with them, John didn’t think that there would ever be anyone who was willing to risk falling in love with him - until he got shot on a case, and it didn’t hurt. Unrequited Johnlock.

Coming Full Circle by KCS (K+, 2,358 w., 1 Ch. || Alternate TGG, Friendship, Drama, Violence/Death References, Drugging/Poisoning, Kidnapping, BAMF John, Moriarty POV, Introspection) – Moriarty had John for almost six hours between his abduction and the showdown at the pool - more than enough time to implement a Plan B for his escape should Sherlock call his bluff with the fake bomb vest.

Work On Your Balance by speculate (K+, 2,448 w., 1 Ch. || Embarrassed Sherlock, For A Case, Skating, Fluff, Friendship, Humour) – In which John is actually pretty good at ice skating, Sherlock’s not and insists it’s all for a case , and Lestrade is pretty amused by it all.

The Many Faces of Concern by sdrawkcabemdaer5 (K+, 2,473 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Angsty Fluff, John Whump, Mildly Clueless Sherlock) – John is injured on a case, leading to some surprising reactions and discoveries about their friendship.

Nothing Left Untouched by ForeverShippingJohnlock (K+, 2,617 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Romance, Bed Sharing, Oblivious Sherlock, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Grumpy John, Fluff and Cuddles) – Sherlock rearranges the flat. So what if John’s bedroom is now a research library. It’s not like John needs a bedroom, he can share with Sherlock. They’re friends and John has obviously slept in close quarters with men before and it’s not like Sherlock sleeps much anyway. It’ll be fine.

Insomnia by TheSingingGirl (K+, 2,635 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Humour, Bed Sharing, Sleepy Sherlock) – Sleep is merely the next frontier in what has become the battle to keep Sherlock alive. It’s because of this that John ends up in bed with a sociopath.

Those Days by StillWaters1 (T, 2,663 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD / Sensory Attacks, Caring Sherlock) – If Sherlock had danger nights, then these were John’s danger days.

Domino by Deception’s Call (K, 2,689 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Scared / Worried Sherlock, John Whump, Crying Sherlock, Hospital, Implied Caretaker Sherlock) – When John is injured on a case and is admitted to the hospital, those at Scotland Yard come to realize that perhaps Sherlock Holmes has a heart after all.

Not My Proudest Moment by charlock221 (K, 2,695 w., 1 Ch. || Lunar New Year, Mild PTSD / Panic Attack, Coping Mechanisms, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort) – John tries his best not to get in the way of Sherlock’s cases, but when the vivid noises of fireworks unnerve his senses and begin to bring back unwanted memories of Afghanistan, he cannot help but to hope Sherlock will notice and help him before things go too far.

BBCSH ‘The Comfort of Company’ by tigersilver (T, 2,769 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF/Mary, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Bed Sharing, Grumpy John, Touching, Clingy/Handsy Sherlock, Cranky Sherlock, Fluff and Light Angst) – It’s a trope that John and Sherlock end up sharing in the same bed eventually and I admit I do adore it unconditionally, along with all it infers as to the lowering of defenses and the heightening of trust. I put forth for your consideration that the notion persists because those who think about these things realize these two men are each in dire need of some good company.

One to Spare by englishtutor (K, 2,862 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Friendship, Sherlock POV) – In which Sherlock becomes alarmed at the change Mary Morstan has made in John. With spoilers from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s book “The Sign of Four”

The Rational Machine by Solstice Zero (K, 2,924 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt / Comfort, Malnourishment / Fainting, Doctor / Minder John) – Sherlock passes out. John muses on the reasons why. Containing an absorbing case, two bags of shopping, and a few apples.

Your Pain in my Hands by aceofhearts61 (T, 2,984 w., 1 Ch. || Asexual Sherlock / Straight Homoromantic John, Established Relationship, Asexual Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Cuddling and Snuggling, Massage, Fluff, Bedsharing) – Sherlock and John comfort each other through physical pain, using massage. Part 13 of A Love with No Name

Museums and Laboratories by RhododendronPonticum (T, 3,004 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, Angst, Obsessive Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, Anxiety/Panic Attack, Separation Anxiety, Doctor John, Co-Dependent Sherlock) – If Sherlock’s kitchen was his laboratory, then his bedroom was his museum.

Better Late Than Never by sussexbound (NR (T), 3,021 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4 / TFP Doesn’t Exist, Sherlock POV, Love Confessions, Drunk Sherlock / Sober John, John Takes Care of Sherlock, First Kiss, Jealous Sherlock, Emotional Turmoil) – He suddenly wants John Watson out of his bedroom, out of his flat, out of his life, because he has been lying to himself these last few months, he realises. He doesn’t want John here, not with the way things are. He doesn’t want 221b Baker Street to be nothing more than rest stop John returns to on his journeys between women. He doesn’t want to play co-parent if Rosie is going to be snatched away from him and placed in the arms of whatever nameless woman du jour John lands on next. He doesn’t want to keep being so careful, so generous, so, so…

The General Idea by agirlsname (T, 3,022 w., 1 Ch. || Retirement, Promise of Forever / Proposal, POV John, First Kiss, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Soft Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Crying / Emotional Sherlock, Love Confessions) – After twenty years of friendship, John is used to Sherlock acting weirdly. But the news Sherlock finally brings himself to deliver change the carefully built dynamics between them, and John realises it’s time to act.

Reversed by whitchry9 (K+, 3,072 w., 6 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Medical Anomolies, John Gets Shot) – The man pointed his gun at John’s chest, right at his heart, and shot.’ Wherein John is shot, and Sherlock is the one panicking.

It’s Just Another Birthday by Vintage Tea Party (K, 3,207 w., 2 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Sherlock’s Birthday, Sherlock 3rd Person POV) – When John makes a birthday cake for Sherlock he thinks it’s an innocent enough gesture. But nothing is ever normal with Sherlock and this isn’t just another birthday.

As You Wish by PipMer (K, 3,311 w., 1 Ch. || Bromance/Pre-Slash/Epic Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, John Whump, Hospitals) – When John woke from his coma, he wasn’t at all surprised to see the wrong Holmes brother sitting at his bedside. Disappointed, but not surprised.

The Dangers of Dating by verityburns (T, 3,325 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Case Fic, No Slash, John Whump, 3G, Worried Sherlock) – Sherlock and John acquire a new client… with a very unusual problem.

After the Bombs by VampirePam (T, 3,337 w., 2 Ch. || THoB AU, Drugs, John’s PTSD, Panic Attack, Nightmares, Caring Sherlock, Cuddles, Bed Sharing, Angst, Hurt/Comfort) – In which the drugs Sherlock used to dose John trigger a severe episode of PTSD. When terrors old and new cause John to fall apart, Sherlock must rectify his mistake and pick up the pieces.

Study in Sherlock by chappysmom (K+, 3,790 w., 1 Ch. || ASiP, Friendship, Introspection, Anxious Sherlock, POV Sherlock, Caring Sherlock, Stroppy Sherlock) – Sherlock’s thoughts and feelings during A Study in Pink. What DID he think of John, and why was he being so NICE?

Breakfast, acronyms and brotherhood by Rose de Sharon (K+, 4,074 w., 1 Ch. || TBB Fic, Friendship/Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Protective John, Fluff) – Set after The Blind Banker: my take of Sherlock and John’s conversation over breakfast. S/J friendship, bromance, no slash.

Human Body Pillow by Lunavere (K, 4,122 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Five and Ones, Sleepy Johnlock, Bed Sharing) – A story about the five times John fell asleep on Sherlock, and the one time Sherlock fell asleep on him.

Living Musical by VeeTheRee (G, 4,149 w. 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Hobbies, Summer, Song Fic, POV Sherlock, Painting, Play Fighting, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Love Declarations, Hair Petting, Promise of Forever) – A one-shot of John and Sherlock being domestic during summer. There is paint, fluff, and music from Imagine Dragons, namely from the album 'Speak To Me’, specific song in this one-shot is 'Living Musical’. Part 1 of the Happy Fluffy Johnlock Time series

The Oolong Disaster by unicornpoe (T, 4,151 w., 1 Ch. || John’s Beard, Fluff, Humour, Frustrated Sherlock, John Takes Care of Sherlock, Case Fic-ish, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Possessive Sherlock) – John has a beard. Sherlock has a panic attack.

Between Asleep and Awake by katydidit (K, 4,309 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Sick Fic, Post-TRF / Reunion) – John is sick. Incredibly, extremely, dangerously sick. Plagued by a high fever, he begins to hallucinate, start seeing things that aren’t really there. Because they can’t be there. Can they?

Afghanistan in Baskerville by Amaya Ramiel (K+, 4,357 w., 1 Ch. || THoB Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Drugged John, PTSD / Panic Attack, Hallucinations, Worried Sherlock, John’s Past, Friendship) – What if John hadn’t seen the hound when Sherlock trapped him in the lab? What if instead, his very real nightmares of the war had materialized all around him? Trapped and drugged, John can’t tell what’s real and what’s not. How will Sherlock react?

Mary by englishtutor (K, 4,358 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Romance, No Slash) – In which Mary Morstan attempts to endear herself to Sherlock Holmes.

What You Are Worth by Lastew (T, 4,488 w., 1 Ch. || Observant But Insecure John, Friendship, Crime / Case Fic) – John helps Sherlock with a case, but he questions his real value to Sherlock.

Let Down by Gandalf3213 (K+, 4,505 w., 2 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, John Whump, Insecure John) – John truly is sorry for letting Sherlock down. The only thing he wanted to do was finish the case, but bleeding out in a dark alley makes it harder for him to pursue that murderer running out of sight.

The Care and Keeping of Your Mad Genius by Janieshi (T, 4,553 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TGG, Friendship, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Light Humour/Teasing, Alternating POV, Cranky Sherlock) – If he hadn’t been so focused on holding the bastard still, John would have laughed aloud. This maniac really thought John was the pet in this dynamic?

Storytelling by amythedork (T, 5,126 w., 1 Ch. || John’s Past, Friendship, Humour) – Five times John Watson opens up to Sherlock Holmes, and one time Sherlock Holmes opens up to John Watson. Gen, though could easily be read as pre-slash.

The Refining Fire by Arwen Jade Kenobi (T, 5,451 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TGG AU, Angst, Friendship, Alternating POV (Lestrade, Mycroft, Sherlock), Worried Sherlock, Hospital Recovery) – Fire can burn things to ashes, but it can also burn things together.

Sleepless nights by El loopy (T, 5,467 w., 3 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares/Insomnia, Panic Attack, Worried Sherlock) – Sherlock has a nightmare and John wants to know what it was about. Set during season 1. Three-shot.

Stranded by BeautifulFiction (T, 5,798 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, Communication / Relationship Discussion, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, BAMF John, Doctor John, Case Fic, Drinking, Huddling For Warmth, Friends to More) – When stranded on a derelict barge at high tide, John and Sherlock reconsider their friendship.

When We Sleep by PrincessNala (K+, 6,660 w., 1 Ch || Post-TGG, Alternating POV, Bed Sharing, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Hurt/Comfort, Hugs) – Sherlock needed to feel every beat of his heart, every rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. It was the only way to completely assure himself that John was alive and right there next to him, and not dead, no, never dead…

Hide and Seek by Arwen Jade Kenobi (T, 6,934 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Rev. Reich-ish, Mycroft is a Dick, Depression, Case Fic-ish, Friendship, Reunion) – Pseudo sequel to “The Refining Fire.” “You owe him the truth, and you owe me the proof that will convince him that I had no part in this.”

Lost for Words by notactivesherlockaccount (T, 6,709 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, John Whump, Temporary Mute John) – While on a case, John temporarily loses his ability to speak, and he and Sherlock have to find a new way to communicate.

BANG by ElvendorkInfinity (T, 7,016 w., 3 Ch. || Post-TGG AU, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Worried / Scared Sherlock, Alternating POV, Whump, Hospital Recovery, Open Ending) – 'I should warn you,’ Sherlock says, his voice steady and his eyes fixed on Moriarty. 'You are sadly misinformed.’ And he fires. Prequel to M Is For Moriarty

On Favors and Keeping Score by Ewebie (G, 7,622 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Sick Fic, Fluff, John Whump) – John woke up to the horribly unpleasant sound of his clock alarm. Which meant he’d slept through his phone’s alarm. And for a moment he glared blearily at the noisemaker before smacking at it with his palm. Ugh, he felt like rubbish. The back of his throat was burning with the irritation that heralded a proper dose, his nose was threatening to drip every few seconds, and he had the uncomfortable flush that normally suggested a fever. Nothing high, just uncomfortable. Nothing deadly, just irritating. Nothing worth calling in sick with, just a full day of discomfort in the face of other people’s discomfort. It was going to be a day where he was forced to bite his tongue from telling people off. “You’re not as sick as I am, so off you pop.” Part 7 of Tumblr Shorts

The Hours Before Midnight by Lady Sam Mallory (T, 7,773 w., 1 Ch. || TGG Fic, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Torture / John Whump, Kidnapping, Drugging, Alternating POV, Worried / Protective Sherlock) – Moriarty doesn’t play fair. John must deal with hours of torment from Moriarty before going to meet Sherlock at the Pool at the end of the Great Game and Sherlock must deal with the consequences of his boredom.

What Did I Do Wrong? by Starlight05 (T, 7,880 w., 5 Ch. || Hurt Comfort, Angst, John Whump, Hospitalization, Worried Sherlock, Emotional Turmoil, Nightmares, Sherlock Being Dumb) - After John almost dies on a case, Sherlock disappears. So John is left to figure out what he can do to get his best friend back. Meanwhile Sherlock, guilt-ridden and willingly alone, is doing everything he can to stay away.

Victim, Bait, Hero, Friend by KimberlyTheOwl (T, 7,887 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TGG Epilogue, Angst, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Past Kidnapping / Torture / Implied Rape, Panic Attacks, Worried / Possessive Sherlock, Lestrade is a Good Friend) – Some insights into why John was perfectly willing to throw everything away for a chance to kill Moriarty at the pool. Trauma, ugliness, and finally healing. Some nice supporting work by Lestrade as well.

A Friend Indeed by Sanru (K+, 8,190 w., 1 Ch. || Missing John, Friendship, Drama, Introspection, Possessive Sherlock, Worried Sherlock) – Something has gone terribly wrong with a supposedly simple case. John Watson is missing. While the search for him is proving to be fruitless, it has made Sherlock realize that having an emotional attachment to someone may have its disadvantages but he liked being able to call John his friend. Now if only he could find out what happened to him…

Until I See the Sun by Vintage Tea Party (T, 8,194 w., 3 Ch. || Nightmares, Mild Whump, Friendship, Mild Violence, Angst) – After a particularly dangerous case, John suffers from night terrors. Will Sherlock be able to comfort him? Will he be able to find out what is really troubling John?

Made for You by Raxicoricofallapatorious (K, 8,440 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Sci-Fi, Androids) – When John was shot in the shoulder he was decommissioned and his memory and personality was wiped. Sherlock was given the blank droid and he quickly learns that this droid is more than it seems. John just so happened to come back and no one can fathom how or why. Johnlock if you squint.

Five Times Sherlock Realized He Was Getting Older by Mildred Graves (T, 9,215 w., 6 Ch. || Five and Ones, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Old) – … And one time it didn’t matter.

You fit me, Sherlock Holmes by orphan_account (G, 10,077 w., 1 Ch. || It’s An Experiment, Bed Sharing, Slow Burn, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Questionable Science) – An unfortunate series of events leads to John accepting being a part of Sherlock’s study in physical intimacy. As the days pass by, John realizes he might be in for more than he bargained for. He doesn’t entirely mind.

A Is For Aftermath by ElvendorkInfinity (T, 10,567 w., 1 Ch. || Injury / Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Pre-Slash/Bromance/Platonics, Hallucinations, Introspection, Insecure / Worried John, Big Brother Mycroft, Alternating POV, Anxious Sherlock, Self-Deprecating, Mildly Possessive Sherlock, 3G Moment) – John is still hallucinating, Sherlock cannot sleep, and Lestrade has a new case for them. But will life at 221B ever be able to return to normal? Epilogue to M is for Moriarty.

The Dying Doctor by Transcendental Starlight (T, 11,258 w., 3 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Sick John / John Whump, ACD Rewrite) – Loosely based off ACD’s “The Dying Detective.” Sherlock relives a case that should have killed him, but instead resulted in John being hospitalized for a deadly disease. Sherlock endeavors to catch the murderer, while attempting to envision a future without John Watson. No Slash.

Sherlock’s Sleeping Habits by Cumberbatch Critter (T, 11,424 w., 16 Ch. || Friendship, Sleepy Sherlock, One Shot Collection, Fluff, Domestics) – In which John learns about Sherlock’s sleeping habits. Series of unrelated oneshots featuring the one and only ADORABLE Sleepy!Lock! Fluff abounds.

The Hand You’re Dealt by Lady Sam Mallory (T, 12,092 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Light Violence, BAMF John, Doctor John, Injury, Friendship) – Sherlock, John and several others are trapped in a building when an explosion disrupts the crime scene they are working.

A Building of Bridges by Unique (K, 12,325 w., 3 Ch. || Drama, Alternate First Meeting, John’s PTSD / Flashbacks, Mute John, Dialogue-Heavy, Caring Sherlock, Friendship) – No one would ever send Sherlock in to diffuse a stand-off; but on one unlikely day, that’s exactly what happened. “Congratulations, Lestrade,” he called out sarcastically. “You’re traumatizing a war veteran.”

A Different Kind of Love by Svenja The Strange (T, 12,357 w., 6 Ch. || Fluff, Humour, Romance, Five and One) – The five times people noticed and the one time John did. A collection of oneshots (some short, some longer) raising the issue of Johns endless dilemma of being deemed for Sherlock’s boyfriend.

Always the sun by Rose de Sharon (K+, 12,377 w., 3 Ch. || Song Fic, Alternate Post-TGG, Friendship/Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection / Reflection, Injury Recovery, Obsessive / Protective Sherlock, Nightmares, John’s Past, Bed Sharing / Cuddles) – Sherlock ponders about how much his life has changed since John has become his flatmate.

A Study in Linguistics by rizandace (T, 12,425 w., 1 Ch. || S1 Canon Compliant/S2 Divergence, Friendship, Slices of Life, Communication, Cranky Sherlock, Hospitals, Sherlock Whump, Pet Cat, Jealous John, Sherlock’s Violin, Anxious Sherlock, John Whump) – Sherlock Holmes and John Watson had their own language. It was a language of few words and minute facial expressions, and John had learned that it was nearly the only way to have an honest conversation with his eccentric flat mate.

Red-Handed by englishtutor (K, 12,682 w., 6 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, John is Stabbed, Panicking / Worried Sherlock, Alternating POV’s) – In which an accident occurs which might change everyone’s life; or it might solidify already blossoming relationships. A re-working of my original story, taking place four days after “Dancing Around the Subject,” when John and Mary get engaged.

Shuteye Shenanigans by Ayakae (K+, 13,263 w., 8 Ch. || Post-TRF, Friendship / Epic Bromance, John’s Nightmares, Angsty Fluff, Bed Sharing, Humour, Cuddles, Taking Care of Each Other, Domestics) – John Watson has never slept with Sherlock Holmes. Never ever ever. And never will, thank you very much. Well, there was that one time, but John didn’t count that. It was completely different, just like the second time it happened. And the third. And the fourth. Epic bromance, but it can be read as pre-slash if you wish.

Understanding by rizandace (T, 13,268 w., 15 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Worried Sherlock, John Whump Then Sherlock Whump) – Sherlock’s hiding something about his newest case, and John wants answers. Set post-TGG. Friendship fic, mostly, with brief entrances from Harry and Lestrade just for fun.

First Response by Arwen Jade Kenobi (T, 13,516 w., 8 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Five and Ones, Whump / Injury) – Five times John had to perform first aid on Sherlock and one time Sherlock had to perform it on John.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #t rated fics #my fic recs #Anonymous #long post

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sasorikigai · 3 years

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@whiptrip asked: The travel before them was a long one -- days have passed, and yet more days were ahead them. They walked, he slept, they walked again. From the moment they left the desecrated grounds of the Shirai Ryu, not a sliver of proper rest was allowed to either of them, but they had a job to finish first. (And how could they rest, with the gruesome fate of their clansmen scorched into their minds?) Takeda wasn't blind, however, he could see that something was taxing the other... but he said nothing. Hanzo could just be tired, as he was. But when he sees the man struggle to remain seated on the ground as he was, body refusing to stay straight before ultimately collapsing on itself, the teen practically leaps from his place. "Master Hasashi -- Hanzo!" He He lays him flat on the ground, a shake to his shoulders. Nothing. But he lived, was awake. The blinking indicator of life was the rise and fall of his chest.. On high alert, he sat and watched for any indications that he would rise soon, guarded what their small camp - - refusing to to leave the man’s side. He wasn't sure Hanzo would rise. He just would have to wait. watch for the sign of the man getting better (or worse, his mind dreaded).

My muse has been hiding a bad injury from your muse for days that been getting steadily worse and worse as the days passed on and they eventually pass out. What’s your muses reaction? || @whiptrip || accepting

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || The world sharpens when Hanzo Hasashi is ravenously hungry; to a fine point of perception, gastrointestinal nerve endings firing dire messages to his frontal cortex to heighten awareness of socio-cognitive opportunities to access visible sources of nutrition, to his occipital lobes to visually detect and zero-in on any threats within physical proximity, to his hind-brain, the cerebellum, to maximize geo-spatial awareness should the opportunity arise to acquire said sources. His primitive reticular activating system keeps him on perpetual alert, without triggering the Grandmaster’s crucible, proverbial source of all things angry and aggressive.

Tendrils of scorching heat emanated from Hanzo’s seated form, and merely in a few seconds of heightened sensation of buoyant numbness of excruciating pain, his pallid, nearly transparent features had long crumbled, collided the earth down below. His well-trained, yet exhausted body continues to engage in fight-or-flight response, as sliver of his puffed eyes remained penetrative over the impenetrable veil of his heavy eyelids, leaden, unconquerable with an infinitesimal strength left in him gradually draining.

The potent concoction of his poison collection had long ravaged his marrow and bone, caused a seismic eruption of his chiseled musculature. How his insides burned in twilight dynamite, while his hardened exterior fought to cleanse his insides through his scorching hellfire. If neglected, his body will fester and disintegrate, so he cuts out the rot, amidst the madness of his instantaneous snapping of reality and sanity. Such insidious multination of Forrest Fox’s corruption had left a searing scar, and in the throes of his unconscious, Hanzo Hasashi refuses to put out of his misery; he will continue to resiliently resist, deflect the onslaught of rushing pain. If he couldn’t walk, he will crawl, no matter how irreversibly broken he’d become.

His eyes coax open, and suddenly, he finds himself motionless and petrified amidst the thousand different haunting voices filling his cranium. They are no longer normal voices that tell their stories, but are voices that seem to condemn and blame him. They are thousand poignant voices that threaten to stir the catalytic fire of Scorpion’s rage and keep him eternally burning, and yet - Hanzo Hasashi vehemently refuses to be whittled away with barred teeth and rotting flesh, with aching bones and twisted smiles only to hide the sempiternal pain. When he comes about, the whirled world had become splintered glass and bloody rags, as he violently lurches forward, spewing the remnants of coagulated poison as he hacks. As his overturned pupils gaze at the clouds with blade of grass in his mouth to clean off the ferrous residue, Hanzo careens to turn his gaze and attention to Takeda, with a weakened, guttural intonation. “How long was I out?” ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

#✗ the ineffable testimony of spawned hellfire (scorpion)#✗ seeking reconciliation with his own humanity (iii)#whiptrip

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jungdrizzydraco · 5 years

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Short-Story Slam 2019 Day 13 (Tonight, We Dance!)

WARNING: DEATH, GORE, AND WITCH-STUFF ENSUE

Clarisse looked over herself in the mirror for the sixth time, trying to drown out the loud music and shrieks and howls of laughter from the other girls outside her cherrywood door. The other girls in the dormitories always got rowdy on a full-moon, and Clarisse looked down on them for it; what kind of basic-witch over the age of 16 can’t control themselves during a full moon? Clarisse splayed her hands over her lavender dress, a simple slip, and admired the ritual prayer beads that hung around her neck. The old beads looked more like fossils, perhaps the first pearls man has ever discovered, but the energy they could hold and manipulate was nothing to fart at. Before she could finish insuring her presentability, a hard knock pelted her room door. Her green eyes flickered angrily at the sound, and with a flick of her neck & head the door flung open violently. A dark-skinned girl with finger waves and matching ritual beads, stood in the doorway, unimpressed with Clarisse’s rather apparent anger.

“Claire-bear, hurry your sweet ginger ass up! The dance is starting, and your Virgo ass is in here, looking over yourself for-”

“The sixth time, no thanks to any of you merciless bitches out there.” Clarisse said, stomping her feet into an unassuming pair of combat boots.

“It’s what I’ve always wanted: To be a merciless power-bitch.” Donna replied grinning proudly.

“Besides, it’s not our fault your OCD ass needs to look over yourself six times: one for every limb, and an extra two for your head and forehead.”

“My forehead is attached to the rest of my cranium, smart-ass.” Clarisse said, near-instantly regretting her comment.

“Yeah, but your forehead is so big, I’m sure it runs on it’s own time so-” a snickering Donna was interrupted by a hastily thrown hairbrush, which froze in mid-air right before hitting Donna in her expensive nose. A wrinkle of annoyance crossed her face.

“Bring your pasty ass, we’re not gonna wait for you all night!” Donna huffed from the doorway threshold.

“What? Literally no one is ready, everyone is out there yelling like fucking illiterate sociopaths-”

“Girl, no one is in the dorms at the moment.” Donna said rolling her eyes.

“Now how is that possible, there’s music playing as we speak?” Clarisse said, marching out to the hallway. Then, silence…you could hear a pin drop.

“Who. The fuck. Hexed my fucking room?” Clarisse growled to herself.

Yeah, everyone left a half an hour ago. Maybe if you bothered to actually be nice to folks, instead of looking down that pointy-nose of yours-”

“Careful Donna, years of pent-up frustration is very quickly coming to a head, and I can’t guarantee I won’t set you on fire if you say another wrong thing to me.” Clarisse said, storming back into her noisey room. She bit down on her thumb hard, causing a cut that could bleed, and smeared the blood on the faux-marbled floor. She muttered a command in a language lost to normal civilian ears, and the room was swiftly enveloped in a vacuum of silence.

“Good for you. But I know you’d better drop that shit attitude of yours, a bitch doesn’t wanna get eaten by some 3-headed dog demon that pops up because you can’t take a joke. Now bring that ass, let’s go hunting.” Donna said, before twisting away and making her way down the corridor.

The duo traversed the nearby woodlands expertly, they’ve been through these woods a thousand times before they had even kissed their first boy, it was a witch's responsibility to connect more with nature than people (especially men). They came upon the rest of the coven, young ladies shimmering in the bright flame of a bonfire, dancing around in a frenzied circle. With a closer look, one could see that there were three people tied up, sitting on the ground (and quite possibly shitting themselves).

“Goddammit! They already caught the sacrifices, fucking with you!” Donna said, scoffing at her demi-friend’s tardiness.

“So you like getting all sweaty and shit? It’s better for us anyway, and your edges won’t have to suffer, we all know they need as much support as they can get.” Clarisse snickered under her breath.

“Watch it, Clair, I might charm yours to strangle you in your sleep.” Donna said, dusting off her distressed skinny jeans. The girls joined their coven mates in the circle, and began the ceremonial dance; a series of frenzied yet purposeful movements, meant to maximize energy output and reception. It may look like ecstatic flailing to some, but it was a science to the girls, and it took years to master and perform properly. One of the dance’s most important components was a clear mind, which Clarisse definitely did not have, she was still upset with whomever messed with her room. Clarisse never suffered fools well, especially when she was made the fool. Her curly mane practically twisted with vengeful thoughts, but she soon found out they weren’t her own: an ominous feeling bunched her stomach up into knots of squirming millipedes, and her eyes seared with heat and bold blotches of colors, some of which could never be found in any light source of this world. Something blunt and hard smacked Clarisse in the mouth, and the warmth and iron of fresh blood soon filled her bottom lip. She looked up to see who had the big idea of punching her mid-dance, only to find that the circle had come to a complete halt. The expressions on all of the girls had faded, now left only with dead fish-eyes staring into the abyss of what used to be the base of a sizable bonfire. Clarisse found herself fixated on the pit as well. She wondered if the pit beguiled Donna as well. And she could swear she saw something staring back. The boys were traumatized, both by all the events of the evening that led to this moment as well as the current moment in question. One took this as an opportunity to try and make a break for it: he squirmed desperately against his bindings, and eventually freed himself of one hand. Of course the bindings weren’t too tight, the witches liked to give occasional chase to the really brave and smart boys, and untying themselves was a good indicator of that. The blue-eyed boy frantically began pulling at the ropes at his ankles, the other boys mumbling loudly for help, but there muffled pleas fell on deaf ears. Clarisse felt her stomach un-knot, and her vision returned to normal, simultaneously, a long tree branch erupted from the base of the pit and ran straight through the would-be escapee. Clarisse lurched backwards in shock which gave way to disgust and pure horror as she took notice of the “branch”: it was no branch at all actually, but instead a long, malevolent forearm, aged raw by wickedness and hatred. The boys panicked again, one fainted the other soiled himself. A very tall and slender figure slowly arose from the pit, the bile of the underworld tumbling off of it like soil off a groundhog, and the figure stood nearly nine-feet tall. The smell of rotting flesh and sorrow and mold filled the air, the boys sat at the beings feet, frozen or unconscious from fear.

“You summoned me, sistren?” The tall figure spoke in Clarisse's mind. The intrusive voice scratched like nails from a black cat onto a chalkboard, but there was a familiarity to it. It was like a much louder version of thoughts she’d had only a few minutes ago.

“W-what?” She whispered meekly.

“Your thoughts called unto me…ever so loudly…even the fog of Death could not block you-”

“I didn’t…I never…I don’t even know what you are…” Clarisse said, tears streaming down her face.

“Hekate’s dance…is not to be taken with a child’s grasp…of knowledge…you danced with forces far greater than your own. Beloved…I am your vengeance. I am Madame Nemesis…and you were a fool to bring…a darkened mind into…Lady Hekate’s purity circle…now your coven will pay your burden with you.” Nemesis said, raising her absurdly long arms into the air, and like a satanic choir conductor, all the witches screamed at the highest pitch they could muster…and that’s when the heads began to explode. First the two boys, then every witch in a counter clockwise formation, skipping Clarisse including Donna. Then, in the reverse order, every cadaver caught fire, lightning up like tiki torches. The scene horrified Clarisse, who couldn’t even move her mouth to scream or her tear ducts to produce anymore tears, let alone run away. The tall, wicked woman that stood before her, took something of a kneel and outstretched her hand towards Clarisse.

“Take responsibility…beloved…it is you who brought this upon your coven…come quietly…suffer no more.” Nemesis whispered in the darkest corners of her mind. Clarisse only found the strength to sob again, before the knots came back and the heat blotches skewed her vision. A yell of great pain and agony jumped out of her throat, as she joined her sisters in death.

#writeblr #short story #short story slam 2019 #witchcraft #suspiria #veryquickfic

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sidpah · 5 years

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Hooked

“It’s true, I mean, I’m fully aware that I have too many theories on too many subjects. And I’m also fully aware that they’re all pretentious, short-sighted, immature conjectural bullshit. I’m sure of it, even now, but it’s still not going to stop me from playing the philosopher.”

“Your level of self-awareness is unparalleled by anyone in your chair. If you could just give me a minute to finish this…” Amir’s back was to me as he toiled over an internet IQ test to see if his brain was expanding at the promised rate after the absurd events of the previous night.

“I love you, Amir. I really do,” continuing regardless. “But, see, some of these concepts, ideals, whatever, I feel are pretty much on the money. And they continue to influence my behavior and inform my overall world view. You know, and they have, since I thought them up.”

“Proceed,” he said irritably, turning around, “you’ve already fucked my chances on this test. They’re timed, you know.”

I didn’t look at him, as I was currently fixated by the flashing cascade of images issuing from the television’s dusty screen as my thumb rapidly bounced on the remote’s channel up button.

“One of these longstanding articles of faith is my innate belief that a person in seek of a relationship and an addict looking for a fix are two people with the exact same mentality of need. They both know how they feel right now, at this moment…”

“Lonely, depressed…”

“Searching for a new high, for a way up and out of the rut they’re in. And they both know after they find that new high, get their desired fix, how they’re going to feel: euphoric, light, content, satiated.”

“Of course it’s always better before…”

“Of course. The act rarely lives up to the anticipation. Hence the addiction. But isn’t that the basic truth behind all of our desires?”

“Ask Mr. Gautama – it’s dukkha and nothing more.”

“Straight up. The way I see it, as animals, living with the necessity of propagation looming over our Akashic heads, we’re born with the addiction woven into our DNA. We’re created with a seed for that companionship-craving planted deep in one of those wavy brain folds. Come puberty, hormones water and fertilize the seed and before long that seed sprouts a little stalk that grows bigger and greener as we age. By the time we hit our thirties and forties we have a giant oak growing right inside our cranium. And we feel it, we sense it. It keeps growing and growing until we reach our golden years…”

“Geriatric sex… shiver.”

My thumb was quickly growing tired so I rested the remote on my leg and began tapping with my index finger instead.

“But by then we’re too old to produce fruit, so the tree having no more purpose, like any other tree, starts to die. It sheds its leaves, trunk rots and falls over, dust and termites and splinters all over inside your skull messing things up so you can’t think straight anymore, dementia setting in.”

“I do believe you might very well have just discovered the roots of Alzheimer’s.”

“Pun intended?”

“Naturally.”

“Naturally. The thing is, a guy feels low, depressed, so he says to himself: ‘I don’t like the way I feel. I’m miserable. I need to get me a drink, or some weed (or heroin for the artists).”

“Been there, done that.”

“Really?”

He looked at me with one raised eyebrow which forced his other eye to squint a little in compensation.

“Anyway, the guy says to himself, if I get me some of that, whatever that is, then I’ll feel better, then it’ll all be okay.’ Am I right?”

Amir nodded an affirmative. He kept swiveling a few degrees around in the office chair, clearly wanting to return to the computer. I ignored his growing agitation.

“He willfully steps foot out of his home in order to score and change his mental state.”

“Active manipulation of his emotions. I think we can all relate. Can I do this test yet?”

“Another guy feels low, he feels lonely and he says to himself: ‘I don’t like feeling like this. I’m lonely. I need to find myself a girlfriend.’ And he knows he feels like shit now, but give him an attractive girl to take home and he knows, he knows that the chemicals are gonna kick in and he’s gonna be a changed man. He knows he’ll be euphoric. He knows he’ll be giddy and all he’ll think about for weeks is her.”

“Ten, fourteen, twenty-four, eighteen, eight, three; how the hell do I know what number comes next? Who comes up with this shit?”

“He knows he’ll be calling her every hour and she’ll be calling every half hour. He knows he’ll be whispering embarrassing little nothings into her ear over dinner at a restaurant he can’t afford…”

“Feeling anxious about this, aren’t you? You know, if you want I can take her off your hands for you.”

“I’m willfully ignoring you. I’m on a roll here,” as were the channels still creating a disorienting strobe only a few feet from my unblinking face. If I was epileptic I would’ve been rolling around the floor in a grand mal by this point.

“The guy knows he’ll be submitting, giving in, letting both some other ego and some unbridled chemical in his brain control and change him, change his actions, his thought patterns. Cloud his judgment; bend his perceptions into something completely unlike his usual persona.”

“An addict has no use for love and a lover has no use for drugs,” Amir said, only half paying attention to me, the rest of his focus trained on the computer screen.

“Why can’t I come up with shit like that? That pretty much summed it all up.”

“Naturally. I scored one-fifty-two on the last test, and that was yesterday; I must be at least in the low one-sixties by now. Don’t know what the hell happened, but I’d do it again in a minute.”

“The eye thing was pretty fucked, though.”

“Ugh, ain’t that the truth… Your face is gonna haunt me for years.”

“Yours wasn’t centerfold material either, bro. Anyway, the guy knows that once the endorphins wear off or once she breaks up with him that he’ll feel exactly the same way he once did.”

“Shit! I hit the wrong button. Seriously, man. You need to bolster that flimsy little confidence circuit of yours.”

“…Just as the addict knows that as soon as the drug wears off he’ll be in the same place he was but even worse. Worse not only because he’s crashed and his body is recoiling from the poison in his system, his metabolism now in need of the foreign substance just to maintain a stasis, but also worse by simple comparison.”

“Worse by comparison because he has felt the high.”

“Again, you steal the words from my mouth. He has felt euphoria, he’s experienced the heights of pleasure, the apex of rapture and now it’s gone. And in its wake it leaves a hollow spot. Some sort of void that we feel, not because of its presence, but because of the lack of presence where something good, something satisfying once resided. We don’t pine for the lover we never knew, but for the one who was once ours and then suddenly, wasn’t.”

“What the fuck, I don’t see any difference between them… Oh, there it is.”

“Que?”

“These little boxes. Shit, when I talk it slows my reaction time by easily twenty percent.”

“Anyway, that sentiment kept me out of a lot of relationships.”

“And then…”

“And then she tore my whole theory to shreds with that one citrus kiss.”

“You are one lucky fool, my friend. One lucky fucking fool.”

#fiction #addiction #love #drugs #Buddhism #DNA #philosophy #dukkha #hooked

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bookofryk3r-blog · 5 years

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Anthropia, the World Above All. In it, all characters from every human spun tale, ever. Any gibberish uttered by infants, if imaginative, conjures up whatever is suitable. Any tome ever left to rot, any computer disc snapped into two, all of them existed in Anthropia Whenever a homo sapiens sapiens reflects on what it means to be conscious, we undertake the notion that consciousness follows natural order and natural sciences. Consciousness seems to play a large part in the reality we perceive around us. These words of mine, woven together like the cotton or the fibers of your shoelaces, are merely an agreement we have made as co-existors.5 We believe that there is sense in this. Yet our perceptions of all things are limited by the devices we use to sense and measure those experiences of all things. There is a bottle-neck effect when you then consider that all of the calibration measurements used to gauge the world around us are then converted/reduced into an electro-chemical function inside of our human minds. We tend to think that consciousness lurks in the depths of those murky waters, somewhere between neurons, ethereally. Imagine that I showed you how to fiddle with the wires in the back of the television set. Given enough time, you would come to perceive that consciousness is a phenomena occurring inside of the television. You would be able to change the channels of your mental dialogue with the wireless remotes of Cognitive or Dialectical Behavioral Therapy. You can still the waters of the roughest thoughts and emotions if you find your breath. If you find that inspiration. That meditative moment of acceptance and bliss and gratitude for your every experience. That little bit of inspiration is all that is required for entry into Anthropia, the World Above All. You see, dear Undertaker, Anthropia, the World Above All, exists as a fused reality of deep imagination and natural science. The gods bring rise to thunder and lightning, no matter how frightening or not. No matter the emotion, the natural world exists for that emotion. The two realities are parallel and inseparable. In space, we are furthest from everything and closest to everything than we'll ever be. We have yet to find life in the places we will, we have yet to hear any communication of distilled intelligence from anywhere besides here. In our cranium sits the most complicated structure we know. Science has recently uncovered that neurons connect together in ways that make 11- dimensional shapes. And yet when we sleep at night, we dream and process boatloads of information. Frequencies leap through our skull into the nighttime air, in the form of wave functions, and yet no one finds this peculiar. Imagine a neutron as a sort of transceiver. An electrical component that is so scientifically advanced that it exists through higher dimensions. What we can perceive with our eyes and our measurements will obviously be a neutron, but how many of the things in our lives are just reflections and projections of things we merely imagined? Do we not just come to an agreement, in the hopes that there is some sense in this world? That there is some purpose or rhyme or reason? There exists Anthropia, the World Above All. You can believe that it exists, or you cannot. The Yggdrasil is but just one of the trees that cover the land. There is a Hanging Tree for all of us, A rope tossed around the neck of this horse of a tree, and you pull the reigns towards the path of suicide. We all die, every day. Even if we never entertain a simple thought of suicide, ever, we will go to another tree and watch someone hang themselves. There are many Wednesdays in Anthropia, The World Above All. And with every Wednesday, comes a hanging. In the air, one of you must have been sacrificed to dawdle there like a drapery or a shawl for this horse of a tree. That is the nature of World Trees in the Garden of Eden. A Wednesday might be a Thursday somewhere else, given the relativity of space and time. But all things come to their end in Anthropia. When the chakra's been drained from our minds, we'll flow off into some other form of intelligence, somewhere else, hopefully trying to save lives and love and support as many whatevers as possible. Into the World Tree of Yggdrasil, we must venture. You, Undertaker of Them, will and are always called be called, “Yod1.” You will be transformed like a Pokemon child into the wandering sprite of this story. I am the One Above All. Every thought that you have will be from my Creation, as I sit within the Source. I will teach you the ways of understanding my World Trees, and all of the mythos of a beautiful existence. There are no Stairways to Heaven here, nor anyhwhere. They are a blurred perception and dilation of what heaven already is. Your enjoyment and only pleasure stems from reading more and more of these words because you are as focused as a neurosurgeon, which is a very taxing experience. Why you continue to endure such a pain is beyond me. Each second ticks by and every letter gives off this new, vibrant idea that you enjoy reading and so you keep reading on like this until a voice of priority steps in a decides that your attention must be carried elsewhere. I simply ask that you endure reading as long as you desire the ability to focus. I look at the year of 1961, when the Soviet Union dropped the bomb. This nuclear bomb was the the Sovereign of All Bombs. It was the last nuclear bomb/test to have been dropped, my sources tell me. If you took a trip to the tip of this mushroom, you would be 211, 000 feet in the air. You would need to descend in elevation to reach the peak of Mount Everest, which has risen to a measly 29, 000 foots, so to speak. If only there had been a camera on the moon to capture what it would have looked like. I'm fairly certain it would come off of the surface of our Earth, the same span of distance of the lightened portion of a waxing crescent, or a hair breadth less. On a grain of sand in the middle of a glorious sandbox of lights and inescapable drains of indifference. I sit here on a laptop in the beginning of November. Mobile, Alabama has 66 inches of rain every year, and they have a tunnel. I know a giant of a man named Tyreese that I've met two handfuls of times. I'm in Sacramento, California and he's in Germany. He has left a country that I love and I also want to leave. A country that is littered with war in the hopes of some divine inspiration to help and save others. On a grain of sand in the middle of nowhere, we find it satisfying to distance ourselves from others because some of us can be such damn dullards. I don't have a way of pinpointing anyone out because who am I to judge? Who am I to reign judgment on others? To decide actions for their lives and their experiences on a grain of sand in the middle of nowhere? All authority to judge must be given by some higher form of power, some higher dimensional form of power. Every war since World War II is a violation of the Constitution of the United States of America. Slavery is a slap in the face of the Constitution. The majority of the Founding Fathers were white slave owners declaring that All Men are Created Equal. Do we buy into this? What sort of dreams do they have that make such a juxtaposition a paradox? I say it a good dream, in Anthropia, the World Above All. All men are created Equal. Especially the damned dullards. A drunk man driving a truck can tell you that driving under the influence is life threatening disease , no matter how hypocritical they seem to be of themselves. There is One Man that stands out, Yod. He has a spirit unlike any other. He will take you to the Burning Bush of Moses. In one moment, take your breath for what it is worth. Recognize that the worry that feels so weighty in the back of your mind right now is nothing but imaginings of the consciousness that you've let wander, like a little lost sheep. I am here to tell you to breath and that you are not alone. You are here with me as I write these manic rantings, and that everything will be okay. You might project any emotion you want to with this, and that's fine. Run away, close this book, put your hands in your mouth, jump off a building, write a book, do whatever you can think of to rid yourself of reading any more of this. Entertain the fact that those thoughts are compellingly real. And that every sensation you experience right now is compellingly real. Those two worlds are not separate, but equal. And right now, in this moment, recognize that our moments are being recorded by the minds we use to find ourselves in. I am writing this to you from a distance of time and space that is unimaginable to me, yet it exists as much as we do. Does this require some sort of Chalk Zone reality? Some other worldly place that the One Above All goes to? You won't really see it because it is an empty white nothing and it exists from my reflections and projections of a mind that's touched the opposite wall of every simulation. Here it is, Yod. Wander for as long as you want, the crux of this text is laid deeper, somewhere within the folds of my mind like a winding labyrinth that sucks you into the throes of what some could easily call an addiction. Anthropia, the World Above All is recognizing that there is a Love within the place that I go while you wander. A Love so deep, I must show you. There were the ISU, the Intergalactic Space University, a wandering colony of triple helixed, extra-treed-Vestials. ExtraVestials were really just our progenitors, using advanced dimensioal studies to traverse space and time in the names of their science. They came to our rock when we were still learning to walk around. The plains of Africa used to once be a rain forest, but the continents were shifting so that this African-South American continent was coming apart. The ExtraVestials appeared on the scene as the savannahs shifted towards deserts. The development of this species was going too slowly to keep up the rate of the Encroaching Darkness, a catastrophe also that would actually annihilate the ISU in the next few hundred years. Yod walks among them, a triple helixed chimera of a creature, part primate, part ExtraVestial. It wasn't a matter of reproduction as much as it was a matter of molecular supplementation. Yod woke up every Wednesday, desperately craving the gallows of Yggdrasil. Yod's every desire was to fuel the life of this World Tree, within it's Thirteen realms. The One Above All plucks Yod from their walking of daily life, outside of the Garden of Eden, and demands their sacrifice every time they are placed in front the their World Tree. Eventually, Yod would then be tossed into the Thirteen Layers of Hell, hoping best to rise as a tree that catches fire and burns as a signal that this World Tree is alive with Spirit. Yod never provided an answer of what the purpose of life was. The World Tree never caught fire and the One Above All comes to use their stories as paper. Chapter One: Having wandered the forests of Time, you find yourself awakening in a forest of foreign reality. The world and colors of it shine like refracting diamonds as the tree leaves shine away every color of every tree you'd ever want to see. You have all of this collective data in your mind, and yet you run from it. You escape into the facsimiles of life, as though documentation and preservation are not the most important diligences in life. Sit down and preserve a day or two worth of your experiences with gratitude. Music pours into your ears like a waterfall of orgasmic sound waves and harmonics and reverberations. Sine waves from sounds that are just electricity coming through a speaker, like a buzzing lips through a trumpet. Hearing her voice cry to me that she wanders the night in search of a dead partner is terrifying. The One Above All knows that she needs to be alone as much as she fears it. Far off in the distance of some world, dreary days awaits someone from an indifferent dismantling of our higher dimensional realities. Those of us with the eyes of it recognize the prophecy in the decay of our world. That all things return to the darkness as knowledge is gained. The buildings come before you, white and gleaming and shining atop the World Above All. In the Courtyard of Rubik, you notice that you are lead in by two Dark Aelves, named Naa and Aaa. However you remember their names is irrelevant, but you do take notice that you've never exhchanged greetings. Dark Aelves are fickle creatures, denizens of Marshian morass, but more loyal than any else within Anthropia. There, Naa and Aaa place you in front of Greed, a bubbling dead creature, sitting atop the Throne of Nike. Naa declares that this is absolutely loathsome to be a part of and that every vile portion about you could never come close to how heinous it would be to ever touch Greed. Aaa establishes that you are safe in this world of Anthropia because the One Above All can always rewrite your tale into newer words, as the Source demands. Naa writhes in retaliation of such a dreary existence, “Returning to his whimsical entertainment is an absolute waste of his time” as his hand attempts to push Greed in all her girthy weight. Greed bellows a kilns worth of gas from her decomposing body and the green stench was perceivable as a slight sea green shimmer enlivened the air. You look in awe, as you've never witnessed such a titanic creature. Or throne. Or anything. Higher dimensional shapes and structures have to tether to many lower and inferior structures of even smaller worlds and realities. This disgustingly dead creature must have been the size of Antares. You remember every moment of Greed you'd ever shared. You'd seen her as a little girl, bouncing happily that so many things might one day be fully appreciated. But after many decades of never being grateful, Greed began to grow fat and lethargic on her throne. Naa and Aaa were her servants, where she ruled in the Fourth Circle of Hell, the bedrock that every World Tree grew upon. The Courtyard of Rubik was a very special place in the Holy City of Zanarkand. Zanarkand was the name of the previous city, but after the Branch Tribe revolts, Zanarkand became a refuge from the Sun-Setters hailing from Bevelle. The Holy City of Zanarkand is akin to the historic, Alexandria in the realm of Midgard. Greed was a daughter of the ISU, and Aaa and Naa are telling you that, “The One Above All is going to be furious that you let this happen.” The ISU were dwindling in number after the catastrophe of the Eve Delusion. Eve was the previous Sovereign before Greed and she had come to believe that her heaven was elsewhere, wandering the stars in her curiosity. Eve had long been counseled by her wise husband, Adam, a man of purely objective nature, ruled by all things science. “Yod, do you realize what this is going to do for the ISU? “ You look off in complete lack of memory because the One Above All removed your memory through time. Adam had taken you into his office one night, years back, before the Delusion. He showed you that everything about you is peculiar and idiosyncratic. And to witness such any event is beautiful, if not miraculous. Where does this life come from, and why does it exist? Why is it that conversations can ever be shared in awareness? Why do we grow from dawdling girl to Titanic Greed? Why do we invest so much energy into a love for ourselves, when all the love we'll ever need is right here in Anthropia, the World Above All..? You look back into the Aelves' eyes and say that you wish for Greed to be disposed of properly and with respect. For Greed is as much a part of you as you are a part of you. Chapter Two: The World Above All is ordered much like Earth 616, in that it also includes Earth 616. It is our forgotten history, and those gods are within us. Midgard is where Earth 616 exists, in the natural world. But Anthropia, the World Above All, is also Midgard and every other of the 26 realms inside the Source. The Many World Trees that litter all of Anthropia are measured in altitudes of reality while growing on the surface ad subterranean surfaces of the World Above All. Each World Tree contains their own forms of Earth, like Earth 2, or Earth 2.001. Slight variants exist between the two Earths, yet rest assured that they existed just the same. Yggdrasil is the World Tree for Homo Sapiens Sapiens. Do not worry about the other World Trees, Yod. Yggdrasil is the horse we will ride for this adventure. Yyggdrasil has a long history with the ISU, spanning back hundreds of millenia before the Eve Delusion, or even the Tobi catastrophe. Most of the World Trees do, but Yggdrasil is different. Yggdrasil is the first tree to have caught fire. Odin and Moses both found Yggdrasil in their daily duties. The ISU were the Promethean race, showing us what fire and science could really be. They combined their genetic precursors into the human race and our minds have grown exponentially since then. They all but disappeared after Eve lost the Herd, which is what the ISU called the humans they were throwing at every other World Tree, as attempts to burn the World Trees for power. Eve was the Sovereign Duchess of the ISU, the Daughter of the Dean, Gene Spokane. Gene Spokane was the CEO of ISU INC INS, the leading revolutionary for galactic expansion. Whilst traipsing the Forests of Time, she became privy to the experience of love and lost herself in her motherhood. Her Husband, Adam Elyon, was the Lead Developer in World Tree research. Adam Elyon was a unique case in his own right. Adam Elyon is not a species of anything, but rather, the perfect assembly of what appears to be whatever Adam Elyon desires. Adam remains in humanoid form whenever his feet near surface of Anthropia, but Adam Elyon has existed since before Anthropia. If Anthropia had an age, it starts with Adam Elyon. The Big Bang was yet to be, to have been or to never become. Adam floated as consciousness in the Source. From the Iris of his Mind, he absorbed all of the white light of this Infinite Nothing. For eternities, Adam Elyon reached deeply into the voids of what a soul should be. Grasping in the darkness, any supernatural scratched graffiti to identify what omnipotence looks like, if anything. These voids spoke to him, carrying him forward until he realized that Yod is the Undertaker of the Herd, Adam Elyon. Those voids materialize as Aaa and Naa carry you before the One Above All. Naa hits you in the back of your head with what appears to be a staff of sorts. The blackout that ensues forces you into a dark void of character, and all things parade away while you remember how distracted you are from the things you once loved. Chapter Three: The One Above All. Chapter Four: In the year 2037 Anno Domini, Ryker Quackenbush established Star Fleet, a galactic organization that steered clear of politics and religious endorsements, unless strictly adherent to the success of the human species. In the year, 2457, Conry Budge discovered that neutrons do in fact contain transceiver elements that connect matter to space and time. She would come to be the Sovereign Dean of Education, researching and coding every iteration of the Four Fundamental Forces and how they break down into quantifiable bits of information. In the same year, at the same time, Rami Ahken broke the barrier with Intrinsic Field Subtraction. This translates to the Four Fundamental Forces being removed from a particular volume of space, which eliminated the necessity for anything Einsteinian or Aristotelian. This new development in science allowed for mass manipulation of matter, if done in small enough dosage. SDE Budge went to speak with Rami Ahken personally, however, and fell in love with him and his mind over a Midgardian period of six months. They had a boy child named Synth Kenge, a young daughter named Arka Kenge and another daughter named Siva Kenge in a period of ten 616 years. Twenty years go by. Siva Kenge began to wander outside the Gardens of Eden while trying to find new routes to run. She listened to playlists of her music while she jogged beyond the walls of the Citadel. Synth Kenge was not a pleasant individual, nor was he entirely bright. But as he malingered around the valleys of Limbo, he saw his sister running through the lower valleys of Lust. Synth Kenge minded his own business, but he met a woman named Greed Sin while in the huge valleys beneath Yggdrasil, the flagship that was to be powered by World Trees. Greed had shown Synth that he could take the entire fleet of galactic ships into space, and no one could stop him, given enough time. Greed Sin was a skilled assassin from the Martian colonies.

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amber-angel · 6 years

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The Dance

(Well, here it is. I will warn you, this contains some body horror, so if you don’t like that kind of stuff, please don’t read.)

It has been calling to me all day. The castle, perching on its hill, majestic, mysterious, beckoning, beckoning. No matter where I go, I can hear it. In the inn, tucking my clothes from my suitcase into the dresser, prepared for the week. In the cozy little restaurant down the street as I sip my water and wait for my sandwich. It calls, and I want to listen. I want to go. But the road is far too rough, and it’s almost dark.

Oh, but how it sings…

Even lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling as I try to force sleep to come, I can hear it. It has penetrated my mind, wrapped my heart in its siren song, and for a moment I realize that even if I don’t go, I will hear it forever.

Sleep is an impossible venture, anyway. I need clarity. I stumble my way to the bathroom and run the faucet, flipping on the lights. My tired face glares back at me, blonde hair ruffled in its pixie cut. My sickly, pale blue eyes fix me in place, staring at the brown spot at the corner of my left eye. Heterochromia isn’t very common, but at least mine is only sectoral. It attracts a lot less attention.

I can still hear it. It sounds so beautiful, and it’s all I can do to slow down enough to slip shoes on before I’m turning my doorknob and ducking out into the night. The town looks different after dark. Shadows twist in different ways and throw an eerie shade onto places that seem warm and welcoming in the sun. Only the castle looks the same, dimly silhouetted by the moon, and oh, so inviting.

The climb is challenging, especially in the dark. Rocks and underbrush lay across the path, and it’s hard to find a good place to step. Once or twice, I trip and scrape my hands on the gravel path, but I ignore the bloody scratches and keep on going, going, and the arching doorway gets closer and closer until finally I can reach out and lay my hand on the aged wood, push, and step through into a hallway lit by torches, their fire flickering welcomingly. There’s music floating through the air, a soft, lilting melody that wavers, swells and pulls at me like a river’s current as I plod more than walk through the hall, my feet moving of their own accord, searching for the source. The walls on either side of me are old, chipping blocks of stone, and I trail my fingers over them, arms out to either side.

The music is louder now, and I’m running, I don’t know where I’m going, don’t know how I’ll get back, but that’s okay, because my feet are confident in their course. They take me through twists and turns, up and down stairs, and when they finally slow, I stand in front of a wide doorway. I can hear the music clearly through the double doors, intermingled with laughing voices, and see light peeking out from underneath the wood. I push the door open slowly.

It’s...beautiful. The entire hall is bathed in soft, soothing light, throwing the twirling shadows of the dancers onto the wall as they whirl, dresses and capes of a multitude of rich colors painting the air as they sweep through their steps. Heels click on the stone, one, two, three, four, perfectly in time with the music filling the room. Lords in long, flowing capes, empty scabbards on their belts, ladies in fine dresses, decked in jewels, all swaying and bowing with dignity and grace. It takes my breath away.

The way they move, confident and sure. Their magnificent attire and mighty air. They make me squirm as I pull at the hem of my ragged t-shirt and shift my sweatpant-clad legs, out of place among all this finery. I am a hen in the middle of swans, and I see their eyes settling on me, see their lips twisting into scowls, smirks. They murmur to each other, harsh and judgemental.

“You’re here.” A hand on my shoulder, a soft voice at my ear, and I turn. “We’ve been waiting for you.” Standing at my side, the girl smiles. She looks to be about my age, with long, curling brown hair and a warm, inviting smile that says that I am welcome.

“You have?” My voice is rusty from disuse, and I wince. She doesn’t seem to mind, nodding.

“Yes. Now that you’re here, Nella, we can start the dance,” she says, and the nobles begin to applaud, bending at the waist to bow. Even the music pauses, waits, as if it, too, is acknowledging and celebrating my presence.

“Dance with me,” the girl invites, and her hand is taking mine, gently guiding me into the crowd as the music strikes up again and the dancers take their places once more. I can’t dance, I want to tell her, but she is already helping me through the steps, pulling me with her in time to the melody, and I stare down at our feet, entranced. Her dress swishes with every step, green fabric rippling with the motion. It’s mesmerizing, watching her delicate shoes move with mine in a waltz. I find myself counting the steps, one, two, three, four, under my breath, and I feel her finger gently tapping out the beat from where it rests on my waist.

“Spin,” she murmurs in an amused tone. The hand on my waist lets go, and the other, holding mine, rises. I spin, and see the ladies do the same, dresses flaring. I laugh, and she signals for me to spin once more. Then her hand is back in place and she’s laughing with me, a small smirk on her lips when my gaze lowers to our feet, keeping track of the beats visually. I don’t want to step on her feet. Still, she knows this dance, this song, and she’s leading me. I can feel myself getting used to the simple four-step movement.

“Yes, we’ve been waiting for such a long time,” she whispers. Her hand tightens in mine, spasms. When I look up… I would freeze if her other hand wasn’t still clutching my waist, forcing me to keep moving, keep dancing.

There’s a grey tint to her skin that wasn’t there before, spreading and darkening across her face from a single point at her temple. Where it touches, the skin blisters, sags, and begins to rot. It peels back from her head, and I can see the skull underneath. The hand that now traps mine feels harder, more slender, and I glance over to see not flesh, but bone. My eyes widen in horror and I realize: she’s decomposing.

“It was summer. Everyone was so excited, waiting for the warmth and the comfort that the sun would bring, but we never saw it. The music carried us away on silver wings, but silver was never meant to fly. All too soon, we found ourselves falling.”

I want to ask what she means. I want to ask, I want to run, I want to scream, but I can’t. Her hands bar escape, and the horrible sight of her condemns my tongue.

The face before me is no longer beautiful, though there are still traces of where her pretty skin used to glow. Her skull, however, does not shine so brightly. It’s a rotted brown, and her toothy, once warm grin has grown cold. Hair no longer falls to her shoulders in brown curls. In fact, there are barely any hairs left, save for the few stubborn survivors that seem to be clinging to her skull. Where chocolate brown eyes used to be, there are only dark sockets, although it still feels like eyes are still staring out of them as the rotted girl laughs. “The plague! The terrible plague, it buried us. Burned our skin, rotted our teeth, made mockery of our fine clothes and delicate jewels. No mercy for the wealthy, no mercy for the poor. For the first time in such a long time, an enemy that would not discriminate the weak from the mighty. We all fell to its clutches, and we were all swept away by the tide of the clock.”

I feel her hands fall away, and every single dancer steps to a halt, as if frozen. And now I’m free of her clutches, but I still can’t move. Fear is my captor.

“We wasted away into nothing.” The voices, their voices, gravelly, hoarse. They speak and move as one; every single figure turns to face me. But none of them have faces… not anymore. The lords’ hips can no longer support the weight of their empty scabbards; the ladies cannot hold up their jewels. Bracelets and rings clatter to the floor, pearls and rubies and sapphires scattering in every direction. All I see is corpses, thin from years of death, their greying skin sunken in the hollows of bone, skeletal fingers reaching for me, beckoning, inviting. The remains of their faces are dotted with boils, red and oozing with pus. Their skulls are cracked, I can see the thin breaks in bone, webbed across the cranium.

“You see, we waited for you. Waited for you to join us.” The girl’s bony hand is closing on my wrist, and I can finally release my piercing scream. “Plague,” she murmurs. “Plague! Will you not join our eternal dance?”

I have to get out. My head is reeling, my heart is liable to stop mid-beat, and I have to get out.

“Leave, yes! It makes no difference!” she cries, uttering a cruel laugh. “The dance has found you, claimed you. The music, can’t you hear the music? It wants you, Nella. And it will take you.”

“Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you-” the nobles chant, and I turn, wrench my wrist from her grasp.

“Will you, won’t you-”

“Stop it!” I scream, but they don’t listen.

“Will you, won’t you-”

My feet finally respond. They’re fleeing even before I can finish my cry. The door is swinging shut behind me when I hear the last whisper.

“Won’t you join our dance?”

The hallways are no longer brightly lit, no longer entrancing. They seem to be crumbling before my eyes, and I can see the stones darkening, see vines creeping their way through the corridor, and even as I run, they grow. They trip me many times, but it doesn’t matter, I need to keep going, I have to get out.

Finally, miraculously, I can see the castle door. The sky outside is red with the dawn. It looks like blood.

After climbing down the hill and slinking back through the inn to my room, I collapse onto the bed. My hands are still bleeding, and my clothes have suffered. Between the vines and the falls, my sweatpants are torn and my t-shirt has holes nearly everywhere. Still, I’m alive, and I heave a relieved sigh as I let my eyes close, scratching absent-mindedly at an itchy spot on my neck.

***

“What happened?” Hushed voices in the street as police lights flash in front of the inn. “Who’s in there?”

“It’s a girl. Someone says that housekeeping found her dead in her bed.”

“I heard that her skin had peeled off.”

“No, I heard that she was covered in boils.”

“Someone told me that you could see her bones!” Whispers in the darkness. Rumors in the wind. And the faint strains of a haunting melody, heels clicking on pavement, skeletal fingers clacking on the stone. The dance whirls on.

#my writing #tw body horror #its supposed to be a scary short story #but i got rushed near the end #what do you guys think?#oc

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