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lokispettigerr · 5 years

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Painting the Wind: Jotun!Loki x Female!Reader SMUT (NSFW)

Requested by @rougepetale. I killed three Bilgesnipe with one arrow though because I decided to follow out two more requests-- a Jotun!Loki fic and a dark fic. This is book material and I am proud.

***It is Pet Tiger Tuesdays!!!! Get stoked!

Summary: Reader drives men, and women, wild with just her scent. One evening, she attends her friend’s art viewing at a studio. When Loki catches her scent she runs, spurred on by the dangerous lust that he radiates.

Word Count: 4096

Warning: Sex Pollen, Dom Loki, Non-Con

A/N: So, remember that Mushroom Muse Stew I posted about a while back? Maybe last week, well it pops up again here. **Not my image

Beauty, attraction, and irresistibility is a blessing and a curse.

When I was younger, I was raised by monsters who injected their precious serum into my blood year after year after year. Each injection would make me the person I am today, the beast I have become. But do you ever wonder who the true monster is? The beast that was either born into its circumstances or forced into them, or the people or superhuman entity that made them the way they are.

As I look in the mirror now at my reflection I don’t look much a beast. I have doe eyes, bright and big. My lashes make shadows dance upon my cheeks. My lips are full and my skin glows inhumanly. I have womanly curves and hair that shines even on a cloudy day.

If you want to know the truth, how I really feel about all this talk of monsters and beasts. I think that both parties are at fault. The people who raised me are at fault for sure for forcing this path upon me, but I too am at fault. You gasp? You are shocked? You don’t know me. There are times when I enjoy the way people are uncontrollably aroused towards me. I enjoy knowing that I am constantly in control because they would do anything to be with me, if even for a few moments. You see, there is a part of me that is very much like the monsters who raised me. I am greedy. I was never given love or affection and no matter how much I get now, even an infinite amount… It would never be enough. There is something in me insidious and wrong.

I turned from my reflection just as my open hand turned to a fist wanting to smash the shiny glass into pieces. What good would that do me?

I left the house, my heels clicking down the sidewalk outside of the apartment building. The wind was beginning to pick up and the sun kept passing behind giant, ominous looking clouds. I kept my head down shielding my eyes against the wind as my hair fanned out, causing a trail of pheromones to sway luxuriously out behind me.

Everywhere I went I painted the tail of the wind with my intoxicating scent. Of course, this wasn’t always safe, but I had been trained by the monstrous, mad scientists that raised me. I was unbelievably strong and was meant to be a breeding *whore* to create super soldiers.

I was an experiment gone wrong. All of my sisters were too. All of us failed. It was something I always found laughable.

We were all deemed infertile. The pheromones they so ruthlessly injected us with made us alluring, but ironically it nuked our reproductive organs. No sweet bundle of baby joys would ever be a product of me, and in truth, I liked it better that way. I can imagine that with my background I would be a horrifying parent.

I essentially was a super-soldier. I could practically strangle a man with my bare hands within moments. I could hit someone on their shoulder hard enough that their head would come clean off. When I was a kid, and not very strong I would walk past dandelions doing the same thing. Hitting them hard enough for the flower head to pop right off, all while I ran along wearing a white dress, bows in my hair musical laughter pouring from my lips. Innocence turned to corruption-- it has always been there.

My text notification chirped and I pulled the phone out of my pocket with a quick glance at the screen. I was meeting Willow at her art showing tonight. I had promised and I was going to come through for her. Being around a group of people like that always made me antsy, all of them would be horny and wanting to grab at me being in close proximity but luckily, Willow mentioned there was an open bar. When I was able to get a little buzz, the anxiety from the surrounding horn dogs usually lessened and I could loosen up, even give them a little of what they wanted.

I turned the corner and approached the art studio building, “Montross Art Studios” a golden wire looking sign read. It swayed back and forth in the wind as the breeze began to pick up. I could only hope that when I opened the door, the wind would not blow my scent within the art studio. In close quarters it moved slowly, but if the wind stirred the air it would be a scent spread like wildfire.

I was lucky. The wind had stopped long enough for me to get inside the studio. The door creaked loudly on its hinges, but the studio was full of laughter and chatter, blues music playing over the speakers.

I scanned the sea of faces looking for Willow’s dark bob and big brown eyes. She was around somewhere, I could sense it. I knew I would run into her eventually and my nerves were already jumping and on highwire so I decided to go to the bar and grab a drink.

A handsome man stood up against the bar, his posture excuding cockyness and confidence-- of course, if I looked like him I would do the same thing. His hair was shockingly black and his eyes were bright green. He was leaning over the counter of the bar talking in an erotic purr at the bartender who would laugh intermittently while he took a clean wipe towel and rubbed different glasses, making them have a shine.

He took a sip of a green drink and placed the cup on the bar to move a strand of his black hair behind his ear, exposing his sharp jawline. I was usually not nervous when approaching any sex, but this man at the counter made me feel uneasy. I weighed my options, continue to feel anxious and on edge throughout the art gathering or face one man for a few moments, order a drink, and feel the calm settle over my brain like a security blanket. The choice was easy, a few minutes of discomfort was much easier than discomfort the remainder of the night.

I made sure to walk as smoothly as I could, so as not to stir the air. When I made it to the bar I kept my distance from the attractive man who oozed danger all about him.

“Hi there,” I paused while I looked for the bartender's name tag, it read, “Joe?”. I giggled, “ You aren’t sure if Joe is your name?”

He shot me a shy smile back, “If I made a beautiful woman like you laugh then I have succeeded. For you, I’ll be whoever you want me to be. What’ll you have?”

“Just a martini please.” I glanced from the side of my eye at the dark-haired man standing beside me. I could feel his piercing gaze. “Joe, she was mistaken, she will have what I am having.”

I looked at him, wide-eyed, my eyebrows going up. Joe seemed confused, “She said she would like a marti--”

The man standing beside me cut him off, his eyes boring through Joe and into the wall, “Absinthe, Joe. Get the lady Absinthe.”

Joe’s face went blank and he immediately began to pour Absinthe. A chill went down my spine, I had never seen someone command something with such force. I quickly began to rethink the drink. Screw this, I could be uncomfortable the rest of the night.

Once the bartender had finished preparing the Absinthe he lit the sugar cube on fire. I could not deny the color of the Absinthe combined with the bright burning flame was beautiful. I smiled to myself enraptured by the fire. For a moment I felt alone in the room, the fire holding my attention. It was so beautiful.

“Your complexion is glowing.” The twilight satin voice brought my thoughts back to the current situation.

I looked away from the flame, “Just a trick of the light, everyone looks captivating against the allure of firelight.”

The man was silent as he continued to watch me, his eyes half-lidded.

“I think not,” he whispered, “you’re special…”

I feigned ignorance, after all he was just feeling the average effects of being too close to me. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” I wanted to take a sip of the absinthe, something to keep my mouth busy so I no longer felt the need to carry on this conversation.

Just then, the door to the studio opened and a gust of wind blew in stirring the air around me, making my hair twirl along my back and shoulders. The flame above the absinthe blew out. Shit!

It was as if time stilled, the man beside me went rigid-- his body freezing, all except for his nostrils which flared dramatically, taking in my scent. His eyes fluttered closed and his head reclined slightly back. Strangely, blue lines were creeping up his neck, and his skin began to darken.

My eyes searched the crowd, Did anyone else see this?

His eyes shot open, burning and completely red, “What were you saying?”

I had to get out! “Uh, gotta go!” I turned to leave, but his fingers quickly closed around my arm. “Not so fast,” he warned. He was strong, superhuman strong. I should have easily been able to break his hold on me but his grasp was like chains of solid iron.

Just then Willow approached. The mysterious man released my arm, but not before Willow saw him holding it.

“What’s going on here, Loki?” She asked, a concerned look on her face.

I answered instead. “I’m so sorry Willow, I got a call. I’ll try to see if I can make it next time.” I ducked my head not wanting her to see the lie.

Her face fell, disappointment covering it, “Well, okay, if you have to go, I understand.”

I began to walk away, towards the door, towards freedom, “I’ll call you!” I called out over my shoulder and the door slammed behind me. I never looked back to see what the man was doing or if he was watching me, but every fiber of me felt like it was the sugar cube still sitting on the absinthe, on fire, burning brightly-- a flame that would never extinguish. I knew he was watching me as I walked away.

Usually, I don’t have this kind of reaction, but my body screamed at me to get away as fast as I could. It was as if my brain knew, from all the strength and training that I had, even I could not hold my own against the man in the art studio-- Loki was it? What an odd name. I shoved my arms, hurriedly into my cloak and quickly flipped up the hood. I carried around a thin cloak oftentimes, it helped keep my pheromones in one place and not billowing all about-- plus it looked kinda cool.

With each step I took, my anxiety increased. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being followed. I sped up my pace only to hear what sounded like footsteps approaching at the same speed as my own. I glanced back, the wind tugging ruthlessly at my hood. No one was there. It was only me, the echo of my footsteps. I was alone and so close to home. I would be safe soon.

My heart was racing and my blood was pumping, making a whooshing sound that filled my ears and pounded around my head. Every few moments I would glance back only to see an empty sidewalk and a few dried leaves skirt by, pushed on by the wind.

Dusk had settled, not doing anything to help my nerves, and street lamps flickered to life. The harsh light pooled down at the sidewalk interrupting any chances I had at using my night vision. I would try to peer out past the bright lights towards the edge of the trees or across the sidewalk from where I loped, but all I could see were shadows with hunger in their eyes and saliva dripping from their teeth. None of it was real, my fear was making it all up. My imagination was running wild and I knew that as soon as I made it back home and my locks were in place everything would be right in the world.

Wait… There, what was that? Footsteps not matching my own approaching from behind, my breath caught in my throat and I opened my mouth in case I needed all the air possible for a scream. I was so close, so close to home-- just around the corner and I could rush up the steps, past the lonely, naked lady fountain, past the gardenias making the night smell aromatic, past the garden bed, past the empty swing that often rocked back and forth in the cool night air as it creaked out a forlorn tune, all the way up seven steps to the threshold of my *home*.

I opened the old iron gate, tossing it shut behind me without ever looking back. My hood flew off in my hurry to get inside and I skipped up the steps taking two at a time. The keys were already in my hand and I forced them into the latch turning while I simultaneously twisted the knob.

The smell of the sage I had burnt early trickled out. I inhaled deeply, the sigh that left my parted lips was one of triumph. I had made it. I shrugged out of my cloak, exposing the skin on my shoulders. I tossed the keys towards the stand near the door and they landed with a sharp clack. The house was dark, but it didn’t matter. I let the darkness of my home envelop me like a warm blanket. I teased my arm along the wall feeling towards the light switch, bracing myself for the moment the lights would come on when I heard a low rumble as someone across from me cleared their throat-- a growl from a hunter.

Panic choked me, my eyes grew wide with fear and I could acutely see myself from somewhere else in the room. I stood, frozen with terror, unable to move.

“You’re wondering how I came to be here. How I knew this humble abode was yours.” Loki’s sultry voice purred at me from the shadows, just above a whisper. “The fountain out front is a nice touch.” He stalked towards me, the shadows sliding away from him to expose his predatory form. The blue tendrils that had begun to crawl up his skin in the art studio had taken full effect. His skin was now a deep blue hue with exotic markings and his eyes were a violent red. They glowed and cut through the darkness. Had he been bitten by some ghastly bug that had bestowed this monstrous, yet alluring form upon him?

Suddenly, my brain jump-started. I pushed away from the wall, running down the hallway and towards the kitchen. I needed a weapon! Anything.

It was no use! Somehow the devil named, “Loki” was there-- it was as if he appeared from thin air.

“There is no use in fighting it. You will soon tire, and I will not soon grow bored.” He glanced at me, his eyes glowing feverishly.

I reached for a large knife, serrated and as long as my forearm. *This would do the trick*, I thought, right before it turned into a snake within my grasp. I yelped dropping it before running off again towards the dining room. Had something been slipped into my drink to make me have delusions?

I stopped, my back against the wall, my shoulder blades hurting. My chest rose and fell as I heaved. Loki walked, smooth as a water dancer, into the dining room. His chin was tilted down and a deranged smile was on his lips. He was beautiful-- there was no denying it.

When he reached the rug under the table, I pushed off the wall, my palms lifting and shoving the solid oak table towards Loki.

But with a simple wave of his hand, it stopped in thin air, never touching him. He moved his hand to the side as if swatting at a lazy fly and it smashed against the wall next to me. How? How was he doing this?

He laughed and I wanted to smile in response, I would do anything to hear that sultry laughter again. “You are clever. I like that about you,” he said as he moved towards me. I stayed against the wall. Clearly, running was useless. I clenched my jaw and narrowed my eyes.

“Ooo-- you plan to fight me then?” his eyes went up and down my body, lingering on my hips and my heaving, sweat glistening breasts. “How,” he paused a smile spreading to his face again, “...admirable.”

He stopped inches from me and part of me wanted to reach out to touch the lines etched on his skin. Were they scars? Had they ever caused him pain? I bit my lip.

“I wouldn’t,” he warned, his voice causing goosebumps to race across my skin and my nipples to tighten.

I lifted my hand, reeling it back to hit him with all of my strength. It would stun him, for sure. Anything I could do to get out of this situation.

Too quick, and he saw it coming. My wrist hitting his hand made a loud smacking sound and Loki laughed as if he was amused by my animosity.

“You are a feral thing aren’t you?”

I grunted, getting ready to slam my forehead against his. He managed to see that one too! His other hand went to my throat, his cool fingers closing around my windpipe.

He was too strong-- it was incredible. His power was immense.

Loki leaned towards me, his fingers sliding up my throat to push my jawline. I tried to withstand him, but at last, I submitted. I turned my head to the side and he slid his pointed nose up my neck, inhaling deeply.

“I can’t possibly help myself,” Loki said aloud, though more to himself than to me.

“Any reservations, my delightful pet?” he asked, polite as ever, as if he wasn’t holding me against my will.

“Yes,” I spat, “Go fuck yourse--”.

Loki’s finger went to my lips, shushing me. “My, my, what a foul mouth you have.”

Stupidly, I opened my mouth, taking his finger between my teeth as I bit down. Loki didn’t flinch, instead, he chuckled and removed his now slick finger from my mouth. Though he was smiling, I could feel dark rage rolling from him in waves. “Watch me,” he commanded, and compelled, I couldn’t look away from him.

His hand slid down to the hem of my dress, pushed past it and pulled gently at my thong, exposing my weeping, wet opening. His masterful fingers plunged within me forcefully, and I cried out in pleasure and in surprise.

“Ohoho, you like that don’t you? You have wanted this since you first laid eyes on me. Haven’t you?” Loki asked.

I looked away from him, not wanting to admit what I had in truth felt from the beginning. I wasn’t ready to admit it.

“Answer me!” he growled as he curled his fingers within and without faster, his thumb rubbing around my aching clit in tight circles.

The more he rubbed his finger pads upon the spongy tissue of my g-spot, the more I lost the ability to speak-- to form coherent thoughts. I moaned in response.

“Very well, Pet. That is answer enough. I need to hear you speak for me again.”

*Speak for him again?* What did he mean by that?

I leaned closer to him, drawing him towards me. My lips closed on his own, and my tongue pried at his lips, coaxing him to part them. He did as I bid, an unspoken communication taking place. And when he opened them I bit down, tasting his blood in my mouth-- it was cool and tasted of the darkest berries. Poisonous yet delicious.

I had surprised him and a hiss escaped his lips as he pulled away from me. He had recovered quickly, regaining his composure.

“Fool me once…” His strong arm closed around my waist, and I cried out. “You shouldn’t have done that, Pet.”

He threw me down, effortlessly and I hit the couch, the springs bouncing against my weight.

He removed his clothes and his body met mine, his soul touched mine. His skin covered me like the waves of the sea that caress the sand of the beach.

Loki pulled back from me, looking at me hungrily. His hand came up to graze at my breast. I could tell he wanted to slow down, to take all of me in, but something in him or the beast in me made him rush on.

He pushed his way into me, and I whimpered, his length filling me entirely.

I rolled my eyes back in my head as visions danced behind my eyelids. A lightning strike met a lone tree, igniting it, making it burn brilliantly. A fox took down a hare, killing it as its narrow jaws closed down around its neck. A herd of wild horses, free and unbroken, stirred the dry-packed earth of a desert-- their mouths open in a song that echoed throughout a canyon. A bird plummeting down, wind flowing through its outstretched wings, 10,000ft. down.

Loki’s deep moan aroused me further. I opened my eyes to find his muscled form taken in the throes of ecstasy. For a moment, I wondered if he had seen what I had seen, but the thought was gone as quickly as it came.

Loki’s body stilled as if he was trying to slow down and savor me, but my hips continued to move and buck. I grabbed his narrow hips, pushing and pulling at him, fascinated by the blue tint his skin had against mine. His hand grabbed at both of my wrists, bringing them up easily to rest in confinement above my head.

“Fuck it,” he breathed raggedly and he sped up his pace, his fingers closing harshly around the bones in my wrist.

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming, oh.” Loki thrust into me, his cum pumping against the opening of my cervix.

In response to Loki’s words, my body came without warning and my back arched, legs shaking as I cried out, my walls clenching down around him.

Loki’s breath was cool against my neck, a welcome sensation. He stilled above me before turning to lay beside me. I watched his every move, my eyes full of wonder.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I replied, “Well, I guess I’m just surprised.”

Loki read my mind, “In the manner things played out? I must admit, I am surprised by this myself.”

I shook my head, “It’s normal. For you... Anyone else, really. I have a curse or an ability. When I was young I was forcibly given a serum that creates a pheromone that causes an irresistible attraction towards me.”

“I knew you were special, but even regardless of that, you are special because you were created for me.” He nodded, knowingly.

I glanced at him, surprised, “How do you mean?”

“You saw my skin change to blue, my red eyes-- the lines upon my skin. I am part Jotun-- something I can explain more later. Without any control, my true mate will force me into Jotun form without my consent. Something that will not placate until my sexual needs and union with the mate is fulfilled.”

I was speechless. I needed time to process this.

After a few moments of silence, Loki muttered, “Mushrooms.”

“Huh?”

“Mushroom stew. A writer friend of mine recently taught me how to make it.”

“Oh-- uh, cool,” I responded, confused and unimpressed.

“Are you hungry? I am completely famished. I’ll make it for us.” He looked at me, his green eyes shining like stars in the dark. It took me a moment to realize he was waiting for me to say something.

I smiled, it was evident he wanted things to work. “Sure, Loki, that sounds delicious.”

“Perfect.” He bent his neck, his face coming towards me and he placed a shy kiss on my lips.

***** Hope you all enjoyed this and it made you slide to the edge of your seat! There is so much about this one I am proud of, and I cannot wait to hear your thoughts! Send me an ask or leave me a comment and like and reblog! It is the most helpful thing you can do.

If you would like to be on the Taglist please send me an ASK. Until next time, Loki’s Pet Tiger

#loki fanfic #loki #loki marvel #imagine loki #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston loki #loki mcu #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki smut #loki lemons #loki x you #loki x reader #smut #sex pollen #sex pollem fic #lpt

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jawlawsenpai · 4 years

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Foretell Chapter 3: 206

Sebastian woke up to a very delicious smell coming from down stairs. As he wakes up he sat up right and outstretched his arms along with a huge yawn, his bed is directly next to the window that can be seen from outside the house, he looks around his room. He saw a huge mirror on the wall next to the bathroom door, and he saw his cabinet wide open clearly unorganized while his clothes and a bunch of books with odd tittles ranging from "The study of the occult", "Demonology", and "Black Magic and curses" are all scattered on the floor, and on the table next to the mirror is a broken picture as if someone has punched it. Other than that his room is completely empty. Sebastian stands up and stretches some more and walks out of his room.

Even though everyone sees Sebastian as a mysterious and eccentric person. In reality he's really a slob or in other words he just doesn't really care about his living place. Simon is the only person who knows about this, there were times when Simon does ask Sebastian about this but somehow Sebastian manages to change the topic or completely avoid answering this question, so Simon just decided to let the him be.

As Sebastian walks down the stairs he saw a pillow and a blanket properly folded on the couch, he smelled something delicious coming from the kitchen. It has been a long time since anything was cooked there, Sebastian usually orders some take out breakfast from the nearest eatery before going to school. As Sebastian walks in the kitchen he saw Simon cooking scrambled eggs.

"You're up early." Sebastian said.

" Yeah... I had another freak nightmare and I can't go back to sleep, so I ended up cooking our breakfast, lunch, and... dinner."

"That's a lot of eggs!"

"Well I could've cooked more if eggs weren't the only thing in the refrigerator."

Sebastian simply laughs this off, but the two made an agreement to buy more food later. Sebastian and Simon both sat down and ate breakfast. Sebastian was almost bursting to tears, he hasn't tasted anything this delicious even though it's only scrambled egg it was still very delicious. Simon laughs it off and only thinks that Sebastian is only exaggerating. Sebastian notices that Simon looks very restless.

"Hey are you okay? You're not looking to good." Sebastian asks.

"About that, I think I'm going to be absent for today."

"I think it's fine for you to be absent today, but can you tell me why exactly? Are you still shocked of what happened last night? Or maybe it was the corpse that we saw yesterday? Or maybe it's these dreams you've been having?"

"I don't really care about leaving the house I've been wanting to do that anyways. The corpse yesterday however and my nightmares... I think they're connected."

"Well who wouldn't have nightmares after seeing something like that?"

"No! I think it's something more than that, Something different."

"Different how?"

"Sebastian, before we even saw the body I already dreamed of that woman."

"What are you talking about? Have you met her somewhere before?"

"No, and that's what's been bothering me. In my nightmare I saw the exact image of her corpse just laying down on the ground."

"Maybe it was a vision."

"A vision?"

" Some would say it's an experience of seeing someone or something in a dream or trance, or as a supernatural apparition."

"I forgot that you're in to that kind of stuff."

"So, what do you plan on doing about it?"

"I want to go back to the apartment complex, I want to know more about what happened, and maybe I might find the reason as to why I got that vision."

"Cool, because I'm coming with you."

"You really don't have to, just go to school."

"You're barely awake, and besides around here I'm the leading expert when it comes to these stuff."

After a few minutes of Simon trying to convince Sebastian not to come with him, he eventually gives in. Simon already knew Sebastian would act this way, and he wouldn't think of anyone else more suitable than him. For some weird reason Sebastian is really in to the occult stuff and magic, it was one of his interests or some would say it's an obsession of his.

After the two ate their breakfast Sebastian told Simon to get ready and that he'll wash the dishes since Simon was the one who already cooked. Simon was worried since he knew that Sebastian does not know how to wash the dishes, but Simon also thought that it would be good for Sebastian to practice now since he might be cooking here full time now.

The boys prepare themselves to leave. Simon is wearing a black shirt with a Batman logo printed on it along with loose jeans and a pair of black rubber shoes, while Sebastian is wearing a red shirt with an eye inside a triangle printed on it along with some skinny jeans and a pair of black sneakers. Before they left the house Sebastian brought a bag with with items he believes would be useful. After all that they finally left the house.

As the two were on their way to the crime scene they saw their friends walking towards the school. The two immediately ran and hid behind a wall so that they won't be seen by them. after a few minutes the two decided to leave the wall and move on to the apartment, as soon as they popped their heads around the corner they are immediately greeted by Rob. Rob was wearing his signature red jacket and inside it he wore a white shirt with a tutorial on how to play rock paper and scissors printed on it.

"What are you two idiots doing?" Rob asks with a straight face.

"Uh... " Simon desperately trying to think of an excuse.

"We're skipping school today." boldly stated by Sebastian. Simon is utterly shocked of how straight forward Sebastian's reply was.

Rob gave a huge sigh and said. "Be careful you two, and don't get caught."

The two simply nodded at Rob and then Rob went ahead to school, he promised not to tell the others. After he left, the two boys immediately ran to go to the apartment.

As the two of them reached their goal they saw that no one was around the complex. The two thought that they were lucky. "So where to start?" Sebastian asks. Simon scans the place and the first thing he saw was an apartment door with the numbers 206. Simon recalled his first dream and he remembered those numbers. "Let's go to that room" Simon pointed out room 206. Sebastian asked why, Simon explained that that was a part of his nightmare and that it might be the room of the woman.

They went straight ahead to the room on the second floor. They saw a police tape on the door. They carefully went in the room trying their hardest not to brake the police tape. As soon as they went inside they saw that the place was ransacked maybe due to the police looking all over the place.

After a few moments pass as Simon was scanning the place he suddenly felt a sharp pain coming from his head. Simon suddenly went down on his knees clutching his head due to feeling so much pain. Sebastian immediately went to Simon and asked him what's going on. Sebastian saw him crying blood, Simon was screaming that it hurts when he forces his eyes to open. Simon can't open his eyes and when he does he just kept on crying out blood. Sebastian was shocked as he saw something on Simon's forehead slowly opening. Sebastian jumped away from Simon and just stared at him out of fear. As Simon was wailing out, screaming in pain the thing on his forehead has completely opened it was another eye. Slowly but surely Simon calmed down he stated that when he tries to open his other eyes it would sting him. Sebastian asked him what he can see. Simon said that he can still see the room but it is completely the void of color, everything was just grey.

Simon wiped away the blood on his face and stood up. He then began to walk around the room as he looks back behind him he saw his own body still standing there. He immediately asks Sebastian if he can see him, as he asks this his other bodies mouth moved the way he said it. Sebastian stated that he can see his body and that he is currently looking at it. Sebastian asks why, and Simon tells him that he can also see that body of his. He exclaims that he is currently out of his body. Sebastian immediately yelled that he was in his astral body, he explains that an astral body is a form that is used to travel the astral plane and that the astral plane is a dimension between our world and the afterlife.

"Okay I am officially freaking out right now! So you're telling me that right now I'm between the after life and our world? Just like in the movie insidious ?" Simon asks.

"If this isn't a prank and if you're telling the truth, yeah that's what's happening right now!"

"Well what should I do now?"

"I don't know, don't ask me I'm not the guy who has a freaking third eye!"

While Simon is in the astral plane he looks around in hopes that he'll find something out of the ordinary. He checks under the table, and nothing. He can't seem to find anything. as he stood up the table in the middle of the room has been replaced by a door. Simon asks Sebastian if he can see the door as well. Sebastian said that he couldn't, Sebastian theorizes that Simon might have an ability to alter the astral plane to whatever he desires or needs. Simon said that he's planning to go inside the door, Sebastian said that there's no harm in trying.

As Simon walks inside the door he then immediately walks in the apartment room, the door closes. The room was all fixed and not ransacked like earlier, he walks in a little further and then suddenly the door opened again but the one who entered was the woman. It was the woman in Simon's dreams, it was the woman he saw laying flat dead on the ground.

The woman appears to have just came home from work. She was very beautiful and she was wearing a suit that clearly shows that she has a professional job. Out of nowhere a disembodied voice asked Simon what he sees, it was Sebastian talking from the physical world. Simon narrates everything he sees, except for the part where she was changing into her more casual clothing because he didn't want to peep on a dead person.

A few moments later someone knocked on the door. The woman approaches the door and opens it. There was no one there, all there was was a box on the floor with a letter on top of it. The woman picked up the letter first, "To my dearest Ellaine." It also had a heart shaped symbol on it. The woman bit her lip and picked up the box. The box was fairly small and it seems pretty light. As she opens the box Simon was petrified it was the flower. The violet flower that has always been present in his nightmares. Another letter was inside and in it said, "These flowers remind me of you, smell them." She bit her lip another time and she immediately smelled the flowers, she sneezes and said that the flowers didn't smell that nice. A few moments later the woman started to moan and she holds her head as to indicate that she is feeling dizzy. Then suddenly her moans changed into screams. She was feeling agonizing pain she fell to the floor and rolled all over, she tries desperately to stop the pain. Simon was afraid he had already seen this happening to her or at least she did this to him in his nightmares. The pain was no longer bearable, Simon clearly saw her quick shift to madness. It was something that no one should see more so experience. She's clearly being driven to insanity to the point where she uses her bear hands to gouge out her own eyes and she screamed even louder. Simon was already forcing himself to witness this it was very gruesome but he needed to see every detail of what happened to her. She then lies flat on the floor with her left hand on her neck and holding it tight while her right hand is outstretched upwards as if she is in need of oxygen. Slowly but surely she contorts herself, lifting her back bone to make an arch, she kept on bending her back until her back just gives in and a sharp cracking sound can be heard.

Simon was petrified and in disbelief that a plain flower can drive a person this insane, but he was currently witnessing this in his astral body so right now he believes that anything can be possible. Simon wanted to vomit all over again this was too gruesome that even his experience with horror movies fails in comparison compared to this. The door opened again and this time sucked Simon out, before Simon left he saw the box that contained the flower with a print that said Night Shore Postal Service.

Simon's third eye closes and finally Simon can open his two eyes again. He looks at Sebastian and tells him that they need to find out who sent her those flowers. Sebastian nodded as to show that he agrees with Simon. Then suddenly he just falls face first to the floor, Sebastian tried to wake him up but it was no use Simon was completely unconscious.

#story #fiction #supernatural #mystery #novel #original content #orginal story #writing #words #creative writing #literature #writer #writers #writers on tumblr #writeblr

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elizasepistolarytravels · 6 years

Text

A knife.

1.) I've never cried once when I waxed my legs.

I can feel it though.

as I can feel the breeze and the cold

and the salt evaporating from

the sand caked beach.

And its taste on scrambled eggs,

and your rain coat on the peg,

and your stolen eyes

stealing my body

as the door screeches

shut

in that scream that I dread.

And I can hear the sound of pop corn,

and people in the street,

their red mouths like

poppies

and bulls eyes

in a Rolling Stone magazine.

Telling lies.

And yeah, I like my coffee black.

S'how I decided to like it

as I have once in a party

sworn

that I was born

with my tongue flipped backwards,

my taste buds starting at the bitter bit instead.

Said that just to excite them.

I love movies.

But never cry in public.

I'd never cry if it pleased the Republic.

What I do is, I try to get a grip of their minds

See my vision through a

screen.

But lets not get too dark, shall we?

I love the sight of wool-

Transformed and processed,

refined,

Blessed.

And how it scratches on my back,

sharply.

And how it goes around and itches my neck,

hungrily.

And wraps around my waist and burns me.

But that is how I choose to dress.

And yeah I love the feel of rain and stuff,

and cycling,

and laughing,

and falling, and scrambling

and crying,and crying.

And the crisp sheets on my childhood bed,

how when you got lost in them by yourself, tearing the sheets apart.

I felt nothing.

Not the wool, nor the the coffee, not even the leg waxing.

As you saw, as you watched my eyes go forever red.

2.)

The scent of her bluebell

earrings made them mad.

She swayed a halo of hair at their

bluebird eyelashes that wished to fly away

and perch on her shoulders,

adoring her teacups of cracked silence and

dry toast.

The love she held to them was bitter,

conscious of her power,

she did not let them see through

her skin.

Lotus palms higher chakra fingernails

on her parchment thighs and a longing of

consumption of trimmed misery,

a pattern of stolen space shared in corners.

They were all so beautiful.

Their souls were white, I tell you.

And one by one, she would let them into her room

and thank their lives.

Kissing their shoulders with

whiskers of leaves.

They would try to run their hands over

sudden quivering glimpses of lake blue stillness,

that shattered across her eyes.

They were making it worse for themselves,

They were making her remind herself of

the numbing stitches that lay as maps over her brain.

2.)

How is it for you,

as you sit pink eyed?

Your skin, un-stretched

from hurtling warship storms

shines golden,

awesome disney penny golden,

slightly akin to our

Kath Kidston bread rolls and hours of

spiky cricket.

It is easy to fall in love

with your idea of an anxious

death of new-boy,

oxford- sandle- schoolboy.

Beatings.

I relish in your fire.

In your even slightest oxygenation and combustion rust.

When clippings fall off your Thatcher-esque milk-carton teeth.

But that barely satisfies pits of knotted words.

And jaws pulled open to emplace chastity belts.

Onions,

Wikka crosses.

Suffocation.

My body is a battlefield of eyes,

rashes, scratches, and many many apparent scars.

I try to walk across your face,

down expensive liquor suns.

My life was an orphan. My hands

were open and a ghost took them.

Now I can only scream.

Your sight makes me cry and you continue to shine,

And you sit down in the sand and - ‘help me’.

This is snow globe ancient.

It is swoons of acid sooty waves, storms and storms

of the shipwreck cleaner - the orphan.

You explain to me life as if it were a mere

plastic

globe.

Eccentric.

Disposable.

And most probably Toxic.

One of the reasons I am doing this project is because of trauma.

Poetry is so wishy-washy and ambiguous so lets get straight to the point.

Not many people detect this, some may sense pain and things like that, but on the whole, out of all the things this project has turned out to have a connection to, the trauma that also spurs it is not something not talked about a lot. It has paced my life, as good old trauma tends to do. It paces this piece of art. As so, it turns out that this is also an attempt to heal. I am taking courage, taking hold over my life now. I will write and speak and run until I don’t need to, until I feel at last at home in my own crawling skin. I will run to where I feel most protected, where I have felt I can breath at last, the warmth of the earth and the quietness of the fields of Nature. Where I feel I am of the same mud as the rest of this earth.

Trauma. As it is for many others, trauma is insidious. It is a natural, scientific, real, proven, (blah blah look up the research) whatever you want to call it, phenomenon. It changes your brain. It is when something or someone through your childhood development and right into your adult life, comes in and disrupts the healthy boundaries of your body, your mind and your sense of self. When you are ok, you have a normal bubble where a healthy ego may develop and later on in life, thrive. When not your bubble is more this weird mashed potato. Or many different states of mashed potato. When you have not experienced trauma you know the boundaries of yourself and others and more importantly you know how to maintain them. My bubble, both physically and mentally, was distorted (made mash potato), from an early age. It was not for me one event, it was also a, combination of people and moments. The lines are blurry, and yes, I agree, the line of victim and perpetrator is difficult, and sometimes confusing, there there remains a constant. From an early age my boundaries were laughed at made lesser than, later used and twisted. It is the plight of the perception of women or anyone made lesser, their bodies made objects. Just to repeat: My existence, as for most of us, is a lot of pain. It is at times unbearable. You cannot demean this, or make this any smaller than the immensity I feel in my mind at some points of time. I guess this is speaking truth to survive. So back to the little talk on trauma. The healthy development I was meant to have by now is supplemented by the voices of those who opened me up and ate me raw. Psychologically, it is self-doubt and even hatred, somatically, it is sometimes a bodily fear of others or not knowing boundaries, exuding too much closeness and intimate energy and then at times freezing up out fear when my body suddenly realises the danger it put itself in. Or just fading away, giving in, not feeling. It is also crying and panic, yeah that happens. I can’t imagine what it must be like for people with trauma greater than mine, but this is not the point. I am here to talk about my trauma. Because it is time to take back what people took from me like chocolates, when truthfully, if he really cared for and respected me, he wouldn’t have ever fucking done that. There is no way to reconcile that in my mind. I have tried utter, truthful and surrendering forgiveness, but you know what that just didn’t work for me. So here is my story.

I met an old friend the other day, I didn’t expect him to be there, or ever see him again, although paradoxically I knew we would cross paths. This past month has been a month of giving for me, of building up projects like this one. I fucking stamped out the voices that were being stupid and managed to do the things I needed to do. I have had a precious time, I have met wondrous people. If you recognise yourself here, well done! I love you. I have made some true connections and touched others’ lives because I reached out in my truth, and so did hey. Spoke from the soul. It is something that I am proud of, my present life has taken a turn I really like. I am now again fighting for something that is outside of me, but in the process makes us laugh, connect, and feel at home. I am a fucking warrior. I did what I promised to myself, I fucking fought and got out of my hole of self pity, and I was happy for a while. But the golden light passes, as all will pass, and already, as a woman, I feel the end of the cycle coming, a time for darker thoughts needing to be processed. But also, this time was also powered by unsustainable energy, of escapism by excessively giving, and as I realised on the only day I was really sober, that parts of it were numbing. Some of you picked up on that, because after a while you see the cracks in my self, you see that something is wrong, does not quite align, you don’t know what it is, can’t put your finger on it, but something is very off. And that is when usually I ward you off or distract you with part of a persona I create. Frantically. No, I am not always OK. As many of us are.

A person of my family, a close friend of mine, grew to take me and what I am made me separate and lesser, a thing he could use. Anyway, starting off as a weird symbiosis of children it turned into an entitlement to the body of women, because I don’t know, like our sick culture of disgusting posh all boys boarding schools? Just saying. And because of his parents and the rest of the family gradually built him up to think of himself as the best. That can hurt and damage a person forever. What does all that pride give you, when you are a hollow empty narcissistic vessel by night? Just saying. Anyway, that is my trauma, or whatever, or was my thing, I can make it public because I want to, and because I like the idea of revenge, and because you do not overstep my boundaries. This piece of writing is a knife.

When I met you again, dear friend, you reminded me of this. And yes, the beautiful, and real parts of this project, are a part of it, but they are not everything. The need to reconnect with people of my life is because I have presented a frantic, scared, fractured persona a lot of the time. I have manipulated and quickly attached myself to a few people, a few best friends that would fill up my broken terrified heart. I have a string of best friends, relationships, that I become intensely entwined with to feel safe, out of pure need to survive. And then cut them off without the batting of an eyelid. That is fucking terrible. I don’t know how you could stand me for the time you did. I was a manipulative piece of shit, that could probably not respect your boundaries also. And if you took distance, that was very wise of you, I thank you for that, because the pieces of me that can still feel want you to be happy. I would cut off my friends as soon as they saw this. Next. It was all just survival. I would then hunt for my next prey and hope they would fill in this hole by using them in a weird symbiotic way as a part of me. The letter writing is also to not hide anymore, to get back in contact with you, to say sorry, but also, to truly talk to you and laugh about our past, to feel kindred spirits in this world that is tough. Because this state of frenzy has to stop. This fear has to stop. It is time I take back the knife, and stab back where it hurt the most. Enforced empathy. Making you hurt like I hurt even if you don’t want to. Now you will all know. Now the world will know. That I will not shut up. Now we attack back.

This girl fights. You seemed to have forgotten that.

Trauma. We build up this conversation together my dear friend. You who monologues a lot like men do, who forgets that I made this myself too, a part of you may feel good for having helped me, but this is also fucking self-generated. We talked about this together, how trauma is the underlying epidemic to us all. It is the sweeping waves of suicide that we seem to find hard to explain (Duh??). It is the never-ending cycle of creating men (and sometimes steel women) who are not warriors, but machines. Of honouring psychopaths, capable of disguising themselves as heroes, but who are actually machines built up from a world that has taken out a piece of their usual empathetic development. It is not usual male aggression. It is broken boys. Fracturing other peoples sense of self, as traumatising a population becomes the greatest weapon of war. Civilians and women, children, weaker men. Today, battling in Syria and elsewhere, we are not fighting a just war. Our machine men from our psychotic culture are traumatising women and children, sexually abusing other men (remember Abu Ghraib in Iraq? that seemed hard to explain for some reason). The greatest form of destruction is to destroy the minds of a population. Fighting terrorism is a weird Freudian cover up of a will of our population to manipulate and enjoy destroying another. It is the need to keep our women quiet and useable, to satisfy this machine mentality of soldiers off to feel good about killing things.

You and I were a microcosm.

You took a part of me, as some have taken a part of you, to fill in the hole that they start to take out of us, to be part of this culture. We inherit the past of our parents. It is the Ouroboros. The never-ending cycle, a snake eating its tail. Until someone in the chain decides to say fuck off and break from it herself. You also had a choice when we started to see it happen. But you just wanted your own satisfaction really. Psycho.

My escape is a necessity. It has now gotten to the point that it is more dangerous for me to stay silent than to reach out and take control.

This is me yelling. My art is me yelling. Our poetry is us yelling. This is me yelling about the very mantle of trauma that is stitched into the fabric of our society. It is so entrenched, as it has been in society, that it is barely utterable. Like a colour we cannot see, a collective amnesia. And it suddenly started spluttering out: Me too!

And me.

I am one in three women,

Lots of men told to kill their feelings.

Trauma comes in degrees, the refugee families and individuals I have met have amongst our laughter, our alchemy and dancing, talked about their trauma. I relate. It is not my trauma, nor my degree. But it is trauma. A category I relate to.

This is us taking back control. I do it for you but know that it is our turn to fight back. It is healthy to re-establish your boundaries of a world that took yours away. Create your knife.

So lets write, paint, sing, yell, make moments happen. Transform the world. Lets gain back control over narcissists that have fucked our world over. You are allowed to be the best you can. To brandish swards.

So this is my life’s work.

This is why I am doing this. And will continue to do things like this for all my future. And also, I am now going to have a fucking good time and enjoy life and not get caught up on this moment, or what ‘happened to me’, but it is important that it is out there, that it is not told to be kept silent. And if you every want to consider re-building your mind, or if you want redemption, this will be your life’s work too, or I will make it yours by force. Trust me, I am now the girl with the dragon tattoo, a dragon of my Mexican people that have been fucked over by white men like you (By the way, can you feel the power of Mexico and other countries starting to fight back? Being beautiful? Exciting right?).

So these are the letters. The start to break silences, to have stabbing conversations. No I am not tame. No my parents. My family. I will not do this nicely and silently. If you want to write a letter that stabs go ahead, if you want to thank all those who truly saw you and your truth go ahead. If you want to honour the world with your words and your beauty, go ahead. Lets cut to the real.

In a letter, you open the world. You can build and do other things you want from there. So lets start to stitch together connections of real discussions, or raw real open discussions, of the possibility of connecting networks between those who have seen trauma and who understand the pain of the world, and who alchemise it. We are the future.

And fuck those who tell you to be less real, to tone it down. They are cowards.

Dare,

Dare to connect.

We need truth more than ever.

We need reality more than ever.

We need beauty more than ever.

Fuck you Jack.

Eliza.

Right, now this is done, lets get back to life and cycling.

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