#All Saints Wake haunted house

[housedeaubemarle]

[fleshwizard]

Dragons & Folklore de France

Translation below

The Tarasque dwells in the waters of the Rhone river near the town of Tarascon, where it devours travelers and destroys dikes and dams to flood the Camargue. Saint Martha chained it, and the people of Tarascon killed it.

The ruins of the amphitheaters of Metz were infested by hundreds of snakes. The largest of them, the Graoully, had a venomous breath, a mouth bigger than its body and devoured men. Saint Clement chased it away into the Seille River.

King of serpents, the Basilisk takes many forms throughout history and appears in many tales. One of them takes place at the Gate of Saint-Eloi in Bordeaux, known today for its Big Bell, where a well was occupied by a Basilisk. It petrified with its gaze anyone who went there to fetch water. It was defeated by a man returning from the Egyptian crusade, who petrified the beast with its own gaze using a mirail (mirror).

The Cocatrix is born from a rooster's egg incubated by a toad. The egg has magical properties but must not be broken. People who cross its gaze die immediatly.

Made of wicker and covered in flowers, the Grand Bailla wanders the streets of Reims three days a year and feeds on gold and sweets. It was banished by Archbishop Charles Maurice le Tellier.

The Grand'Goule haunts the marshes of Poitou, the waters of the Clain and the flooded cellars of the abbey of Sainte Croix. It feeds on nuns and casse-museaux (snout-breakers, cakes). Saint Radegonde chased it away with holy water.

In the rivers of the Jura and the Alps there is a group of diverse dragons, the Vouivres. They are generally flying serpents covered in fire and guardians of treasures. Many have for a single eye a gigantic carbuncle with extraordinary powers, desired by those in search of wealth and power.

Hidden in the caves and cliffs of la Pointe du Roux near La Rochelle, the Rô Beast traps and devours travelers in the coastal marshes. It was impaled by seven heroic pagans from the seas.

Mythical dragon of the Basque Country, Herensuge gave birth to the Sun and the Moon, swallowed all of Creation in ten days then regurgitated it in flames. Now asleep in the mountains, it sucks up flocks and shepherds in his sleep. When it wakes up, it will destroy the world in flames and blood. (illustration)

Durandal is the mythical sword that Charlemagne gave to the knight Roland. Some claim that it was inherited from Hector, the warrior of the Trojan War. At war with the Saracens in the Pyrenées, Roland wanted to break the sword so that it would not fall into the hands of the enemy but Durandal split the mountain. So he threw the sword, which went to stick miles away, in the rock of the town of Rocamadour.

The belief in the Tooth Fairy is widespread in several countries in Europe, and is sometimes amalgamated with La Petite Souris (little mouse). It exchanges baby teeth for money. No one knows what it does with all these teeth.

The Camecruse is a bogeyman that haunts the moors and marshes of Gascony. It is agile, can jump and hide in the night to better devour lost children. No one knows exactly how it feeds.

The caves under the hill of the town of Hastingues are home to Lou Carcolh, a monstrous snail, long, slimy and hairy. Its shell is as big as a house. With the help of its tentacles, it grips people to devour them.

The Questing Beast is hunted by kings and heroes in Arthurian legends. It symbolizes evil, incest, violence and chaos, and takes it name from the loud noises that come out of its stomach, similar to the barking of dozens of dogs.

The fairy Mélusine, cursed princess of Albania, was condemned to change into a snake below the waist every Saturday. She married Raymondin de Lusignan with whom they had 10 prodigious children. But Raymondin broke his promise never to see Mélusine on Saturday : he surprised her in her monstrous form, and she left her family forever.

[stardustdiver]

World of Darkness but at the end its revealed that the entire setting is just the world's most massively over-elaborate haunted house attraction.

[celenawrites]

You apologize to Simon.

AO3 Version

Three days. 

Three days of silence since you and Simon had a fight over something insignificant enough for you to even forget about it after a night’s sleep. Three days of silence and avoidance due to an argument that could’ve ended in less than an hour had you been more amenable. You can make excuses all you want (and you’d like to, it’s easier than acknowledging you’re the one at fault for a change - easier to ignore the lump in your throat and your shortened breath, or how warm your ears are from shame) - talk about how shitty this week had been, how much of a right cunt your boss was, or how things just don’t seem to go your way no matter what you do; despite your best efforts, life seemed to be holding a mean grudge against you and punishing all your efforts for it lately. 

Paired with all the shitty things in your life at the moment, and one of these days when Simon ends up saying something to you in a tone that you couldn’t seem to take kindly to (you try your best to understand people and what they say to you, you really do; yet your past has never been as kind to you, and sometimes your patience runs thin despite your best efforts) - which ultimately resulted in you screaming your head off at him. Simon has the patience of a saint on most days - years of war, trauma, and abuse had motivated him to be much kinder than his family ever was, urging him to do everything in his power to never end up as the man who sired him. 

But you forget sometimes that he’s a Lieutenant and he has the tenacity and the rage needed to put the rowdy recruits at the base into place just fine. So when his anger snaps and it does when you decide that he doesn’t get a chance to defend himself (you’re judge, jury, and executioner and you have condemned him for a transgression not his own), he matches your cruel word for cruel word - dark eyes sizing you up as he raises his voice at you in a way that makes your lip quiver and your eyes burn with tears of shame and burning anger as you throw him a mean glance before locking yourself up in the bedroom. 

Simon sleeps on the couch that night. 

You feel guilty the moment you wake up and notice the cold, empty space beside you - the lack of his warm body lying beside you is a sight that will possibly haunt you for the rest of your days. You note the time and you go out of the room, hoping to find your boyfriend sitting on the sofa after his morning run as he wipes his damp forehead with a micro-fiber towel, his brown pupils tracking the time just as you hear the kettle on the gas give out a loud whistle, evident of the fact that Simon had made both of your tea to share in the morning before you both part ways. Instead, you find the empty apartment greets you.  You expected as much. 

He’s angry - at you and at himself, and if he was here, you’d have told him you share the same sentiments. But he’s nowhere to be found in your shared apartment. So you whip up a quick English breakfast, put out all the things he’d need for him to brew his beloved Earl Grey when if he decides to come back and then you leave for work in a hurry. Your mind is preoccupied with worry - about work, about your mess of a life, about Simon and if he has eaten yet. The day passes you by in a blur, and you find yourself finally free from the dissociation you have been plagued with since morning, when you hear the sounds of your footsteps on the concrete sidewalk, taking the long route back home despite the setting sun painting the sky a blood orange, bleeding into the soft clouds and reflecting off of the shiny glass windows adorning the buildings around you. You prolong the commute for some reason - not in a rush to head back home just yet, afraid that this fight might have broken the camel’s back; that you’d return home and find him just gone. 

Like a ghost. 

Your fears are unfounded, luckily - you open the door to your house and find him sitting near the dining table with his arms neatly crossed up on the mahogany table, his face covered by a black surgical mask, and his eyes are unfocused as if he’s meditating deep in thought. You’re almost surprised that your entrance didn’t break him out of his thoughts, out of his own head. Your head feels heavy just by looking at him, and the way your throat constricts forces you to skip dinner altogether as you quickly grab a granola bar (or two) and decide to leave for the bedroom just as quickly, dumping your office attire in the wicker laundry basket near your bed. You leave the door to the bedroom unlocked. 

Just in case, you tell yourself. 

Your night mainly consists of tossing and turning haphazardly - you’re free to move due to the absence of those strong, scarred arms that hold you still and provide you the tether you need in order to actually fall asleep; but your restlessness eventually tires you out enough for you to catch at most a measly two-to-three hours of rest that leaves your eyes aching for more respite when the sunlight invades the softness of your room uninvited, blinding you for a solid minute as you try to gather your wits about you. 

When you turn around in your bed, you’re surprised to find it all messy (as if someone had slept in it while you were knocked out) and it smells of him. Him and his pine body wash and the little smoke that clings to him whenever he decides to go out and hang out with his military friends in a seedy pub and drink cheap beer and half-assed whiskey (he wouldn’t dare touch their Bourbon unless it was Kentucky). He slept here. 

It has been over a day since you last spoke to each other, but the idea of Simon still sleeping near you gives you a sense of comfort you weren’t aware you needed. 

You spend the day in and out of the house since it’s the weekend - bringing in fresh groceries from the farmer’s market and laying down all the vibrant fruits in a glass bowl at the center of the dinner table. You find Simon standing near the kitchen with a brush as he oils the hinges of the creaky door. You both acknowledge each other with a soft nod of your heads as you go about your day tackling chores that the busy week has allowed you to neglect till now. 

Then, you place the new succulents you couldn’t resist buying (couldn’t resist as they reminded you of Simon), and you adjust the window curtains so that they get ample sunlight. You turn around to see if Simon’s here; if he’d noticed the new plant pots and manure packets you had picked up - you wonder if he’d shake his head, almost amused as he joins you to tend to the little succulent pots. Instead, you hear the whirring of the lawn mower to indicate that your partner is outside, getting rid of the tall grass that invades the grounds surrounding your little home.

Then you notice that it is already noon, and decide to brew yourself some ginger tea and plate some oatmeal cookies on a saucer plate as you snuggle into the weary green couch with your current read (a book you had heard people rave about on social media, which made you buy it the moment the local bookstore had it in stock) and drape the cozy baby pink blanket over your shoulders. Simon is still outside, still working on the sparse vegetation of your lawn. You’d like him here right now, with you - drinking the tea from your cup and stealing one of your cookies as he pinches your cheek while you whine to him about it; his soft hands playing with the stray strands of your hair and pulling you into him till your head rests on his chest and his soft heartbeat lulls you to sleep with a lullaby of his worn heart. 

Instead, you sit alone on the sofa, and you almost call out to him and your lead tongue weighs heavy in your jaw (makes it tick an awful lot) and you reason with yourself that the whirring of the loud mower would make it near impossible for him to hear you anyway, so there’s really no merit in screaming your head off as you try to call out to him over the noise. 

You excuse your hesitation with technicalities - it has been a lifelong habit.

Reading with a warm cup of tea has made you drowsy (almost compliant) and you don’t remember when you had allowed yourself to close your eyes, your hands loosen their grip on the book as it fell onto the plush cushion beside you. You wake up an hour or so later, to the afternoon sun blinding your eyes momentarily, and you rub them lightly with your fingers as you try to rub the sleep away. You find the house awfully quiet, an anomaly from what it usually used to be  - the background noise of the television playing a repeat of an old season of the baking show you and Simon would watch while holding each other close, the rhythmic ‘thump thump thump!’ of the hammer as Simon works on whatever passion project you have on your mind (you remember when he made you a dresser from scratch, and when you showed him the Pinterest post that inspired you to request his services, he squinted at the small device screen as he probably wondered how he had ended up being your personal handyman), or the sound of scrawling of ball-point pens as he tries to solve the daily sudoku puzzle in the newspaper. You can hear none of it. 

And there is no whirring of the lawn mower in the backyard anymore. 

You look into the bedroom, and kitchen en route to find it empty - the bed is still well made and there is no 6 '4 behemoth of a man hunched over the gas stove as he brews himself another cup of Earl Grey for the day. You decide to climb the stairs, hoping to find your boyfriend holed up in the spare bedroom that you both had renovated into a study room - something Simon can use whenever he’s forced to bring work to home, and when you need to hole yourself up as you try to finish an impromptu project the night before a very important meeting (that never worked out for you) or work on your work reports that truly embodies ‘brevity is the wit of the soul’ with how empty the Word document looks despite you staring at your laptop screen for hours on end, urging yourself to just write something. 

You open the door lightly, cringing as the hinges squeak at the minute movement. Guess he only oiled the kitchen door today. You peer into the room, apprehensive of facing your partner head-on, stealing a glance into the usually empty room with your heels off the floor, ready to take flight at the slightest hint of confrontation. God knows your heart cannot take it. 

Simon is hunched over the mahogany desk, his head is cushioned by his crossed arms (you can admire his tattoo sleeve with the black t-shirt he had decided to wear, despite the sweltering heat) and he seems to be fast asleep. Christ, he’s gorgeous. 

The sunlight makes his hair light up, and his relaxed face along with scars and healing bruises remind you of the vibrancy and lightness that Monet’s paintings possess. You never thought a person could be like art. And then you met Simon Riley. 

He’s snoring out loud, his blonde hair is a mess - strands of hair pointing in all directions (you still need to cut his hair right; his last haircut had ended up with him having uneven layers all over his head - you’d have much preferred that he should’ve just taken a trimmer and given himself a buzz so at least he can regrow his blonde hair right)  and he’s sweating buckets while sleeping on the wooden table.  And while you still hold some anger in your heart for how your last argument went, and yet all you can think about is how much you love him. You don’t blame him entirely for how you both are now - skittish and walking on eggshells, the wounds of your previous fight still fresh and stinging and oozing with crimson. 

You know you're in the wrong as well, but it's hard to make amends with your dear boyfriend because whenever you try to speak to him you feel a lump in your throat that stops you from speaking your true feelings out loud to him. Shame creeps up on you like the weight of the world is on your shoulders alone (is this how Atlas felt?), and the humiliation chokes you off - your tongue heavy with unsaid things and your empty arms aching to forego all niceties and hold him where he truly belongs. 

So you decide to break the silence between the both of you in the best way you know how, because you love Simon. Because you love him more than you love your bruised ego. 

You make him his favorite tea (‘Was it his third or fourth cup of Earl Grey?’, you mused while pouring the hot beverage into a clean mug.) and cleanly cut open a clementine from the groceries you had brought in earlier (your hands are sticky with its juices as you try to separate each piece from its leathery peel), fanning out all the pieces over the flowered ceramic plate, something you had convinced Simon to buy for the house when you first decided to visit a flea market together to stock up on necessary things after your lover finally asked you to move in with him. That was over a year ago. 

Words may be failing you right now, but you hope your actions can convey your remorse and love for him.

You walk back into the room to see Simon awake, his hands rubbing all over his face as he tries to get rid of the fatigue. You freeze, unsure of how to handle your current predicament. You have been hoping that he’d be still sleeping so that you could quietly place the tray near the table and leave without disturbing him. But he’s awake, and as he glances back at you, you wonder if you look like a deer caught in the headlights - your little detour interrupted by his alert as he takes all sensibilities away from your being. 

“You brought me fruit”, he said dumbly.

“Yeah. And tea”, you reply back dumbly. 

You stare for a beat too long and then abruptly cross the room, quietly placing the plastic tray with the fruits and his tea mug on the study table. You notice the manila folders scattered around, some pages strewn around his working space but you avert your eyes to avoid reading anything written on them - you’d rather not read all that he has to deal with on almost a daily basis as a man of the military. In such moments, you truly do not envy Simon. 

“Uh, I’ll leave you to it then”, you whisper to him, all soft as you swallow the words you truly wish to say. I love you so much. I’m so sorry. I wish I could hold you. I cannot lose you. Please be angry, be mad at me, yell as much as you want. Hold me, I miss you. 

You wish you could at least choke on them to save face. 

You leave the room instead. 

You clean up the living room - you fold the blanket and fluff the pillows and you ignore how your back burned with his gaze on you as you left the study room. You put the flowery bookmark where you had last stopped reading and you go to the kitchen to prepare something light and easy for lunch (pasta in white sauce and toasted garlic bread) and you ignore the urge to drop everything and rush upstairs and spill all the apologies you have wished to communicate but have failed to since the day of the fight. 

Your ego has always reared its ugly head in moments like these. What was borne as a means to protect yourself with the wounds your loved ones had inflicted on you has now made it impossible for you to make amends with the only man that matters to you on God’s green Earth. But ego is nothing compared to the love you have for Simon. So when you’re done with the cooking, you take your sweet time cleaning up the island of the kitchen and you go upstairs to invite him for lunch - you hope the food will soften him up enough to accept the apology you will offer him as a white flag later on. 

You peek inside the room, standing behind the half-closed room and you see him sitting in the black ergonomic office chair (you had bought it after you couldn’t listen to his back crack every time he got up from bed, or from the plastic chair that he used to sit in while staying at his desk for hours on end, only agonizing his fucked-up back further). He’s leaning back on the chair and it creaks under his weight slightly, and he stays motionless, eyes closed and shoulders tense. It’s even better since you won’t have to be weighed down by his intense eyes. 

You walk on your toes, socked feet muted and nimble as they walk across the hardwood floor and you note that he had finished up all the clementine pieces you had laid out for him on the floral plate, and the orange mug is mostly empty - save for remains of sugar residue sticking at the very bottom of the utensil. (You had been surprised to know that the scary, big man you call your boyfriend had a sweet tooth. Luckily, it gave you the perfect excuse to visit the bakery two blocks down on your way back home from work with a paper box of dessert or two.)

You know how hard it really is for him to be at ease, and his tensed shoulders serve as the testimony to that harsh truth. You know sneaking up on him like this will only make him lash out - all in the name of pure self-preservation. And you won’t ever blame him for it.  He hasn’t told you all of it, but between shared silences and a post-coital cigarette on his behalf, he’d open up - the endorphins would make him talk sometimes, and he’d talk of his Ma. Of Tommy. Never his dad. He hasn’t laid down the entirety of his scarred soul bare for you, but you know enough to not hurt him like that ever again. So you gently allow yourself to take note of his uneven hair and say, “I keep forgetting to cut your hair”. 

Your hand creeps up on his neck, eager palm gently running through the golden tufts as they coil around the tips of your fingers. Your attention is on the way his shoulder tenses when you announce your presence in the room. (You’re certain he knew you had come here before, and he knew you were here before you even came this close. He’d never leave himself this vulnerable if he knew there was a threat abound.)

His shoulders stay the same, but you can hear the audible exhale he lets out, and you slowly use your other hand to gently massage the area where his neck meets his shoulder - aware of the stiffness that has been ailing him there for a while now. He groans in relief, and he blinks his eyes open to greet you with brown pupils and a solemn look you fail to decipher.

He looks at you with his head tilted back against the chair, and you focus on the lightning-like scars that cover half of his face, traveling from his temple all the way to the left corner of his chapped lips. “Thank you for the snacks”, he mutters, his eyes trailing all over your face. 

You hum a little, not providing him with a response.

“Would’ve been nicer if you were here to eat them with me…”, he trails off, hoping you’d catch the bait. 

“Yeah. Would’ve been even better if we talked too, no?” You smile down at him, and you gently scratch his scalp as you kiss his temple, murmuring your apology against his skin like a forgotten prayer to an old deity. I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorry. 

“I’m so sorry for being a cunt. You know that right, Simon?” you ask him, and you can already feel your chest cave in on itself and your eyes burn with tears of remorse. 

“Wasn’t like I was any better, lovie”, he mumbles, and you feel his shoulders sag in relief under your touch. You tell yourself that’s a good sign. 

“Still…”, your fingers gently mess with his hair, “Should’ve swallowed my damn ego, and apologized to you soon”. It’s a learning process. For both of you. 

“Would’ve been easier if you didn’t scamper about whenever you saw me”, there’s amusement in his eyes, and you chuckle at him fondly as you invite him to join you for lunch. He turns the chair around until he’s facing you, and then he pulls your wrist in his hand as he reverently lays down a gentle peck against your knuckles. (You know your skin carries the taste of dish soap on it, and you hope it doesn’t taste too bitter when Simon kisses your hands as if they were God.)

“Missed you”, he speaks against your skin, mimicking your prayer as he looks up at you, and your breath hitches - just a little as you stare down at Simon. Your dear Simon. 

The silence was maddening. 

“I missed you too, Simon”. 

Note -

I got my first apology from a now-close friend of mine when I was 18 years old, and God did it change how I looked at love and people completely. So I guess this piece is dedicated to that friend. Thank you, Voltie. <3

Also, I mainly show my love for people through gift-giving and acts of service and I think Simon is a big 'acts of service' guy…..so here it is - Simon dealing with a girlie who is just as emotionally constipated and can only show her love by doing things for him

totally not inspired by my Asian/Desi upbringing lol

Divider by @/firefly-graphics

[milfjagger]

horror recs 2024

categories are a little broad but take from it what you will. personal favs are in bold and a * next to the name means this movie genuinely scared me

serial killers/stalkers/home invasion the black phone (2021) the invisible man (2020) hannibal (series; 2013-2015) maniac (2012) american psycho (2000) the silence of the lambs (1991) opera (1987) tourist trap (1979) halloween (1978) deep red (1975) black christmas (1974) the texas chain saw massacre (1974) peeping tom (1960)

ghosts/hauntings talk to me (2022) the haunting of hill house (series; 2018) i am the pretty thing that lives in the house (2016) under the shadow (2016) crimson peak (2015) mama (2013) the orphanage (2007) lake mungo (2008)* dark water (2005) the ring (2002) the others (2001) the devil's backbone (2001) ring (1998)* candyman (1992) poltergeist (1982) the haunting (1963) the innocents (1961)

vampires interview with the vampire (series; 2022- ) midnight mass (series; 2021) let the right one in (2008) bram stoker's dracula (1992) near dark (1987) the lost boys (1987) fright night (1985) dracula (1958) nosferatu (1922)

werewolves dog soldiers (2002) ginger snaps (2000) & ginger snaps 2 (2004) the howling (1981) an american werewolf in london (1981)

demons/witches longlegs (2024)* smile (2022)* incantation (2022)* hereditary (2018)* suspiria (2018) veronica (2017)* terrified (2017)* pyewacket (2017)* the autopsy of jane doe (2016) the exorcist (series; 2016-2018) the blackcoat's daughter (2015) the witch (2015)* evil dead (2013) the exorcism of emily rose (2005) the blair witch project (1999) the craft (1996) hellraiser (1987) suspiria (1977) the exorcist (1973) the devil rides out (1968) rosemary's baby (1968) black sunday (1960)

survival horror yellowjackets (series; 2021 - ) the terror (series; 2017) rogue (2007) the descent (2005)* open water (2003)

sci-fi horror crimes of the future (2022) annihilation (2018)* the fly (1986) the thing (1982) alien (1979) & aliens (1986)

monster movies willow creek (2013)* troll hunter (2010) the host (2006) pumpkinhead (1988)

folk horror the ritual (2017)* wake wood (2009)* the hallow (2015) pet sematary (1989) the wicker man (1973) the blood on satan's claw (1971) night of the demon (1957)

fantasy/fairytale horror gretel and hansel (2020) red riding hood (2011) the juniper tree (1990) the company of wolves (1984) psychological horror (that doesn't fit better into another category) candyman (2021) the lighthouse (2019) us (2019) get out (2017) gerald's game (2017) a cure for wellness (2016) the invitation (2015) it follows (2014)* excision (2012) may (2002) frailty (2001) dead ringers (1988) gothic (1986) carrie (1976) cat people (1942)

indie/experimental (mileage may vary) enys men (2022) skinamarink (2022) bones and all (2022) men (2022) the house (2022) relic (2020)* saint maud (2019) mandy (2018) the wind (2018) raw (2016)

balls to the wall crazy/fun as hell evil dead rise (2023) fall of the house of usher (series; 2023) late night with the devil (2023) saw movies (2004-2023) the menu (2022) nope (2022) malignant (2021) escape room (2019) & escape room: tournament of champions (2021) run (2020) the chilling adventures of sabrina (series; 2018-2020) 31 (2016) the boy (2016) american mary (2012) repo! the genetic opera (2007) trick 'r' treat (2007) sweeney todd (2007) dead silence (2007) house of wax (2005) house of 1000 corpses (2003) final destination (2000) ravenous (1999) lair of the white worm (1988) brain damage (1988) the texas chainsaw massacre 2 (1986) re-animator (1985) & bride of re-animator (1990) evil dead movies (1981-1992) phantom of the paradise (1974)

[robynostornwyn]

Roevember 10: Festival

All Saint's Wake is by far her favorite festival of the year - Robyn loves to help out with the haunted houses for the kids, and apparently help gather cookies for the local voidsent.

[whorediaries-09]

part two of maroon where they have an angsty arguement and both of them are crying and screaming and harry cries so they have to put him to sleep and then talk, but they end up kissing.

part two of maroon? sure.

the great war;

pairing- sirius black x reader warning(s)- angst, hurt/comfort. (let me know if i should add more.) a/n- i think i really kinda hate this one.

ps- changed the plot kinda cause like my mind only went with this.

the slut club

and we will never go back to that bloodshed, crimson clover

in the bustling city of london, a cacophony of sound engulfs the snowflakes falling from the transcendent sky. you clutch your hands underneath the warmth of your coat, hiding your nose under the layers of scarf you had wrapped around your neck. tom handed you a firewhiskey and you let the warm liquid flow down your throat like a bittersweet memory.

it was another day with failure. you had been trying to find a job for remus, but rarely anyone would accept a werewolf as their assistant. you worked as a healer, so you couldn't possibly hire him as your assistant. and he remained too modest to accept money without any reason.

'thanks tom,' you say, your voice muffled against warm wool. you cling a few sickles on the counter. 'keep the change.'

you disapparate to your house. the cold metal of your keys jingle under your grip, and you unlock your door.

'harry, honey, i'm home,' you call out. your heart skips a beat when the regular trotting of small steps don't ponder at your call. you shout his name louder and your voice echoes in your hollow hallway.

the silence that echoes in your dull heartbeat is stronger. flashing memories of walking past james' dead body to discover lily's corpse flooded your mind and your footsteps faltered as you walked into your bedroom. anger throbbed inside you, anger at yourself and sirius. you had told him to stay with harry. why hadn't he come?

your fears weren't true. sirius lay in his dog form with harry on top of him. both of them seemed to be fast asleep.

'sirius, wake up. i'm here.' you say, picking up harry from his body. you place a soft kiss on his forehead, and your unintentional tears wet his cheek. you wipe off the tear before it would flow down his neck.

sirius gets up from the floor. you notice a bruise on his neck, but you don't question it. you sway harry in your arms, walking towards his cot.

'let me have him for the night,'

you stop dead in your tracks. with your back turned to his face, you're not hesitant when you offer him your reply.

'no.'

'why not?'

'i'd let you have him if your trauma wasn't so fresh. you're coping mechanisms aren't fit enough to keep a baby,'

'what the fuck do you mean by that?'

you place harry in his cot, turning towards him.

'don't curse. you know very well what i mean.'

'oh- so you're going to stand there pretending you're the best mother ever?'

'i never said that, no. i just have comparatively better coping mechanisms. and i'm not shaming you for your coping mechanisms either. so really, don't take any offence,'

'no offence my foot, i'm his godfather!'

'i'm his godmother, sirius,'

'godmother? oh yeah the great mother. don't stand there acting like a saint when i take care of him throughout the day. you just go out and be a healer. you don't care about him.'

you're not sure if his words are meant to sting. but they do. like little pricks absorbing into your heart with every second you stare into his eyes. your vision is blurred, hazed but your mind is clear as day. you feel bruised like violets. it was like taking your poison all alone. your breathing is rugged, hot tears flowing down your cheeks. you were diesel, a desire.

and he was playing with fire.

'i-i'm sorry i didn't mean that,' he says, his voice cracking. he moves closer to you, holding you. and maybe it's the familiarity of his touch. but it felt like bloodshed, a lost morning glory within the grasps of an unfair war. you feel like you're sinking when his scent haunts you again. you feel like you're on fire when his touch thrives into your skin again. you feel like you gather storms, never knowing what they'll mean.

you're not sure whether he wants to haunt you again or not. you're not sure whether he wants to go with grace or not. you're not sure if you're dead to him.

your tears paint his shirt. the war was over, the battleships would sink beneath the waves. so was the bloodshed. you'd never weep in a sunlit room alone. it was a cold ghostly grace of his lips against yours. which cursed your name, wrecked you. it was your home, it was engraved in your bones.

and maybe his love would never slip out of your reaches.

[moobell55]

Your Love Made It Well Worth Waiting (For Someone Like You)

A very fluffy fanfic

This part contains no Smut, however a second part with smut will be posted soon

Evangeline never thought she'd been the kind of women to want a quick elopement; as a young girl she'd dreamed of a beautiful wedding full of family and friends.

But Evangeline no longer had a family, and the moment she'd been waiting for her entire life would be better alone.

Her feet shook as she walked the lite path. Flower petals lined the ground, brilliant colors that even stood out against the darkening sky. Her pink and white dress swayed around her feet, gold lacing lining the skirts and her corset.

For the first time since coming to The Magnificat North Evangeline Fox truly felt like she belonged to royalty. A crown of wildflowers rest in her hair, she spent all day making it away from her soon to be husband.

Overhead the moon and stars showed to their fullest, like all the celestials' in the sky were here for her wedding.

The thought brought warmth to her heart, that some greater force led them to each other, finding peace for both of them.

Her feet walked on their down towards the dock, where her true love awaited her. Her heart beat frantically, something in her mind telling her this was too good to be true. After all the suffering that they'd gone through that someone would tear them apart again.

But Hope rang through her soul, and Evangeline could not resist its call.

The Silver ring on her finger felt like a beacon to him, and like a moth to a burning inferno Evangeline followed.

Her pace picked up when she caught sight of the tall man waiting for her at the end of the dock, his gilded hair gleaming under the stars. The look that crossed his Silver eyes set her heart ablaze, she felt like she was burning in the sweetest of fires.

Jacks held out his hand and Evangeline took it as if it was the last thing she'd ever do. She'd die in the next moment if she didn't touch him; she'd cry a million tears to have his lips against hers.

And every part of her existence knew Jacks had done the same without her. Knew of all the blooded tears he cried searching for her, the corpse left in his wake while he lost hope looking for her.

Evangeline had enough hope in her heart for both of them.

Evangeline was the only star in the sky that mattered, the only saint he would pray to, the candle that guided him home, the arrow that always struck true.

She was his as last, and after a thousand years of searching for his one and only true love, Jacks was happy.

Something he'd only been when he knew her, those gray eyes had haunted his soul since his first gaze upon her in his church. He wondered back then if she'd remain a tool, but she hadn't been in a long time.

He could remember the first time he held her, despite his displeasure he cherished the moment. Wanting to hold her again when she'd healed, wanted her lips upon his, wanted her warm body against his fridge one.

He loved the women in front of him more than anything in this world, he defied death and time to keep her safe. He did the impossible, and for her he'd do much more.

Nothing mattered except for her, nothing would ever compare to her.

Jacks would kill for the women in his arms, he'd die and pray to every god to be reborn to find her again. He'd search every corner of the world, every village and every house if it meant having her.

In this life and whatever came the day after he will face his mortality he would be hers.

Perhaps he was hers from the moment he drew his first breath in this world?

In his Soul he knew it was true.

For Jacks of The Hollow, Jacks the Prince of Hearts, and The Archer, had always belonged to his Fox. His heart beat for one purpose, the women who wore his ring.

He smiled a brilliant thing that lite up the night sky and Evangeline's heart.

She spoke, "Shall we Wed now my beloved?"

Her voice shook, but he smiled and guided her to the end of the dock.

Candles set alight on the dock posts, flicking in the darkness.

He'd spent hours preparing this for her, so she could have the closest thing to her dream as she could.

How she loved this man in front of her.

A spool of Red ribbon rested on the dock, next to his silver dagger that she was all to familiar with.

"This is one of the old ways," his voice spoke at last, "my parents married this way, Honora and Wolfric married this way, and if they had more time Lyric and Aurora would've too."

He paused, "This is truly the only way I know how, legend says that it binds two soul together, so that they will always find each other."

Evangeline smiled and cupped his face in warm hands, her smile could've stopped wars and almost stopped his heart.

"I do not need a piece of ribbon to bind your soul to mine, my heart decided a long time ago that we will always be bound."

Jacks smiled kindly and rested his forehead against hers, and she to knew that he never wanted to this moment.

This state of bliss and love that would start the rest of their lives, their happily ever after awaited them on the other side of that ribbon.

How does it begin?

Her words slipped into his mind, not wanting to break the silence.

I'll measure a piece of ribbon, that we'll wrap around are arms, the binding words are spoken from the bride first than the groom.

Her heart fluttered.

And then what my Love?

His smile turned devilish.

He spoke, "We kiss, and then I take my new bride home and consummate our marriage."

Evangeline smiled and crashed her lips against his, the sound of his joyous laughter echoed across the lake.

And after an eternity of waiting, Jacks began cutting the Red ribbon of Fate.

He dropped his knife and it clatter somewhere he didn't care to look, he couldn't take his eyes off his Evangeline.

And carefully with their hands interlocked, Jacks began binding the ribbon around their arms.

Evangeline swore that her soul felt as it was clinging onto Jacks, her life was connected to his in every sense possible.

Messily Jacks tied the knot at the bottom and took a breath.

"The bride will say her vows first ," his tied hands squeezed hers.

"With the Ribbon I bind thee, soul and body to the keeper of my heart and holder of my hand. To Wed and love, for the remainder of my days and for even more after we fade."

As she withdrew a golden ring from her pocket, and carefully slide it onto Jacks long pale fingers.

As she looked up Jacks met her eyes, an eternal happiness burning in his soul not even the lake could put out.

And breathlessly he began his binding.

"With the Ribbon I bind thee, soul and body to the keep of my heart and the holder of my hand. To Wed and love, for the remainder of my days and for even more after we fade."

As Jacks slide the silver ring onto her finger she felt a pull to her heart, a pull that Jacks felt too.

A burning in her heart and soul that her husband felt too.

She didn't have time to dwell on it; as Jacks crashed his lips to her and carefully pulled apart the ribbon.

His lips consumed her, every inch of her belonged to him and she knew the man who was revenging her lips felt the same.

Carefully without her noticing Jacks placed the ribbon into his jacket pocket, he knew she would want to keep it for years to come.

And while still distracted Jacks swept his wife up bridal style and began walking towards their home, his lips not once leaving hers.

And so Evangeline Fox was carried by Jacks of the Hollow into their happily ever after.

[zagreuses-toast]

My Angua Playlist! I Didn't like Angua much at first but she won me over, and now she's enough my fave to have earned a playlist. my beautiful girl with a disorder, theres so much complex stuff going on with her relationship to herself, her family, carrot, the watch. i love revolving it all in my head. Theres some intentional overlap with Vimes's . Explanations under the read more as usual

Angua is a cynical pessimist, she's so sure she's going to be abandoned, that she'll slip back into her old bad ways, that she'll be attacked for what she is and have to run again. she always has one foot out of the door:

Fast Car by Tracy Chapman

Haunted House by Sir Babygirl (this one especially nails the "everything is doomed i just dont want it to hurt too much" vibes of early Angua)

In the Blood from Hades

Nothing Good from Centaurworld

Lets Get This Over With by TMBG

Evelyn by Kim Tillman

Run Boy Run by Woodkid

Too Much Time by John Vanderslice

the Angua and Carrot vibes. sweet in many ways but they also have a doomed romance (as in, doomed to be in a romance) thing going on thats bonkers and very fun to rotate in my mind, especially when its in tension with angua's instincts to run:

Little Talks by Of Monsters and Men

Between My Teeth by Orla Garland

Stray Italian Greyhound by Vienna Tang

I Scare Myself by Thomas Dolby

The Bright Side by TMBG

Absentee by Jack Campbell

I like You for Psychological Reasons by TMBG (genuinely thee carrot/angua theme song in my mind)

The Dog Days Are Over by Florence + The Machine (yes this is dog themed no it doesnt go in the dog themes section, the horses are carrot and finding a home in the watch)

Tounges and Teeth by The Crane Wives

Landslide by Fleetwood Mac

Sight of the Sun by .fun ("I used to run at first sight of the sun but now I lay here waiting for you to wake up")

King and Lionheart by of Monsters and Men

Despite being a pessimist, despite having been a killer, despite her family wanting her to go back to being that, and strangers still seeing her as a monster, shes better. she's trying:

Get Better by Frank Turner

Getting There by Mustard Service

Its My Way by Buffy Sainte Marie (gritting my teeth on this one, buffy was recently exposed as a horrific liar and a fraud who faked being native, but also unfortunatley this song still fits angua very well and i still like it)

Changes by David bowie

Arsonist's Lullaby by Hozier

I'm Me by Vanessa from Phineas and Ferb (LISTEN, HEAR ME OUT, it's a little silly but so is angua sometimes)

This Year by The Mountain Goats

sorry for stereotyping you Angua but here's the werewolf/dog/monster songs, :

Maneater by Hall & Oates

Control by Halsey

Senses Working Overtime by XTC

Hey Bulldog by The Beatles

Werewolves of London by Warren Zevon

Freakshow by The Gothic Archies (specifically vibes with her being undead, and all the stuff people think about that in universe)

Turn The Lights Off by Tally Hall

I wanna Be Your Dog by AJJ

misc:

Music With Rocks In by Louie Zong

Synopsis for the Latecomers by TMBG (city watch vibes, i always imagined she's the next commander rather than carrot)

[shions-new-blog-of-stuff]

@baldursbasics @mishwanders

In the spirit of Halloween (in game All Saints' Wake) I found a simple but great Lady Dimitrescu glam! Oleander might not be 9ft tall but the dress looks really good! A lot of in game guilds have cosplay/seasonal parties and they're a lot of fun to dress up for! Or redesign their houses into haunted attractions for the night (some handout food like trick or treating)

[darlingseraa]

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas

I remember a time when the end of a year was a magical time. It began with me being anxious for Halloween to finally come, so I could wear that beautiful princess dress my mother had sewn by hand for me. When the day came at the tail end of October, I would cry if my parents made me wear my winter coat over my dress– I wanted everyone to see how beautiful it was and how amazing my mom was for making it by hand. And yes, where I live, we got snow well before Halloween even came around– some years, we’d have snowfall in late September or early October, and other years, the snow came late. One thing was sure, however, and that was that we would have snow by Halloween.

Hence why my parents would make me wear my winter coat to go trick-or-treating, most Halloweens.

To me, Halloween meant pillowcases full of candy to eat throughout the coming year, until the next Halloween came around and I’d go trick-or-treating with my family once again, and haul two to three more pillowcases full of candy back home. It meant that the best neighbourhood to go trick-or-treating in was the one where the family on the corner street turned their yard into a giant haunted house, complete with people dressed as Hellraiser and Freddie Krueger to scare the kids and parents daring to venture in. It meant meeting up with friends who were just as dressed up for the occasion as I was. It meant teachers and students alike would come to school in costume on the day before the holiday –or during the day of Halloween itself if it was in the middle of a school week–, and it made that school day that much more fun.

And then, when Halloween came to an end, the spooky decorations would be taken down and stored away for another year. Things would be quiet for a week or two.

And then, Christmas would begin.

Yes, Christmas began two weeks after Halloween for me and my family.

I remember that, back then around mid-November, my house’s yard would be covered in snow 1 to 2 feet thick. Yes, you read that right. My dad would wake up early in the morning, take the snowblower out the shed, and he would clear out as much snow as he could from the driveway, so that he and my mom could go to work, and so my brother and I wouldn’t have to trudge through the snow to get to the school bus on time. I remember my dad building my brother and I a wooden ramp on which snow would land during snowstorms, and that we’d pack down and drench in water to create an icy slide we could play on during the winter months. I remember going skiing in powdery snow, the type of snow that acted as a cushion and made falls practically painless. I remember skating on the Rideau Canal in Ottawa, I remember going to the Village Valcartier snowpark at least once every two or three years.

I remember the beginning of winter being a sign of good days to come, because I loved winter.

And to me, the entire season felt like Christmas.

Because, by mid-November, my house was alight with decorations for the coming holidays.

I remember being overjoyed whenever I saw my parents taking out these big plastic bins from the closet downstairs, in which all of our Christmas decorations were stored throughout the year. I remember the bright red duffel bag in which our artificial Christmas tree was stored, and how there were always fake pine needles everywhere as soon as we’d open it. I remember having to unfurl every single little branch on this monster of a tree, and then wrapping it in garlands of lights, adorning it with ribbons and all sorts of ornaments and knick-knacks.

There’s this one place in the entire province of Québec that we loved to visit– it was a Christmas shop located in Saint-Sauveur, in a region called the Laurentides. Every year, we’d go there and look around excitedly. I remember my parents bought my brother and I an ornament each, almost every time we’d go– once, I chose a little dressage rider on her chestnut horse, because I was convinced that I would one day have a horse of my own and I would become a top tier rider. Another year, they got me a huge trebble clef covered in gold holo glitter, because of my love for music. And another year, they bought me a fragile little ornament representing a ballerina frozen mid-arabesque, for my love of ballet.

And then, during the car ride home, I'd look out my window at the perfect winter scenery as we drove past.

At home, we’d decorate the tree, and then hang these little doorknob snowmen that my mother had handcrafted years ago. Then, we’d wrap a pine garland around the ramps on the stairs. And when that was done, we’d head outside and cover the house in Christmas lights.

And then it would be Christmas until late January the next year.

Everywhere we’d go, stores and houses alike were all adorned in their finest Christmas gear, and were a sight to behold. Some had inflatable santas and reindeer, others had Nativity scenes, others had a Northern Star light perched on their roof. And in the car, or in stores, the radio would blast Christmas music into your ears.

I remember listening to all these Christmas songs and thinking they were all so magical. That I could never get tired of them, because the singers all sang about how wonderful the holidays are, how their hearts were full of cheer, how cozy it was to sit next to chestnuts roasting on an open fire. They would sing about how we should just let it snow, about how Santa knew when you were sleeping or awake, about how they had a dream of a beautiful, white Christmas. My mother had a collection of Christmas CDs that she’d keep with her in her car, and whenever we’d go somewhere, we’d listen to them.

“White Christmas” was my favourite, because it made me think about how excited I was throughout the rest of the year for winter to come around, and for Christmas to bring joy and cheer to us once again. My mom would often tell me how it was my late grandpa's favourite Christmas song, too. I never learned its true meaning until recently– to me, it simply was about how the singer dreamt of having a Christmas just like he used to know, like when he was a kid.

A bit like the feeling I got this year, during the holidays.

Ten years ago, when I was sixteen, I started to see changes in the seasons, especially during winter. I noticed that it wouldn’t come as early as it used to. By Halloween, the best we could hope for was a day or night without rain. There was no snow in sight. Mid-November at the earliest would be when snowfall would begin.

And then, with the beginning of winter regressing well into the tail-end of November, so did the beginning of Christmas, in mine and my family’s eyes.

We wouldn’t decorate as much, or as early as we used to. We’d just leave the Christmas lights on the house for the next year, but not light them before the next time the holidays came around. One year, we tried getting a real Christmas tree, and though it was amazing to have the house smell like fresh pine until we had to take the tree out after the holidays, it just didn’t feel as magical.

It almost felt like the excitement I got from Christmas was directly related to how much snow we had that year.

So you can imagine how exciting Christmas was for me, these past few years where December was nearly as green as a golf course green in the middle of summer.

As I write this, there are literally barely two inches of snow covering the ground in my backyard.

Two. Inches.

That’s literally nothing.

I saw a post that one of my mutuals reblogged that mentioned this, about how Christmas songs nowadays are mostly reprises of the classics. And these classics reference a time that people these days can only remember. Children and future generations will never know the kind of winter we had back in the day. The ones where we’d play King of the Mountain with the other kids in the school yard because the administration had the snow cleared out, but the workers packed it in one spot in the entire yard instead of shoving it somewhere else. They’ll never know what it’s like to watch the news in the morning and see that their school is closed because of recent snowstorms causing trouble on the roads. They’ll never know the excitement of waking up one day in early November, and seeing a thick sheet of snow covering the ground outside.

They'll never know what a true snow day is like.

Nowadays, if I wanted to experience a winter like this again, I’d have to travel far up north.

I’d. Have. To. Travel.

When in previous years, I wouldn’t have had to, because these winters happened here, where I live.

And I wish I didn’t have to travel in order to have such an experience again.

Nowadays, winter is just another word for rainfall. Because that’s all we get– rainstorm after rainstorm. We barely get to see the snowflakes falling from the cloudy skies anymore. There’s no feeling of joy at witnessing the first of many snowfalls of the year, because I know that it’s only temporary. That there won’t be more snow piling up on top of it. I will likely never again wake up and feel joy at the sight of a fresh, untouched blanket of snow waiting for me outside, because there are no thick blankets of freshly fallen snow where I live anymore. The season’s become too warm for those to last.

I hate what winter has become.

I hate that it’s cold, but not cold enough to keep the snow around like it did before.

I hate that it’s wet, but not wet because the snow melted into my supposedly waterproof snowsuit– it's wet because of the rain.

I hate that the sky is almost always gray with rainclouds and not snowclouds.

I. Hate. It.

But what can one person do to change it?

Not much, I’m afraid.

The shift in seasons and climate change has killed what used to be the most amazing time of year for me.

It killed my love for winter. It killed my love for Christmas.

And it has tainted what little memories I retain from past Christmasses with a nostalgia and a sadness that I can only describe as painful, because I know I may never experience it again in my lifetime. And I'll only be 26 years old this year.

So these days, I don’t decorate anymore. I don’t listen to Christmas songs unless they’re blasted at work, on repeat, until I’m so fed up with them that I get angry when I come back the next day and hear them playing still. I don’t feel joy at seeing the slightest amount of snow on the ground, because I know that soon enough, rain will wash it away.

All I do is dream of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know.

–––

Hey everyone!

I'm sorry this post is so long. I just saw something on my timeline and had a lot of Big Feelings(tm) about it that I thought of sharing. The holidays this year have been a big disappointment on my end, for many reasons which I won't mention here. But the main reason is explained throughout this post.

If you've read through this entire thing, I am very grateful that you took the time to do so!

[the-ghost-bracket]

Commander Wake propaganda:

"She's the angriest woman in the universe, she's so dedicated to get revenge that she survives as a ghost haunting a sword for like 20 years"

"One of the main characters' birth parent, she's so dedicated to her cause that she stayed attached to her skull, then her daughter's sword, then manipulated the other main character to stab a dead body so she could inhabit it."

"Spends a LOT of time killing people in a dream using guns, in a series where no character had even mentioned guns existing up until that point. Possesses the protagonist of Harrow the Ninth and manifests mostly as hallucinations of all-caps ranting about her two lovers, one of whom murdered her. Possesses the corpse of a saint and maaaybe has sex with one of those lovers, as a corpse?

More importantly she tries to put God on trial for crimes against humanity. While possessing the corpse of a saint."

"First of all, yes that’s her name. Commander Wake for short. She was killed 20 years before the events of the books and is the mother of the main character. She possesses her daughters sword and uses that to get around. To avoid describing half the plot of the first book I’ll just say that the sword and daughters girlfriend (and daughter but not daughters body which is dead rip) end up on Gods spaceship where he swings with the older saints. Wake possesses the girlfriend and uses that to stab a corpse with the sword so she can possess the corpse and get around. While in the corpse she crawls around trying to kill god, kill her ex who killed her and make out with her ex who didn’t kill her (this made difficult by the two exes currently sharing a body). While in her daughters girlfriend she essentially acts as the villain in a psychological horror movie except she has a gun also. She is trying to kill her daughters girlfriend so she can take over her body and use it to kill god. She is eventually defeated by slam poetry. I’m not even kidding. "

"WOW THIS PERSON WON'T LET GO

-leader of a terrorist organization, dies on her most important mission (bringing a baby to pluto to kill them, which will open a door leading to the ghost of the earth)

-her ghost refuses to come when summoned, only eventually showing up to scream angrily and disappear

-didn't actually disappear, instead haunted her own bones for years

-eventually her daughter Gideon (the baby she only referred to as ""bomb"") is old enough to have a sword and she visits Wake's bones regularly, then Wake moves to haunt the sword for years

-Gideon sacrifices herself to save her necromancer Harrowhark, but Harrow tried to save her back so now Gideon is haunting Harrow's brain while Harrow is left in possession of the sword

-Wake uses the sword to possess both Harrow and the body of a saint Harrow and Gideon just killed, meanwhile Harrow accidentally made her memories a bubble full of the ghosts of everyone she met in the previous book

-Wake rewrites Harrow's already rewritten memories further by trying to murder all the memory bubble ghosts

-simultaneously, Wake uses the body of the saint to resume her relationship with the ghost possessing the saint who killed her, then drags that person to an incinerator and leaves both inhabitants of that body to die (again in the ghost's case)

-in the bubble Harrow and the ghosts eventually resort to summoning the ghost of a famous swordsman from Harrow's house to have even a chance of defeating Wake, which only removes her from Harrows mind while she's free elsewhere

-Wake in the dead saint's body insults the emperor while he questions her, her ex in the other saint's body bursts in and shoots her in the head

-not convinced she can't come back again, she's too tenacious to re-die

TL;DR: Wake has been dead for 20 years and is an expert at haunting multiple people simultaneously, killing people, and not staying gone

Also she's a complex character, at first seems like she's heartless with the way she plans to murder Gideon and leaves her ex to die, but it's revealed that she deeply loved her sister and niece- she's capable of caring, she just doesn't when it comes to the characters we care about

Also also, her entire name is a massive F you to the man/emperor/self-proclaimed ""god"" she dedicated her life to destroying, and she made him say and think about the whole thing when she interacted with him"

"One of the worst mothers ever. Stole god’s cum in an intergalactic plot to end the greatest form of imperialism. Referred to her baby as “the bomb” and died while trying to get it to the destination (one of the enemies (who she was also **entangled** with) kicked her out an airlock) and eventually started. Haunting her kid’s sword. Total mess. Terrible woman. I love her."

"She died to save her newborn baby who got named after her murder. She possessed her daughter’s sword to haunt the woman her daughter died to save. Then she possessed some people and killed some people. Iconic"

[kitsune-rp-help]

Hozier Wasteland, Baby!

There's no plan, there's no race to be run The harder the rain, honey, the sweeter the sun Starter sentences taken from the lyrics from the album Wasteland, Baby! (2019) by Hozier. Feel free to modify as needed to better suit pronouns/setting ect.

Nina Cried Power

It's not the wakin', it's the risin'

It's not the shade we should be casting

It's the fire it ignites

And I could cry power

It's not the wall, but what's behind it

Almost (Sweet Music)

She likes to roll here in my ashes anyway

The same kind of music haunts her bedroom

I'm almost me again, she's almost you

Be still my foolish heart

The very thought of you and am I blue

Movement

I still watch you when you're groovin'

You're movin' without movin' and when you move, I'm moved

So move me, baby like you've nothin' left to lose and nothin' to prove

No Plan

What a waste to say the heart could feel apart

Why would you offer her name to the same old tired pain?

My heart is thrilled by the still of your hand

There's no plan, there's no race to be run

The harder the rain, honey, the sweeter the sun

And if secrets were like seeds when I'm lying under marble marvel at flowers you'll have made

Nobody

It's gin o'clock where I wake up

But I've had no love like your love

I'd be appalled if I saw you ever try to be a saint

To Noise Making (Sing)

Remember when you'd sing, just for the fuck of it

Honey, the look of it was as sweet as the sound

Was it that or just the act of making noise that brought you joy?

You put your emptiness to melody, Your awful heart to song

You don't have to sing it nice, but honey sing it strong

At best, you find a little remedy, at worst the world will sing along

As It Was

There is a roadway, muddy and foxgloved

How long you would wait for me?

Shrike

I couldn't utter my love when it counted

I couldn't whisper when you needed it shouted

All of that goodness is goin' with you now

Remember me, love when I'm reborn

I was housed by your warmth thus transformed

Talk

I'd be the choiceless hope in grief

In Eurydice imagine being loved by me!

I won't deny I've got in my mind now all the things we'd do

I'd be the last shred of truth

Be

Be as you've always been

Be like the love that discovered the sin

Be that hopeful feeling when Eden was lost

Which side of the wall really suffers that cost?

Oh, lover, be good to me

Dinner & Diatribes

Honey, this club here is stuck up

Your friends are a fate that befell me

Honey, I laugh when it sinks in

A pillar I am of pride

Honey, it's easier knowing what you'd do to me tonight

That's the kind of love I've been dreaming of

Would That I

True that I saw her hair like the branch of a tree

True that love in withdrawal was the weeping of me

I fretted fire but that was long ago

Oh, but you're good to me

With the roar of the fire, my heart rose to its feet

I fell in love with the fire long ago

With each love I cut loose, I was never the same

Sunlight

I would shun the light, share in evening's cool and quiet

Who would trade that hum of night?

But whose heart would not take flight?

Oh, your love is sunlight

All the tales the same told before and told again

Oh, and these colors fade for you only

Hold me, carry me slowly, my sunlight

Know that I would gladly be the Icarus to your certainty

Strap the wing to me death trap clad happily with wax melted, I'd meet the sea

Wasteland, Baby!

All the fear and the fire ff the end of the world

All the things yet to come are the things that have passed

And the day that we'll watch the death of the sun

And when the stench of the sea and the absence of green are the death of all things that are seen and unseen

Not an end, but the start of all things that are left to do

[thechroniclesofhriddick]

All Saint's Wake is back.

Yay... I guess. At least this time there's nothing bad goin' on like turnin' people inna monsters... Dunno why we're 'elping the voidsent learnin' 'ow to "nicely scare" people though.

At least we stopped the not-so-nice voidsent from doing... whatever they were planning by turnin' them into pumpkins! (I dun wanna think if all the pumpkins are voidsent; I'mma do m'self a favor and say "no".)

Anyroad, its A'caedia's first All Saints Wake! She's a bit too small for a cossie, so we opted t' just dress her in an orange onsie wit a green cap that won't bother 'er growing floppy ears. She seems t' like the marshmallow ghosts like I do, cooing at them and tryin' t' reach out and touch them. Its adorable. We are keepin' 'er away from the Haunted House. I dun like the feel of it in there, and there are voidsent...

Svan is worried my voidsent may come for me since... y'know, easier time t' cross over 'n all an' I dun disagree... But I did wanna go and see all the cute decorations...

...I think it'll be ok.

I hope so. And if not... well I got me a battle bun.

[remidyal]

D20 Bad Fic Ideas of the Day Part 4: Spookyish Month

As usual, my monthly-ish roundup of all my Bad Ideas of the Day from the D20 Fic Discord (join us here if you want, open to readers and writers!) This one, it being October, has some spooky ideas mixed in.

Previous lists of ideas: Part 3

Part 2

Part 1

Bad idea of the day, spooky edition: After an unfortunate death where nobody was able to revivify him in time, Fabian has come back as a ghost who is firmly in denial of being a ghost and none of the bad kids want to correct him for fear that he might move on if they do.

Bad idea of the day, not so spooky edition: Upon learning that of COURSE Adaine and Aelwyn weren't allowed to go trick or treating or to do costume parties as kids, the other residents of Mordred Manor take it upon themselves to make certain both of them get the full little kid halloween experience, up to and including a sugar rush to end all sugar rushes. Actually toss Kristen in there too, all three of them are getting cheesy costumes and bad candy

(Belated costume ideas, in between working: Aelwyn gets talked by Zayn into going as a goth kid. Adaine gets talked by Fig into going as a punk. Kristen decides to go in a cat costume and make your own judgement about what she's thinking re: that and Tracker.)

Bad Idea of the Day, Saint Kristen Applebees' Not At All Haunted House edition: Kristen sets up a haunted house exhibit at Mordred Manor for halloween, attempting to show children that the night and the unknown are not something that must be feared. This effect is spoiled somewhat by the fact that Mordred Manor is, quote, haunted as shit, and the ghosts can't help but show off for the children by doing things like spooky voices and making the walls bleed.

Bad idea of the day, cabin in the woods edition: The bad kids go camping for a vacation, a terrible idea given their history with forests made even worse when Adaine decides to read the only book that was in that cabin, a book bound in some kind of weird leather with a screaming face on the front… (It's the necronomicon, this is just an Evil Dead fusion idea)

Bad Idea of the Day, I Kind of Already Did This One But This Time It'd Be Accidental Edition: The Bad Kids, at some point during Freshman year, get talked by Fabian or someone into doing a blood oath with each other which REALLY bites them in the ass in sophomore year

Bad Idea of the Day, Ghost Ops edition: Needing to investigate a new business that's sprung up in New York claiming to capture ghosts, the Dream Team eventually comes to the conclusion that the only way they're going to be able to look into it is for one of them to (temporarily) die and become a ghost to take a look from the inside.

Bad idea of the day, Lost (in space) edition: The crew of the Wurst have to deal with the fact that in the wake of Plug's wedding, their spaceship has gotten deeply weirder, with the jib-jobbers replaced by things like a polar bear and a monster made entirely out of smoke.

Bad idea of the day, Marriage edition: Tired of Fig trying to plot for some way to get Gorgug into the extended Bad Kids ouroboros of a family tree, Adaine and Gorgug elope and then immediately divorce just so they can annoy everyone else by referring to each other as 'ex-wife' and 'ex-husband'

Bad idea of the day, honestly a nap sounds pretty good edition: The Bad Kids have to go find and rescue Mister Professor Headmaster Aguefort after he gets turned to stone by a Medusa-esque monster, only to find out he did it intentionally to get out of work and rest for a few weeks.

Bad idea of the day, REALLY BAD IDEA edition: The bad kids are sent to put a stop to a group that promises to give people a glimpse of the afterlife they are currently on track to end up in, because the group doesn't disclose in advance that they accomplish this via killing you and then revivifying you 54 seconds later

Bad idea of the day, sibling rivalry edition: Through divine rules dating back thousands of years, Galicaea is requiring that Cassandra select a champion from among her followers for a fight. Galicaea being a little bit of a dick, she selects one Tracker O'Shaughnessey, who is now obliged by her god to fight Cassandra's sole follower and option….

Bad idea of the day, hit them where it hurts edition: In an act of retaliation for Riz snooping into some detail of her life, Fig attempts to get petty revenge by striking out through her corporate contacts in Hell and getting his favorite brand of coffee discontinued.

Bad Idea of the Day, an Apothecary who Cares edition: In a low fantasy version of Elmville, Kristen Applebees arrives on the run from the religious sect her family is a member of to apprentice as a potion-maker. Can she make friends in this new village and maybe not get fired by flirting with her instructor and caretaker's niece?

Bad idea of the day, why is your daughter a fruit edition: In an a Crown of Candy fusion, high drama comes among one of the ruling families of Ceresia when, on her fourteenth nameday, Figueroth Faeth starts showing traits of having raspberry blood.

Bad idea of the day, Once Upon a Crime edition: The Never After crew take an accidental left turn into a frequently referenced series of stories also with a childlike morality, about a gang of car thieves, but really it's about family. They promise. Can they escape fast, or will they die to the furious characters native to these stories?

Bad idea of the day, REALLY confusing gay awakening edition: In one of my favorite general ideas, a character gets bitten by a werewolf at the Black Pit fight and fails her con save. In a reversal from my normal, in this case it's one Kristen Applebees, bitten by the girl who was her first kiss a few moments before. How does she handle this situation, and can she go to her parents or her church leaders for help safely?

Bad idea of the Day, Dead Men Tell Tales edition: A story in hell just of different people who the Bad Kids have killed over the last couple years complaining about how they died. Doreen is there for some reason

Bad idea of the day, Pirates! edition: Bill never retires and Fabian never comes to Elmville. In Junior Year, the Bad Kids (who now include Zelda in their number) are assigned to bring down the scourge of the sea and the heir he's been said to be preparing to take over after his death…

Bad idea of the Day, it's just a prank bro edition: On the first day of school, in every student's locker they get a TOP SECRET report from Arthur Aguefort about the horrific death they suffered during that school year, with him purporting that it was so bad that he had to reset time to undo it. This is entirely made up because he just wants to see, say, Gorgug's reaction to 'finding out' that his liver was devoured by sand sharks or something.

Bad idea of the day, villain crossover edition: After Gilear and Sandra Lynn divorce, rather than Hallariel Seacaster, he rebounds with a woman who doesn't quite seem to have a name and who Fig can never bring herself to look too closely at…

Bad idea of the day, Trick or Treat edition: Aguefort has a tradition, missed in the bad kid's freshman year because he was dead, of setting a box of potions outside of his office on Halloween, warded against Identify and with a dazzling array of effects, from the beneficial to the inconvenient to the fatal

Bad Idea of the day, Play Stupid Games Win Stupid Prizes edition: Needing to find something to fill out a dark and stormy evening where Mordred loses power, the Mordred Manor crew finds a board game that had been there ever since whoever the prior residents were. All of the caster-y sorts are immediately able to tell it's cursed, but aren't sure what the curse will do, so out of boredom they start to play it just to see what will happen.

BONUS BAD IDEA of the day: Palimpsests make people into data. Data can be copied. Instead of a kidnapping plot, Kalvaxus uses it to create disposable soldiers out of some of his minions

Bad idea of the day, In Space No One Can Hear You Scream edition: The crew of the Wurst find a collection of classic Earth horror movies, and Gunnie decides to make a change to the slot machines in the Casino so that one out of a hundred times on a loss a chest burster pops out of the slot machine, bloodspray included

[vickysaurus]

I’m about two-thirds of the way through Harrow the Ninth, and while I found the early parts of the book somewhat tough to get through, I’m hooked at this point. Some thoughts:

I just got past the three AU chapters (Harrow and Gideon swap, Harrow at the ball about to meet the emperor’s daughter (who could it be???), BARI-star) and I loved them. It is interesting that it’s always Abigail who asks if this is how it happens, and that they (and the main false flashback storyline) contain a bunch of information Harrow did not know. That leads me to believe it’s more than just a false memory, but perhaps some actual alternate timeline tapped into using lyctoral powers. Or, since only the dead appear in the flashbacks/AUs and the people who actually survived get killed off without ever interacting with Harrow, perhaps it’s their actual spirits playing out an alternate past without Gideon. Either way, I agree with Abigail: I would’ve loved to see where the ball AU was going.

Protesilaus being a warrior-poet and Ortus having instant poet-on-poet loathing for him is my absolute favourite joke. I really hope we get more of it.

I have been thinking hard who the defector could be and who is likely to be the one to assassinate Jon/God, and my main suspects are Harrow herself and Gideon Ortus the First (I’m like 102% sure his name is actually Gideon and Harrow has some sort of perception filter to hear the name Gideon as Ortus).

-My main reasons for suspecting the Saint of Duty are his memory loss/the almost split personality thing he’s got going on, which makes me suspect he, like Harrow, may have deliberately erased some of his memory, maybe in order to never have John suspect him, as even he himself doesn’t realise what he’s doing. And what better cover for an imperial assassin than a man who is absolutely hellbent on protecting him against all reason? He also seems to have complicated feelings about Commander Wake, who I think is Gideon’s mum. I don’t know if that’s a spoiler I’ve seen on here and half-forgot (the name did sound familiar when it fell) or my own conclusion from the fact she disappeared about twenty years ago and there’s a poster of a red-haired person who hurts Harrow’s head to look at in the rebel shuttle. Also I have been spoiled that Gideon’s dad is George Washington and her mum did 9/11, and I’m figuring out what that means. ANYWAY all this is to say that the Saint of Duty has complicated feelings about her, she was last seen being chased by him, and Gideon’s mum died saying his name. Now that could have been in a ‘argh that fiend Gideon killed me!’ sort of way but also a ‘help Gideon I’m dying’ sort of way or maybe ‘name my kid Gideon after that cool Lyctor who’s been helping us’ way that the Ninth house correctly interpreted.

Harrow is my second suspect. When I started thinking about the Saint of Duty Zaphod Beeblebroxing himself so he could assassinate the emperor without ever being suspicious, I realised that applied to Harrow too! We’re dealing with two characters with memory loss, and while it seems like the explanation for what Harrow did to herself was simply wanting to forget Gideon, what if there was more to it? Now Harrow may be fanatically devoted to John God, but she is at least as devoted to The Body, aka A.L., aka Annabel Lee, aka maybe the Alecto I’ve seen mentioned, aka the person literally prophesised to kill him! She’s been haunting Harrow heavily (one of at least two people haunting her, because I think the narrator is Gideon Nav and is also doing so) and I think maybe she and past!Harrow have set up Harrow so that she can safely get in Emperor God’s trust and he would never suspect her. And maybe they’re using Cytheria’s body for something? Except I think maybe Ianthe is the one making her shuffle around and pretending she has no idea what Harrow is talking about. Either way, even if the Saint of Duty is right and Harrow is the future imperial assassin, that probably doesn’t mean she’s the one giving information to Blood of Eden, since I get the impression that’s been going on for a while.

Other suspects: Augustine (presumably first in line for the throne, awfully willing to help kill off the most protective lyctor just before they need all hands on deck for the resurrection beast), Ianthe (her sister is in Blood of Eden, I think is puppeteering Cytheria and gaslighting Harrow about it, would have had the opportunity to fuck with Harrow’s brain and maybe use her for it that way too), John himself??? (Probably not)

Okay conspiracy board ramblings over. Other thoughts: Blood of Eden are definitely the good guys, right? John seems like a pleasant enough guy, but he and his lyctors are out and about killing entire planets and are the rulers of an extremely fucked up 10000 year old dictatorship holding what seems to be the entire universe in their grip.

“None houses with left grief” hit me like a fucking truck. I believe that is John forcing the meme, not Tamsyn Muir, and shows that he in fact lived as a normal human being in our time, before the apocalypse he briefly described.