queereldritchmischief

[queereldritchmischief]

guy who wants to write clown torturing branzy so bad but don’t know how to write branzy

#this is so silly #i lied i did write a bit but branzy is very ooc

[queereldritchmischief]

What if I want whump but like. Comfort. Comfort whump. No no not fluff, I need the zing!! I need the fascination of an awful relationship but like. Comforting. Yes they kidnapped them but like... put them in a comfy bed. With the big floofy sheets and weighted blankets. Yes... yes... the head pats... No it's controlling I swear. They kidnapped them this is whump I promise they’re scared (they’re just also so content and warm)

[queereldritchmischief]

funniest part abt clownpierce posting is that i oculd leigitimately have a chance. clown cheating on his irl gf because he has an ego about fans thirsting for him is really funny in a way where its not funny and is actually Just insane

#enamoured #in a car crash way

[queereldritchmischief]

funniest part abt clownpierce posting is that i oculd leigitimately have a chance. clown cheating on his irl gf because he has an ego about fans thirsting for him is really funny in a way where its not funny and is actually Just insane

#this is so wild it made me burst out laughing before stopping to think about it #putting this in my archive first and then unpacking later #op we might need context

[queereldritchmischief]

"jesus, zam, can you stop pacing around the fucking base? you're making me cl- claw- you're pissing me off!"

zam wants to tear his fucking hair out and mapicc's attitude isn't helping. "mape, i'm sorry, but i'm fucking stressed, okay? the next ritual is in twelve hours if we're supposed to believe anything wemmbu is saying, and we have no more fucking gear. minute and i stayed up for days building a bunker that was too good, and now we're fucked. we have nothing left, and we're going to walk into this next ritual just to be slaughtered. again!" zam feels his voice raising, words expelled from his lips erratically. his hands are shaking thinking about the future and he can't calm himself down. "i don't even know where jepex is," he continues, "probably fucking betraying us 'cause why the hell wouldn't he? he's only here for the legendaries and those are gone now, if you fucking remember, so, actually, fuck you. i don't give a shit if you're pissed off that i'm pacing around the base. i need to think and this is how i'm going to do it."

zam stares mapicc down, ignoring the way his anxieties start to claw at his throat. he taps his feet underneath his long gown, the sound echoes in their dimly lit hole in the ground.

"i need to get the fuck out of here," mapic suddenly murmurs. he runs a hand through his black hair before tying it back behind a bandanna. he stands and grabs an iron chestplate and an axe, walking towards the side of the wall that just barely hides a deepslate cave.

"are you seriously leaving? what the hell are minute and i supposed to do without you here?"

mapicc turns around, eyes wide and a little crazed. "i dunno, figure it out! you're pissed off and i'm not dealing with this again."

zam almost laughs, running a hand through his golden hair. his hand instinctually pulls off his golden crown, fiddling with it's peaks and the gems that adorn it. he'd always considered mapicc to be loyal to a fault but what a load of shit that was, huh?

"so things get hard and you just walk out? sorry i can't always be fun, mapicc! but look at the situation we're dealing with and help me fix it!"

mapicc cheeks turn red, brows scrunched together in clear frustration. he releases a long exhale, tracing the enchantment runes on his axe's handle absently.

"look, dude, i get it. you're mad we lost all our shit. fine, whatever. i don't give a fuck, alright? is that what you want me to say? you get so fucking defeated everytime we lose and i just need a break. let minutetech entertain your bitching 'cause i'm over it."

zam feels his jaw drop.

"are you fucking trolling? i am NOT the only one who complains after we lose. be fucking serious, mape-"

"i already told you, i'm not doing this, zam."

they stand there, staring at each other. minute must have heard their voices raise from their potion room because he walks into the main hall looking exasperated and stressed. zam's head whips over to minute immediately, guilt in his stomach for disturbing him, not catching the way mapic's eyes roll at his appearance.

"can you both fucking chill out? this isn't helping." minute eyes the two of them carefully, like he's trying not to set off a bomb. mapicc speaks before he gets the chance to.

"oh, shut up, brandon. can you just go back to brewing useless pots?"

"the fuck you getting mad at me for?" minute scoffs, offended but not entirely upset. if zam didn't agree, he'd be annoyed at how level-headed minute always managed to be during situations like these. "look, mapicc, zam and i are gonna work on the base. we lost everything, including the mineshaft, so we need to grind anyways," minute gives zam a look. "you can go. just... if you're gonna leave, can you try and loot some end cities? it'd help."

mapicc sighs heavily, the frustration on his face being replaced quickly with weariness. "yeah, whatever. message me if you guys need something."

when mapicc speaks, he still doesn't look at zam. it stings, but zam knows they're both hurt over the loss and not each other, even if he did take his anxiety out on him.

fuck, he needs to unwind before he loses what's left of his sanity. this is all wemmbu's fault.

mapicc leaves through their portal, and the silence that fills the room between zam and minute is stifling. he'd half expected minute to start berating him, even if that's not at all in character, and half expected him to start dishing out base building orders. really, he'd expected anything but the dead silence.

minute just watches him, eyes flickering over his body in a way that made zam feel like he was a book being pried open.

"stop doing that," he says, but it comes out weak and pathetic. mapicc had taken all his aggression with him, leaving a simmering anger and all-encompassing sadness and anxieties.

"what?" minute says, eyes fixed onto zam's face.

"i don't know! looking at me like - that. it's weird. i don't get what you're trying to do."

zam shifts uncomfortably, his silk dress suddenly feeling cold against his bare skin. the petticoat scratches at his shin, and he's acutely aware of the way his puffy sleeves sit on his shoulders. he feels stupid. why was he still wearing this thing? he hadn't been the pretty kitty princess in days, anyways. didn't feel like one ever since he'd lost that sword. he hadn't expected that losing it would make him so irritable when he'd first gotten it.

"you're upset, so i'm trying to figure out how to fix it." minute's voice is flat, all serious and emotionless. it makes zam's heart skip, before he tries to bury the sensation.

he speaks hurriedly. "i'll be fine. i need to start working on villagers anyways. we still have some at the old base we can bring back-"

"zam, do you trust me?"

the question surprises him. he's even more surprised at how quickly he says "yes."

minute strides over. his legs are long, the black slacks shaping his lower body to look taller than he really was. the gold accents on his suit jacket make him look strong, regal. he always looked so put together, fashion and otherwise, and zam envied it. how could he just be fine? after everything they'd dealt with?

he stops in front of zam abruptly. he's close and it makes zam's heart thud in his ears.

minute's eyes meet zam's and zam can see minute's gloved hands removing their covers from the corner of his vision.

he places a hand to zam's cheek, caressing the stubble that lines his chin and sideburns. it tickles, and zam feels his blood rush elsewhere.

"minute-"

"princess, do you trust me?"

zam's blood runs cold, and he feels his knees wobble slightly. minute's free hand finds its way to zam's hip, guiding his body against minute's.

this isn't- what is he doing? zam is panicking internally, maybe a little bit externally. sure, he's developed some feelings towards minute ever since they first met, but he's never thought about acting on them. is he acting on them? does he feel the same? his dick is hard, underneath the many layers of dress skirt. he can feel the way the heat pools in his stomach, how his cock strains against his panties.

"princess?"

his voice is a whisper, and zam feels his face turn away, too scared to respond, but minute's grip tightens roughly and his head is forced into looking back.

"zam, answer me. do you want me to stop?"

"no," he replies, and it sounds too needy. too whiny. too much. "i... trust you, minute."

there's no hesitation, then, when minute rushes forward and captures zam in a kiss. it's hot and desperate, teeth biting at his lower lip in efforts to get zam to open up, making way for the tongue that licks against the roof of his mouth. zam cries out, a strangled cry and moan all in one as his hands grip at minute's waist. minute wastes no time, pushing zam's back up against the deepslate tile zam had placed just a few hours before.

the impact hurts, minute's grip on his hip and face too rough. the pain sparks across zam's bony back, and he fights the urge to whimper against minute's lips at the sensation.

"you're so pretty, zam. you know that?" minute's body cages zam in, his hard cock straining against black slacks that humps against zam's pretty dress. zam isn't given a chance to reply. minute latches his mouth onto zam's neck, biting harshly. zam is caught off guard, by both his comment and the action, and his hips buck forward in a pathetic attempt to chase the pained high.

"ngh- minute, wait-"

if minute hears, he doesn't acknowledge it. he continues biting at zam's neck, leaving dark welts of purple where he can as he unbuckles his pants. the hand on zam's face is gone, and zam moves his hands to minute's face in an effort to guide his lips away from his neck and back to zam's mouth instead. the first time he tugs, minute doesn't budge, sinking his teeth in deeper. the second attempt, minute growls against his skin, and zam feels the realization dawn on him that minute is going to do what HE wants.

after some fumbling, minute removes his lips from zam's neck. it's covered in bruises, and it aches enough for zam to wince when he moves his neck.

minute drops his pants to his ankles, hastily kicking them aside. zam's heavy breathing doesn't get any better despite the short break, especially as he takes in the view in front of him.

minute's hair, normally well-kempt, sticks to his forehead with beads of sweat. his blazer is undone, though zam isn't sure when that happened, and the dress shirt underneath is ruffled to hell. without his slacks, minute's left in his boxers, where zam can see a distinct print bulging against it's constraints. it's hot and it makes zam's head empty of any thought. his own dick twitches in anticipation, leaking precum against his own pelvis and he wants to touch himself, jerk himself off for minute to watch, but he gets the feeling that's not what minute wants from him.

"zam, come 'ere." minute places a hand on his waist again, guiding him gently from his place up against the wall. it's sweet compared to how he'd handled zam just minutes before, and it makes zam's heart race.

zam places a chaste kiss to minute's lips before anything else, and he's pleasantly surprised when minute does nothing but reciprocate with a soft kiss of his own. he melts into it, arms looping behind minute's neck.

"minute, i-"

"get on your knees."

"what?"

"i said, get on your knees, princess. or do i need to repeat myself again?"

zam's eyes drop to the floor. "minute, i've nev-"

"did i fucking ask?" he sounds cold, voice clipped and unusually callous. zam's stomach churns and he's not sure if it's all negative. "zam, get-"

"alright, alright! fuck."

zam huffs to himself, tired of minute's impatience. he carefully grabs a handful of dress as he tries to find a comfortable position on the floor. minute takes zam's place against the stone wall, leaning against it as he palms himself through his boxers. zam wants to be upset with minute for his attitude, but it's hard to summon the energy when all he wants is to see what's beneath minute's remaining clothes.

zam takes his place, hands folded in his lap, and he gazes up at minute from the floor in front of him. minute's presence feels intimidating from here, the lazy smirk on his face making zam feel small and out of control. arousal swells in his gut so he tears his eyes away from minute's face and straight ahead instead. he watches for a second as minute's hand slows to a stop, a visible wet spot where his precum has been leaking from the tip of his cock.

zam swallows his own spit. minute's hand pauses for a second before pulling down the waist band of his boxers to reveal his shaft. it's long, not all that thick, but it's long. it kind of intimidates zam, but the way it glistens in the dim lights of torches and glowstone make zam all that more eager to touch.

zam reaches forward, a hand gripping minute's base, and he feels minute's hand slip into his hair. he's not sure where his crown ended up, but the way minute pets his hair sends shivers down his spine.

"you're doing great, zam."

"shut up, brandon," is all zam can think to reply, cheeks burning as he leans forward to press an experimental kiss along the underside of minute's dick.

#snatching this up and yeeting away to hide it in my archives #op i need to eat your writing #princezam #minutetech #lifesteal smp #is so good??? #fanfic

[queereldritchmischief]

i get why ppl are reserved about it cos. rpf. streamers. etc. but how are there zero nsfw fics ..... i want my minutezam fill pls plspslps i need to read about zam getting bred like a cinnamon roll. i want to read about zamrek , i want to read about clownzyyy (but the clownzy that i like not that weird fanon stuff). idgi how ppl are more cool with the gore and not the nsfw lmaooo but i guess w all this boundary stuff its illegal... srory for wanting to fuck a select 2/3 of the streamers i like. i cant help that im gay!

#sorry op but im shaking your hand so hard and crying over the lack of clownzy fics to my taste

[queereldritchmischief]

predator animal falling in love with prey animal. You really love to see it.

[queereldritchmischief]

Whumper who never actually hurts Whumpee. They never outright torture them, hit them, strangle them... The most physical abuse they've done is a slightly harder grip on the whumpee than necessary.

Yet Whumpee still follows every single order they give without hesitation, and are still fearful of Whumper just the same. They stumble-stutter their way over their own words while talking to them, fidget nervously when they are around them and try their best to stay as far away from them as the situation allows.

In truth, Whumper doesn't need to hurt them to keep them in check. They've never done so, not even once. Whumpee already knows what they are capable of. They have already witnessed it; watched the whole way through, and decided that they do not need to be taught better. In fact, their single purpose in life became to never ever aggravate or displease Whumper in any way, and do their best to keep them content, just so they won't have to witness, or worse, experience Whumper's wrath again.

They're never on the receiving end, yet they are intimately and terrifyingly familiar with it.

<

Masterlist

[queereldritchmischief]

If you ever feel so fancy as to do a part 2 or similar drabble to instincts i will be available to tattoo it on the entire landscape of my back and/or worship it throughly 👀🙏🙏

i dont usually write second parts, but i do also like that one a lot, and you asked very politely......

first part

Lonely...

"Wh-Why do you do this?"

He's been sitting there for a solid ten minutes in complete silence, enduring the maddening, constant scrutiny glaring from his left side. The tea he has prepared is swiftly growing lukewarm, no longer steaming languidly on the coffee table. He hadn't dared to move an inch once it perched next to him, weighing heavily on his mind and on the sofa cushions as its presence grew and materialised so close, so dangerous.

He hoped it would leave him alone today. It hadn't visited for a few days, — not in a physical way, only as an ever unnerving pressure on his body that wouldn't go away. Yet, that hadn't stopped the nightmares worming their way into his brain each time he tried resting while it was around. He is tired, and weary, and weak. That is why he planned on a serene little movie night spent in front of the mind numbing screen, on his own; to hopefully distract him, or even put him in a mercifully dreamless sleep. He desperately wished it would leave him just a little longer.

However, it seems it knew just the worst time to 'come see him' — as it so likes to put it. More like break into his home, harass him, question him and then torture him, only to leave him in a state barely sufficient to let him patch himself up for next time. Or stay and do it itself, making the healing stage into another opportunity to learn about humans as it messily fixes him up like one would a machine.

'Why? Why do you feel the need to do these things to me?'

He can feel it blink at him, can see its head tilt to the side, and can almost hear the phrase come before it murmurs, — "I do not understand."

Of course it doesn’t, this is perfectly normal for it. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“Nevermind,” — he tries, already knowing that it’s too late.

As expected, it growls impatiently, yet somehow, he can’t find it in himself to do more than squeeze his eyes shut and sigh, instead of flinching and curling into himself.

“I do not like when you don’t answer me. What do I do that awakens your curiosity?”

That’s one way to put it. Curiosity.

“You just, just stare at me all the time. I know you do, eve-, even when you’re not, when I can’t see you.”

“I am here to learn from you. That’s all I ever want,” — it replies matter-of-factly.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” — he murmurs, voice full of a hopelessness that only a severe lack of sleep and a terrifyingly inescapable situation can bring.

“I do not. There is nothing better for me to do. I enjoy this the most,” — it exclaims happily, unaware of the offending tone he used. Sometimes, it’s fortunate that it doesn’t get how parts of the human speech works, such as sarcasm, or expressions.

He doesn’t say anything, and that confuses it. He simply stares at the moving pictures on the television blankly. It feels his nerves lit on fire, yet it's a much fainter feeling, and his reactions are wholly uninteresting. In turn, that almost makes them more interesting to the creature. It wants to know what’s wrong with the human today.

“You are boring. Why are you boring,” — it asks, though the sentence ends in more of a period than a question mark. It’s quite funny, the way it asks things sometimes. He smiles to himself, knowing full well delirium must be hitting him hard for him to find the courage to smile in the presence of this monstrosity, fully capable of tearing him in half in a split second if he doesn’t supply it with entertainment and learning opportunities. It would find joy in it as well.

“Why am I boring?” — he asks, holding back a giggle. He still doesn’t look at it. He would quickly lose his humour if he did.

“Yes.”

“What do you mean? Why am I boring?”

It falls quiet for a moment, glancing at the TV again.

“You do not care that I am here.”

He knows he should not, but his mind only finds the situation more hilarious with every word.

“What, are you, y-you getting lonely now? Should I grab a blanket and cuddle close, so you feel loved?” — he chortles.

It finds his tone unnatural. It doesn’t understand it, but it makes it feel wrong. Small. It feels small.

“Am I lonely? Explain, please.”

He only taught it pleasantries like please and thank you some number of weeks ago — it still feels entirely unnatural to hear it say the word he has said to it so many times before, to no avail. It says it like it couldn’t just pull an answer out of him with no issue. It has learned to be more patient, at least.

“Do you not know what loneliness is?”

“I asked you so. Why do you sound like that? You sound wrong,” — it remarks, certainly perplexed by his relatively calm demeanour. It is so used to watching him panicking and stuttering up a storm, flinching at every little movement, that hearing any amount of confidence or joy, and feeling any amount of serenity emanating off of him is throwing it off. It must feel very wrong to be looked at with anything more than wild fear to it.

“Don’t worry about it. Anyway, loneliness is like… It has to do with being alone, obviously.”

“It’s not very obvious to me,” — it grumbles.

“Yeah, I know, I know. I-It’s… kind of hard to explain, honestly. Um… It’s when you feel sad, when you are alone. Like when you’re on your own and there’s no-one to talk to. It’s depressing. So most people find someone else to, to help with that feeling, so they are no longer alone. That’s loneliness.”

“Hm…” — It thinks for a while. He can see it struggling with the concept, already trying to think of another way to explain before it asks. What it says next surprises him however, — “being alone doesn’t feel bad. I am always alone. You said when something feels bad it is because whatever is happening should not be happening. It’s not unnatural, therefore it isn’t bad.”

His smile disappears. Of course. Humans are social creatures, surviving by building relationships and helping each other out. It isn’t a human. He doesn’t know how it feels about being around another one of its kind. Is there another one of it? He doesn’t dare think about that.

“W-Well… It’s a human thing, I guess. We survived so long, and got to um, where we are by being there for each other, but I g-guess you don’t need that, do you?”

“I have noticed there are many humans near each other. It is rare to find one all alone. I assumed it was like how it is with ants or bees. Is that not right?” — it wonders.

“Not really. It’s more, um… familial? Like a pack of wolves or something. I don’t think bees take care of each other, only their queen and larvae.”

“I see. So what does it feel like? Being lonely?”

He bites back a yawn, swallowing it down. He reaches for the popcorn on the coffee table, deciding he might as well snack before it ultimately decides to hurt him at some point tonight. He hasn’t found the motivation to eat much all day.

What does loneliness feel like? How is he supposed to explain that to a thing that might not even have another one of its kind?

“Uhm… It’s a bad feeling. For us, at least. You feel like… You need to be around someone. Depending on how bad it is, you, uh, might even feel the need to be around strangers. It feels like you are going mad. Like, uhm… I don’t know, like crushing? Hopeless? This one’s… hard to explain,” — he finished, throwing some more popcorn into his mouth. He is watching the movie on the screen, but his brain is not picking up on anything that’s going on around him besides the creature next to him.

“Hm…”

It doesn’t say anything for a long time. So long, in fact, that he would almost forget about it entirely if it didn't shuffle closer to him, watching him intently for a reaction. Even through the thick haze of fog engulfing his brain, he tenses and shuffles away on instinct.

"You are not lonely," — it decides. It doesn't understand still what loneliness is; otherwise it would know that he is lonely enough to crave human interaction of absolutely any kind, enough that he sometimes dreams that the creature that follows him around wherever he goes isn't such a horrid being, that he managed to teach it how to be human and no longer hurt him and to care for him like another person would. He hallucinates, sometimes, because he's just that lonely. Or maybe it's just the sleep deprivation. Both.

"Why do you think that?" — he inquires, half-caring about the answer.

"Because I accompany you. You are never truly alone. You do not crave my touch. You are not lonely."

"And you are not a person. Why would I care about any of that?" — he snaps suddenly.

It goes silent again, and his very soul is trembling. He knows he messed up, he shouldn't have said that, even it isn't dense enough to miss a direct insult. The glare coming from the side is burning him, and he subconsciously apologises in his mind, almost certain it can hear it. He's so tired, he just wants to pass out already.

When it finally chirps up again, he fully expects a claw to tear at his face, — "I am not a human. But I am a person still." — He only now realises that it isn't looking at him anymore. It's an awfully unusual feeling, to feel its presence but not its gaze, — "is that not right? Can I not be a person if I am not a human?"

Now it's his turn to think. He never thought about it like that. When he says person, he immediately thinks of a human, but if that's how it is — does that mean that another intelligent alien race, for example, would not be considered people? A member of them wouldn't be a person? That doesn't sound right.

Why is he thinking about this like he's afraid to hurt this monster? Why did it sound like it was hurt by his words? It didn't, he just has empathy and assumed he had hurt it. Like a person. Or a human would, at least. Then again, there are shitty humans out there too.

"I'm… sorry," — he says, unsure how to answer in a way as to not dig himself into a deeper hole, — "I just never thought of anyone to be a person if they aren't, um, human. But you're not like, an a-animal or something, are you? So you are still a person. I think."

"What does being a person mean to humans? I thought being a person meant having higher intelligence than animals, but that doesn't seem to be true. You are not answering me straight," — it accuses him curiously. Its gaze is back on him, watching him again. Its voice is a little deeper, and he assumes it's because he has angered him. He wishes it would just get it over with and attack already.

"I-It-, I'm n-not sure! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you, i-it was an honest mistake — I just never really thought about you that way…"

"If you do not see me as a person, then what do you see me as? Am I really an animal to you?" — it questions relentlessly, leering down at him with an intensity that feels like a physical weight is crushing his body into the sofa, curling into itself, — "you see me as a critter."

"No, no, no I don't! I-I just don't know what you are! You're not a human, nor an animal, but I have no idea what to f-, call you! Pl-ease, I swear I d-didn't mean it!" — he clambers to apologise, already gathering tears behind eyes squeezed shut, lifting his arms to shield his head from claws flying through the air. To his surprise — and relief — none comes.

“...Am I lonely?” — it asks itself, all animosity gone from its voice, — “I do not know. I have always been alone.”

When nothing else is said for long enough, he uncurls his arms from over him and finally summons the courage to look at the creature next to him. It is once again deep in thought, trying to figure out if it feels lonely or not. No matter how many times he is forced to gaze upon it, his skin crawls all the same. An inky blackness of eyes and claws, long thin limbs appearing and disappearing at its will. Sometimes it has long, dripping hair, other times horns or antlers. He can only guess it changes its form depending on its mood that day. It barely looks humanoid, some demon of hell — he had to learn how to sense its emotions through its rough cover of shadows himself through trial and error, and still he has trouble understanding it fully. He doesn’t get a chance, most times, as he is the one being questioned, or tormented. This time is different. Unusual.

He releases a shaky exhale and swallows, feeling his tired heart beat an almost painful rhythm against his chest. It’s dizzying, to be so stressed when his brain is barely functioning from lack of sleep. He finds it hard to sit, and leans to the side instead, catching himself on the arm of the couch. Though curious, even if he dared to say anything more to it, he is having trouble getting his thoughts in order long enough for his brain to sew together a sentence.

“If I was lonely, that would mean I would want to be around other people. Interact with them. I interact with you a lot. Maybe I am lonely.” — It goes quiet periodically, trying to decide for itself, but it doesn’t seem very successful at doing so. — “I don’t understand,” — it comes to say finally, turning to him again for more answers. It seems unbothered by his state.

“Uh-uhm… Mm… Maybe I said it wrong. I don’t think it’s um, only your own kind you want to be around. Wh-When you’re lonely, I mean. Sometimes, when I’m lonely, it helps to just hang out with some of the, uh, stray cats that w-wander up to my windows, sometimes. I, I um, like petting them. And their purring. They’re very nice to, to me…” — he mumbles, hoping that no more questions come, as he is having more and more trouble resisting the ever gentler pull of unconsciousness.

"You crave affection from animals?" — it coos at him, almost mocking, but not for long, suddenly growing silent again. It makes a groan, a sound akin to some kind of wild raccoon, and he has no idea what it means — yet, upon looking at it, it's clear it is growing restless. — "...Affection from less intelligent beings. Helps with loneliness. Am I lonely? Am I lonely?" — It repeats the question for the hundredth time, asking itself more so than him by now. It seems frustrated. The clawed ends of its slender fingers flex around a pillow. On one hand, he finds it humorous, the act reminding him of kitties making biscuits — on the other, he is so relieved those sharp things aren't digging into his abdomen yet.

"If you have to, t-to think about it this long, you probably are. You just, d-don't wanna ad-admit to it," — comes his wavering voice, supplying it with more confusion. It retaliates by placing one of its hands around his closest ankle, sending a harsh shiver all the way up to the nape of his neck. The way it closes those frigid digits around his leg wakes him right back up — a familiar feeling, to be woken up so ruthlessly by it. It tilts its head at him again, clearly bothered by his accusations.

"How could I admit to something I don't understand? That sounds moronic. You are stupid," — it growls triumphantly, reminding him of his sister. So quick to anger, and just as stubborn. Except he isn't quite as afraid of his little baby sister as he is of this cosmic horror gripping at him with its ice cold sharpened appendages. The horror that is probably trying to grin, and instead only succeeds at showing off all of its terrifying sets of teeth in a horrid snarl. He had not realised until this moment that it has a mouth on its torso, cleaving it in half as it opens. He has acquired a new fear.

His mind is overrun with images of the thing pulling him towards its horrifying torso-mouth by the ankle in its grasp, chewing him up bit by bit as it keeps pulling him deeper and deeper into its disgusting, black, tar body, mauling him completely. If he managed to survive the mutilation, the rest of him would be tossed into a vat of acid that is its stomach, digested agonisingly slowly. His wide, purple-black, terrified eyes are stuck on it, and it notices his staring, unfortunately, before he could.

"Wh-, y… yes, y-y-you're right. Maybe I am. Please stop touching me now."

He can't help noticing its eyes crinkle in amusement, thoroughly enjoying bullying him into submission as it always does, — "You were being very brave today, all the way up until now. What's wrong?" — Its grip tightens, those blades it has the gall to call 'nails' already making paper cuts all along his exposed skin. One finger — a thumb, if it has any — is caressing the length of flesh slowly, back and forth, distressing him greatly. Its eyes glow unnaturally, glinting in the dark, and it hurts, it physically hurts his body to be so scared right now. His heart beats much too fast all too sudden, his breaths come quicker than he feels capable of, his skin crawls with the cold sweat covering the entirety of his back pressed against the armrest of the sofa. It watches him tense in its clutches with utmost glee, considering pulling him a little closer by the little red lines it already caused, just to hear him whimper at the burning pain. — "Don't tell me you've lost all conviction already?"

He barely remembers to reply, utterly lost in those intense eyes and rows upon rows of teeth grinning at him, — "Ih-, it was just, a joke! I wasn't being serious — p-please let go of me, I can't — "

"I am only joking too. Why are you so upset?" — It's laughing at him, it's mocking him, but he doesn't have the brainpower to even try pulling away, too wound up in his fear.

"I get it, I get it, just please, please just let go, I don't want to, I c-can't, I can't…"

It is so proud of itself, but he can't even be mad at it. All he notices is a glint in its eyes, a horrible sign he has learned to fear as much as the arrival of the abomination itself — it has got an idea.

It giggles to itself, and that sound feels like a promise of pain, — "I would let go, but, you see…" — It is leaning down over him once more, but it doesn't stop there. It comes closer and closer, grabbing hold of the back of the couch and another leg for balance, climbing on top of him, and his brain finally activates, much too late, to force him to struggle away. He can't anymore, not that it would have helped. — "I am just so lonely. So very lonely I am. I need interaction with other beings! I need to be very, very close to another person so I can feel their warmth. I need to touch them and keep them close. I need it, you see. I am very lonely."

"Ah-, wait n-, no, stop!"

Something is dripping onto him. Saliva, blood, who knows what it is.

"I'm so lonely…" — it muses, forcing his head back so it can bury its head under his chin.

It is breathing on him. He can feel its ice cold exhales right on his neck.

"Get off of me!" — he yells out in desperation, no longer caring to please it — he is positive he will scream if it starts nibbling on him.

"Huuu-mannn..." — it drawls lazily, draping itself over him. He can feel at least three pairs of limbs enveloping him and it's suffocating.

"God, just, just stop it already, please! I-I said I'm sorry," — his own voice quivers, suspiciously close to crying. He's certain it can feel him shivering.

"Mmm… No." — Its voice is reverberating through his entire chest. He gasps when a finger slides over a fresh enough bruise from their last meeting, the expulsion of air forming into a rather pathetic sound as he tries to choke it down.

He squirms under it, gasping for air, until he finally stops, grasping how truly futile it is to fight it. He lets out a defeated keen of misery, and sobs. He cries under it, no longer having the energy to care about what it thinks of him. Whether it finds him pathetic or amusing, whether it mocks him or hurts him. He wants to be anywhere but here.

It says nothing, for a while. It doesn't move, however. It must just be listening to him weeping, enjoying it as much as it was enjoying mocking him, just like it was enjoying going through with its devilish plan to get him to this point. That's all it ever wants; to watch him upset and hurt.

When it talks, it is so sudden he jumps in surprise, — "You are the lonely one here, truly. Unable to handle even this much affection."

He doesn't find it in himself to answer. He wishes it wasn't so good at hitting where it hurts. It snorts out something of a chuckle.

"If you ask me sweetly enough, I will consider purring for you. Like your stray cats."

No answer, not even a small sound of disdain aimed at it. It tries again.

"Would you like that?"

Nothing. Only calm breaths, long and peaceful.

It lifts its head to look at him, confused by the sudden change, and finds him passed out like a light. It hadn't known he was so tired. Maybe another effect of loneliness? It is unsure.

It hums in thought, watching him sleep like it always does. It's interesting to it; the concept of sleep. It loves the way its human looks while he is unconscious — it rarely sees him so content. It tried to sleep a couple times, but it doesn't think it succeeded.

"Lonely little human…. My lonely little human…" — it hums.

A haunting melody. Its voice sounds so unnatural and guttural, like a broken radio playing a broken record. It doesn't fully understand music yet either, so all it does is repeat the same tune and the same words. To it, it's comforting, while the human described it as a horror movie soundtrack. It doesn't matter to it; it likes humming.

"I like your company," — it murmurs, — "perhaps I am lonely too…"

It isn't sure, but what it is sure about, is that it likes comforting its human an awful lot. It doesn't think it comforted anyone before. It isn't even sure it's doing it right.

It feels right, at least, it thinks before clicking off the TV with a rush of static, and the darkness.

< Masterlist

[queereldritchmischief]

Silent

The sound of silence. A grandfather clock clicks away down the hall. Wind brushes the naked branches of the dark oak outside, casting looming shadows through the moonlight.

A tremble in the air.

Sobbing is heard, clear as day in the darkness. Under all the soft cover, up against a warm body; crying escapes from the bed. Sounds of helplessness and sorrow, sniffles and whines, tears and a little blood flow out into the open.

On the bed lie two people curled around each other. One, eyes closed, breath calm, arms encircling the other and pulling them close to place their chin on top of his head. The other hugging himself, hitched breaths and choked sounds escaping him, hand over a shoulder covered in bandages. He is in pain, and the one holding him lets him voice it.

His body shakes, his skin crawls, his voice jumps as his hand is pulled away; his shoulder is grabbed and a finger lightly taps the wound. The tap turns into a steady pressure, growing with each minute. It grinds the fingernail right into the source of the pain, and he struggles to keep his voice under unacceptable levels.

One minute in he squirms. Two minutes in he grips the mattress with a free hand, pushing his head into the pillow. Three minutes in he gasps and almost shouts. Three and a half minutes in he recites a prayer.

Four minutes in the prayer is broken with a long wail, hands tearing at the hand causing them harm only for another hand to snake around both of his arms and pin them down. He continues to wail into the duvet, his legs kicking and arms pulling.

The grandfather clock is quiet. The wind is quiet. The tree is frozen. The silence is gone.

The tremble in the air persists and grows.

“Shh… Quiet down,” — a voice from behind him rumbles. It belongs to the one hurting him, it is his suffering realised.

He whispers a plea, and he only gets more pain. He screams and he is punished with more pain. He struggles and is rewarded with nothing but more pain.

He chokes on air and the pressure lightens.

He gasps and can’t seem to catch a gulp of air large enough to make sound, and the pressure lets up more.

He forces himself to hold his breath as long as possible, and the pressure returns to bearable, until he coughs and whines again, and then he is punished tenfold.

The arm previously holding down his own moves and places its hand over his face. His mouth is locked, but his voice isn’t.

“Hush,” — the voice commands.

His hands fight the ones belonging to the sinister whisper inside his ear, but he is weak, so, so weak, and cannot escape his fate. His tears slide across the back of the hand holding his lips shut. His legs are caught between the other’s. If they had a third arm it would pin his arms back down and make him feel even more hopeless.

The pressure eases once more as he runs out of air, and it gives him a chance to fix the situation. He takes one long breath to hold, to help him keep quiet, but his voice betrays him, whistling through his inhale, and before he could take a lungful, the hand holding his mouth climbs over his nose and holds it shut.

The grandfather clock’s clicking is back. The shadows move again. The struggle stops finally, replaced with content, steady breathing and a deadly silence.

The tremble in the air remains.

<3

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

[queereldritchmischief]

A nightmare that won’t let you wake

Deep hazel eyes open at 4:00 AM. The first chirps of morning birds are audible through the bedroom window. In the grey darkness, his eyes burn from the thin light that assaults his irises. He feels the pillow wet with something under his cheek. He reaches carefully to check the puddle, to make sure it’s not what he thinks it is — what he dreads it to be is blood — and when his fingers come away wet but not sticky, he exhales a barely-there sigh of relief. Nothing came undone, it’s just tears. That’s alright, it won’t leave a spot then. Just a pool of his tears, presumably from the nightmares he doesn’t remember anymore. That’s okay, it happens more often than not.

Feeling the leftover panic of the nightmare that woke him, he knows he won’t find enough solace to return to sleep again tonight. He opens his burning eyes slowly, but the dark light doesn’t hurt them anymore and he’s able to see more than he did before.

His breath catches in his throat as he sees a pair of eyes peering at him from the dark — open and watching.

Not even a full foot away, they freeze his lungs as they are and tense up all his muscles. A fear so primal and uncontrollable takes hold of his body that only the shock of getting caught doing something he really shouldn’t be doing could elicit.

‘When you think you are alone, but the dark gazes back at you,’ — supplies his mind half-heartedly.

The pair of eyes crinkle in what he knows is an amused smirk before he even registers the hummed laughter from the one who keeps him. Neither of them move, neither of them blink, neither of them speak. One, frozen in place as he is, cannot look away; while the other, not wanting to end the mental torment just yet, keeps him stewing like that for his own entertainment.

In the end, it’s the captor that breaks the staring contest. He reaches over, surprising the tormented one enough to flinch him out of the trance he found himself in as he lifts a lock of that golden brown hair that always looks the most gorgeous in the waking sun. He speaks in a hushed tone, slightly groggy with sleep.

“What did you dream of, darling?”

It takes the boy a few seconds to realise that he’s being talked to. His voice cracks and he stifles a cough before he begins his sentence, — “I-I, I don’t remember.”

His voice is soft as silk, barely audible in fear of disrupting the one holding him in any way; to give him a reason to act upon the sick thoughts circling his mind constantly. The hand comes back to card through his hair again as he hums in response.

“You were crying.”

He nods. He knows that much.

“You were making sounds.”

His voice drawls with his syllables that manage to simultaneously have him relax a bit and worry him more. He doesn’t seem angry, but he’s also just been woken up. There is no telling what he may be thinking at any moment — his thoughts are just as, if not more unpredictable than his actions. He nods again, swallows his worry for the moment.

“You were clawing at the sheets…”

He bites back a yawn, the eyes fading for just a second, then returning their shines once more.

“You woke me up.”

Keep reading

[queereldritchmischief]

Mine

The sound of a page being turned. Yellow light painting the room in shadows. Soft sheets, fluffy duvet, warm blankets. Another finished chapter. A yawn. The book closes. A glance at the clock by the window.

About time he went to sleep. Today has been busy, even for his standards, and tomorrow will be even worse. He better lie down and rest now. No-one likes him when he hasn’t had his nine hours.

A glance at the bedroom door. Another yawn. A quiet sigh, followed by the rustle of covers, and then finally: the click of the lamp; and darkness. Silence.

Uncertain taps against the floorboards follow not long after. Cannot have been more than ten minutes. Low, careful, irregular. Sometimes quick tip-tapping, sometimes long strides. They come towards the door and then stop when they find it closed. They think for a minute in silence, anxiously tip-tapping further in place. Then another. Another. The bare feet against the wooden boards can’t figure out what to do next. They hadn’t expected the door to be closed already.

Slowly, shakily, a nervous hand rises to touch the doorknob. Lungs take a deep calming breath and the hand turns the knob. A mouth opens slightly when the door opens. Eyes widen in worry and surprise, neck stretching carefully to glance around the door and look inside the room it leads to. Eyes see darkness and the brows crease in indecision.

The softest little steps echo against the floor as the door is gently pushed open just enough so the boy can slip inside, and then when there is no stirring under the sheets, he closes it behind him; more careful than he has ever been in his life. He thinks about turning the lock as well, knowing that this door usually stays locked during the night, but this isn’t like usual, and he decides against it in fear of causing too much noise.

He turns around and almost jumps out of his skin when he sees a shadow sitting right up in the bed, clearly watching him in the thin moonlight coming from the windows. The shadow’s eyes twinkle and goose bumps rise along his cold, sensitive skin.

After what feels like several very long minutes, the silence is finally broken.

“Are you just going to stand there the whole night, boo?”

Keep reading

#whump

[queereldritchmischief]

rewrite of an old thing. reblogs appreciated, etc

#lifesteal smp #fanfic #hi welcome to the secret blog hehe

[queereldritchmischief]

(said with all the affection in the world) queereldritchmischief icon jumpscare only to see it's still you mcyt posting - mech

ehehe get subjected to my lil mc guys>:3

[queereldritchmischief]

Clown respects Rekrap. That's the important thing to remember when he has Rek pinned against a tree by the throat, he respects Rekrap, even when the other is so much weaker than him.

"Wanna repeat that?" He hisses in Rekrap's ear, immensely gratified by the other’s shiver.

"Not really...?" Rekrap drawls out, grunting when Clown's hold on his throat tightens warningly.

Clown growls at him, and slams Rek back against the tree, stealing the wind from him.

"You aren't in a position to be cheeky, Rekrap."

Rek gasps when his back collides against the tree, that would leave a nasty bruise. He scowls at Clown.

#rekrap2 #clownpierce #fanfic #reblogging this to my secret kinky blog like a dog taking a treat and running to bury it

[queereldritchmischief]

a robot shibari'd with its own wires. you agree, yes? reblog

[queereldritchmischief]

escape room but it’s just you escaping my room cuz I kidnapped you ^__^