❝ there's no room in this hell; there's no room in the next ❞

[lucency]

psychedelic horror open post

Inspired by films such as Hausu and Suspiria, “psychedelic horror” refers to an intense sense of disconnection from reality along with gothic elements of fear and haunting. the scene; You find yourself isolated from town in a dilapidated mansion. It’s spooky. Prompts are below. Take it from there. Put some prefs in your top level! Post multiple starters! Post a blank one and take what lands with you! We're up all night to get spooky. the prompts; ✦ The Getaway: You came here to take in the idyllic scenery of the countryside, to honor your family’s ancient estate, or to find some shelter from the rain (although, what, exactly, has you traveling through the middle of nowhere in such weather?). Maybe you’re even just dedicated to exploring abandoned places, but the mansion’s glory days have clearly passed. Have fun — or something like it — exploring, but keep in mind that it’s not exactly normal for blood to seep from the walls at sundown, nor for your doorknobs to rattle like bones. ✦ The Ritual: The moon is dark, the woods are deathly silent, but the estate bustles with activity. A freshly-cooked meal fills the halls with smells and the dining room tables with dishes beyond imagination. The centerpiece, however, is a massive goblet, passed around to all in attendance. Do you eat, drink, and make merry? It would be rude to decline, of course, on such an auspicious evening. One thing nobody mentions, though, are the hallucinogens steeped in the wine. Bon voyage! ✦ The Seance: Do you believe in ghosts? Whether it’s the isolation or collective nerves of the others present within the manor, there’s an undeniable presence seeping through the very structure itself. The storm outside whips up the screaming wind, making the doors and shutters rattle in agreement. The house can’t speak verbally, but perhaps a conduit can. There’s a cabinet full of candles and matches, and maybe if we all just hold hands… ✦ Dream Curse: If you’re expecting a reprieve through sweet sleep, you’re unfortunately mistaken. Have you upset the ghosts? Or maybe you drank too much of the wine during the festivities. The pages etched with strange symbols you found in the estate’s library could be a culprit, but regardless of the reason, your dreams are haunted with the same terrors that creep through your waking world. The subconscious, though, sees and interacts differently through sleep. Who do you meet, and what secrets come to light? Most importantly, do you remember them in the morning? ✦ Wildcard! Feel free to use all or none of the above. If you’ve got another idea that vibes with the setting, go wild. No rules (just keep in mind, the walls do talk).

Comments

belle | ouat ( going with dream curse bc i inspired myself, but open to other things!! )

[lucency]

[ Belle wakes from a dream into another, into another, into another, a spiral dizzying her to the point that she's not sure if she ever stumbled to the mansion at all.

She came here to keep her child safe. Protected and peaceful among the trees, she had planned to regroup after the baby was born (and it's not like this place is a happy home, and nobody's charged her for the night's she's been here, so who's really going to complain about her spending several more months in one of the rooms?), but the walls seem to close in on her more every day until they've tangled within her subconscious. Staircases shift, lurid colors flash beyond the windows, and Belle can't breathe in her room. So she rises to walk the dark halls.

Her stomach growls, like a tremble, like a snarl, and it almost knocks Belle to her feet. She shoots a hand out against the wall to keep her balance before it rolls through her again. She cries out and clutches at her stomach, hunching over, and there's sharpness, but no pain or warning sensations — only an intense, overwhelming hunger.

Limbs shaking, Belle moves down the hallway, fingers sticking on the texture of the walls. She comes to the first door she finds and beats the wood of it, leaning on the doorframe, until she rattles the doorknob. Whoever resides there might have something of a surprise when the movement on the walls is different tonight, more insistent, tangible, and absolutely ravenous. ]

joe goldberg | you (novel canon) ( seance! )

[everythingship]

[ Joe would like the record to show his wholehearted belief that horror is an asinine form of entertainment. Sure, keep your Argento, your Midsommar, your Stephen fucking King, but there comes a point where it all devolves into slimy, corn syrup-soaked idiocy. Not to mention the lack of ethics. Playing on peoples' secrets, their innermost workings; the humiliation of subverting what's sacred —

He's not having a good time. And yet, here he is, seated (albeit stiffly) at the wide, round table among the other guests. RIPBeck, RIPLove, and Mary Kay (rest in peace) deserve some credit, though: he doubts even their dramatic souls would be roused by their clearly mentally unstable host.

He came here, to this mansion, to escape the heat of Central Florida, the stench of alcohol, and the blood that he's already washed off of his hands. He did not come here for Halloween in fucking April.

Joe's well aware that he could've said no, and he'd much rather be tucked away in the library, musty as it is, or even better — in his car, driving far, far north — but when there are plans and expectations and his car battery is suspiciously dead, well. Beggars can't be choosers. Joe has the suspicion that he'd stick out like a sore thumb if he didn't go, anyway.

The host turns the lights out (electric! Impressive!), leaving nothing but the glow of the taper candles atop the table, and Joe plays nice and does what he's told, ensuring the thumbs of his hands are touching, and his pinkies are connected to those of his neighbors. When the host opens with the syllable ah, held like a note, vibrato and all, though, he can't help but snort in laughter. Even though he tries to cover it up with a cough, whoever's next to him is absolutely going to have heard the whole thing. ]

willie loomis | dark shadows ( wildcarding it )

[graverobbings]

[ None of this is particularly out of the ordinary for Willie, recently. It's a different mansion (Barnabas can grant some time off, apparently), a different landscape, but it's the same fog, the same smell of mothballs radiating from every corner, the same sense of overwhelming emptiness that follows Willie from room to room.

So he escapes to the grounds, to the grass that seems to remain slick with fresh rain and mud. He grants himself permission to explore but makes sure to keep his hands firmly in his pockets, all too aware of what happened the last time his fingers got sticky. And for a while, it's nice to just exist, even if something gnaws a pit in his stomach or he feels something leering between his shoulder blades. It's fine. Normal. He's gotten used to it.

An entire hand lying on the lawn, attached to an arm leading beneath the earth, though, that's above his pay grade.

And that's what brings Willie hurrying back to the manor, glancing over his shoulder as he pushes his way through the door. He's polite, stamps his feet on the mat, and then makes a beeline for the first person who catches his eye. ] Hey, you — uh — know where there's a shovel or somethin'?