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solbach-colbrock · 6 months

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Balcony - Seth Borden x Reader

SUMMARY - Seth, your best friend and crush, learns about the state of your mental health when an investigation starts affecting you. His response isn't quite what you expected

WARNINGS - Ghost stuff, mentions of self-harm and suicide (reader is NOT okay), angst (fluffy ending)

WORDS - 6.6k

NOTES - first fic I’ve written in a while and it ended up very dialogue heavy. I also didn't expect it to be this long but here we are

~*~*~*~

Sometimes you weren’t sure why you trusted these boys so much. Sam had requested two things of you for this investigation: one, that you didn’t do any research beforehand so you’d learn the lore from the guide, and two, that you all arrive in the same car so you can have the drive up experience with everyone else. You had gotten into the habit of arriving to locations early to scope the place out before anyone else and doing research before investigations, and the boys started to get pouty about not sharing the experiences, so you complied. It had also been a while since you’d been on an investigation with Seth, so you were excited to see him again.

You had met Seth after the Sallie House investigation. The boys had immediately FaceTimed you after both the Sallie House and Villisca investigations (and every investigation thereafter that you weren’t involved in) to tell you what they had experienced, and he caught your attention quite quickly. The excitement in his voice and energy about his experiences drew you in somehow more than the other three did, despite Nate practically jumping around the room when he was talking about the 8-ball. You’d been friends with him ever since and loved teaming up with him whenever possible. You had even been on his channel a few times.

To say you two were close was something of an understatement. He had started calling you after his own investigations, and even showed up to your house all hyped about some evidence he caught on numerous occasions. The two of you had grown comfortable with one another very quickly. You had shared beds when locations didn’t have enough for everyone, you constantly teased one another, and you were more than a little physically affectionate with each other. Josh often teased you for being so affectionate, but you were comfortable.

The first time the teasing bothered you happened only a few months ago. Josh, along with Sam and Colby, had been making jokes about you and Seth being practically married. You were about to respond with a bad joke about finishing paperwork, but Seth replied first. The laugh that broke up his words when he said he could never be with someone like you hurt. The fact that he found the whole concept funny enough to laugh at shattered any shred of self-confidence you had left in you. He thought you were gross. You swallowed the pain and laughed along with him, but every interaction with him from then on made you feel guilty for bothering him so much.

Eventually, it got easier to act normal again, but the thought that maybe he was serious about what he said still lingered.

The majority of the hour-long drive to the location consisted of Sam and Colby quietly discussing their plans in the front seat, and you and Seth fighting over a bag of gummy worms in the back. Colby finally intervened when you managed to slap Seth in the shoulder with one.

“Let’s film the intro before these two start a war in the back seat. Everyone ready?” Colby cut in, taking what felt like the 10th right turn the whole drive. Everyone settled, and Sam hit record.

“What’s up guys, its Sam and Colby, and today we are bringing Seth and Y/N to the famous Haunted Miller House in Fredericktown, Missouri. We are currently… fifteen minutes away from the house. How’s everyone feeling?”

“I’m excited bro. I’ve been wanting to come here for like, almost two years,” Seth admitted as he leaned forward in his seat. You leaned in as well to be heard better by the camera.

“I’ve said this before, but the fact that it’s a house freaks me out just a bit. It screws with my sense of security when we do haunted houses, like, homes are where you’re supposed to feel safe and there’s fucking spirits here. No thank you.”

“I’ll keep you safe, don’t worry,” Seth replied. You raised your eyebrow at him.

“Oh what, Ghost Bait’s gonna protect me? No thanks, I’ll just smoke the sage.”

“Ouch, damn, alright. Fuck me, I guess.”

“Damn, roasting him back here. Colby how do you feel about this place?” Sam turned the camera forward to the driver's seat, missing Seth’s pout and your finger heart to apologize for the joke. It was all in good fun and both of you knew that. It was funny to play it up for the camera.

Two minutes away from the house, Sam pulled out the camera again. It felt like you were almost out in the middle of nowhere, even though town was less than half an hour down the road. The property sat on 15 acres of land, which was mostly forest save for the few acres that were cleared out for the house and yard. What was once farmland on the south side of the property had overgrown and been reclaimed by nature, though it was still obviously used for farming at some point. As soon as the house was in sight, everyone let out their excitement for the camera.

The house was beautiful, even in its decaying state. Nobody had dared to actually live there since the 1890s, and it sat abandoned until the 1970s, when it was taken over for paranormal research. Many investigators had come through the place, and unfortunately in the early days of it being open to the public, many frauds had come through. It had been closed again in 1994, and only reopened by approved booking only since 2014.

The house was three stories, in an almost Victorian style, with a white exterior and a deep green trim. Large windows covered a rounded section on the northeast corner of the house. Even with the peeling paint, it still held a certain elegance. Your jaw dropped at the sight.

“There’s a fucking wrap around porch are you shitting me?!” you exclaimed, admiring the architecture as Colby drove slowly closer.

“This place is sick, dude. The architecture is amazing,” Seth commented.

“Haunted or not, I’d kill to live in a house like this. Let’s just move in and pretend there’s no ghosts,” you joked. Something clicked in Sam and Colby’s minds the longer they looked at it.

“Doesn’t it feel a bit like the Winchester Mystery house? Just a bit?”

“I was just thinking that, yea. A little bit, like just the style sorta…”

As Sam and Colby continued talking to the camera, your eyes drifted up to a balcony on the third story, just barely visible from the front of the house. The railing matched the deep green trim of the house, and three large windows lined the wall behind it. You couldn’t figure out why it intrigued you so much. It was just a balcony, though you were sure the view over the north side of the property was amazing You hadn’t even noticed that the car had stopped until Colby opened the door to the back seat.

“You comin’? We can take a minute here if you’re too nervous.”

“No I’m good, just spacing out a bit. I may need to crack open a RedBull already.”

“Don’t drink it all just yet. We’ve got a long night ahead of us. Come on, help me grab the equipment and we’ll head inside.”

Sam broke the news that the guide was running late, but they had told him where they kept a hidden key, so the four of you let yourselves in and decided where to set up home base for the night. Sunset wasn’t for another hour, so none of the rooms on the first floor felt very spooky just yet. You decided the living room felt the best, and everyone got to work checking batteries and equipment.

“I’m gonna go wander around for a bit, see if I can find the bathrooms in this place,” you announced, having finished helping Sam sort out batteries and making sure your own camera was fully charged.

“Dpn’t fall in,” Seth joked as he messed with the settings on his camera. You flipped him off and wandered towards the staircase, shaking your head as the boys laughed behind you.

“Hey Y/N!” Sam called out.

“Yeah?”

“Guide should be here in about 20 minutes, make sure to get back down here by then!”

“I will!”

The house seemed fairly well preserved, though you assumed it had been at least a bit fixed up since the 90s. The winding staircase going up the entirety of the home seemed a bit too sturdy for its age. There was a large room on the second floor that looked to be a study or small library, with dust covered books lining the walls. There were two decent sized bedrooms on that floor as well, and two bathrooms, which you took a dutiful mental note of.

The third floor was fairly similar, but with three bedrooms, and instead of a study there was a room that you presumed was a sort of living room area. There were gorgeous antique couches and rugs, mostly free of dust. Curtains, strangely, only lined two large windows on the east side of the room The windows on the north side were very bare, as was the door next to it. The door leading outside to the balcony. You walked towards the door, using a fair amount of force to nudge it open. It swung outwards, and the light breeze cooled your face as you stepped out.

The view was beautiful, just as you had anticipated. You could smell the fresh air as it blew by you, feel the chill on your cheeks. You could almost imagine yourself laying in the large grass yard at night, listening to crickets and staring up at the stars. You told yourself you had to come back here once the sun went down, even for a five second glance at the cosmos. There was bound to be almost no light pollution, and you’d definitely need some pictures.

The wood of the railing felt rough against your fingers, almost bumpy as you pulled yourself closer to it. You hadn’t quite realized how high up you were until you looked down. You stretched up to your toes to get a better feel for the height and then…something changed. Something felt different the moment you looked as far down as you could manage. Your hands gripped the railing, but somehow you felt oddly at peace. You couldn’t move your gaze from its downward position, but you didn’t want to anyways. You let your eyes unfocus, and you took a deep breath. Something about this view felt so… final. Your ears were ringing.

Normally you steered clear of heights, too afraid of your own thoughts and impulses to allow yourself near them. In this moment, it wasn’t the same. You welcomed it, whether by choice or not, you welcomed the feelings that were coming to the surface. You focused on the view. The changing view. It was changing…

A hand on your shoulder snapped you from your stupor, your head whipping in the direction of the sensation. Seth looked at you, wide eyed and confused. Your ears stopped ringing.

“Are you good? I’ve been calling your name for a solid minute here. Did you see something?” You blinked, risking a glance back out over the trees.

“Uh, no, no. It’s just really pretty out here. Admittedly I did space out a bit, but I’ve just been looking,” you said, still unsure of what just happened.

“I thought you were afraid of heights, why the hell were you looking down like that?”

“I don’t know, just… just looking around, honestly.”

“Well the guide got here ten minutes ago, I’ve been looking for you. Let’s head downstairs and get you an energy drink on the way.”

“Yea… you know what, I’ll meet you down there. I just want to get some pictures really quickly.”

“You left your camera downstairs. Are you positive you’re okay? You seem a bit out of it.”

“I’m fine Seth. I just want another minute.”

“Okay no, we’re going. You’re acting weird and I don’t want this to be some ‘call of the void’ shit. Let’s go.” His hand once again made its way to your arm, but you resisted his pull. You didn’t mean to, you fully intended to listen and go with him, but your body decided otherwise. “Y/N, you’re starting to freak me out.” Another arm planted itself around your waist, and you were brought inside. The moment you passed through the doorway, the pull you were feeling was gone. “You wanna tell me what the fuck that was about?”

“I don’t- I think I’m just nervous to be in here. You know how I am about houses.”

“We’re safe, we’re gonna sage as soon as the guide leaves. If anything goes sideways, we’ll leave, alright? Let’s get downstairs. They’re waiting for us.”

~*~*~*~

Marsha had a very captivating way of telling stories. You had heard plenty of guides tell their stories about their paranormal experiences and the lore of the locations, but she had done a good job of keeping your interest and making the stories seem just as scary as they actually were.

“Wait, so Edwin, the father, cheated of Gwendolyn with six different women, and then when she found out, she shot him in the cellar, went upstairs, locked all four kids in one of the bedrooms, set them on fire, and then killed herself?” Colby attempted to recap the story that she had just told. He was in a chair next to her, Sam holding the camera standing across from Colby. You and Seth were spread on on a couch across from her, listening intently. Your legs were halfway across the couch, knees bent slightly so as not to jab Seth in the leg with your boot. He leaned forward as Colby spoke, elbows meeting his knees and hands coming up to cover his mouth in shock.

“Yea, you’ve got it just about right there,” Marsha replied nodding. Sam chimed in with his own question from behind the camera.

“So, what would you say are the most active areas of the house?”

“Most people that come through here say that the cellar, the dining room, the room where the kids died, and the balcony up on the top floor are the most active. You get a lot of stuff happening there. Some people hear stuff, some even smell stuff, and your equipment should be pretty responsive in those areas as well.”

“What’s significant about the dining room and the balcony?” Seth asked.

“Well people have claimed to hear a number of things in the dining room, whether its parties or Edwin and Gwendolyn arguing and throwing things at each other. We’ve even come in to see some of the dinnerware smashed when nobody had been inside for three days. The balcony is where Gwendolyn jumped off and killed herself. Y’all should be careful up there.”

“Hold on, she jumped? I read that she shot herself or drank poison or something. I didn’t see anything about her jumping to her death.”

“People used to think it was something else because of a fake medium that came through here in the 70s or 80s, but we’ve learned the truth since. By the way, if any of you struggle with depression, if you self-harm or think about suicide at all, I'd advise you don’t set foot on that balcony. It affects people that have that kind of thing bad enough.”

“How does it affect people?” You finally speak up, trying your best to keep your voice and expression one of genuine curiosity. You didn’t want the dread to show. You hoped she would say anything but what she was about to say.

“Well nobody’s thrown themselves off or anything, but it definitely picks up on those feelings and seems to amplify them. We’ve had a few guests and mediums tell us that they felt what Gwendolyn probably felt before she jumped. They said they felt rooted to the spot staring off that balcony, like they couldn’t move. They didn’t say they were scared when it happened, but they felt like they needed to be there, and they thought about jumping even though they couldn’t move. It’s only ever been people that hurt themselves or are already thinking about suicide, as far as we’re aware. So now we warn everyone about that. No depressed people on the balcony, we don’t need any more ghosts,” she explained, adding a small laugh to her final sentence.

You looked at the camera, feigning a surprised face. You could feel Seth’s eyes on you, but you couldn’t look at him. Your cheeks felt hotter than they had a moment before. He had connected dots that you had hoped he would never connect, and now you couldn’t look at your best friend. You all thanked her, and you tried to be casual about your goodbyes. The front door clicked shut behind her. Sam and Colby went to gather equipment for the first investigation, leaving you and Seth alone in the living room.

“Tell me what happened on the balcony wasn’t what she was just talking about.” There was a faint shake in his voice, as if he was scared of what you might say. He stood behind the couch now, a few feet from where you were still seated, eyes boring a hole into the back of your neck. You tried to think of a quick lie.

“It wasn’t. I genuinely went up there to get pictures,”. You claimed. You shifted sideways on the couch. You were still too nervous to look at him directly, but you wanted to acknowledge him.

“Without your camera? With the heights? Y/N, you’ve always asked me to get the pictures that are anywhere near any sort of drop, even with guardrails and shit. You understand why I don’t believe you, right?”

“I am begging you to believe me, Seth. When have I ever shown signs of being depressed? I’m fine!”

You weren’t fine, and up until this moment Seth believed you every time those words left your mouth. You had developed quite the skill for hiding your issues, even from the people closest to you. Your mental health had been getting worse and worse, finally devolving into its current tragic state only a few months ago. You were so scared at first that they would spot the wounds on your wrists and hips immediately, but you had no such fear anymore. You had been hiding too well to worry up until now.

You never wanted him to know, never wanted any of them to know. You didn’t want to bother them with this when they had their own lives to live and personal stuff to deal with. You didn’t want to hear the anger in their voices if they ever found out, didn’t want them to think you were weak or pathetic, but you couldn’t hide it anymore. Not from him.

“Please just tell me the truth. You don’t have to tell me how bad it is, but you need to tell me if it is bad, because not only am I incredibly scared that you haven’t told anyone about this, but this is also about your safety right now. If you’re- fuck, Y/N/N, if you're hurting yourself or thinking about killing yourself, we can’t go anywhere near the third floor. I might just take you home because I don’t want to risk this. Please just tell me nothing's wrong because I don’t want to believe what I’m hearing.” His voice was clearly cracking now, and you felt a pain in your chest every time you heard it.

As you finally turned to look at him, your hear shattered. Seth didn’t cry often, but the tear tracks lining both his cheeks were so obvious. More tears spilled from his eyes as you looked at him, the look in his eyes a silent plea for you to convince him that he doesn’t have to worry about you. You felt so guilty seeing him like this.

“Whoa, what’s wrong? Seth, what happened?” Sam’s voice came from behind you. You sighed and shook your head at Seth, whose eyes still hadn’t looked away from you. It was bad enough he knew; you didn’t want to drag anyone else into this. A beat of silence passed before he spoke.

“Y/N can’t go near the balcony,” Seth said simply, allowing the others to figure out what he meant.

“Actually? Like Y/N… fuck, really?”

You closed your eyes in defeat, resting your head in your hands. The couch cushion dipped next to you as a hand was gently placed on your shoulder. Your knees drew closer to your chest. You hoped that, somehow, if you curled up and closed your eyes, this would just go away.

“Look, we’re not gonna make you do anything like that, especially if it’ll affect you negatively. Even if I’m assuming wrong here, which frankly I hope I am, and it’s just the heights that are freaking you out-“

“It’s not the fucking heights, Colby. It’s not- they were on that fucking balcony earlier before the guide showed up, staring at the fucking ground. I had to physically drag them inside because they wouldn’t come in when I asked. It only fucking affects people who- God damn it. It’s already affected them and I want to get them the fuck out of this house,” Seth interjected. He was pacing now, picking at the sleeves of his flannel. You had never seen him this freaked out by anything. Colby’s hand moved from your shoulder to your back. You still didn’t want to look anyone in the eye, opting to peek through the gap between your knees to look around the room.

“I-… I don’t know how long you’ve been feeling like this, and I do think we should talk about it at some point because trust me, its really important to talk to people about this stuff, but I kinda agree with Seth that you should probably sit this one out.” You whipped your head up and jumped from the couch, moving yourself across the room from everyone.

“No, for god's sake I’m a grown adult. I can make these decisions for myself. Put me on a leash if it’ll make you feel safer but I’m not leaving. I’ve been wanting to come here for months. Can we talk about this after we investigate, please? I’m not missing out on an investigation because you guys are overprotective. I’ll be fine.”

The silence that followed your words was tense. Sam and Colby looked back and forth between everyone, but you and Seth just stared directly at each other. The gears were turning in both of your heads, deciding what to do or say from here.

“The millisecond you feel like you want to go up there you tell someone. Immediately. You can’t go anywhere alone, no solos. I’m not even gonna give you the luxury of pissing by yourself while we’re here. Stick with us at all times, hold my hand, whatever you need to do to stay away from that balcony. I will handcuff us together, I swear to God. I hate this but if you stay in my sight I’ll deal,” Seth rambled, stepping closer to you.

You knew damn well that he would absolutely physically attach himself to you if he thought it was necessary. You also knew that there was no escaping the inevitable conversation that you really didn’t want to have. The investigation gave you time to prepare, or more favorably, give them a chance to forget that you’re not okay. As much as you wanted to go back to the balcony, you knew that realistically, they wouldn’t let you, which was probably for the best. Your arms crossed themselves over your chest.

“Fine, fine. As long as I get to stay. Where’s our first stop here?”

~*~*~*~

True to his word, Seth did not leave your side the entire night. Even when he went under for an Estes session, he kept a hand on your knee, and kept a tight grip on your ankle when you went under later in the night. The higher in the house you got, the more you could feel the pull. Your name had come up a few times during the night, usually followed by ‘follow’ or ‘up’, which didn’t sit well with any of the boys. If the cameras weren’t such a constant presence, he would’ve had a firm grip on your waist, but instead he opted for the bottom of your shirt and your belt loops so the cameras wouldn’t pick up so much of the constant touch. You wanted to be annoyed, but you couldn’t exactly complain about having him so close for hours at a time.

The only place left was the balcony. The boys seem in consensus that Sam and Colby would investigate out there, and you and Seth would take one last crack at the dining room. You, however, had another idea.

“Can you give me the courtesy of hearing me out on an idea real quick? I know none of you like it, but I think we all know the best evidence we could get on that balcony is if I’m out there. It would- don’t look at me like that, I’m right. I’m not gonna jump or anything. Look, I was feeling something when I was out there earlier, I was seeing things, but Seth pulled me back before I could figure out what it was. I know my limits, just trust me,” you pleaded.

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be out there. Even if there wasn’t a risk to your safety, this could trigger you or something. I just don’t think that’s worth the risk,” Colby argued. You looked to Sam for help, but you knew he agreed with Colby. “Besides, if people know the lore and then see you being affected by this, they’re gonna do the math. I mean, is that really something you want fans to know?”

“Fuck the fans and frankly, fuck the cameras. You know I rarely feel stuff like this during investigations. This is real, man. I was drawn to it before I even knew what happened out there. I wasn’t even trying to learn anything, I had zero intentions besides exploring the house, and it was that strong? We can't just ignore that. This will be good evidence and you know it, even if it’s just for ourselves.”

“I fucking hate this,” Seth mumbled, pulling you closer to him. “I’ll let you out there on two conditions. One, that I hold onto you the entire goddamn time we’re out there, and two, we have this conversation right after we finish, out in the yard. As much as I want to do it the second the cameras are off, I don’t want anything in this house feeding off of that energy.”

“You’ve been holding me this entire time, I wouldn’t expect any less right now. Yard would be smart… I just don’t want to talk about it at all. I’d rather pretend everything’s normal but you’re not gonna let that slide.”

“Well it isn’t normal, and we’re gonna address it. Now, do you want me to hold your hand or what? What’s the plan out there?”

“Estes? I can go under and hold the railing. I feel like that would be at least a decent trigger, give us some good results. If nothing else, I can just stand there for a bit and tell you what happens. It honestly felt like scrying just without the mirrors,” you suggested.

“This is insane, I can’t believe you want to do this,” Sam said. He handed you the blindfold.

“You spent the night in the conjuring basement Sam, you can’t say shit.”

“Fair.”

~*~*~*~

“Okay guys, we are about to do something… unusual for our last investigation tonight. This balcony is said to have a weird energy about it, and Y/N thinks they can tap into it. Now, even though our guide said there was no real safety issue up here, we’re still gonna be as careful as possible, so Seth is gonna hold onto Y/N while they go under for one final Estes session,” Sam explained to the camera. He pointed it towards you, already pressed up to the railing with Seth’s arms firmly around you. You slipped the blindfold and headphones over your ears, and focused on the static. The boys started with their questions.

“Gwendolyn, are you here with us?”

“Me. Hello.”

“Hi Gwendolyn. We just want to ask you a few questions. We mean you no harm, we just want to communicate and tell people your story. Can you tell us how you died?”

“Husband.”

“Husband… there is that theory that Edwin actually killed her and that he was the one that set the fires, and then killed himself in the cellar out of grief. Do you think-“

“No. No.”

“No, so you did kill yourself?”

“That’s correct.”

“Gwendolyn, why do you draw people to this spot? Do you want them to know how you felt when you died?”

“Feeling. It hurts. Can’t understand.”

“We’re so sorry that you had to go through that. You didn’t deserve for your husband to treat you like that.”

“Why did you kill your children, Gwendolyn?”

“Don’t talk about-… fuck you.”

“Damn, she does not want to talk about that.”

“Leave me alone. I’m going.”

“Where are you going?”

“Down. Down.”

“We want to ask you a few more questions, is that okay?”

“Deserve this. Nobody loves-… not worth anything.”

“That’s not true. You didn’t deserve wha happened to you. We’re so sorry you didn’t have a happier life.”

“Taking them with me.”

“Taking your kids with you?”

“Let go. Off. Borden. Go away.”

“Oh fuck no, We’re ending this.”

“Y/N. With me. Jump.”

Seth yanked you back from the railing as Colby pulled the headphones and spirit box away from you. You were drained all of the sudden, feeling a bit shaky and dizzy. Normally you needed to be under much longer for it to get to you, but this session really took it out of you, physically and emotionally. You didn’t even know what you had been talking about but you didn’t feel fantastic. He pulled the blindfold off your face when you didn’t move to take it off.

“That was fucked up. We’re never doing anything like that again.”

“What was the conversation? Did it make sense?”

“We’ll talk about it downstairs. I don’t want us to be up here anymore, but it made perfect sense. That was terrifying.”

~*~*~*~

The grass was soft, having benefitted from the recent week of rainfall. The stars littered the sky above you, giving you something to focus on other than the heavy silence between you and Seth. Sam and Colby were packing up the last of the equipment in the house, giving the two of you space to talk.

“It was like… the feelings weren’t mine. I fully felt them but it wasn’t coming from me? It’s hard to explain. It was intense.”

“We need to talk about your feelings. You keep dodging the issue and talking about Estes. You agreed we would talk.” You crossed your arms over your chest in an attempt to tamp down the nerves buzzing behind your rib cage.

“I know, I know. Fuck, I never wanted anyone to know. I don’t even know how to talk about it. I don’t want to make this your problem.”

“You’re not making it my problem, it isn’t a problem in the first place. It is, however, my business when the people I love are hurting and I have the ability to do something about it. Just… don’t worry about phrasing it correctly, just say whatever comes to mind and we’ll make sense of it together. How long have you felt like this? How bad is it?”

“Since I was twelve, in one form or another. It got worse as I got older, and this is the worst its ever been. I uh… I do cut and I think about suicide a lot. It’s passive though, I don’t have a plan or anything. I just… I’ve tried so many things. Therapy has never helped, my medication does fuck all, all my coping mechanisms stop being effective eventually. It just feels so helpless, like I’m never gonna get better, so why would I put my energy into trying? Every therapist I’ve had has told me that it’s basically managing my symptoms and keeping afloat at this point anyways and I don’t want to fucking- I don’t want to spend the rest of my life keeping afloat. It’s fucking miserable.”

“Have you ever talked to anyone besides a therapist?”

“No, I hate bothering people with this shit. I feel like I’m needy enough without it.”

“You’re not needy, and this doesn’t classify as bothering anyone. It’s using your support system. We’re your friends. We love you. We’re here for you, so let us be here for you.”

“You shouldn’t have to fucking babysit someone that you think is pathetic! You deserve better than putting up with my bullshit! Fuck, I should’ve never come here! This conversation is over until you can get it through your thick fucking skull-“

“Whoa, hey! Y/N, stop!” Seth grabbed your shoulders, stopping your attempt to walk away from him. “What the fuck are you talking about? I never said you were pathetic, and you aren’t. Is this just the depression talking or has someone actually made you feel like you’re pathetic for feeling like this because I swear to fucking god-“

“Do you actually love me? Do you enjoy being friends with me or are you just tolerating me because I work with Sam and Colby? Please just fucking be honest with me. I’d rather have my feelings hurt now than have you put up with me out of obligation. I know I’m not worth the attention or energy most of the time. I know I’m annoying and add nothing to investigations. I add nothing to anyone’s lives and I’m just sort of here, but I just need someone to fucking say it to my face because I’ll happily leave if it’ll make your lives easier.”

You were almost shaking now, hot tears spilling down both of your faces. The heartbroken look on his face sent a pain shooting through your chest. You had made him feel like this and you hated yourself all the more for it.

“I have never, ever felt that way about you. You have no idea the amount of times I turn to say something to you during investigations and get sad when you’re not there. You’re the first person I run to when I have something cool to say. I choose to use my attention and energy on you because I do love you. I wouldn’t crave your presence all the damn time if I didn’t love the fuck out of you. You are not pathetic. You are my favorite person on this god damn planet and I’d give my left leg if it meant you would stop hurting yourself.”

“…Seth?”

“Yeah?”

“You… can you promise me that nothing I do bothers you? I just feel like sometimes I ask for too much attention or I’m too touchy or something. The fans are gonna be all weird and shippy after this video comes out and if you’d rather they didn’t see that sort of thing it doesn’t have to go in the video. We can even stop all touches altogether if you’re uncomfortable with them thinking-“

“I’d rather get possessed than not be able to show you affection anymore. I don’t care what the fans think. They can mind their own damn business. We’ve always been touchy.”

“So… the fact that they’re gonna think we’re dating doesn’t bother you?” His hand drifted up from your shoulder to your cheek, somehow colder than the air around you. You leaned into the touch gratefully.

“Not the worst idea they could have. Actually I kinda don’t mind the thought of it. Our friends are always teasing us for being a married couple. I don’t see how us dating would be much different than things are now. We’re almost there, we just haven’t managed to kiss yet,” he laughed. You we’re hoping, with every fiber of your being, that his laugh was more nervous than joking. You gently placed your hands on his chest and pulled lightly at the edges of his flannel.

“We haven’t kissed because you’d probably regret it,” you mumbled. The buttons on his shirt suddenly became very interesting to you.

“Why the fuck would I regret it?”

“I’m not exactly worth bragging about. Besides, now that you know that I’m all kinds of fu-“

His lips were warm on yours. The taste of tears lingered in the corners of your mouths. Your grip on his shirt tightened in a desperate attempt to pull him closer. You almost wanted to push him away for his own sake, but the hand that gripped your waist and pulled you flush against him erased that thought entirely. As soft and cautious as it started, the years of both of you wanting exactly this came rushing forth and pushed you both into desperation for one another. The kiss got deeper, fingers pressed harder and wandered further, any care for breathing went out the window. You were the first to pull away, dizzy and overwhelmed.

“There’s no shot in hell I’ll ever regret that,” Seth breathed, smile creeping across his lips as he looked at your breathless state. The butterflies in your stomach hit full force when his thumb brushed across your kiss bruised lips.

“You just… would it be weird to admit I’ve wanted to do that for a while?” You laughed. He laughed with you, taking your hand in his.

“So have I. You’re extra stuck with me now because I definitely want to do that a lot more.” He pressed his lips softly to your palm, right above your wrist. “And your issues aren’t gonna scare me away. We’re in this together whether you like it or not. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Tears welled in your eyes once again. The small gesture made your heart flutter, even more so when he kissed your wrist again, holding it longer this time.

“It’s bad, Seth. It’s really bad and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Then I’ll make it my first official duty as your boyfriend to at least distract you from it, maybe with more kissing.” You laughed at that, pawing the tears from your eyes. He wiped at hem as well, catching the stray ones that you missed. You pulled him closer to you, hugging him as tight as your arms would allow.

“You guys good out here?” Colby’s voice carried over from the front of the house. He and Sam were lugging bags of equipment, finally ready to leave the location. Seth turned towards them with his arms still firmly around you.

“Yea we’re chilin’. We fuckin’ kissed, bro!” He shouted. You laughed and buried your face in his chest, smacking him lightly.

“Fucking finally! Ready to head out then?”

“Totally, we’ll be right there!”

Two fingers pushed your chin up so your eyes met his. He placed a kiss on your forehead, and another quick one on your lips. You wanted it to continue but you knew you had a long drive ahead of you, so you took his hand and walked with him to the car.

“Before we head out, do you want to talk about the self-harm because I’m still worried,” Sam asked. He leaned against the driver’s side door, keys dangling from his hand. Seth spoke before you could figure out what to say.

“I think they’ll be okay. We’re gonna work on it together, right?”

“Yea… yea we are. Together.”

#Seth Borden x reader #tw suicide #suicide tw #tw self-harm #self harm tw #sam and Colby x reader #this was kinda self indulgent not even gonna lie #Seth Borden

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newspecies · 1 year

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HI this is my thousand word ramble about Rocky and his relationship with other characters and my thoughts in general. I'm normal about Lackadaisy I promise.

Calvin

Calvin and Rocky are cousins that grew up together, with Rocky being 5 years older. The mini comics all make it seem like he spent most of his time there and later he says “it was home more than home was.” (Lackadaisy Breakdown). The cousins wrote to each other while Rocky was traveling around and Calvin kept them all inside a box instead of throwing them away. Aunt Nina tells Rocky "[Calvin]'s the only one in all o’ creation who'd follow you" (Lackadaisy Somersault) so they're clearly extremely close. Calvin lies to his mother several times to keep Rocky out of trouble, even when it's about something illegal. Despite his moral compass and the fact that he almost went into law enforcement, he's working with Lackadaisy and regularly shooting at people presumably just because Rocky wants him to (and because Ivy's there... but in the beginning it was for Rocky). They strike me as having more of a sibling relationship than a cousin one due to growing up so close.

Aunt Nina

Nina does not have a very high opinion of Rocky and she makes this very clear. She trusts him not to get Calvin into too much trouble but she doesn't let him stick around when he stops by. He’s under no illusions that he’s welcome at her house (Lackadaisy Somersault) and he tells Ivy that “[his face]’s only abided in small doses” at Nina’s house. He starts telling Ivy there was a small family tragedy and "it had an author... and with already ink-stained hands, i signed my name on it" which means that something bad happened and he either was to blame or took the blame and that is the reason he left Missouri, "so time could dull my fresh reminder face." (Lackadaisy Breakdown). My guess is that this family tragedy had something to do with his mother because his father was alive at least a little bit after he left because he was sending letters and stopped (Lackadaisy Correspondence) his mother is only mentioned once, in Lackadaisy Breakdown, described as “chasing Red Death” Red Death is not a real sickness and its instead from Edgar Allen Poe’s The Masque of the Red Death. This could mean that his mother had some sort of bloody sickness. My guess is tuberculosis. It was one of the biggest causes of death in the early 1900’s and one of its most well known symptoms is coughing up blood. Sorry this is supposed to be about Nina and I kind of went off the rails there. Anyway I don’t think Nina hates Rocky at all; she still does his laundry and lets him visit and lets him drag Calvin around. But she doesn’t trust him and makes sure he knows that.

Mitzi

Some people seem to think Rocky has a crush on Mitzi, and him threatening Wick certainly gives the impression but I heavily disagree and I think he sees her more as a mother figure. He clearly looks up to her and seeks her approval constantly; he goes out while extremely injured and hiding that injury from her (Lackadaisy Deliria) presumably because he realizes that the pig farmers' attack on Lackadaisy was his fault and he really wants to fix it. His behavior towards Wick strikes me more as a child really not wanting a step parent. As the audience, I know that Wick is basically incapable of evil (he has killed once and it was a duck and it still haunts him) and Mitzi is the one taking advantage of their relationship, but from Rocky's perspective Mitzi is just an innocent widow looking for companionship and Wick is a weird rich sleazeball. I honestly don't think Rocky is aware of Mitzi's own sleaziness, and if he is he’s ignoring it to the best of his ability. but Mitzi likes having Rocky around. Every time she's upset over something and Rocky starts joking around she immediately starts smiling more (Lackadaisy Proposition, Lackadaisy Haggersnash). She’s undeniably fond of him, despite his many shenanigans.

Mordecai

Okay this one is a little bit more out there. “But Rotten!” You may argue, “Rocky doesn’t actually know Mordecai! They only interact like once outside the mini comics!” Yes dear reader but consider this: they have so many parallels. They are opposites on the surface; Rocky is silly, Mordecai is serious. But looking closer they have a few things in common. Mainly: TRAINS!!!!!!!!! They both have recurring train motifs and it makes me insane. For Mordecai he met Atlas on a train (Lackadaisy Thaumaturgy), and for Rocky he has a drawing of one on one of the letters he sent to Calvin (Lackadaisy Correspondence) and he said his father worked on the railroad (Lackadaisy Breakdown). In relation to the trains, they both left home at a young age and wrote letters home. They also both seem to have a habit of gaining enemies; when Atlas met Mordecai he was running from people (Lackadaisy Bookkeeper) and Rocky’s… everything makes making enemies extremely easy for him. These two have PARALLELS and I need everyone to know!!!!!

Rocky

This last section is about Rocky himself! First off, to state the obvious: Rocky is extremely impulsive, he doesn’t seem to think about the consequences of his actions whatsoever and it gets him into all sorts of trouble all the time. He’s not oblivious though; in Lackadaisy Posterity he immediately jumps to the conclusion that he ruined something, he just didn’t remember it. Rocky puts on a show of being confident and sure of himself but the moment his walls are torn down in the Posterity and Breakdown pages he’s calling himself a horrible person. He is extremely aware of how other people feel about him; even though his exclamation of “they tolerate me” in Lackadaisy Palaver is framed as a joke, it feels pretty real. A lot of people don’t like Rocky and he knows this. I don’t remember where I was going with this. Just know that I’m obsessed with Rocky and I’m thinking about him always.

In conclusion

#rot.txt #lackadaisy #rocky rickaby #i probably made an extremely embarrassing spelling or grammar mistake somewhere in here. ignore it please?#im so glad im done with this i kept getting distracted and working on this instead of school work #rip my essay for ap lang you kind of suck </3 #aaaanyway. i hope this is slightly comprehensible. im normal about fictional cats i promise. come closer

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quicksilversquared · 2 months

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pretty sure the Walgreens site is haunted or something, auto-refill of my prescriptions keeps getting turned on (I hadn't been turning it on, because I was trying to see if I could time it so that I wouldn't be refilling things a week apart and having to do a zillion trips or something) and with the location set as neither my home Walgreens (near my parents' house) or the one that I've been using since August (since I'm away at grad school), but rather the place that I went to once last summer for a mid-field season refill. The site is insisting that that one (in Missouri, which is decidedly not where I am now) is the last one I refilled at, despite the fact that. Uh. No, I've definitely been using the local one, the fuck kind of drugs is this site on?

#now I have to wait for the MO order to cancel before I can re-place it at the local walgreens #massively annoying when I can't cross things off of my to-do list because of stuff outside of my control #like Walgreens deciding to go haywire

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diejager · 1 year

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Run, Rabbit Run!

Ghostface x gn!reader

cw: dark themes, blood and gore, murder spree, attempted murder, serial killer, stalking, break in, fantasising about murder, torture. Tell me if I missed any warnings.

(A/N) : should I make a pt2? Or a separate story from this timeline?

Wc: 1946

Run, rabbit run!

His sing-song voice remained in your mind, glued to your memory like a ghost cursed to haunt its grave until it received salvation. It terrorized you wherever you went, from your small town in Utah, a quaint and lovely place, somewhat boring at times but everyone knew everyone. Family friends and neighbors alike were friends, left their doors unlocked whenever one of the other's kids wanted to come by, a little place filled with thrusting people; to Pennsylvania. Until he struck, like his moniker: a ghost, stalking the night for his victims and striking whenever he saw fit.

First, the old, cat lady's son, an annoying jock but friendly nonetheless; then an uncle's mother, her old, rickety bones falling prey to the ripper's stabs; the third and fourth were friends, childhood friends having grown up as neighbors, their throat viscously slashed and painting their carpet in deep crimson and dried maroon; the last one, failing almost twice, was you, boring and quiet little (Name) from the neighborhood. A small town in Utah, turned upside down by a man's hunger for blood, deep-seated gluttony for pain, and morbid pleasure.

You survived his attack and clung to life until the police arrived, ambulance in tow, spooking him and making him flee. You watched him with dazed eyes as he left through the backdoor, open as you followed his back disappear under the cloak of darkness. Ghostface jumped at the mere sound of police sirens nearing your house, leaving you bleeding and dying on your wooden floor. It didn't feel the same afterward, the house didn't feel as safe as it was, prints left behind by the killer: wood planks soaking up your blood and turning it into a dreary shade of muted red, knife marks marring the flat surface and the destruction of your household objects.

The paranoia that he'd come back made you skip town, you were branded the only surviving victim of the Ghostface after you were discharged added to the fear. You packed up and left for Colorado, another small townhouse near downtown. More traffic and risks for the killer if he ever decided to follow you.

He seethed at your survival, yet the thrill from being found traced back to the place he first started made his blood pump. A mistake had been made, one that he would make sure that it'd never happen a second time. He had you, the skittish and calm kid that lived on his road, on the floor and grasping to the last string of life - he was so close to fulfilling his fantasy. He dreamt of staining his hands with your warm blood - not his gloves, he wanted to feel your blood drip from his flesh - cradling you after he stabbed you, feeling the heat leave your body as you took your last breath. His little obsession over you turned deadly, and surviving only furthered it, it urged him to follow you through the states, changed name (Jed Olsen, a curious alias he chose for the face he wore when he started his work as a freelancer, jumping from state to state with his golden boy charisma and optimistic manners that swooned his employer. Playing the character of Jed Olsen as he watched you with dyed hair and glasses, sweet smile, and dimpled cheeks, he crooned at the thought of having you.) and enacted the stories he wrote, brought them to life only to write about it for the news.

Half a dozen kills per state, the numbers varied depending on your nervousness, you packed up and drove east. 7 Ghostface attacks in Kansas, another small town that you decided to settle with for the moment; 4 deaths from stabbing in Missouri, you kept to your standard of small towns, preferring close-knit places; 3 stabbings and 2 deaths by choking on their blood in Illinois, he could see you panic from his car, a regular and unnoticeable jeep that didn't stand out; 6 and 3 kill in Indiana and Ohio respectively, all brutally stabbed, left to bleed like you were; 3 in Pennsylvania, with more following the last ones if you decided to stop running.

Fortunately, he loved the chase;run, rabbit run!

You moved so often that you never had the luxury of building a lasting relationship, spending the past years jumping states to escape the ripper that stalked you in your living and your dreams - nightmares. The one constant you had were small-town generosity, receiving welcoming stares from others. For Danny, good old Danny, the blood painting his clothes and you were the continuous aspects of his life. He tasted your fear, the tangible terror you exhumed after the first kill in the place you thought you'd feel safe. He remembers the places his knife kissed you, the scars glinting under the moon when he stared at your sleeping form through the window. He wanted to climb through the window, hear your gasps for air as he plunged his knife into your supple skin, see red bubble from your wounds and roll down your sides. To stain the satin drapes on your bed with blood and fill the house with your muffled screams; to perform the last dance with you before he carved you up. An honest man's dream.

This time, this time was the right one! He knew it- felt it in his bones. Pennsylvania would be your deathbed. You'd be the sixth victim from the Chronicle of Roseville's murders, the one that first slipped away between his fingers. The beautiful town of Roseville, a lost, little nowhere-important-place-in-Keystone-State, reminded him of your shared town in Utah. Nothing seemed out of order or too different and everyone got along, too well sometimes, he hated it (there were some exceptions like that asshole in the Gazette's building who used to write for the front pages until Jed came along, giving the asshole the crumbs for side columns.).

He decided to meet you this time, he played it as a coincidence, bumping into you and helping you up, hoping you'd recognize him from the papers. He knew you followed the news, it helped you track whenever you had to move; so you knew him, complimented his works even. You sat down and talked, more so him than you, your skittish nature increased by his perpetual stalking. You nodded and shared words, he internally keened when you mumbled how he brought his words to life and made gruesome stories turn into magic, something people could read and become fascinated by. It's no wonder you keep staying on front pages, he remembered you saying that, and he felt giddy about having his work appraised by you. You had good taste.

You bumped into him a few times following that day, once or twice every day, sharing greetings until you worked up the courage to ask him to meet you during a Sunday at the cafe down from the Gazette; to get coffee and talk, you stressed as if trying to convince yourself that the warm feeling in your chest was normal, that you weren't catching anything for the cute journalist that you'd been seeing a lot for the past month. It was slow, but you'd end up in his grasp either way, deciding to finally meet you as Jed Olsen and not Danny Johnson was the right step.

He loved the chase, but he wanted to finish the job. Whoever it was, did a shit job of finishing them- oh wait, that was me-.

Throughout your relationship of 3 months and counting, Danny found the time to kill 2 others with passionate caresses of his knife, imagining you were in their place whenever his urges got too strong. He wanted to draw out the sensation you gave, wanting to feel it a bit longer before it stopped completely; he wasn't a masochist, he was a sadist through and through, but he wanted to revel in it a while longer, years of work coming into fruition. He got to hold you, comfort you as Jed for something he - Danny - did in cold blood, premeditated murder with the signs of a passion-inducing kill. He acted as the caring boyfriend Jed was and prepared for his final act, scene finished and tape saved, he wrote his last piece with the tape.

You would die that night.

He left his jeep and climbed through the window in your kitchen with his tactical knife hidden in his coat. You were asleep, all lights closed and entries locked - not that it'd stop him from coming in - it was vacant from any noise, there weren't any breathing, sighs, snores, or whimpers from your nightmares. It was too quiet, something was wrong. Weapon brandished, he made his way upstairs, making sure to skip over the creaking panels from the times he came over and stalked straight to your room. The door was open, the bed empty, and the closet door was thrown open with force, Danny's eyes scanned the room, yet you weren't anywhere. He scoured the house, and he still couldn't find you. It hadn't made any sense, your car was parked in the front, keys, and necessities were still at home. Everything you'd need to survive was left here and you, gone, missing, vanished in the wind.

"Fuck-"

He delayed it for far too long and missed his chance. Back at the motel, he stared at his masterpiece of a wallpaper, pictures, and acts placed in order from Utah to Pennsylvania with yours in the center, the sole act stuck to the wall without a picture to admire. The stories he brought to life, the plays he prepared, out of everyone, yours was the one he anticipated the most. The last piece was a grand play before he disappeared when everything started pointing towards him.

His blood boiled, rage filled his mind, and the desperation to find you, straddle and stab you, strangling the life out of your pretty, little head. He wanted to see the betrayal in your eyes, the heartbreak of his actions when he showed you who was killing you: your sweet boyfriend Jed Olsen. He had no reason to really want to kill you other than for the thought and thrill of it, a reason was so overrated; whys were too bothersome other than just I wanted to, so I did it.

In his haze, he missed the fog that worked its way into his room, covering the bottom as it rose higher and higher. A chill racked his body, then a woman's scream filled the air followed by a familiar one - yours. He smirked and turned his back to the wallpaper, stepping forward gleefully with his favorite weapon and costume. Leaves crunched under his boots, listening to the loud gasps and pants echoing around him. A sickening grin full of teeth and bloodthirsty eyes gleamed beneath his mask, back hunched to stay hidden as he followed the voice he came here for.

"Run, rabbit run."

Run, rabbit run! the screamed wheezing around the forest, carying his voice to the people he was hunting.

The thrum of adrenaline and the thought grip on his knife, the familiar figure crouched down as someone helped them with their wounds, your whimpers and the tears pricking your eyes. This was what he wanted, what Danny wanted so much, and the Entity would gladly give in to his wishes. He couldn't be any more thankful, he could relive every kill with you, encores upon encores, an endless loop of hunting and running.

Ghostface loved the chase; run, rabbit run, the hunter is on your trail.

*****

Taglist:

@hex-touchstarved

#x reader #dead by daylight x reader #dead by daylight #dbd ghostface x reader #ghostface #ghostface x reader #gn!reader #dbd ghostface #dbd x reader #dead by daylight ghostface

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myhauntedsalem · 29 days

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Castle House

Brumley, Missouri

In 1812, with various buildings on the property, the current home wasn’t built until around 1850 by Dr. Walter Dixon. This was when it was called the Castle House due to its unusual style.

One Saturday, Mrs. Dixon was preparing for her a large party but passed away before her guests arrived. Her husband found her body at the head of the stairs. In 1862, Union troops camped near the house. After Confederate troops attacked, a truce was called, and injured soldiers from both sides were brought to the Castle House for treatment. Later it was sold to Dr. Myron D. Jones in 1912. He also had his office in the house. In 1918, when the flu pandemic hit Brumley, he put tents in the yard to house the hundreds of sick patients.

Multiple reports of a woman in an old fashioned party dress lingering at the top of the stair have been reported. There have been reports of disembodied screams on the second floor as well. There was a field hospital set up on the south side of the house. It is said that there are at least 20 known graves on the property, which are thought to be casualties from this skirmish. The rest could be the victims of the flu epidemic. Most are unmarked, found by cadaver dogs.

Beginning in 2013, Castle House was restored with the intent to run it as a bed and breakfast until the paranormal activity began. The Castle House is for sale, Can be yours for $119,900 dubbed the most haunted house in the midwest.

#Castle House #haunted house #ghost and hauntings #paranormal #ghost and spirits #haunted locations #haunted salem #myhauntedsalem #paranormal phenomena #supernatural #ghosts #spirits #hauntings

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samwinchesterpregnant · 1 year

Text

this is just a little unfinished something (i’m not going to post it anywhere else until i edit it it’s literally a notes app fic so i’m sorry for everything)

sam is jealous of dean’s small-town girlfriend while dad goes off to hunt a ghost in missouri. he resorts to bad behavior to remedy this.

sam is a teenager but it’s sfw

they’re in pike county in the dead, dry peak of summer and there’s nothing but corn fields, fire flies, and casey’s gas stations as far as the eye can see.

but dean’s found something to do, he always does. some pretty little thing who’s dad worked at the button factory in pearl and left her alone all day to find her own fun.

looking at her makes sam want to spit. she’s got this farmer’s daughter thing going on, with long, sun-streaked hair down her back and freckles all over her nose and her shoulders. she shows dean around town, they make out at an abandoned house the neighborhood kids are scared of and she takes him to a dusty old lake where al capone supposedly dumped his mistresses aborted babies— or something nasty like that. sam tags along, because of course he does.

dad is checking out a haunting just across state lines in missouri making some old lady’s walls bleed. he told them to stay put and lay low. sam’s days stretch on; long and endless and tepid. there’s nothing better to do besides trail behind dean like a lost puppy and shoot bethany or becca or becky or whatever her name is rude glances over dean’s shoulder when his head is turned.

he just doesn’t like her. if she weren’t hanging around so much, sam reasons, everything would suck marginally less. they would still be in butt-fuck midwest nowhere, but at least they’d be able to do whatever they wanted instead of whatever she wanted. and dean wouldn’t be tripping over himself like an idiot trying to look cool to impress her.

in any case, sam took no measures to disguise his disapproval, because becca or brinley or brianna seemed to have reached much the same conclusion.

she bristled visibly when sam answered the door to the creaky, old, half furnished-by-a-dead-lady house they were renting for dirt cheap in pittsfield. sam had overheard, in muffled protests, her suggestion that sam not join them on their trip to the movies that evening:

“wouldnt it be nice, yknow, to just go somewhere just us? get some privacy? i mean—“

“i don’t see what the big deal is. sammy likes ghostbusters, he won’t talk through it or anything.”

“dean, i just think—“

and then, there was the way she sometimes (sam swore) really truly startled when sam entered her line of vision. as if he was a snake in the yard hiding under a garden hose, one you couldn’t see until you were way too close. like he was a creepy crawly scaly sort of thing.

and it was true that this summer he had been feeling more like a creepy, crawly, scaly sort of thing than anything else. oftentimes, laying out in the grass in the flat midwestern heat, he felt like something was shifting beneath his skin, lurking like a latent disease— a gene gone wrong that just needed a flip to switch and activate something nightmarish inside him.

his outer appearance revealed none of this. he was, maybe, more comely than he’d ever been. freshly grown out of his puppy fat; legs impossibly long and lean, the bones in his face suddenly coy and cervine, skin golden and eyelashes sooty and downturned like a calf. it was almost as if these two developments went hand in hand. this latent urge— this dark feeling under his skin, and his sudden metamorphosis into something desirable. he surmised that maybe a missed tick bite had given him lyme disease. or maybe it was prions from curiously prodding roadkill on the lucky occasion. either way, sam winchester felt positively terminal.

regardless of all that (ticks and prions and snakes and bethany/breanne/brenda or whatever), what it really was about was dean, dean, dean.

sam was out of school for the summer, dad hadn’t taken dean with him to missouri, and so, thusly, naturally, it was time for dean to shine upon his brother with the unwavering and uninterrupted attention he was fully capable of giving.

this had been the way, ever since they were children. their summers were famous.

last summer, somewhere in nebraska, they’d stayed for two weeks in an abandoned house sam had broken into with a pair of pliers. dad had gone to find a werewolf in the neighboring county, and the boys, tired of the stuffy motel, had made their own vacation with a mattress pad and a flashlight and the hole in the ceiling on the top floor where they could see the stars. they’d found an old calendar from 1946, and some weird canning jars in the basement that looked like a science experiment.

it was still fun even when dean stepped on a rusty nail and sam had to pull it out (with the same pliers) and swore that if dean died of tetanus, he’d take himself out, too. unfortunately, it hadn’t come to that.

summer was supposed to be their time together. not dean and brittany and their third-wheel. sam latently wished they were sewn together.

to remedy this, sam made preparations.

the next time they were at breanna’s dull little rambler in griggsville, sam snuck off into the bathroom (which smelled vaguely of jasmine, cat piss, and mildew) and rifled through the drawers until he found a lavender conair brand hairbrush with a jelly handle covered in fine blonde strands. surreptitiously, he tugged a clump free from the bristles and shoved it into his pocket.

he returned to the living room where ghostface flickered on the television that sat on the tan carpet, feeling sort of smug. it wasn’t a difficult task, but he’d gotten what he needed.

smiling wryly in the way he knew revealed the dimples on his cheeks, he climbed back onto the couch and slung his bare legs over dean’s lap, socked-feet kicking in brenda’s direction. she shifted away with a frown as dean slung his arm around sam’s shoulders, his other hand coming up to rest on his bruised knees, drumming his fingers there.

bethany sat her chin in her palm, seeming to be withholding a look of mild disgust. sam beamed.

later that night, the hair went into a jar with:

a handful of graveyard dirt

a rancid lemon

shards of glass

a rusty nail

a few drops of blood

sam pissed in it and buried it in the backyard which should, allegedly, solve the problem.

#samdean #wincest

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popculturelib · 7 months

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Haunted States of America: Kansas

Ghost Stories of Fort Leavenworth (1988) by the Musettes Fort Leavenworth Museum, illustrated by Craig Streeter

Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, is an active army installation that was established in 1827. It protected the Santa Fe Trail and areas near the Missouri River as an important part of the westward expansion of the United States. Today, it is the oldest active Army post west of the Mississippi River.

Ghost Stories of Fort Leavenworth was written by the Musettes of the Fort Leavenworth Museum, a museum advocacy group, in an attempt to document stories of the many ghosts in and around Fort Leavenworth, which include:

A tea party held at 624 Scott Avenue

Faces seen in the fire and smoke of hearths

Ghosts of men who were executed at the US Disciplinary Barracks, a military prison

General George Armstrong Custer

Fort Leavenworth currently does ghost tours in and around the Fort if you live nearby and want to learn more. The museum is now called the Frontier Army Museum.

The Fort Leavenworth Historical Society also has a book titled The Haunted Houses of Fort Leavenworth (1995) by John Reichley. If you're interested in more stories about haunted Kansas, check out the aptly titled Haunted Kansas: Ghost Stories and Other Eerie Tales (1997) by Lisa Hefner Heitz in our collection.

The Browne Popular Culture Library (BPCL), founded in 1969, is the most comprehensive archive of its kind in the United States. Our focus and mission is to acquire and preserve research materials on American Popular Culture (post 1876) for curricular and research use. Visit our website at https://www.bgsu.edu/library/pcl.html.

#bgsu #libraries on tumblr #haunted states of america #kansas #fort leavenworth kansas #fort leavenworth #ghosts #books #frontier army museum

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janeway-lover · 2 months

Note

https://youtube.com/shorts/del8kUGnkc4?si=xjNUK-yn8G2CiE0X

rip to Missouri, Michigan is just built different (that is a lie these houses are everywhere in the midwest i've just gotten lucky and none of my parents have ever bought a haunted house)

#asks #hi toast!

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supersapphical · 1 year

Note

sooo i'm not sure who first posted about claire x patience but honestly it's been rattling around in my mind ever since so a lil drabble about them would be amazing!! <3

YESSSSS Claire x Patience, let's do it!

This is a liiiiiiitle bit longer than a lil drabble because apparently I have no self control when it comes to rarepairs but please enjoy established relationship Claire/Patience on a hunt (also Missouri is alive and well).

Read on AO3 or under the cut.

“You ready for this?” Claire asks.

Claire’s hand grips Patience’s hand tightly as Patience nods resolutely. Claire’s other hand carries a duffle bag full of supplies.

“Okay, let’s do it.”

Claire leads her in through the backdoor of the house, which had clearly been broken into before. Patience raises an eyebrow.

“What? It’s an abandoned, haunted house,” Claire shrugs. “Who's gonna care if I break a few locks?”

The air inside the house is noticeably chillier than outside but, other than that, it seems like any other building that’s fallen into disuse. Dust covering the surfaces, a bit of a stuffy smell, nothing that overtly indicates a haunting. And yet, as soon as Patience steps inside, she can sense the spirit’s presence. It’s nothing she can feel, hear, smell, taste or touch. It’s simply sure knowledge that invades her brain, sending shivers down her spine for no good reason.

Claire must notice the change in her demeanor because she asks, “Your extra senses already picking something up?”

“Yeah, you’re right, there’s definitely a ghost in here,” Patience says.

“You ready to get to work?”

Patience nods. Claire gives a final squeeze to her hand before letting go so she can get to work setting up a salt circle around Patience.

“Most ghosts don’t tend to be active during the day but just in case,” she says as she dumps salt around her.

“What do you want me to look for, specifically?” Patience asks.

“Anything you can pick up on that might help me see what’s keeping the ghost here.”

“You already torched the remains?”

“Cremated,” Claire grunts as she heaves the last of the salt onto the floor.

“All set?” Patience asks.

Claire pulls two iron crow bars from her bag and hands one to Patience, “As set as we can be.”

Patience takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. She grips the crow bar more as a grounding technique than with any real intention of actually using it. She knew some basic self defense even before taking up the life of a hunter and she’s been taking more in depth hand-to-hand combat lessons with Jody but a deep psychic reading will require all of her focus.

“You should come spar with me sometime, I’ll show you how to actually use that thing,” Claire teases her lightly, indicating the completely unthreatening grip Patience has on the crow bar.

“Quiet,” Patience hushes her but it does give her some encouragement to realize she knew exactly how Claire was gesturing without even opening her eyes. She’s really starting to get good at projecting her consciousness outward.

Or perhaps she’s just gotten too familiar with Claire’s body language.

Patience shakes the very distracting thought of Claire’s body out of her head and tries to center herself again.

“It could be useful, you know, practicing some fighting techniques,” Claire continues.

“You really want me to come beat you again?”

“That wasn’t a fair fight! You cheated,” Claire huffs.

“Anticipating your movements and reacting to them is just what fighting is,” Patiences says calmly, her eyes still closed and breathing even. “That’s not cheating.”

“It is when you’re psychic,” Claire rolls her eyes.

“Do you want me to focus or not? Reading the energy in this room is taking longer than it usually does.”

“Maybe you just have to have some patience,” Claire smirks.

Patience groans, “Your dad jokes are getting worse than Dean’s.”

She says it mostly to shut Claire up and it works because Claire stands there with her mouth gaping open, clearly taken aback.

“You love my dad jokes,” Claire eventually mutters, her arms crossed and an offended look marring her face.

Patience tries to clear her mind again. She’s been honing her gift through lessons with her grandmother, Missouri, who assures her she’s been getting better but focusing her powers still takes her a tremendous amount of energy and concentration. She wishes all visions could come to her as easily as the unprompted ones do. She frequently wonders if she’ll ever be able to access her powers with complete ease, the way her grandma seems to do. Her grandmother tells her (without her ever saying her fears out loud) that it will come with time and practice. Until then, she guesses she just has to struggle through.

With another deep inhale and a slow exhale, she sends her consciousness outward, into the house. Tapping into the house’s strange energy, she follows along in her mind to every corner and cranny, searching out to see if any object in the house has sentimental meaning attached. Sentimental objects always have a different aura.

She startles a little as she bumps up against a strange energy she’s not familiar with. It’s something dark and dangerous. This must be the ghost. It’s strange, to try to connect with the energies of a house and suddenly be connected to a sentient spirit but she supposes it must work differently with dead people. When she connects with the energy of a space, she is feeling out the memories of all that has happened there. What is a ghost but a memory that can speak for itself?

She tries to unobtrusively follow the spirit’s energy, searching for its source in the house. Her consciousness moves through room after room, trying to feel out where this specific energy is strongest.

She’s feeling out a long forgotten upstairs bedroom when suddenly she’s hit with a powerful wave of desperation. Being in this room is torture, being in this room is suffocating her, being in this room is killing her. She tries to quickly retract herself from the room but she can’t, she’s stuck there and she’s being filled with feelings of despair and grief and pain that don’t belong to her.

In the room where her body stands, the atmosphere is changing. The temperature is dropping and a strange wind that seems to come from nowhere is picking up.

“Patience?” Claire asks, lifting up her crowbar so it's ready to swing.

Patience can’t answer. Her voice has been stolen from her. She can’t even nod to let Claire know she’s alright. She can see her own body in the salt circle that Claire had made for her, but everything she is is trapped in the upstairs bedroom.

A shaky apparition appears and Claire swings through it, banishing it but only for a moment before it rematerializes on the other side of the circle. Claire lunges for it, swinging, and banishes it again only for it to appear on the other side of the room.

The room downstairs becomes more and more hostile as Patience tries to escape the bedroom and bring herself back to her own body. Small debris starts circling in the wind as Claire works to keep banishing the apparition every time it appears.

“Patience! Are you alright?”

If Patience had the ability to speak, she’d only scream.

Claire is desperately fending off every attack with her crowbar as the wind picks up, howling louder and louder. Patience knows that Claire is in trouble, she’s a fighter but even she can’t fight off something undead forever. She can hear Claire struggling, fighting as hard as she can to keep up with something that doesn’t even have a living body to tire out. Logically, she knows she needs to move, to help but she’s so outside of her own body, she feels only distantly aware of the danger they both face at this moment.

“PATIENCE!”

Patience hears Claire’s frantic shouting over the sound of the roaring wind but she can’t respond. She can see in her mind’s eye that the wind is wearing away at the careful salt line keeping her safe but she’s too overwhelmed by misery and heartache to move.

Claire is wildly swinging her crowbar at any apparition that appears and Patience is no longer trying to hear she is overcome with the need to be heard. The feeling is strange, it’s such a powerful need that it fills her up until she might burst but it doesn’t feel like a part of her.

She thinks back to the breathing techniques her grandma taught her and tries to bring herself back to her physical body. It’s only doing this that she realizes that this urgent need she is feeling isn’t her own emotion, it’s the ghost’s emotions.

Tears are streaming down her face now as she finally has enough control over herself to quietly whisper to the howling wind, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

She projects these feelings towards the being she can sense in the house, she tries to send them all of her compassion while repeating over and over again, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

She closes her eyes tight and focuses all her empathy towards the tormented spirit. The wind starts to die down, bits and chunks of debris clattering back down to the floor. The air is less chilly now, the energy less hostile. The only sound now is Claire panting for breath, still clutching her crowbar.

“I should bring you on all the ghost hunts,” Claire says breathlessly, eyes continuing to search the room for any hidden threat.

Her eyes wide open now that she’s back in her body, tears are streaming silently down her face and she can’t bring herself to answer. Claire looks over at her in the silence.

“Hey, hey,” Claire says, walking up to her. “It’s okay, we’re both okay.”

Patience gasps in deep as if it's the first breath she’s taken since she connected with the spirit. She’s trying to remember her grandma’s rules. Ground yourself, keep yourself breathing, keep yourself calm, keep yourself aware.

Claire reaches up and gently cradles Patience’s face in her hands, “Patience, are you okay?”

Patience manages to nod this time.

“Good,” Claire says softly, wiping some of Patience’s tears away with her thumbs. “Are you coming back to me?”

Patience is still unable to answer, her own heart several armies worth of battling emotions.

Claire lets her forehead fall against Patience’s. Claire takes deep, slow, deliberate breaths, her hands still tenderly cradling Patience’s face and shuffles closer until the toes of their shoes touch. Patience closes her eyes again but this time, instead of spreading her awareness out further, she narrows it to only the points where Claire is touching her. The warm place where their foreheads rest together, Claire’s hands around her face, Claire’s work boots pressed up against her own soft sneakers.

She follows Claire’s breath, matching her own breathing with it until she feels like she’s entirely back in her own body again.

“What happened here?” Patience breathes out but then almost immediately says, “No, never mind. Don’t tell me. There’s a—”

She steps abruptly away from Claire and Claire’s hands fall down to her sides, looking almost dejected in the way they hang. Patiences looks around the room helplessly, unable to believe that when she first walked in here, it had looked so ordinary to her. Now she sees it for what it really is: a prison.

Patience takes a deep breath and then says, “There’s a loose floorboard upstairs.”

“Something hidden in there?” Claire asks, still eyeing Patience carefully but willing to take the cue that Patience just wants to keep working. “Well, let’s go check it out.”

Claire takes the duffle and easily walks upstairs and to the bedroom. Patience has a much harder time forcing her physical self to cross the threshold of the bedroom but she follows Claire anyway, knowing that there will be no relief for the spirit she felt if they don’t find a way to release it.

Claire gestures to the room and Patience points to the floorboard she knows holds secrets.

“Huh, actually get to use this thing as a crowbar,” Claire says happily, prying up the floorboard with the crowbar.

Patience drops to her knees, reaching into the hole to find that the floorboard holds dozens of letters, yellowed with age.

“What happened here?” Patience asks again.

“Are you sure you really want to know?”

Patience nods.

“Daughter of a family that lived here in the early sixties, she committed suicide.”

Patience takes this information in. It feels right but also…not.

“The story goes that she went insane so the family had to keep her locked up,” Claire continues. “They kept her locked in this room so she wouldn’t hurt anyone else.”

“No, that’s not right,” Patience says and she’s not even sure where the words come from, only that she’s sure they’re true.

“That’s what all the neighbors said,” Claire says. “But most of it was just rumors, I think.”

“She loved someone and her parents didn’t approve,” Patience says, her fingers lightly tracing the letters. “They locked her away so she couldn’t run away with him. These are the only things she had with her, to give her hope.”

A breeze stirs in the room and Claire is on high alert again, tightly gripping her crowbar but Patience doesn’t feel any threat in the spirit’s action, only affirmation.

“We don’t have to burn all of them, do we?” Patience asks.

Claire’s silence speaks volumes. Patience gathers the letter to herself, holding them close, her thumbs running gently along the worn in folds.

Holding the letters tenderly, Patience quietly says to them, “You must have loved him so much. It’s not fair that you have to stay here.”

Claire bows her head, hands clasped together in front of her so tightly that Patience can see bright red splotches contrasting with too pale points where the blood hasn’t been allowed to flow to her fingers properly.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you. It isn’t right and it isn’t fair. It’s also not right for you to be trapped here even after death, so it’s time to say goodbye now,” Patience says to the letters and the house and anyone else who may be listening.

Placing them carefully on the floor, Patience looks up to Claire expectantly. Claire reaches into the duffle bag by her feet and digs out the salt and matches.

“Do you want to…?” Claire asks, offering her the materials.

“I’ll do the salt,” Patience says. She takes it from Claire and carefully spreads grains of salt on to each letter, making sure the salt passes over all the folds and creases, before gently setting them down on the floor again.

“Ready?” Claire asks.

“Ready,” Patience says quietly.

Claire strikes a match and it sounds startlingly loud in the quiet of the room. The flame burns bright and illuminates Claire’s fair face in an almost ethereal glow as she bends down to let the fire catch on the letters.

They watch in silence as the letters are reduced to ashes.

“Come on, let's get out of here,” Claire says, offering Patience her hand. Patience grabs Claire’s hand and uses it to sling Claire’s arm around herself, nestling close to Claire and snaking her own arm around Claire’s waist. It’s a little awkward, Claire a little unbalanced because of the heavy duffle in her other hand but Patience needs the reassurance, the warm body pressed to her side as confirmation that Claire is still right here with her, very much alive and reachable.

“You’re getting really good at that stuff,” Claire says.

“Yeah,” Patience says, fiddling a little with the zipper on Claire’s jacket because it’s the only thing within her reach to fiddle with.

They walk back to the car in silence, still glued to each other. Patience dreads the moment when they’ll have to separate to get into the car, even if it will be the briefest of moments before they can touch each other again.

Claire throws the duffle in the trunk while still attached to Patience but then they walk to their separate sides of the car, Claire to the driver’s seat and Patience to the passenger’s seat. After they’re settled, Patience reaches out a hand and Claire’s is there to meet her. There’s a heaviness hanging over the car as they both sit silent and still.

“Do you regret coming out here, doing all this with us?” Claire asks her suddenly.

She says the word us but Patience hears what she’s really asking. Do you regret being with me?

“No,” Patience says firmly. “It’s hard sometimes. A lot of the time, but there’s no place I’d rather be.”

Claire smiles at her and starts the car.

“Me, either,” Claire says and she throws the car into drive and points it towards home.

#clairepatience #sapphicnatural #super stuff #sorry this took so long to answer but thank you so much for sending in a prompt!!#i had a lot of fun writing this one and i hope you enjoy it!

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