#Goosebumps Hall of Horrors

[sunshinelivesforever]

Did anyone else have a Goosebumps/Goosebumps Horrorland phase? Because Goosebumps Horrorland was literally almost my entire childhood and I still love it SO MUCH. Is there even a fandom?? I seriously need other people interested in Goosebumps Horrorland, please tell me if you are 😭

[myokk]

fast sketch of ominis & fast intro to the ominis longfic I'm working on!! This is going to be the most self-indulgent pride and prejudice ripoff that ever existed, 100% based on the ominis of my oneshot💘

I am just OBSESSED with exploring the idea that he’s a natural legilimens & OBSESSED with the thought that he thinks too much for his own good🫶🫶🫶

Ominis Gaunt has always suspected he is cold-blooded.

It makes sense, really.

He always seems to be cold: frigid, long fingers that are often stiff and difficult to move; goosebumps raising the skin of his arms and the back of his neck any time he walks through the drafty halls of the dungeons; even his eyes, he has been told, are reminiscent of ice. They are apparently quite unsettling. The only time he feels comfortable in his body is when he basks in the heat of the sun.

His earliest memory is of the cold. It went like this: he was four years old: his older brother, Marvolo, had led him outside as a joke, he swore up and down that it was just a small joke, and how was he supposed to know that poor, blind Ominis would not be able to find his way back home? When his parents had finally found him, his frail mother sobbing and holding his tiny, blue, hypothermic body to her chest, Ominis remembers feeling quite perturbed at the disturbance. Couldn’t he just be left alone, in the silent soft snow?

He does not know if he has ever felt warm since.

As he strides through the dungeons, the copious amount of warming charms he casts on himself do not seem to be enough, but he keeps casting them anyways and also: wrapping his wool scarf more tightly around his neck, quickening his pace in the hopes that blood flows more easily through his limbs, wishing that he had remembered his gloves. Winter is always a terrible time of year (this winter more terrible than usual), and every breath of warm air leaves his lips reluctantly. How he wishes that he could just hold on to it a bit longer and yet the warmth leaves him precisely fifteen traitorous times a minute, the frigid air gleefully entering and burning its way down his throat in response. Maybe it’s a punishment of some sort.

His whole life has been defined by punishments and sometimes he preoccupies himself with the thought that it is the only way he can view the world. Most of the punishments are manifested in curses inherited from his family. (His parents and Marvolo insist that they are gifts, but Ominis begs to differ.)

First, his blindness: the only true punishment-curse that even his family rejects: caused by inbreeding, no doubt. He did not cry after his birth and his mother cradled his tiny body in silent arms, lovingly whispering nonsense-evil-Parseltongue to him but when he opened his eyes and she saw a brilliant celestine blue with no iris, she screamed in horror and shattered the frigid peace of the room. His parents tried everything to fix him, make him whole, throwing money at various possible solutions to no avail. Magically induced disabilities are not, apparently, curable by magic.

Ominis is not sure that he hates being blind, although he suspects everyone thinks that he should. It is as much a part of him as his fifteen-breaths-per-minute, and he thinks that vision is not all it’s cracked up to be. He is always terrified at the thought that his tenuous hold on sanity is only due to the fact that he cannot see, until he realizes he shouldn’t be terrified of hypothetical situations that cannot come to pass. He consoles himself with the thought that maybe, if he has had to give up his vision for his sanity, it is a small price to pay. Although, he also thinks sometimes that it would be nice to live a life without any morality holding him back.

He is entirely too introspective, after all.

It is precisely this introspection that is his downfall in this moment (and his cold blood). Ominis is so busy casting warming charms on himself and thinking in circles that he cannot use his wand to help him sense his environment and so he should not be surprised when he crashes into her.

And yet he is. Terribly surprised.

Maybe if he were not so caught up in his own thoughts he could have paid more attention to his surroundings. Instead, he spent too much time ruminating on his reptilian heritage and has now barreled head first into his arch-nemesis.

Rosalie Harris.

The girl who has stolen his oldest friend from him.

The girl who is currently making angry noises as she clambers to her feet and is picking up the things that he has crashed everywhere. Even if he could see, Ominis is not sure he would help her. Helping her would be akin to betraying himself, after all.

“Hey! Watch where you’re - oh, hello, Ominis.”

“Rosalie,” he says shortly, nodding his head where he thinks she might be standing and stepping to the side. He tightens his grip around his wand, feeling the texture of the wood change from rough to smooth as he runs his thumb down it. Smooth where he always seems to worry it, rough where the wood refuses to yield to the brushes of his thumb.

He surreptitiously casts the spell - he has at least done it so many times he no longer needs to say it out loud - and his surroundings light up. Or, he supposes that is the most apt description, considering he cannot actually differentiate between light and dark. He senses Rosalie’s silhouette to his left - she is standing with her arms crossed and her foot taps impatiently as she waits for him.

Waiting for what? he thinks, slightly irritated. She never seems to leave him alone and he wracks his brain trying to think of something, anything he can say to get rid of her.

Maybe if he speaks in Parseltongue, she would finally be scared away for good. He does not really want that second reminder of his family’s curse, though.

His family preferred speaking in Parseltongue with each other, believing the ability made them morally superior to everyone else and Ominis had not even realized until he had arrived at Hogwarts that no, it was not normal. When his name had been called at the Sorting, furious whispers had erupted amongst all the students, and his every step (terrified, confused, unsure - he had still been getting used to using his wand to navigate his surroundings) to the stool at the front of the Great Hall was plagued with a susurration reminiscent of snakes. Except these whispers, sneaking their way into his mind, had been unkind and overwhelming.

(He had not realized in that moment that he was also hearing their thoughts.)

Maybe now, with Rosalie standing in front of him and just annoyingly waiting for Merlin-knows-what, Ominis should use his Legilimency to find out what Rosalie wants. (He hates it, though.) It would not be difficult. (The thought makes him shiver in horror because he doesn’t want to abuse the ability.) He can feel the edges of her mind, her magic, and all he has to do is reach out - she is right there, and -

“Ominis?”

Her arms are crossed, he hears an impatient huff.

Why hasn’t she left him alone yet?

Hadn’t the Hogwarts Express already left the station, bringing all of the students home for the winter holiday? Ominis had thought he would be one of the only students left in the castle, and if he is being honest with himself, he had been looking quite forward to having the place to himself.

Ominis’s winter has just gotten infinitely worse.

Going to Gaunt Manor for the holidays is out of the question (he will not think about the nightmares that have been plaguing him ever since he received the owl demanding he go home), and Ominis does not want to be more of a burden to the Sallows. They already do enough for him over the summer, and Sebastian and Anne have convinced him to go to Hogsmeade with them at least twice over the next two weeks. Besides, with Anne’s curse progressing, Ominis does not want to be in the way.

“Why are you still here?” Ominis asks. He knows his voice comes across as cold as his blood, blunt, but he cannot help himself. Ever since Rosalie arrived - her entrance to Hogwarts also causing quite the stir - Ominis has been intensely annoyed by her presence. She is too happy. Too carefree. Too…well, everything he is not.

And, she does not seem to leave him alone.

Rosalie is always there, always hanging around Sebastian. (Taking Sebastian away.) He even showed her the Undercroft, which had almost caused a rift in their relationship. Ominis could not believe that Sebastian would be so careless, showing someone who for all intents and purposes is crashing her way into their lives, forcing them to pay attention to her. They barely even knew her, and yet Sebastian thought it was a good idea to show her such a sacred place?

(It does not help that she is intelligent, and Ominis has caught himself on more than one occasion about to ask her about her opinion on something before he catches himself.)

“I was looking for you.”

Ominis tilts his head at that and fiddles with his ring. He considers walking away, leaving -

“I mean…Sebastian said that you were also going to be here over the holidays and since everyone else just left I thought -”

“Thought what?” Internally, Ominis winces at the biting tone to his voice. It came out harsher than he intended, his voice loud and echoing through his mind, bouncing off the cold, stone walls surrounding them.

[infamous-light]

You Belong to Me Ch. 1

Alcina Dimitrescu x F! Reader

AO3: You Belong to Me

Summary: Lady Dimitrescu's obsession knows no bounds as she becomes increasingly possessive over you. Will you succumb to her dark embrace, or find a way to break free before it's too late?

Word Count: 3.4K

Warnings: Yandere, possessive/obsessive behavior, blood, aftermath depiction of violence

You woke up every morning to the faint glow of dawn filtering in through the small, frost-covered window of your cramped living space. The air was cool and still, carrying with it the subtle scent of weathered stone and aged wood. It was a far cry from the comfort of your former life, but you have long since resigned yourself to the harsh realities of servitude since you began living in Castle Dimitrescu three months ago.

With a weary sigh, you pushed yourself upright. The blanket slid away to reveal the simple cot that served as your bed. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and planted both feet onto the cold, unforgiving surface of the wooden floor. It made goosebumps travel across your arms.

Ignoring the slight chill in your bedroom for now, you walked over to a small dresser, and with a gentle tug, you pulled open the drawer, revealing an array of neatly folded uniforms within. You sift through the selection, your fingers grazing over soft cotton blouses, tailored trousers, and dresses. After thoughtful consideration, you settled on a plain white blouse paired with sleek black trousers.

Once dressed, you made your way over to where a small basin sat atop a stand, tucked away into the corner of your bedroom. Cupping your hands, you scooped up the frigid liquid and splashed it onto your face. As the droplets cascaded down your cheeks, you reached for a hand towel hanging nearby and patted your face dry. You turned your attention to your hair next and picked up an old hairbrush resting on the stand. As you ran it through your strands, you felt the satisfying tug of knots being smoothed out.

After combing your hair, you placed the hairbrush back down with a soft clink and grabbed your toothbrush and toothpaste tucked next to the basin. You applied a pea-sized amount of toothpaste onto the bristles and began to brush your teeth. Once two minutes have passed, you rinsed your mouth and toothbrush and placed it back on the stand. With a sense of cleanliness and readiness, you leave your bedroom, prepared to face the day ahead.

You walked down the hallway, the quiet tap of your shoes thumping lightly against the carpeted floors. The walls, painted a pristine white, were lined with gold accents that shimmered under the candles’ soft lighting. Alongside the decor, various paintings adorned the walls, depicting scenes of women dancing in sunlit fields or portraits of people.

The interior of the castle was beautiful, you could admit that, but beneath it all lurked the unsettling reality of torture and death. Behind closed doors, unseen horrors unfolded. All the maids lived in constant fear, their every move scrutinized, and their slightest mistake met with brutal punishment. The halls were haunted with their pained screams and whispered pleas for mercy.

The price of disobedience and the consequences of crossing the line drawn by Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters was one you wanted to avoid at all costs.

Eventually, you reached the supply room door and turned the handle. The hinges protested with a soft, familiar creak as you swung the door open. Inside, shelves were neatly stacked with cleaning supplies. Just as your hand reached out to grab the items you needed, you heard a familiar voice behind you say your name.

You turned around and a rush of warmth flooded through you as you realized it was Catalina. Since your arrival three months ago, Catalina had become your closest friend, an anchor, guiding your life through the horrors of this castle.

“Good morning.” Catalina greeted you with a warm smile, her chestnut brown hair cascading in gentle waves around her shoulders.

“Hey, good morning.” You replied, returning her smile.

“Are you ready for another grueling day?” She joked lightly, though her voice was tinged with exhaustion.

“Yeah,” you forced to maintain your smile despite the unease that gnawed at your insides. “But we’ll get through it like we always do.” You added, summoning a bit of reassurance for both you and Catalina.

The corners of her mouth downturned, forming a subtle frown as she spoke. “I wish I had your optimism right now. I have to help Maria clean up Miss Daniela’s bedroom,” she continued, her tone heavy with a sense of foreboding. “I dread what I’ll find in there.”

You grimaced in response.

Daniela was the youngest of Lady Dimitrescu’s daughters. She was known for her volatile and unpredictable nature. Her actions often left everyone on edge. At any given moment, Daniela's demeanor could shift like the wind, turning from saccharine to savage in the blink of an eye. It was best to avoid her completely when it came to the Lady’s three daughters.

“Well, I hope it’s nothing too bad.” You murmured.

“Me too,” Catalina said with a soft smile. “But I’ll see you later at lunch, okay?”

“Definitely. See you then.”

As Catalina left the supply room, you grabbed a bucket already filled with soapy water, a mop, and a couple of washcloths. With your supplies in hand, you made your way over to one of the hallways assigned to you. Upon reaching your destination, you carefully set your supplies down. The mop leaned against the wall while the bucket of cleaning solution sat nearby.

Taking a moment to survey the large window, you noted the thin layer of dust and grime obscuring the view beyond. Determined to restore its clarity, you dipped one of the washcloths into the water and wrung out the excess liquid soaking the fabric.

Positioning yourself at the first window, you finally got to work.

***

As you finished wiping down the last window, the midday sun shone high above the mountains, letting you know that it was nearing noon. Satisfied with your work, you gathered your cleaning supplies and began to make your way back to the supply room.

However, as you walked along, the silence of the castle was shattered by the sudden, blood-curdling scream of a woman. The chilling sound was quickly followed by a sickening gurgle. Dread washed over you like a wave as the implications of what you had just heard sank in. Without hesitation, you quickened your pace, clutching your supplies in a death grip as you hurried away from the source of the horrifying noise.

“You there, stop!”

A menacing voice cut through the air, and you halted in place. Every muscle in your body tensed as you recognized the commanding tone of Cassandra, the middle child of Lady Dimitrescu. Encountering Cassandra was an ordeal in and of itself. Though not as overtly unhinged as her youngest sibling Daniela, Cassandra's brand of cruelty was more insidious. Her actions were calculated, designed to inflict maximum suffering upon those unfortunate enough to cross her path. She was known to be the most sadistic among her sisters.

With a knot of apprehension tightening in your stomach, you slowly turned to face her, meeting her piercing gaze with trepidation. However, your attention was soon drawn elsewhere as you noticed something deeply disturbing: blood dripped from the edge of her sickle, staining the floor in dark, ominous droplets.

“Come here.” Cassandra drawled out, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. Her lips curved into a sly grin as she extended her index finger, beckoning you over.

Swallowing hard, you forced yourself to comply, your footsteps hesitant as you approached her. Her grin widened, a glint of amusement dancing in her eyes as you stepped closer, feeling the weight of her gaze upon you.

“Clean this mess up.” She said lowly as she inclined her head toward Lady Dimitrescu’s study room.

“Yes, Miss Cassandra.” You whispered obediently.

As you cautiously stepped past the door frame, a scene of horror greeted you. There, sprawled in the center of the room, lay the lifeless body of a maid. Her throat was gruesomely slashed, the wound jagged and brutal. A pool of blood spread like a sinister halo around her head, seeping into the cracks of the floorboards.

For a moment, you stood frozen in shock.

Time seemed to stand still as you struggled to comprehend the brutality of what lay before you. Your eyes were fixated on the lifeless form, unable to tear your gaze away. You had never encountered a dead body before. The sight was jarring, shocking you to your core.

You had seen the aftermath of violence before, heard the distant screams, and seen leftover blood etched into the fibers of the carpets, but never have you come face to face with death itself. This was different.

This was raw and real.

Your eyes briefly caught sight of a large key adorned with the Dimitrescu family crest, resting delicately next to her hand. Before you could ponder its significance, Cassandra's voice, smooth as silk but laced with an unsettling edge, whispered close to your left ear.

“Don't mind her,” she purred, her breath brushing against your earlobe like a cold breeze. “She had it coming.”

Startled, you gasped and instinctively stepped forward, desperate to get away from her.

Cassandra chuckled and stepped around you without a single care in the world. She bent over and retrieved the key, slipping it into the pocket of her dress. Then, in a chilling display of strength, she seized the young woman by the collar of her blouse, her grip unyielding as she dragged the limp body along with ease. And then, as if forgetting something, she paused, turning slowly to fix you with an unnerving gaze.

“Consider this a lesson. This is what happens to those who attempt to escape.” She remarked, her tone almost causal, as if discussing the weather. Her eyes then drifted toward the trail of blood that stained the floor. For a moment, her eyes lingered on the crimson mess before meeting your own again, a smirk playing on her lips. “You may want to hurry and clean this up before Mother makes an appearance.”

The implication of her statement hung heavy in the air.

“Yes, Miss Cassandra.”

As Cassandra finally departed the room, a surge of anguish threatened to engulf you, but you suppressed it. With trembling hands and a heart heavy with dread, you forced yourself to maintain composure, though every instinct screamed at you to turn and run.

There was no time to waste as you got started on cleaning the blood up.

Time seemed to warp and twist, stretching into an eternity as you meticulously cleaned every speck of blood off the floor. With each swipe of the mop, your hands shook uncontrollably, the memory of what had transpired haunting your every move. Every corner you scrubbed, every stain you erased, felt like an attempt to cleanse not just the physical space, but the sorrow that threatened to consume you from within.

Just as you thought you couldn't bear another moment of the suffocating silence, you heard it. The unmistakable sound of heavy high heels clicking through the hallway. Your heart almost leaped into your throat, but instead, pounded against your ribs like a caged animal desperate for escape.

The click-clack of her high heels came to a sudden stop.

A tense stillness settled in the air, thick and palpable, as you sensed her presence looming by the doorway. The hairs on the back of your neck prickled and stood on end, a primal instinct warning you of the danger that stood before you. But your eyes remained fixed on the floor, as if it held the key to your salvation.

And then, finally, she spoke, her voice like velvet. “Well, well, what do we have here?”

You found yourself momentarily stunned. You didn't know how to respond. Your mind raced, searching for the right words, but they never came. You had never spoken to her before, until today. So, you settled for her title instead.

“My Lady.” You managed to utter softly.

But there was only silence in response.

You shifted uneasily, unsure of what to do next. Was she waiting for something? Did you do something wrong?

With a hesitant glance upward, you found yourself locking eyes with Lady Dimitrescu.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as you held her gaze, a sense of unease creeping over you like ivy winding its way around your limbs. There was something in the way she looked at you – a hunger, a thirst for something you couldn't quite name – that made your insides curl.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the moment passed, and she offered you a knowing smirk – a flash of pearly white teeth that sent a chill down your spine.

Your pulse quickened as you watched Lady Dimitrescu walk past you, her tall figure casting a long shadow across the floor. But then she stopped, the sudden cessation of movement sending a jolt of fear through you. You could feel her presence hovering somewhere behind you, a suffocating weight that seemed to press down on your very soul.

“You missed a spot.” Lady Dimitrescu said but it sounded almost playful.

“I-I’m sorry, my Lady,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll get that cleaned up right away.”

Your heart hammered in your chest like a relentless drumbeat as you scrambled over to her. Kneeling beside her, your eyes caught a small spot of blood that you had missed, a tiny droplet that clung stubbornly to the floor. How was she even able to see that?

You pulled a handkerchief from your pocket, fingers fumbling slightly in their haste. With gentle precision, you began to clean the area, your movements slow and deliberate.

Finally, when the task was done, you gazed up at her, seeking some sign of reassurance. But what met your gaze was unnerving – a smile that sent shivers down your spine. It wasn't the smile of satisfaction you had expected. No, it was something far more sinister. Her lips curled upward, revealing a glimpse of something altogether different – a flash of fangs.

“You may go.” Lady Dimitrescu said, her voice carrying an eerie calmness.

“Thank you, my Lady.”

With a deep, respectful curtsy, you dared not linger any longer than necessary. As you hastily gathered your belongings, you could feel her eyes boring into the back of your head as you left her study.

You navigated the many hallways once more, each twist and turn blurring together seamlessly. Desperation clawed at you, urging you to put as much distance as possible between yourself and Lady Dimitrescu.

As you rounded another corner, a wave of exhaustion washed over you, both physically and mentally. Taking a moment to collect yourself, you breathed deeply, letting the tension melt away. But even as you tried to calm your racing heart, your mind couldn't shake the image of the way Lady Dimitrescu stared at you.

There was something off about it, something you couldn't quite put into words.

You hope you never find out.

***

The morning sun casts a soft golden glow through your window, signaling the start of a new day.

With a languid motion, you stretched your limbs and pushed the covers aside, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. Rubbing your eyes, you let out a soft yawn and glance around the room, the familiar surroundings gradually coming into focus. Yet, something seemed out of place.

Your gaze drifted to the door of your bedroom. You frowned as you saw a small, folded piece of paper lying on the floor, just beneath the edge of the door.

Intrigued, you rose off the bed and padded your way across the room toward the note. You bent down and picked it up. Unfolding the paper, you found yourself staring at what appeared to be elegant handwriting scrawled across the page.

My dearest pet,

It has come to my attention that your talents are wasted on menial tasks. Therefore, it is with great pleasure, and without room for negotiation, that I hereby command you to assume the role of my personal servant from this day forth.

You shall attend to my every whim and desire with the utmost devotion. You will be at my beck and call, ready to serve me without question or hesitation.

You are expected to begin your shift at 9 A.M. in my bedchambers. Do not be late.

Yours faithfully,

Lady Alcina Dimitrescu

Blood froze in your veins.

As you read those words, an icy grip tightened around your heart.

Pet.

Being labeled as Lady Dimitrescu's “pet” made your stomach churn. At that moment, the room seemed to close in around you, suffocating you with its hold. You released the note from your trembling fingers, watching it flutter back to the floor.

None of this made any sense.

Lady Dimitrescu wasn’t known for keeping pets. The very idea seemed absurd, yet she called you one.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, she also wanted you to be her personal servant. That fact alone was terrifying. You were already forced to work in this castle but the prospect of serving directly under her? That was a whole other matter.

You stole a glance at an old clock perched on your dresser. It was 8 A.M. You knew you had little time left before you were expected to be in her bedchambers, ready to fulfill whatever tasks she demanded of you.

Many thoughts flittered around in your mind, swirling like leaves. Among them, one stuck out the most. The desire to escape burned within you like a flame refusing to be extinguished.

No.

The idea was foolish. It would surely get you killed. You have already seen what Cassandra did to that maid yesterday.

But what if you took your time to plot your escape?

Escaping the castle would not be easy. It would require cunning, stealth, and a plan so foolproof that even the Dimitrescu family would be caught off guard.

Despite the overwhelming odds stacked against you, you have to try. You refuse to live the rest of your life as some noblewoman’s pet.

Turning on your heel, you got dressed and left your bedroom. With each step, you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, as though a pair of unseen eyes followed your every move. You glanced over your shoulder, half-expecting to catch a glimpse of someone lurking in the shadows, but the hallway remained empty. You quickened your pace until the sound of your name pierced through the stillness of the hallway.

Startled, you pivoted to find Catalina standing there. Her smile, usually bright and welcoming, faltered as she took in your demeanor. Concern etched across her features as she walked over to you, her hands settling gently on your shoulders. Her touch offered both comfort and support.

“Hey, is everything okay?” Her voice carried genuine worry. “I didn’t see you at lunch or dinner yesterday.”

You swallowed hard, your throat feeling dry and constricted.

“No, everything is not okay.” You managed to rasp out.

“What’s wrong?” Catalina's expression softened with empathy.

You hesitated, feeling the weight of Lady Dimitrescu’s words pressing down on you. But you needed to confide in someone, and she was the only person you trusted enough to share that information with.

“I received a note this morning from Lady Dimitrescu. She said that I’m to be her personal servant starting today.”

Catalina's reaction was immediate. A light gasp left her lips, and her hands, which had been resting reassuringly on your shoulders, fell away. The color drained from her face, leaving her complexion pallid as her lips pressed together in a thin line.

“I don’t know what to do.” Your voice quivered, tears beginning to well up in your eyes. “I’m scared.”

Catalina's brow furrowed as she sought to understand the situation.

“Why did she ask you to be her personal servant?” she asked, her tone gentle yet probing. “The grand chambermaid usually attends to the Lady’s needs.”

You reached up, delicately brushing away the tears that gathered in the corner of your eyes. “I’m not sure. She just said that my talents were wasted on menial tasks.”

There was a long pause as she absorbed your words.

“This is very unusual.” Catalina murmured; her voice laced with unease.

A queasy sensation crept up from the pit of your stomach, coiling like a serpent as you hesitated to tell Catalina how Lady Dimitrescu addressed you in her note as well. You were reluctant to say it out loud.

Pet.

You were no longer a person, but a possession.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Fear of the Dark

Dark!Ghost!Azriel x reader

synopsis: after escaping from the Shadowsinger, the High Lord provides you with a new home, in a location entirely of your own choosing. One that just so happens to be frequently visited by window-rattling blizzards, and snow so heavy you’ll often find yourself trapped within the supposedly safe haven. But when things begin moving on their own, and shadows stalk your well-lit halls, you begin to think maybe the Spymaster somehow eluded death, too.

warnings: references to implied noncon, dark!az, paranormal events, nonconsensual touching (shoulders, mouth, hip)

a/n: dedicating this to @azrielhours , and inspired by her wonderful Company of Phantoms🧡💛

want to know more?

word count: 1,963

-Fear of the Cold-

It’s been six months since he died in the fire.

Six months of roaring screams echoing through the desolate hallways.

Half a year.

It goes by quickly when swallowed by delusion. Of persistent psychosis.

Of imagined shadows stalking your corridors. Of dragging footsteps just outside your chambers. Of the windows rattling, and not from the sudden blizzards that sometimes hit—seemingly out of nowhere. Unpredictable, and haunting.

Some days you’ll wake up, greeted by the barren landscape or grey skies and greyer rock, and others all that lays there is white. Blinding, dominating white, like a blanket smothering the harsh, unforgiving terrain.

You know why you picked here to be your place of refuge. For complete isolation.

The rocky landscape means no one could stumble upon your house without intention, tucked up in the sides of the rugged mountain, weathered by icy rain and lashing winds that could make the blood in your fingertips recoil in the space of a breath. Cold so penetrating it could snatch the air from your lungs.

Few understand the true horror of the cold.

Absolute, inescapable cold.

Nature’s blade, that could cleave glaciers in two.

With the stormy skies, there is no access by air. Winged creatures staying clear of your northern-facing home. And yet, despite the utter isolation, you’re faced with company.

After not even a week in your new house, the hairs had been rising at the back of your neck. Unexplainable drafts ghosting up your spine, or kissing the length of your throat. Doors clicking shut during the grey hours of limited daylight. Books that fall from low shelves, the chandeliers that swing softly when you enter a room, plates that appear where they hadn’t been left.

It’s rarely dark in your house, but the weight is smothering. Every corner is kept clear of shadow, flame purging the darkness with a quiet conviction that feels almost reassuring. But there’s nothing reassuring about your new home. Forearms almost constantly littered in goosebumps, hairs rising, skin prickling.

Even at night, candles burn away at the dark, eating at every shadow that tries to crawl in from the cold. But it feels like lighting a fire in the barren wasteland of the frozen tundra. Flame blazing with superficial strength, until it melts the snow bowing the branches far above, ice slipping free, and smothering the fire in one smooth avalanche.

The glass is rattling again, deathly cold wind whipping, icy rain lashing down as you try to lower yourself into sleep. But every time you near that precipice, something pulls you back: the groan of heavy wooden beams that creak through your house, flame flickering with dwindling light as if blown by a ghostly breath, a strange coldness rising from the foot of your bed. That seeps into your blankets first, then spreads to your feet. Slowly crawling up your body, until you’re wrapped in the haunting embrace of long-dead arms.

Even fire can’t always clear his kind of dark.

Dark that smothers, and festers. That concentrates in the hollow space beneath your bed, that hides in the softness of your pillow, that lurks in the pits of your pupils.

He found a way inside, and now he’s sunk his claws in. Like hooked blades that disembowel when they’re extracted. You’d have to empty your brains out into a bucket to be free of him.

Even then, your body would remember. His touch memorised into the tissue of skin, his terror embedded in the sinew of flesh.

The window spiderwebs, the distinct sound of fracturing glass dumping icy water over your near sleeping form. Hauling you up from the pit of an ocean, wrapped in seaweed to face the stormy grit of the blizzard outside.

Instead, your attention is sucked in by the ever-shifting shadow at the foot of your bed, chilling wind pouring in through the glass, candles winking out. Swallowed in darkness.

The air is pulled from your lungs faster than the cold can snatch it, sat bolt upright in your still-cooling bed.

The darkness holds no recognisable form, simply clustered together as a writhing mass of overwhelming shadow, but there’s no mistaking who it is. Who lurks beneath those suffocatingly concentrated umbras. Inky and undulating.

You’re frozen to your mattress, an icicle thawing out far above as it drips cold sweat down onto your brow, every breath biting at your lungs, making your throat raw.

It’s dark, and you have no protection as he looms so tauntingly before you, hands trembling as they try to grip the freezing sheets. But you can hardly move.

Air chokes in your throat as the shadowy mass expands forward, encroaching toward the foot of your bed. Your eyes widen with terror, watching as talons of darkness spider-crawl onto your duvet, feet recoiling like hot blood against the cold, knees pulling up to your chest, back pressed against the headboard.

“You’re dead,” you breathe out, air thin and slippery between your lips. “You’re dead. You can’t hurt me.”

Your stomach seizes, lurching as the shadowy tendrils stutter in their movements, like shoulders shaking with silent mirth. You get the feeling he’s laughing. Crawling closer still.

He reaches past your feet, darkness swarming over your knees, and within the cloying night you can feel the weight of hands. Of heavy, corporeal touch. One that sinks into your bones as they tremble with old fear.

“You can’t be here,” you whisper, pressing tight into the cold cushioning of the headboard, head tucking into your shoulders as you try to pull away from his overwhelming darkness, writhing throughout the deathly cold room, his touch like ice. “Leave me…” you breathe, voice breaking.

The weight of a palm weighs into the mattress, beside your hip, tying you in place as the living night, faceless and dominating, swells above you.

Your hand reaches sharply for your bedside table, viciously shaking fingers fumbling with the box of matches, sliding the cardboard out with a last trembling hope. Again the darkness stutters, a shadowy laugh whispering beside your ear, an icy draft kissing up the length of your throat.

The match strikes…once…twice…three time before sizzling into a small lick of flame.

In the few seconds of light you’re afforded, shadow easily melts away, pulling out instead hauntingly dark hazel eyes, piercing as the flame sharpens them. The cold, dead mouth that had once hungrily claimed your own, teeth dragging and prominent as they bit you into pieces. The eerily pale tones of his face, warmth vacant from the smooth planes.

You choke on a breath.

Soft, cruel lips curve at the edge, eyes twinkling with the reflection of your match, before his weight shifts over the bed and scarred, calloused fingers pinch out the flame. Skin that remembers its burn now extinguishing it without thought, freed from its sizzling agony.

You scream into the darkness, sinking down into the false safety of your duvet, hauling it over your head as you tuck yourself tight, trembling violently despite desperate attempts to still yourself. A cry breaks from your lips as you feel himself lower over you, directly atop you, trapped beneath his bulk. A cannonball shackled to your ankle, pulling you beneath a frozen lake, blood icing in your veins.

He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be alive.

You heard him die, watched as the flesh slid from his bones, muscle melting beneath the blazing inferno of the house fire.

You smelled it. Could taste it in the smokey air.

“Come out…come out…,” the shadow rasps mirthfully, weight brushing atop the blanket, stroking down your arm, drifting to your hip. Touch biting into bone. “Come out…and play…”

“Go away,” you beg under your breath, squeezing yourself tight, tears burning as they drip over the bridge of your nose, sliding off your face. “Leave me alone…”

The darkness laughs, and your stomach seizes as the duvet is slowly pulled back, dragged firmly from your grip. Numbed fingers try to grapple with the sheets, but he’s so much stronger than you. Just as he’s always been.

“Stop it…” you beg, trying to turn to the side as the blanket is pulled away, revealing his swarming darkness that looms above, with a weight that should not be possible. A spectre should not be corporeal, should not have the right to touch the living. He should have lost that privilege upon passing.

Icy fingertips brush your cheek, and a small cry breaks from your lips, quiet and terrified, eyes squeezed shut in feeble attempts to keep him out as the storm rages.

He dips down, and chilly breath grazes the space beneath your jaw, a whimper pulling from your throat as a broad palm makes its way up your front, settling across your sternum heavily, pressing down on your chest, making it difficult to breathe.

“Please…” you whisper, crying now, “just leave me alone…”

His cold mouth opens over your neck, soft lips sealing over a patch of skin as he tastes you, tongue slowly licking over the junction between your shoulder and neck. Darkness shrouds your bedroom, encasing you in a perpetually cold bubble, sealing out the lashing wind and rain, but trapping you in mist. Thick and impenetrable.

The phantom pulls away, lips grazing your jaw, and even with your eyes closed you can feel his proximity. The piercing weight of his attention as it presses up against your skin.

“Call out for me,” he rasps, voice shadowy and shifting, as if speaking in multiple tones at once. “Call out for me,” he urges, coldness thumbing across your cheek, as if trying to coax your eyes to open. So he can feel their warmth, and their terror.

But you shake your head, teeth chattering as you shiver, shuddering beneath his touch. “Go away,” you beg, “leave me alone.”

A soft puff of breath ghosts over your lips, like a faint laugh, and you shrink back into the mattress while his shadows wrap closer around your body, squeezing like serpents. “Call out for me,” he repeats, his gaze roving over your mouth, parted for air despite its bite.

Hot tears scald your skin as they drip out, peeking open your eyes, as breath is again snatched from your body. A mountain of pressure sitting atop your chest.

He’s as haunting as you remember, cruelly carved beauty, hewn from an ice that tries to be soft, but will only end up flooding if it thaws. Drowning you in his deadly affection. Filling your lungs until they’re close to bursting with his poisonous infatuation.

Hazel eyes flicker as they greedily devour your own, overwhelming and immense as you’re submerged into his obsession. Saturated in his hunger. Starvation so deep it persists after death.

“Azriel…” you breathe, lips trembling around his name, feeling as though its the last line of an enchantment, solidifying his presence, binding him to your own mortality.

Soft lips curve at their edges, a spark of life stolen from your existence. Fed off of, until he’s permanently entwined with your being. Persistent and parasitical.

He hums lowly, approvingly, and you swallow. Fear making you feel sick.

Slowly, as if basking in the descent, he settles his mouth atop your own, snow-soft lips slanting against a frozen stiff set, applying gentle pressure as he savours the feeling.

He still moves with such grace, such innate refinement that between the two of you, you seem the more lifeless. With unmoving limbs, and vacant eyes, you are the more dead.

The shadows pull away, blood gingerly rising to where his touch had been.

“I’ll return,” he whispers, mouth still faintly curved into a soft deception of tenderness.

Flickering night morphs and shifts, dissolving along with the wind.

“Find me in the dark.”

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[kentophilia]

✢ 𝐝𝐛𝐛: 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 ✢

here's the story of the fateful night that changed everything for our loyal knight and his beloved princess.

contains: royal!au, princess!reader, fem!reader, knight!kento, use of weapons, character death, loss, grief, reader has an older brother; word count: 1.6k

reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!

minors, ageless and empty blogs will be blocked immediately!!

stormwinds rattled the withered tower of your parents’ castle, old windows barely withstanding the speeds. somewhere on the grounds, yelling could be heard, screaming to find the intruders. hundreds of footsteps resonated through the halls, echoing the metallic clang of armor.

you cowered in your chambers, thin nightgown barely protecting you from the ice cold wind that was sneaking through the windows. goosebumps littered over your skin as you shivered beneath the covers. listening intently as the guards approached the private wing of your family, the royal family. fear rushed through your veins and you were suddenly aware that you were defenseless and unable to do anything.

when the guards finally made it to the chambers of each family member, to their horror, it was already too late. the queen, your mother, had been injured, your father wounded next to her body as he screamed and cried for her to stay with him. the doors to your bedroom open with a whoosh and there he was, the intruder. your blood ran cold at his appearance. a gasp caught in your throat, a shrill scream soon following.

the intruder made his way to your cowering form, your eyes screwed shut and white noise rushed in your ears at your impending end. just before he raised his weapon, you heard a clang and then a groan. slowly opening your eyes, you saw the knight banneret, kento nanami, with the cloaked man in his grasp, a knife to the unknown's throat.

your eyes met his feverish ones through his helmet as he slowly walked backwards, strong arms caging the man in. he handed him over to his fellows, watching intently as they bound the criminal’s hands and pulled him away to the dungeon.

after closing the door, he then turned back to you, pulling off his helmet and chainmail to reveal blonde tufts and smooth skin. he knelt before your bed, lowering his head.

“i’m sorry you had to witness that, princess. the criminal is now being locked away so he can do no more harm. we’re looking for possible accomplices. i’m very sad to inform that your dearest mother and father have been injured,” he murmured, loud enough for you to hear over the tumult outside of your bedroom door. he only dared to look at you when your voice reached his ears.

“w-what? what do you mean? where's the doctor?” you whimpered, eyes wide and whole body trembling. you slowly crawled out from under your sheets, shivering at the cold air hitting your damp skin. kento averted his eyes, feeling shame rush through him, his armor suddenly feeling too tight. he felt hot under the collar at your semi-exposed state, a slight blush spreading over his cheeks. ‘get yourself together, now's not the time,’ he chastised himself for the inappropriate thoughts he was having.

your brother barged in, sobbing and running towards you. he quickly grabbed a robe for you to cover yourself. “what are you doing here, kento?” he snarled, grief evident in his face and pulling you closer to him protectively. "he saved me," you sniffled.

“i just informed the princess of your parents’ state and was about to ask if you want me to accompany you to your highness’ chambers.”

your brother breathed heavily, trying to calm himself. he closed his eyes for a brief moment and you could see the bulging vein on his neck, thrumming in time with his heart.

“that'd be nice, actually,” you mused, feeling your heart skip a beat when kento looked at you with hopeful eyes. he rose to his feet, keeping his head low as your brother glared down at him. he pulled you with him in a hurry and you wrapped an arm around his waist as kento followed your steps.

there was still a lot of commotion, the search for a potential accomplice still going. you slithered through the crowd of maids and knights, slipping away to your parents’ chambers.

the doctor was already with her, your father cleaning her up to the best of his abilities, being injured himself from trying to protect her. you rushed to her side, tears burning your hot cheeks. she had barely enough energy to look at both you and your brother, turning her gaze away from her husband.

“oh, my loves. make sure to protect each other. i couldn't have asked for a better family, my dears,” she whispered, barely audible over the turbulence outside the chamber’s door. she smoothed her hand over your head as you looked at her, face stained with fresh tears emerging every other second.

“don't cry, my little dove. it'll all be okay. i love you so much,” she murmured before succumbing to her injuries and blood loss, subsequently passing away.

your heart shattered into a million pieces and you sobbed on her chest for what felt like hours before passing out from exhaustion. you could feel a soft quilted blanket cover you before you succumbed to the tiredness in your bones.

the rest of the week passed in a blur, your mother’s funeral going by without a hitch. many townspeople visited her grave, their condolences feeling both sincere and empty. there was a national holiday in her memory, with various speeches about how amazing of a woman the queen was.

if anyone asked what happened in the last week, you wouldn't be able to answer. all you felt was emptiness, not even having enough of an appetite to eat a small piece of bread. at some point, the grief and exhaustion took over you, causing you to fall unconscious in the middle of a royal meeting.

you woke up back in your chambers with a gasp. your heart and head pounding and you wondered how long you had been out. the sun is shining through the droplet-covered window. “maybe it was all just a bad dream,” you sighed, forcing your heart to slow down.

you flinched when you heard a familiar voice. “i truly wish it was, my princess,” kento spoke quietly, sitting in a chair beside your bed. he looked out of the window, watching another roll of dark clouds make their way over the horizon. “unfortunately, your highness the queen has indeed passed.”

grief struck you once again. kento turned towards you, grabbing your hands in his. “i truly wish i could turn back time and prevent it, i’m so sorry,” he murmured, warming your cold, shaky hands with his bigger ones. you looked at him, all teary and sniffly, trying to make sense of it all.

“while you were asleep, your highness the king has decided to appoint us knights to protect the royal family. just in case something like this happens again, so we can protect you better. i have been chosen to protect you, my princess. and it's my biggest honor. i shall protect you with my life if i have to,” he spoke softly as to not overwhelm you. your heart started pounding, anxious and still grieving brain already starting to rattle down the worst case scenarios.

“what'd my brother say?” you whispered, knowing that he must've protested.

kento chuckled, “he was against it, of course. he said he could protect you better and i’m sure he’s right. but your father corrected him in saying that your brother needs to be guarded himself in case of emergency.”

you smiled through your tears at your brother’s protectiveness and selflessness. he had always been very stubborn and watchful over you. with you being the younger sibling, he had always felt like it was his duty to be by your side always.

growing up, it had always annoyed you, the way he would always be on your tail and chastise you when you came back reeking from the stables after sneaking away to see kento. he would usher you to the bath, giving strict orders to the maids to not let you out of their sight so often.

not even your parents had been that strict, you would always be on time with your studies, always polite to everyone and constantly being fawned over by the older ladies in the castle. they would be proud of the fact they had raised you both in that kind of loving environment. and even prouder to see both of you growing into prince and princess that would lead the country after them.

while your brother would always watch your step inside the castle, outside of it, it was kento’s domain. not that they'd ever fight, they were the closest of friends, but their claim over their respective territory would be obvious. they would practice their combat skills together, with you watching and keeping score. you and him would sneak glances toward each other, cheeks getting hot. but his focus would never falter, he could win against your brother with his eyes closed – and did.

it was only natural for your father to choose kento to protect you. that fateful night, it was him who had caught the intruder and rendered him helpless right in front of you. it was him who made sure you were unharmed and safe. and it was him who had brought you back to your chambers after passing out from crying. it showed the king (and the prince) that kento was willing to do everything and anything for you.

“i trust you with my life, kento.” fresh, hot tears started running down your burning cheeks. you felt kento’s calloused hands caress yours.

“i know. and i won't ever betray you, i promise. i will lay down my life if it means i can protect you.”

a/n: a little backstory for the main players in this story :3 it's probably not historically accurate but i hope you enjoy!! thank you again to @sataeru for the title of the whole series, i love you so much! can't wait to work on the rest of the series soon!! @awealuc @erebus-et-eigengrau @ssetsuka

networks: @houseofsolisoccasum @interstellar-inn

© kentophilia 2024 — all rights reserved. do not plagiarize, translate, modify or steal any of my works.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Why Not Us?

Bleeding in Moonlight: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six |

CW: Memories of mass murder, some internalized dehumanization, survivor’s guilt

-

Misae made it to the little bedroom before the moon rose, thankfully. He nearly tripped over the strange mattress on the floor, the one they’d blown up with air and then thrown blankets and pillows on. It was meant to be his bed, he thought, which made sense.

Anaya might let him on the real bed, but not to sleep. Wolves, like dogs, slept on the floor. It would be lonely, but it would make sense. Almost nothing did, now. Sitting in chairs, eating pizza instead of having to shift to eat the raw meat thrown into the kennels, wearing clothes and being asked if he would like something to drink… they didn’t seem to know what he was, to understand. 

He could hear them now, Eden, Anaya, and Vanessa, from down the hall. They talked and laughed, and Misae felt hollowed out at the sound, wishing he could be there with them.

Maybe there would be more pizza.

He laid one hand on his stomach. It felt… almost rounded. He’d never eaten so much or so well, not in all the life he had lived. He hadn’t had to fight over any of it, either. There hadn’t been the need to snarl and posture, or crawl on his belly and lick at an older wolf’s mouth, hoping they’d give him a few scraps out of pity or some dim affection.

The moon’s slow rise made him restless, bouncing on his toes as he tried to decide where he could safely change. The room was small, but he could fit under the big bed if he was smart about it. 

But then the humans would get into the bed, and if the mattress dipped low it might force him back out.

The call to shift prickled under his skin, and Misae stripped his shirt and pants off before it could take hold and leave him confused and trapped in the cloth. He tossed the sweatpants and shirt onto the bed just as he felt his spine begin to bend.

It always felt so good, when the shift started. Like waking up after a good sleep, coming back to where you belonged. He had always been meant to walk on four legs, and the human side was only what he was allowed for good behavior.

He leaned over, a sensation like goosebumps running up and down his arms and legs, setting his hair on end. The healing wound in his leg throbbed but some of the pain felt more distant as he changed.

It wasn’t that the wound disappeared, it was only that his wolf body knew how it felt to be injured with silver far better than his human body did. It knew how to ignore the pain, how to keep moving, because to let the pain take you was to be singled out to die. Wolves who were too hurt to keep going were wolves that starved, his instincts knew it. Wolves who starved died.

Everyone died anyway. It hadn't mattered how good they were when Bill didn't want them any longer.

He shuddered and shoved that thought aside. He couldn’t think about his family, not now. It would overtake him and he’d just be trapped in the grave in his mind, even if his body was here still breathing.

He couldn’t think about dozens of flat blank eyes, frozen in mute horror. He couldn’t think about the warmth still lingering in the stiffening bodies pressed all around him, about how Nina had tried to cover him and hide him from the shots even as she had been bleeding to death herself. 

Had Nina been his real mother?

It was possible. Their fur was the same, their eyes were the same. But some of the other wolves had fur and eyes like his, too. But... maybe Nina had been his mother.

Maybe she had known it, if only at the end, and tried to save the one pup she could.

The humans had tried to ruin them to each other, make them hurtful and hateful, but the wolves had found a way to love, anyway. In secret, when it was safe, and at the end when nothing was safe and it didn’t matter any longer there was one more way to love that Bill couldn't take from them.

It made no difference if you loved when you would lose each other anyway. In the end, the werewolves had loved each other, and it hadn’t saved any of them.

Except him.

Misae closed his eyes, stretching his shifting muscles and forcing himself to leave the dead behind, for now anyway. For as long as he could. 

Bones cracked and broke beneath his skin, painlessly reforming. Misae dropped to a crouch and leaned his weight forward on his hands, feeling bare, vulnerable fingers change to rougher paw pads and clicking nails. He stretched his front legs until the muscles stretched and burned and sighed, contented by the feeling.

Canine teeth lengthened and his ears grew. He twitched one just to feel it, exhaling a rough sigh as his tongue briefly lolled out. Fur spread over skin like a blanket, a little patchy but still warming his chilly body, and the bed on the floor called to him. He was tired, and the killing back at Bill’s house kept trying to worm its way past his moments of comfort and warmth in this new place, with these new people.

If he laid still, it would catch up with him, and he didn’t want Anaya or Eden to hear how wolves mourned, how they cried. He didn’t know if they would still comfort him then, or if they would turn angry at the sounds, or learn to hate him. Bill’s family hated the sound of the mourning wolves, beat them for their weeping in human form or for their howls as wolves. 

Who knew what regular humans would do? 

Misae only knew that Anaya and Eden had been kind, so far. But so had Aaron, sometimes - Bill’s youngest son had been known to scratch behind a wolf’s ears when none of the other humans were looking. Even Austin had once bandaged Misae’s leg after he’d gotten it caught in a fence and bled.

That didn’t make them any kinder when the werewolves broke the rules, rules no one ever said out loud but simply expected the wolves to learn by being beaten when they were broken until they figured them out. It had never stopped Austin from calling them all names, or laughing when they fought.

Human kindness always had limits. 

Always.

Even as he became the first form he ever knew, the stalking werewolf that Bill had never been able to separate from the boy whose body the wolf shared, Misae knew he had to hide. Not from Anaya or Eden, who had already seen him as a wolf. Not because he feared them.

He had to hide because they didn’t know to fear him.

Misae’s nose turned black and scents exploded into the world around him. What had before been just the light smell of cleaning products and maybe a pumpkin-scented candle was now a collection of stories he could read in the air and along the ground. Vanessa had walked in here to set up the mattress, having forgotten to take her shoes off after getting the mail. Misae could smell the grass she had stepped on, scent the slight shift in her smell of frustration when it took a long time to get the air pump working to set up the mattress. He could smell, on the mattress, long months spent idle with no need to be used. The faintest smell of a camping trip, some time in the past - the last time the air mattress had been needed.

The way his sense of smell changed was always what gave away when it was time to find somewhere to hide, before the silver light could touch his fur and call to him. It would make him want to run, to howl and see if any other wolves were nearby to answer.

What would he do if they were?

He had known only his own family. He’d never seen any werewolves that didn’t huddle together in the kennels, fighting over the barest hints of kindness shown to them by Bill and his family. If he met a free wolf, he might simply lay down, show his belly, and wait for them to tear out his throat when they smelled the kennels on him. 

Misae paced restlessly around the small room, limping and trying to keep weight off his injured leg, snuffling against the ground, tracing the hints of Eden and Anaya in here and then following the softer smell of Vanessa until he found the closet door was cracked open.

Perfect. Like a den.

He had to paw at it, whining softly with his ears flat against his head, looking nervously at the patch of moonlight that seemed to head inexorably in his direction. His heart raced beneath his fur at the sight. 

Bill had always said, over and over again, never let the moonlight touch you. It was the only rule the humans told the werewolves, and taught to the pups before they were put into the main kennels. During the full moon, for three nights, they would huddle together inside big wooden boxes that formed a kind of den. Anyone caught outside the den, by Bill or by the cameras, would be punished.

It was the first thing Misae remembered learning, while still toddling around on four short legs, a few weeks after birth. Never let the moonlight touch you. He'd broken the rule running from the guns, from the grave of his family. He'd broken the rule running from Austin. But… that had been different, hadn’t it?

Hadn’t it?

Misae clambered clumsily over a pile of cardboard boxes, blowing harshly through his nose as things packed inside clattered around. He pushed at them with his snout until he had made for himself a sort of barrier, protecting him from the world outside this tiny space. He turned in a circle and then laid down, ears flat, shimmering amber-brown eyes watching the silvery light that cut across the bed through the open doorway.

Beneath his nose, soaked into the floorboards years ago, he could smell a hint of a rose perfume. Left by some other person, long before any of the familiar smells of Vanessa's life had entered this place.  

The scent made him shudder, heart going cold.

Bill's wife Ada wore rose perfume. 

The smell of roses, for the children in the puppy kennels, meant one of you might vanish that day. Ada sometimes took them, luring them out with treats and soft words until she could get the loop around their necks to pull tight, leading them on the leash inside.

She mostly brought them back, after sticking needles to take blood or give what she called 'medicine' that put the puppies to deep sleep and left them groggy and confused upon waking. She mostly brought them back.

But not always.

Rose perfume drifting on the air was sometimes all the warning they got before a pup disappeared. 

The memories made him tremble and he whined softly, but quieted the sound as fast as he could. It was something all of them learned, not just how to hide from the moonlight but also how to be so quiet that none of the men and women inside the house could hear and think of them.

They all learned how to be, if only temporarily, forgotten.

Now Misae was the only left for Bill and his family to remember. He wondered if Bill would come for him, still. Try to find him. Or if, now that he'd outrun Austin, he'd let Misae go into a world where nobody was left to even love him in secret any longer.

It was Eden and Anaya he needed to hide from now. Not because they might hurt him, but because he might hurt them. Wolves were most dangerous when the moon was full, calling on their nonhuman blood. 

It made them monsters - hungry, mindless killers. 

Everyone knew that.

Bill made sure everyone knew that. 

He watched the moonlight’s slow crawl along the small room until his eyes drifted shut and he dozed off, his tail flicking occasionally. Once the moon began to set in the morning, just as the sun rose, he’d be able to be a boy again. Until then, he could relax into the form he was far more comfortable in even if he had been painstakingly taught to fear what it was capable of.

He slept deeply enough to have fuzzy, formless dreams. He was beneath all of his family, trying to crawl out from under them. They called for him, cried for help, whined and whimpered and shouted and cursed. 

The air was being slowly crushed out of him, and he desperately tried to get out from beneath the weight of their deaths, their memories.

He looked up to see straight down the barrel of Austin’s shotgun, the black within the metal circle, holding his death.

Found you, Austin said, softly. Time to go, Rusty.

Fingers touched the top of his head.

Misae?

He jolted awake and snapped out of sheer instinct, ears flat in a flash and teeth clicking together. He didn’t quite catch anything, but as his eyes opened, he saw Anaya looking down at him, eyes wide, her hand jerked back against her chest. 

“Misae?” She repeated, voice a little shakier this time. She was wearing sleeping clothes, and Eden was just behind her, wearing only a pair of low-slung sweatpants that had Misae looking in jealousy at skin only scarred along the underside of his chest, two odd half-circle shapes that didn’t mean anything to Misae’s mind. “Holy shit.”

“DId he bite you?” Eden asked, an edge to his voice. “Anaya, if he bit you-... isn’t that how it-... it spreads?”

Misae curled up tighter, whimpering, his heart picking back up into a pounding race that made him dizzy. He tucked his tail as tightly as he could and looked up with his chin pressed against the floor, licking at his chops nervously.

 “Naya? Did he-”

“No, he didn’t,” Anaya replied, frowning back at Eden, before dropping into a crouch. “And we don’t know that that's how it spreads, or whatever. Or even if it does spread. Who even knows what’s real and what isn’t about werewolves?”

“Before yesterday, I would have told you nothing is real about werewolves,” Eden said, hovering behind her. 

“And you would have been wrong, wouldn't you. Besides, he was asleep. I woke him up, that’s on me, not him. Hey, Misae. Hey there, honey.” Her voice softened, and she shoved some of Misae’s barrier of boxes aside, until she could hold out her hand and lay it down with knuckles on floor and palm facing up, between them. “It’s okay, honey. It’s just me. Are you good? We were worried when we didn’t see where you’d gone. You were making some noise in here, I thought maybe something was wrong.”

Misae’s nose twitched. He eased forward, belly to the ground, until he could slowly lay his chin in her palm. She let one finger gently scratch at the soft fur there and he whined. 

“He’s okay,” Anaya whispered. “I scared you, huh? You were having bad dreams, I bet. Don't blame you, this has been a really weird day. Just... the weirdest. Can I ask why you're here in the closet?”

“There’s a joke about being a closeted werewolf in there somewhere, but I’m honestly not awake enough to make it,” Eden said, but he moved back until he could sit on the bed. He didn’t quite relax, not yet, but the space helped Misae to feel a little safer. Eden didn’t look - or smell - angry. 

“Oh, shut up,” Anaya said, rolling her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched into a smile. She wasn’t angry, either. “And don’t spend all night coming up with it, either. I don’t want to hear it when we wake up.”

“Well, now I have to come up with something. I have to come up with something and have it be the literal first thing I say to you when we wake up,” Eden teased, flopping himself backwards onto the bed and wriggling under the blankets, sighing happily when he was covered up. “Oh, this comforter weighs a ton. Perfect.”

“For someone who likes to sleep in the absolute wilderness like a caveman, you sure love a weighted blanket.” Anaya snorted.

"If I'm a caveman, that means you like a caveman." Eden grinned. "Ha ha, you're in love with a Neanderthal," He sing-songed. Anaya threw up a middle finger over her shoulder in his general direction, and Eden's smile only widened.

Misae wondered what a Nee-ander-tal was as his eyes flicked to the side, taking in the window, looking for the moonlight. To his relief, the curtains were closed.

The room was dark, now, except for a small lamp they’d turned on by the bed. There was no chance of the moon catching at his fur, calling him to hunt, to rip and tear and rend. 

Misae pushed himself slowly onto his feet, ignoring his throbbing back leg. Anaya smiled at him, and it felt like a reward. His heart beat faster for new reasons, and he followed her as she eased back and away from the closet, pushing past the boxes. 

When Anaya sat on the air mattress on the floor, Misae moved slowly onto it as well until he could lick at the corners of her mouth with his tail tucked underneath him. She laughed and pushed lightly at him, and he moved to lay on his side, paws curled to show her his stomach, baring his vulnerable throat.

“He likes you,” Eden commented idly from up on the bed. “Pretty sure that’s wolf for ‘you’re cool, let’s be buds.’ Also I think it means he thinks you're in charge."

"I am in charge," Anaya said, voice haughty, but there was laughter lining every word. "It's good that both you boys know it."

Misae shifted back onto his stomach and curled back up until his tail covered his nose. Anaya smiled at the sight, reaching out to scratch the top of his head. Misae sighed, eyes drifting closed again. He relaxed under the gentle affection. “There you go. All right, what matters is that you're okay. Let’s try to get some sleep, yeah? All three of us.”

He watched her stand up, ears drooping as she climbed into the real bed, next to Eden. He watched her get under the blanket, laying next to Eden. He laid on the floor where wolves belonged, missing the warmth of his family. Missing the den. Alone, here, on the ground. Werewolves weren't meant to be alone - he knew that, not from Bill or Austin but from how perfect it had felt in the den, in the kennels, when they were all together.

Anaya turned off the lamp, and darkness overtook the room.

The humans, he thought, would be blind in the dark. Misae could see everything, though. He could see the silvery moonlight held back by the curtains, could see Eden’s chest rise and fall, slowing as he slipped into sleep. He could see that Anaya stayed awake a while longer.

He listened to her breathing, holding back his whimpers until it slowed and deepened and he knew he wouldn't wake her. He could lay here, alone.

Well.

Not entirely alone. 

His family was here, even if they weren’t. They would never leave him, not fully, not all the way. Even now he could feel them nosing around him trying to find a comfortable spot. He knew the pressure of their bodies around him like he knew his own paws. He could feel their chill breath on his neck, the soft nuzzle of affection that he would never really feel again. He could sense snuffles and whines, jostles for position that sometimes ended with playful snarling and rumbling growls. He could feel Nina’s weight on top of him. Feel her body jerk with the shots she had taken that he hadn’t. He could hear them, in his heart, howling just outside the little house.

He could hear their cries, begging him to join them. He should have slept for the last time in the big grave with the rest of them. He had been meant to die with his family. He wasn't the fastest in his family, the smartest, the best hunter. He wasn't anything better than anyone else.

There was no reason for him to survive, no special ability or way of being he had that made him deserve this bed with its soft blankets when everyone he loved was quiet and cold in the ground, covered in dirt and decomposing now.

He hadn’t deserved to meet kind humans. He didn’t deserve to eat pizza until his stomach ached and sit in chairs. He didn't deserve hot water to clean the dirt and blood from his skin. Others in his pack had deserved it so much more, and they had been given silver bullets instead, and now...

Now Misae was the only one left who remembered them.

He closed his eyes against the way the darkness wanted to change shape, to make him see his dead family with all the blood and bullets. He listened to their wistful, spectral howls, just outside the window. Calling and calling and calling, crying to him and to each other.

Why you? Why not us, instead? Why not the little pups, why not the mothers, why not the older wolves who had been good for so long? You were never all that good. What about you deserved to live? Why not us?

Why was it you?

Anaya and Eden slept together.

Misae slept with ghosts.

-

@finder-of-rings  @burtlederp @deluxewhump @scoundrelwithboba @shrimpwritings 

@yassifiedinformation @wildfaewhump @whatwhump @honeycollectswhump @tundra-tiger

@dont-look-me-in-the-eye @there-will-always-be-blood @fangedcinnamonroll @pigeonwhumps @yassifiedinformation

[heartbreakgrill]

how you get the girl: calum hood.

1989 (Heartbreak Grill’s Version)

stand there like a ghost, shaking from the rain. she’ll open up the door and say, ‘are you insane?’

“there’s someone here for you!”

i looked up from my computer screen, eyes trailing across the rainy window, pattering softly from the droplets that drenched the glass. my roommate passed my room, lazily shouting the sentence through the open door.

i furrowed my brows. i wasn’t expecting anybody, and i didn’t have any packages that were getting delivered- at least, not until tomorrow.

“who is it?” i shouted down the hall, towards the living room, as i stepped from my room.

“don’t know. some boy,” she replied. the television unpaused and a laughter track interrupted any further conversation we could have.

i turned back towards the front door. a blurry shadow was illuminated through the frosted panes of the door. it was a tall man. part of me worried that this was the moment at the beginning of a horror movie, when girls like me always died.

part of me worried it was someone worse.

i latched a hand around the door knob, cowering in on myself as the brisk wind gushed through the foyer of the apartment. goosebumps nibbled at my skin. i shivered. my hair wafted over my shoulders.

and my eyes focused on the figure looming over my doorstep, their black clothing dripping with water, hair soaked to the scalp.

my jaw slackened, my eyes widened. “what the fuck are you doing here?”

calum let out a heavy sigh, as though he’d been holding his breath since the last time we spoke. my eyes drug over his stormy demeanor, images flashing through my mind of a time i tried so hard not to remember.

“calum,” i insisted, “what are you doing here? what- don’t you have tour? shouldn’t you be in- in mexico right now?”

“i had to see you,” he rushed out.

rain splashed on my bare feet, against the exposed skin on my arms, as the sky continued pouring. i flinched at the cold droplets.

“what…” i couldn’t put together many words right now, but i knew, “you need to come in, you’re gonna get sick!”

i stepped aside, ushering him into the foyer. the carpet dampened under his converse and a puddle started forming on the hardwood. calum shook his hair out, spraying water across my shirt like a dog fresh out of a bath.

i huffed, “um…let me get- a towel. hang on. stay,” i gestured to him like he really was an animal.

he chuckled shortly.

say it’s been a long six months and you were too afraid to tell her what you want.

i ushered calum into my room, shoving a towel into his hands. i lay another one across the floor to clean up his mess. he shed his converse, his jacket, tossing it into my hamper.

“you still have my zeppelin shirt,” he stated, memory clear as a day.

“is that what you came here for?” i crossed my arms, a little defensive at his somewhat rude accusation.

calum dried his curls out with the towel. he chuckled again at my words. “no…i-“ he ran the towel over his face, then pointed at his body, “i’m soaked. you have my shirt.”

“oh!” i straightened up, red in the face at my lack of understanding. “yeah…i…”

i ashamedly dug through my pajama drawer, pulling out the top-big t-shirt that i resisted the urge to wear to sleep sometimes. i turned my body away from calum as he began to take off his shirt, with no warning. but, i could him in the mirror.

my eyes trailed over his body, as sure as my fingertips remember it.

say it’s been a long six months, and you were too afraid to tell her what you want.

calum spoke my name, a sound so sweet, so sacred, that my body wracked with anticipation, with a drawing want for what we had.

i looked back at him, arms uncrossing themselves. “why are you here, calum?” my tone had dropped, a saddened furrow pulling my brows together. “it’s been…six months.”

“i know,” calum stepped towards me, hands shaking before him. he lay them out like a truce. i wanted to grab them, to hit them yet hold them. to curse them and worship their fingertips.

i pressed my own fingers to my forehead, cooling the heat that sprouted there. “what- just please, say something! i don’t hear from you for six months and you just…show up, out of the blue? what’s going on?”

calum fidgeted with the ring on his finger, rolled his lips together. they were nervous habits i’d picked up on in the short time we’d spent together.

flickering memories i’d never seemed to be able to forget.

“i’m sorry,” calum shook his head, as if rejecting his own actions. “im sorry for leaving. im sorry for not saying goodbye. im sorry for…for not telling you…”

and that’s how it works, that’s how you get the girl.

“telling me what?” i could feel frustrated, angry tears welling up in my eyes. i was just so…how could he do this?

how could he come into my life, unexpectedly, make me feel things i’d never known before, then shut the door on a chapter that had gone unfinished?

then, pick back up the book after six months, as though he could just finish me off whenever he so pleased?

“telling me what, calum?” i pressed, taking a step closer.

“telling you that i love you,” he nearly whispered it, as though he was scared of the confession, as though it would shift the entire world.

i blinked.

calum stared back at me, the hood in his eyes flooding over with confusion as the silence lingered on. “i…” he tried to find some new words, tried to fill the blanks, “i love you, y/n. i’ve loved you since i saw you at the bar that night. i- i haven’t been able to forget you, and i-“

“get out.”

calum’s words stalled. his lips sat parted, the unfinished sentences lingering on the tip of his tongue. he ran it over his lips, “what?”

i crossed my arms again, tightening the clutches, as if to hold myself together, to hold myself strong. i wasn’t going to give into this.

“get out. go. leave. go back to mexico and go play your stupid little concert,” my voice was low because i was afraid that if i spoke any louder, i would crack. i’d cry.

i’d tell him that i love him too.

but i just couldn’t.

“what-?” calum went to defend himself, to try to explain the situation.

but, i was shoving his shoulder. i was gathering his shoes, tossing his coat at him, opening the front door. he battled me, weakly, sputtering out useless words, twisting around to face me, though i kept pushing.

“leave me alone.”

remind her how it used to be with pictures in frames of kisses on cheeks.

i locked the door. calum’s shadow lingered on the porch, blackened against the light. i reached a finger up towards the button and shut the porch light off. i heard calum groan.

the tears fell down my cheeks.

i had spent the last six months getting over him.

i had spent hours in therapy, wondering why he had never picked me in the first place, why he had abandoned me like an unwanted path of his life.

i had grieved a relationship that never even got to exist, i had gotten over somebody who i never even had in the first place. i had rebuilt myself, i had redownloaded the dating apps. i was starting over.

i was moving on.

and now he was here and i felt like that naive girl from six months ago.

i went back to my desk. i crossed my legs, balanced my chin on my fist, and stared at my computer screen, blankly. my mind spurred with unwanted thoughts, my heart palpitating with emotions i had been used to not feeling for so long.

i typed out a few words for my essay, hoping it would stimulate the academic side of my brain. maybe if i focused on something else, i could pretend like tonight never even happened.

i continued on my assignment, until i reached a pass. there was a section of the reading that referenced another book. i needed to get it from my closet.

of course, while i was reaching for the textbook, a box, tucked far into the corner of my closet- the corner of my mind- came toppling down onto my head. i helped at the impact, rubbing the minor injury as i reached down for the shoebox.

my brows furrowed at the sight. when it rained, it poured.

i slowly lowered myself to my knees, shaking hands reaching out for the spilled contents of the box. pictures, ticket stubs, receipts, dry flower petals, a pop can tab, candy wrappers, a ring, and a thing of red lipstick.

calum and i, at the state fair, riding the carousel like we were just kids. kissing when we hit the top, and we could see the entire town. us at the diner, two straws for one milkshake, a plate of fries, and a song on the jukebox that we’d dance to every night he stayed over. in the recording studio, on the couch, sprawled out like old friends, listening to ash and luke argue over a single beat of a song, and discovering a pair of lyrics calum had written about me.

concerts, comedy shows, basketball tournaments, high school football games, recitals we had been to.

a print out of a plane ticket to australia for next month, now refunded in my bank account. a promise for a visit that would never come to fruition.

red roses for my birthday, red roses for my grade of an a in a hard class, red roses for a friday night dinner, red roses for a late night visit. red lipstick i’d wear when we went out, just to leave vibrant, still, stuck lip prints on his cheek.

tell her how you must have lost your mind when you left her all alone and never told her why. that’s how you lost the girl.

i gathered the items back into the box with hands that would not stop shaking. it took longer than it should have because i ruminated on every detail. i held every photo like a piece of glass, examining its contents like i could renter the moment and fix things before they broke.

i set the box on my bed, gently sitting down beside it. i didn’t know where to go, what to do. i needed to work things out, i needed to find an answer.

because i loved him, too.

i found myself reaching for my phone, dialing his number. i found myself under an umbrella, headed towards that old diner.

“thanks for meeting me.”

i wrapped my frozen fingers around the steaming cup of coffee, grateful for the radiating warmth. the air conditioning was still sputtering above us and i shivered.

“y-yeah,” i barely nodded, still unsure of what to say.

calum took a sip of his own coffee. he gulped. he licked his lips. he prodded at the ketchup bottle on our table with a stray straw. his eyes trailed over to the colorful machine on the table. “they raised the price of the jukebox.”

i followed his gaze. so they had. it used to be 50¢ per song. now it was $1.00.

“hm,” i remarked, staring at the dollar sign. “strange.”

“you didn’t know?” calum inquired, looking to me with a raised brow.

i shrugged, “i haven’t been here since…”

“july,” he filled in my gap. “it’s been…since july.”

“ah,” i nodded once. “seems like forever ago.”

“i know.”

a thick pass of silence sat stale in the air.

i nursed a few sips of my coffee. if he wanted, then he should talk. i would not be the one figuring this out. i would not beg him to make up for the loss he’d made me grieve.

eventually, he whispered, “i had to go.”

i flicked my eyes up to his before pulling them back down to the table. he dropped his head, chin against his chest, defeated. “i’m sorry. i’ll say it a million times- i’m sorry. i had to go. we- we decided last minute to announce the tour. there was a lot of bullshit we had to handle before starting it. and i, i don’t know…i didn’t want you to get caught up in the drama of it all. i didn’t want the world to get its hands on you…”

“so, you ghost me? you leave with no letter, no text, nothing?” i blinked back a tear. “wow…my knight in shining armor. thanks, calum.”

he huffed at himself, “no…i- listen, please-“

“no,” i denied him, “no, you listen, okay? i devoted myself to you for six months. i centered my whole life on you. i fell in love with you and i- gave you everything. because you were everything to me. and, i fucking waited and waited for you to say something, to tell me you wanted me, to ask me to drop everything and come with you because i would have! i would have gone to the ends of the earth with you because i loved you.

“and you left me,” i quickly brushed away tears as they rushed from my eyes, pattering against the table like the raindrops outside the diner window.

calum didn’t respond. he shuffled in his seat, leaning back, head dropping again.

and you know that i don’t want you to go. and say you want me.

i couldn’t handle it anymore. i’d given him a chance. i’d heard him out. his explanation just wasn’t enough for the heartbreak i’d had to handle.

so, i pushed up out of the booth, tugging my purse strap over my shoulder, my hood over my head. i veered for the door, passing our waitress with a half-hearted, “excuse me.”

i cursed the diner for being so big, for the exit to be on the other side of the building from where our usual table sat. i cursed that friday evening for drawing in so many customers to watch me, mascara blackening my cheeks, snot on my nose, storm like a baby from the restaurant.

just as my hand reached the bar on the door, the jukebox wound to life. the regular radio had been playing from the louder speakers because no one really paid for the old sound machine anymore. it didn’t have any modern songs, and it cost too much, apparently.

a familiar sultry beat came from the rusty speakers. my sneakers squeaked against the linoleum floors. i pushed the strap of my purse further up my shoulder. my heart tugged itself back towards the table, but i grounded the soles of my shoes.

i turned my head, caught his eye. he smiled, sadly. his hand had been cranking the knob on the quarter insert and it slowly dropped to the table. i glanced my eyes over the back of the diner, near the bathrooms, where a space sat for dancing, abandoned by the modern years. i saw two people dancing, consuming one another, lost in the thrill of it all. lost in the music.

and then you say i want you for worse or for better, i would wait forever and ever.

i crossed my arms over my chest and slowly walked back to the table. i slid back into the booth, dropping my purse down beside me.

“why did you leave?” i whispered, that heartbroken disbelief still heavy on my chest.

“i was scared,” calum admitted. he reached a hand across the table.

i leaned back, away from it. “of what?”

“of you,” he let out a breathy laugh. i didn’t smile. calum frowned again, searched for words, “i was scared of what loving you might mean. when we were here to record the album, we got to pretend like we were normal people for a while. i didn’t have to care about the pressure from the fans, staying sober, being a good person. life just came easy and naturally. but, if i left here with your heart in my hands- things would get hard. i wouldn’t be able to keep you distant from my real life. i wouldn’t be able to keep you sacred. nothing would be normal for us ever again.”

i understood it, now. i didn’t like it- i was still angry about it. but it made sense.

he wanted a peaceful love, but life made it so everything was rocky. not even i could prevent the world to taint this.

“i couldn’t…” calum trailed off. he reached out his hand again. “i can’t do it with out you anymore. i don’t care…”

he lost his words. i set a hand upon the table, fingers inching near his. he gratefully pressed his fingertips into mine, opening my palm. i stared at our hands. electricity crackled under my skin.

“i want you and i don’t care about the rest of the world. we’ll deal with it. we’ll figure it out. if it means losing you…these past six months have been hard. i’m sure you know what i mean…”

i nodded with a hopeless chuckle. “yeah, i do.”

broke your heart i’ll put it back together. i would wait forever and ever.

“i struggled with staying sober cause i just…i felt so stupid and worthless. i know i put you through so much pain. i know leaving was wrong and awful and i’ll never forgive myself for not even explaining it. i never want to…i never want to leave you again,” he was crying.

“calum, i…” i took his hand in both mine, “i don’t know. i’m just…you took so much of me with you. i had to learn how to exist without those parts of myself. i had to relearn who i was. i had to grieve her- us. it was so hard- you just left me. but…i don’t know. i need time. i need time to think and…”

“i know, i know, i know,” calum nodded quickly. “no, i know. i don’t expect…i don’t expect any answers. i don’t expect you to confess your feelings for me. i just…i needed to tell you that i love you. i couldn’t go another day without you knowing it. i needed to tell you and…and try to get you back.”

“well,” i glanced up from our hands, meeting his eye with a hopeful smile, “i think you got me.”

and that’s how it works. that’s how you got the girl.

[glennk56]

Thick Wilson

Thick Wilson is from Hamilton, Ontario, Canada. His very first screen appearance was on a British TV show, The Rag Trade in 1963, going by the name he used most, Thick Wilson. He also has gone by his real name, Addison Bell. His last appearance was on a Lifetime movie made in Canada, Obituary in 2006. I don't know if he is still living, but if he is, he is 95 years old.

He only had 4 credits in the 1960s. His homebase was England.

In 1967, he appeared in The Dirty Dozen as General Wordan's (that's Ernest Borgnine's character) Aide.

In the 1970s he was able to have 9 screen appearances, still based out of England.

Here he appears in an episode of The Rivals of Sherlock Holmes in 1973. He did not talk in this one.

In 1975 he appears in From Hong Kong with Love, a UK, France and Hong Kong collaboration, which also featured Clifton James.

In 1976 Thick Wilson appears in the initial episode of Second Verdict, a British TV show that second guessed the accuracy of historical events.

Most of Thick Wilson's credits appeared in the 1980s & 1990s. He also did a lot of voice-over work in animated programs.

Here he is the Mayor in 1980s The Mirror Crack'd, his second major motion picture.

And The Great Muppet Caper in 1981.

The Adventures of Bob and Doug McKenzie: Strange Brew in 1983. This one out of Canada.

And another British movie in 1985, Morons from Outer Space.

And back to Canada in 1986 for Bullies.

The episode, Skeleton on The Ray Bradbury Theater in 1988, featuring Eugene Levy in this one.

Also the Canadian film Buying Time in 1988.

And the sci-fi horror film The Dark in 1993. It looks like he started going as Addison Bell for good in this year.

And Tommy Boy with Chris Farley and David Spade in 1995.

Also in 1995, National Lampoon's Senior Trip.

He did an episode of Goosebumps in 1996.

A Hallmark Hall of Fame movie in 1997, Rose Hill.

Showtime movie, Jasper, Texas in 2003.

And a comedy, Phil the Alien in 2004.

And finally Obituary in 2006.

[angelgoeslewd]

Resonance.

🔮 summary: it’s hard to remember. (solomon x reader x simeon)

⚠️ warnings: longing.

🌟 this work is being REWRITTEN! check back for the completion check ✅ and a new story with extra content!

Mornings with Solomon almost always felt straight out of a storybook.

The chilled autumn air, looming thicken and heavy with a melancholic tone, greeted you as you stretched your arms, teasingly leaving a trail of goosebumps as your warmed skin left the sanctuary of your bed. Cocytus Hall froze in the Devildom winters, its thick walls and dark tones doing little to keep the cold air comfortable enough. Thankfully you weren’t alone. You never were, these days. You had him to warm you up.

The thought was nearly was enough to tempt you back into his sheets, to snuggle back into his sweet scent, but… something was missing. As you blinked sleep from your eyes, glancing around the Sorcerer’s room, you realized the man in question was already gone. Confused, you sat up, looking around for your bedmate. He was just as avoidant of the cold weather as you were; while he did occasionally let you sleep in during summer, it was very unlike him to do so in the winter.

You shielded your eyes from the glare of sunlight that shone directly on you, trying to make out objects in the room from the dust floating in the air. “Sol…?” you called, pursing your lips as no response formed. That’s when the smell hit you.

Sweeten spice. Warm, honey-rich, and bready. Oh, Devils in Hell, was he trying to cook again!?

The thin camisole you wore did little to protect from the cold air, though it greatly increase the amount of skin you got to press against your beloved Master in bed; you cursed the decision now, pulling the comforter off the bed and rushing down the hall to the kitchen.

“Sol, I swear, that better be coffee I smell-”

Your words stopped short as your eyes made contact with the one man you expected to find up to no good. Fingers interlaced, under his chin, Solomon sat at the small table in the kitchen, a cup of warm, amber tea in front of him, the steam billowing up and blooming into white whips as it hit the air.

“Good morning, my dear.” His eyes raked over your body, lighting up with excitement as he reached your translucent dress, barely covered by the blanket you clutched, but relaxed your grip at his wandering eyes. It’s nothing he hasn’t already seen before…

“Ah… good morning, little lamb.”

In horror, your eyes shot over to the other man in your kitchen, the one you weren’t expecting, the one Solomon should’ve warned you about-

Simeon. Who stood at the stove with a apron on, a spatula in one hand; who met your own gaze with widened eyes of his own. His eyes flickered downwards every so often, but tried to maintain eye contact with you. By the way his cheeks darkened, you can tell he was failing.

“Solomon!” You squeaked, turning to him with a look of betrayal, your cold hands twitching — wanting to gather the heavy fabric as close to you as you could but you couldn’t. There was very little you could do here without directly making Simeon uncomfortable, and that’s not what you wanted. It wasn’t like you hated his attention on you, but what you, him, and Solomon had was from a different time, one that didn’t presently exist. Even so, you knew Simeon well enough, that if you tried to cover yourself, he’d blame himself for looking, for putting you in a position that you felt you had to do that. (When really, he should probably be blaming the man who most likely orchestrated this.) And the past affection you held for your former lover, even if he wasn’t the same one, still held you back.

The man who, currently, sipped his tea and shrugged with such blasé, that anyone who wasn’t in a 3 year long relationship with him would be able to tell that he was the mastermind behind this little plot that you could see right through. “Dove,” Solomon calls, setting down his cup with a slight clink!, motioning for you to come to him. “You haven’t met Simeon yet, have you?” You wanted to hit him. You wanted to absolutely smack him with all the force you could embarrassingly muster. He knows that the three of you-! “Come on now, he’s one of the newest exchange students. From the Celestial realm. I invited him over for… breakfast.” You didn’t miss his hesitation in that word. You didn’t miss how his lips twitched upwards as he tried to smiled reassuringly, twisting the action into a perverse grin, even if for only a second.

Your feet make a decision before your mind does, carrying you over to him with soft pit-pats before you can even register the movement. (This is how it’s always been, this is how you remember it — but this isn’t your Simeon. He isn’t your other part, currently.) Solomon grasps your waist and pulls you onto his lap as you approach, letting only him see your very unamused face as you finally give him an answer, “Yes. How very kind of you, Solomon. Very unfortunate that I didn’t know about it sooner.”

Ah… full name. He was in trouble then. You could practically see the drops of sweat forming on his forehead as he sheepishly answered — “Oh? Did I forget to mention that was today? I’m so sorry, Dove,” — though the act worked in seeming like he actually forgot. And that forsaken nickname-! That was-

“He calls you Dove?”

The both of you startled at the reminder of the other man in the room, forgetting who exactly you were locked in a silent, mind-reading argument about. But his soft, quiet voice was almost as loud as your own heartbeat, drawing out the longing you knew you both felt for him.

Simeon looked just as surprised, however, when both of your heads turned towards him, and his cheeks flushed before he quickly turned back to the stove, worrying over his pancakes to hide his embarrassment at the injection. “I, uhm, sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude, haha!”

“No, Simeon, it’s, it’s ok- ah!” You nearly tip over Solomon’s cup in your rush to stand, his hands meeting your own to steady the porcelain, before you continue getting up, with his help to heap the comforter over your arms like a shawl. “It’s just a, an old nickname he uses for me. It’s very dear to me.”

Simeon nods, still keeping his face down, towards the stove as you approach from behind. You feel like you’re cornering a scared bird, yet again, and try to keep your distance by stopping at the island.

“It’s… It’s cute…”

How you wished you could tell him that it’s his, it’s always been his, it belongs to him, just like you and Solomon, and both your hearts —

But when you looked back at your sorcerer, the same one who had his eyes locked on the back of the angel currently making you both pancakes…

When yours finally locked with his… and he sadly shook his head…

You both knew this longing would have to wait to be resolved, once more.

[athenadione]

deals and desire (we’re playing with fire)

Spreading my Christmas Cheer! I think this might be my favorite one yet. I really hope you guys enjoy this one. You have no idea how much it means to me to be part of a close-knit fandom. I have extra comments in the author's note and you can read it on a03 HERE

Rated: T (Harry Potter AU)

Words: 9,741

The halls at Hogwarts are rambunctious during class changes, and Raven does her best to avoid most students while walking to her next lecture. For the most part, she succeeds, with the occasional Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff calling out to greet her. 

There’s chatter all around her with the excitement of the upcoming Yule Ball. Hufflepuffs bound around her with laughter, ignoring the groans of Griffyndors who are no doubt imagining the horrors of dressing up. One group of students in the hall is taking bets while another teases a younger Slytherin about asking a fellow girl to go with him. 

Raven keeps walking, her robes flowing behind her as ebony locks blow in the wind when she reaches the covered bridge. It’s snowing.

It’s the first snowfall of the year. 

There’s a ghost of a smile on her lips before they part, and she watches her breath materialize before her. Ivory fingers slip from beneath her robes, and she cups her hand, catching a few flakes. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to the snow. 

It had always been such a sharp contrast to home—fire and brimstone and blood-stained cloaks.

The air around her is silent and she watches them continue to fall, already beginning to cover the ground below. 

It captures the attention of others who walk outside with her. Tensing as the crowd grows, she withdraws her hand back inside her cloak, intent on walking across to the other side. Her next class starts soon, Advanced Potions with Snape. It wouldn’t be good to be late. 

Another sharp gust of wind catches in her hair and she suppresses a shiver, feeling goosebumps rise on her flesh beneath her robes. 

“Bloody hell, Raven, did you not hear the announcements yesterday about the weather?” 

The yell from across the bridge becomes rapidly closer, and Raven releases a sigh, able to recognize his voice from anywhere. Insufferable prat. Never mind the fact that no—she did not hear about the announcements yesterday about the weather. She’d been nose-deep in a book instead, but he doesn’t need to know that.  

“Honestly, Damian, I don’t have time for this. I’m going to be late—”

Raven turns on her heel, only to run straight into his chest. Barely managing to keep hold of the books in her arms, she finds herself unable to move when Damian traps her there. He takes his scarf in his hands and begins to wrap it snugly around her neck. The rough fabric brushes her nose and she gets a whiff of his expensive cologne. Some kind of earthy scent with a hint of spice. Ugh, why does he have to smell so good? 

“Don’t argue with me Raven, you could catch a cold walking out here without proper wear. You need to take care of yourself.” 

Feeling her cheeks growing red from more than just the cold, her eyes also widen when he takes off his beanie to place it on her head. Words of refusal catch in her throat as Wayne shakes his hair to rid the indentions, and unruly curls pile over his brows into his lashes. 

“Really, as a prefect you should be more responsible. Who would take your place if you get sick? Luna? You and I both know that would be a disaster.” 

The warmth of his beanie seeps into her scalp and the tips of her ears when he places it on her head. She blushes even further as he takes time to brush a stray hair out of her face. 

When emerald eyes peer into hers with expectation, she clears her throat, feigning irritation, “I’m not going to get sick, Damian, and besides I don’t see how this is any of your business.” 

Damian raises a brow, undeterred as snowflakes begin to fall into his hair. 

“As your colleague, I have an interest in your health. I’m not going to keep up with your prefect duties, and don’t you need all the time you can get to finish your application for the internship at the Ministry?” 

“Well yes but—wait how do you know about—”

“No excuses Ravenclaw, and you have…” Damian glances down at his watch, “less than five minutes to get across campus to make it to class.” 

“You’re an insufferable arse—”

“Four minutes, better hurry,” he flashes her a grin. 

Raven curses, not bothering to look back at him as she rushes in the opposite direction. 

Snape doesn’t tolerate tardiness. 

.

Raven still has the beanie after class and she hates how warm it is. 

She sheds the scarf shortly after class starts, with it being a hazard to potion making and all, but can’t bring herself to take off his beanie. 

That smell, his smell, has forever enraptured her senses. 

It distracts her the entire class, to the point that she accidentally picks up dried mallowsweet instead of dittany leaves for her Wiggenweld potion. Thank the gods Jinx catches her before she drops the ingredient into their cauldron. The mouthy Slytherin has more than a few choice words for her almost costly mistake. 

Raven, of course, is grateful despite the word-lashing. 

She can’t afford to fail any classes now that she’s getting ready to submit her application to the Ministry. Which reminds her that she needs to fill out the reference page next. Surely Professor McGonagall will agree to write one.  

She makes a mental note to ask during her office hours later in the week. 

Raven climbs the remaining stairs leading to the common room. As prefect she gets her own room, and it’s the greatest. She had made a small reading nook in the corner, right next to the window that overlooks the entire courtyard. And it’ll be the perfect spot to watch the snow. 

When she reaches the top, the bronze eagle knocker is already waiting. 

“Glittering points that downward thrust. Sparkling spears that never rust. What am I?” 

She shoulders her books onto her hip while she thinks. Then she gives the eagle a victorious smirk, “An icicle.” 

The eagle answers with a grinding noise while the lock turns. Then the door swivels open, and Raven steps inside. 

The waft of an amber and cinnamon candle hits her first, lightly covering the scent of incense and old books. She takes a deep breath, relishing in the way that it immediately soothes her. 

“Green and blue, they make a beautiful hue. Like the sea.”

Raven sighs and snags the beanie from her head. No reason to keep it on now that she’s inside. 

“Hey Luna,” Raven says, ignoring her previous statement. 

“I see more green in your future. Birds of a feather, stick together, through the weather.” 

Raven blinks, then snorts, “Cute. Speaking of the weather, have you seen the snow? It started falling right after lunch.” 

“Oh yes, very magical,” Luna lets out a dainty sigh, “there’s nothing like a snowfall at Hogwarts. Look—” she points out towards one of the glass windows in the common room, “the spirits have come to play. Such mischievous beings,” she says as her shoulders shake with mirth.

Raven turns in the direction Luna points, finding nothing but a blast of wind. It doesn’t phase her though. Luna’s unique ability allows her to see things that the average witch can’t, herself included. 

“And I’m sure they’re having the best time,” Raven throws a small smile at Luna, then nods politely as she walks towards her room. The rest of the way is silent, which she’s grateful for. 

She opens the door to her dormitory, places her books on her desk, and plops into the oversized papasan chair with a final sigh of relief. Beside her, the snow continues to fall in earnest outside the window. Its display across the courtyard is nothing short of grandeur. 

She kicks off her boots and waves a silent spell to light the nearest candle. Soon after the smell of peppermint fills the room and she breathes in deep, relishing in her safe space. In here there’s no one to pry, no one to question her attendance here because of her heritage. It’s just her, and whoever she wants to be at this moment. 

And right now she just wants to fall asleep reading and watching the snow, and it’s exactly what she plans to do. Until she spots Damian’s beanie on top of her books, bringing with it a conglomeration of emotions that Raven tries, and fails, to shut out. 

She can admit that there’s something between them. Just out of arm’s reach, and if she’d just be brave enough to stretch for it…

But she can’t, even if she wants to. There are a number of reasons why it’s a bad idea. The first is her reputation. Even if she’d never been a Death Eater, she's still the daughter of one. Associating with Damian Wayne, his name of which is very well-known in the wizarding world for helping defeat you know who  would be disastrous. A scandal even. Raven had previously thought she’d come to terms with it all—the knowledge that because of her father, there are so many doors that will never open. That being allowed to attend Hogwarts is a dream she’d never thought possible, and that it might be the only good thing to come from everything that had happened. 

Before her first day here she was ready, had sharpened her proverbial sword, and was prepared for the backlash.  

She’d never been prepared for the young Slytherin with dark, unruly curls and emerald eyes to introduce himself to her first. Or the smile greeting her that had taken her completely by surprise—confident and steady. 

She hadn’t been ready for Damian Wayne at all. 

Even now, years later, she’s not ready for the door that he doesn’t realize he’s trying to open. His hand is on the handle, already turning, and Raven really, really, wants him to. 

For once in her life, she wants to see that door open. 

But Trigon had already branded and sealed her fate years ago. 

Raven sighs, tearing her eyes away from the beanie while simultaneously banishing the boy who owns it from her thoughts. She’d have to see him again on prefect patrol tonight, but for now, she’s going to watch the snowfall and focus on the doors that she can open. Like the application to the Ministry that Professor McGonagall personally orchestrated for her as headmistress. 

Demons like her don’t deserve to dream of something more. 

Her eyelids begin to droop as she looks out her window, curled up in her chair under a blanket, and she slowly falls into a dreamless sleep. 

.

Damian’s already waiting for her in the great hall when they meet for patrol. When Raven reaches him she practically shoves his beanie at his chest, “Here, you can have this back now that we’re not outside anymore,” she tells him. 

He looks down at her, brows furrowed, before he pushes it back into her hands, “Keep it. I have a million more back in my dorm. Besides, who else is going to make sure you stay warm on the way to class?” 

“No one, and especially not you. I’m no one’s responsibility,” she huffs. 

Damian flashes her a look of irritation, “You’re not a responsibility, Raven, you’re a friend. Suck it up and take the beanie, or I’ll just keep bringing you more if I see you walking around without one.” 

Raven stares at him, then acquiesces, “Fine, I’ll keep this one—but don’t expect me to say thank you for harassing me into this.” 

“You’re welcome,” Damian gives her a light smirk, then gestures towards the staircase, “Now shall we get started? I’m pretty sure I heard some giggling earlier, probably those fifth years again.” 

“Again?” Raven sighs, pulling out her wand, “Better start with Lumos.” 

“Good idea.” 

They walk up the stairs in silence for a few minutes, both listening for the sound of footsteps. Sneaking out after hours has always been an appeal for students since the dawn of time. With the ball coming up, however, the mischievous antics have seemed to increase tenfold. The fifth years they caught making out in a dark corner last night is unfortunately just the tip of the iceberg. 

When they both enchant their spell, Raven can’t help but notice the way that the light of Damian’s wand bounces off the wall next to them and reflects onto his face. It highlights the angular shape of his cheekbones and gives his starking green eyes an ethereal glow. When he turns to look back at her she feigns nonchalance and waves her wand forward as it casts the hallway in a warm glow. 

“Looks like if they were here they’re long gone now,” Raven says as they turn a corner. 

Damian hums in agreement. “You know tomorrow is the last Quidditch game before the semester is over. We’re playing Griffyndor, are you going to watch?” he asks. 

Raven shrugs non-committedly, “Maybe, although reading in my room under a blanket sounds like more fun.” 

“Oh come on,” Damian turns to her fully, stopping her in the middle of the hallway, “You have to come. Whoever wins tomorrow takes the Quidditch Cup. Don’t you want to support your fellow prefect?” 

She rolls her eyes, “Since when do you care that I come to your game? I haven’t been to one all year.” 

“Well I haven’t asked before because I know you don’t like the cold, but this is the last game, the championship game, and I’ll feel better if you come,” he admits. 

Raven turns her head to cover the light dusting of pink heating up her cheeks because OhMyGodsHeKnowsIDon’tLikeTheColdAndHeGaveMeHisBeanieWithoutASecondThought.

“I don’t see how me being there will make you feel better, or even help you win,” she says, shoving down her initial embarrassment.  

“Does there have to be a reason why? I want you to be there, you can be my good luck charm. I promise I’ll make it worth your while,” he says smoothly with a smirk growing on his face. 

“Oh yeah? How so?” she asks sarcastically and starts to patrol once more.  

“How about a wager if you come watch me play?”

That stops in her tracks. Then she turns to him fully, until they’re face to face. The warm glow from their wands cast a more intimate light around them as they look at each other. Raven has to tilt her chin up to look him in his eyes, just to see that they’re filled with something dangerous. It sends a shiver down her spine. 

“Okay, I’m listening,” she pretends to pick at a piece of lint on her uniform. 

Damian’s smile turns wicked, “If Slytherin loses then I’ll owe you a favor. Any favor you choose. Anytime. And I have to do it, no matter what.” 

It sounds like a trap, and if she knows Damian, then she knows that he definitely has something up his sleeve. She might be a demon, but he’s the devil. Cunning and devious and sinfully attractive . 

And she’s about to make a deal with him. 

“And if you win, then what do you want?” 

His eyes darken in satisfaction, and it lights a fire in her lower abdomen. She tightens her hold on her wand as his tongue darts out to lick his lips before speaking. 

“If I win, I want a date to the Yule Ball.” 

The words no way are immediately on her lips, ready to be spoken, but at the last second, she stops herself. A date to the ball is a small price to pay for the chance for a favor from Damian Wayne, who’s family most definitely has the influence to help her get the internship at the Ministry. So what if there’s a part of her that wants to go with him? Even more importantly, he wants to go to the ball with her, and there’s another part of her that’s thrilled by that. 

“Deal,” she says, “I’ll come to the game tomorrow, and if you win then I’ll go to the ball with you. But if I win , then you’re going to help me write my essay for my application.”

“Deal. See you tomorrow then, Raven. Don’t forget to wear my scarf too,” he says playfully. 

Raven rolls her eyes. “Oh bugger off you prat. Let’s hurry up and finish, I’m knackered. I had to do room inspections early this morning before class.” 

“Right, one more hallway,” Damian replies, leading the way back to where they started. 

The new swagger in his step as he walks away doesn't escape her notice one bit. 

.

It’s the first time she’s attended a Quidditch game since…well since her first day at Hogwarts. Back when she was still under the magnifying glass of the public eye and had not so subtly been run out of the stands. 

This time it’s different. Most are polite, with the occasional glare or two from families who had been affected the most by Voldemort’s short reign. After a decade though, the retaliations have seemed to settle down. Now she can enjoy the Quidditch game in the stands without any fear for her life. 

Last night the snow turned into sleet, so each step under her boots is accompanied by the loud crunch of ice. She shoves her hands into the pockets of her thickest cloak, thankful that she listened to Damian and had decided to wear both the scarf and beanie again. At the very least she’ll fit in with the rest of Slytherin, who’ve already started their gimmicks in the stands against the Gryffindors. 

She can see each puff of breath as she continues the arduous walk through the ice, grumbling to herself about how magic exists for a reason and at the very least someone could have shoveled the sidewalk. Then she casts a silent heating charm around her hands, relieved at the immediate warmth filling her pockets. 

Finding a spot in the stands is more difficult than she thought, and after a couple of minutes of searching, she has half a mind to turn back around completely. She’ll just tell Damian later that their bet is off when she hears a familiar voice call out over the rest. 

“Hey, Ravenclaw, where ya goin’?” 

Raven turns to find Jinx a couple of rows high, smiling big and cat-like. She shoves her way through the crowd to reach her, then tugs on her arm, “You can’t just stand there and wait for people to move, you have to make room yourself,” she says, pushing back through to her row. Jinx barks at the few people who don’t move to get out of the way, making quick work of the path back up. 

“You’re a lifesaver,” Raven tells her when they get settled. 

“Yeah, yeah, you can make it up to me by not fucking up our next potion’s class. Why’re you here anyway? I’ve never seen you at a Quidditch game before.” 

Raven bites her lip before deciding to tell her the truth, “Damian asked me to come watch him play.” 

“Are you serious?” Jinx raises her brows and snorts, “That’s hilarious. Pansy is going to be pissed. She’s been bragging for months about how her family is trying to negotiate a marriage contract with Wayne.” 

“They still do those?” Raven asks, befuddled while declining whatever mysterious liquid Jinx offers from her flask. 

“Yeah, the purebloods do. Last I heard the Wayne’s weren’t very receptive though. I’m sure Damian’s determined to make his own choices,” Jinx flashes her a look from the side. 

“You can’t tell anyone, I don’t want to cause Damian or anyone else any trouble. Just being here is enough to get people talking,” Raven says. 

“So what? Fuck ‘em,” Jinx takes a small swig from her bottle, “Most people here don’t have anything better to do than talk anyway. They don’t know shite about the real world and probably never will.”

Raven admires Jinx’s blas é outlook on life. Her indifference gives her a confidence that shows in her stance, not caring about what anyone thinks about her or anything else for that matter. While it’s an attitude that Raven has yearned for herself, she knows that there’s also repercussions to not caring about the world or anyone in it. For her the consequences are astronomical. 

“Maybe not, but their families have real influence over my life, and I’d rather not get caught in the middle of another political war.” 

“Fair enough,” Jinx shrugs, “I won’t say anything if that makes you feel better.” 

“Thank you.” 

There’s a short pause, then Jinx asks, “Soo, you haven’t seen Wayne in a uniform yet have you?” 

“No?” Raven asks, uncertain by the motive behind her question. 

Jinx’s mischievous grin is back on her face as she takes yet another sip from her flask. “Oh, you’re in for a real treat. Just wait, they’re supposed to start in a few minutes.” 

Raven gives her a look, one that she hopes shows her irritation, as they wait. Everyone else seems to quiet down too, anticipating their entrance. 

When they come out, Raven has to physically stop herself from dropping her jaw. Dear gods. Damian’s tight uniform long-sleeve shirt clings to the muscles of his arms and his chest. His trousers hug his body like it’s a second skin. The roar of all the cheering around her can’t distract her from the way he glides through the air on his broom—like flying is second nature. The way his gloved fingers grip the handle ignites something inside of her, and she flushes. 

Damian flies around in a circle around the stadium, and their eyes meet when he passes their stand. He flashes her a smile and then winks, and Raven’s surprised that she doesn’t just melt into a puddle right there on the spot. She offers a small wave and smile of her own in return, just before he moves on. 

“Hot right?” Jinx elbows her in the middle and Raven scowls, saying nothing. She crosses her arms and watches the rest of the players fly in. 

Beside her Jinx screams when the commentator introduces the Slytherins. Damian’s name is called last as the seeker. Raven knows the basics of Quidditch, and that it means that he’ll be spending the entirety of the game trying to find the snitch. 

The game is surprisingly engaging, and towards the end Raven finds herself standing on her feet, leaning towards the field. The two teams are neck and neck, and Gryffindor scores with under a minute left. 

Just when it looks like Gryffindor is going to win, Damian comes hurling down in the middle of the field. He crashes in the ice-covered dirt, and everyone is dead silent as he rolls to a stop. Then he throws his arm in the air, revealing the snitch captured in his hand. 

The commentator blares through the speaker a moment later, announcing Slytherin as the champion. 

Raven laughs in disbelief as the crowd around her storms the field. She can’t believe he managed to pull off a win like that. Then her heart drops into her stomach as reality sets in. She has to go to the Yule Ball with Damian Wayne, and she doesn’t even own a dress. 

Looks like she has some shopping to do. 

She thinks about waiting around to congratulate Damian, but the swarm around him and the rest of the team is growing rapidly. It’s fun to watch for a minute as everyone jumps up and down around him, patting him on the back as he raises the Quidditch Cup in the air. The toothy grin on his face warms her in a way that her charms never will.  

Eventually, she turns away to make the trek back to her dorm. 

It’s much colder now as the sun is beginning to set, and more slippery too. Unfortunately, her combat boots only help so much. She’s about a half mile out when one step slides against a particularly slick piece of ice. She loses her balance, and prepares to fall when a hand grips her elbow to help steady her. 

“I’m going to have to follow you around everywhere to make sure you’re taken care of aren’t I?” 

Raven turns in shock to see Damian behind her, easing her back onto both feet, “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be celebrating your big win?” she asks instead of answering his question. 

“I wanted to thank my good luck charm for coming to my game, and to make sure she doesn’t back out of our bet,” he says with a tease, appraising her clothes. She can see the approval in his gaze to see her wearing his attire. It makes her feel a bit weak in the knees, but she decides to blame that on the ice. 

“Don’t worry, I don’t have any intentions of backing out. I’m a witch of my word,” she says. It’s one of the only things she has. “I’ll have to take a trip to Hogsmeade for a dress though.”

“Get a green one,” he says quickly, “You look good in green.” 

“Noted,” she replies, sending him a smirk, “You know if we show up at the ball together people will talk? I don’t exactly have the best reputation around here.” 

Damian shrugs, “You’re not your father, and people will eventually see that.” He starts walking with her, and Raven is highly aware that he has not let go of her elbow. 

“Well, you may be the only one,” she quips back. 

“All the better, then I can keep you all to myself,” his grin is bordering on cocky, like he has a special secret that no one else knows. Raven chokes back on a retort, unable to hold back the flush at the back of her neck. It’s a good thing she covered up with his scarf. 

Then she sighs, “Damian, you know it’s going to be more than just talking. People are going to come for me when they see us together. Some will probably try to ruin whatever chances I have of a future.” 

He’s silent for a few minutes, the only sound around on their walk is the crunch of their boots on the ice. A light wind breezes between them, and Raven suppresses a shudder from the cold. Damian must notice, because he presses his side in closer to hers, sharing his warmth. 

“Raven, don’t you think it’s time to show everyone that they’re wrong about you? You shouldn’t have to hide anymore. I won’t let anyone bother you at the ball, I promise.” 

Raven chews the inside of her cheek, mulling over his words. For so long she’s been hypervigilant about everything she says or does, fearful of how some people will interpret her intentions. Maybe Damian’s right, and it’s time to stop running. How long will she let her father and his actions hang over her head? 

“I’ll hold you to that promise—but you’re buying my dress. If everyone’s going to be staring at us I might as well be the best looking one there.” 

Damian’s laugh echoes in the cold air, and Raven can feel his shoulders shake against her, “Deal,” he says. 

Raven promptly nods, and the rest of the walk back they talk about plans to go shopping next week. By the time they reach the entrance to Hogwarts Raven realizes that she’s no longer cold. 

She feels like Damian has just lit every part of her on fire. 

.

Raven is nervous when she reaches the top of the stairs. Below, the ball is in full swing, and Damian’s waiting for her. She wrings her gloved hands together, before swiping a ringlet from her pinned hair out of her line of vision. Then she places her hand at her chest, just above the sweetheart neckline of her sparkling emerald gown. The sheer, matching cape clasped around her neck feels a little tight. She takes a moment to rearrange it around her before letting it fall delicately around her shoulders and down her open back. 

She has half a mind to walk away, and she probably would if it hadn’t taken her all of two hours to get ready. That and the thought of disappointing Damian sends a pang through her chest. 

I can do this. Just a short walk down the stairs where the entirety of the student body can see her, and then she can pull Damian into a corner and hide the rest of the evening. She takes a deep breath and takes the bottom of her dress into her hands, lifting just an inch so that she doesn’t trip over her heeled feet. 

When she steps into the limelight she nearly grimaces as the chatter seems to die down all at once, all to stare at her. She can feel her heartbeat hard and fast in her chest, and her breaths are coming in short pants when she spots Damian at the bottom of the stairs. 

He looks…awestruck. It takes her by surprise, and it distracts her from the rest of the stares. She focuses on him, and his reassuring smile, and by the time she reaches him she’s not so nervous anymore. 

“You are stunning,” he says, reaching out for her to take his hand. She does, and he starts to lead them to a less-crowded area. 

“You’re looking handsome yourself,” she tells him. His black suit and robe must be tailored to his exact measurements, because it fits him perfectly. There’s not a hair out of place, and the Wayne insignia ring on his forefinger shines bright. He looks every part the eligible bachelor that Jinx says he is. 

“Thank you,” he says, pulling them into a corner that’s out of the foot traffic to give her a moment to collect herself. Raven takes the time to admire him fully, all the way down to his leather Santoni shoes. He’s so gorgeous he’s hard to look at. 

“And thank you for coming,” he murmurs somewhere close to her ear, his breath sending goosebumps rising on her arms. 

“Don’t thank me yet, I’m sure I’ll get you back for this somehow,” she teases, grinning at his snort. 

“And I look forward to that, but for now I’d love to show you off on the dance floor. Is that okay?” he asks, aware of her earlier unease. 

“As long as you’re leading because I have two left feet,” she says. 

“Deal,” he replies, taking her hand in his again, “I won’t let you fall Raven, you have my word.” 

“Good,” she says, allowing him to lead her to the dance floor. There’s still a lot of staring as they walk by, but for some reason it doesn’t bother her as much with her hand in Damian’s. 

The song starting is slower, and the dance is a simple waltz so she’s confident enough to not trip. Still, she relies heavily on Damian’s queue as he twirls them around. After a few minutes, she gets lost in the sparkle of his eyes and the way they hold her own. They dance for what feels like close to an hour, as one song blurs into another, but time doesn’t exist at this moment. They’re just wrapped up in each other, and everything else just fades away. 

Then he dips her, and the outline of his frame is encased in the glow from the chandelier above them. The sight of him is beautiful and breathtaking, and it’s everything she never knew she wanted. 

When he brings them back upright and the song ends, they’re nearly nose to nose. Something between them shifts, and Damian’s eyes dip lower from her eyes to her lips. His nose brushes against hers, almost lovingly. She’s certain that he’s about to kiss her, and she’s about to kiss him back, and that tonight is something she’ll never forget. 

Their lips are just about to meet when someone from behind her bumps into her side, and Raven tumbles over. Then Astoria Greengrass is in her face, babbling an apology just as the flute in her hand pours an unknown liquid over the front of Raven’s gown. 

Damian, true to his word, keeps her from falling, but Raven can’t find the words to thank him—too focused on what could have been. Now the moment is lost forever, and they both know it. 

“Oh my gods, I cannot believe how clumsy I’ve been,” Astoria fusses over Raven’s gown, “I am so sorry, truly, I’m completely mortified. Please, let me help you to the ladies room.” 

“No thank you,” she says, wrenching out of her grasp, “I’m perfectly fine going by myself, although I appreciate your offer.” 

“If you insist, but really it’s no trouble to tag along—”

“Again, thank you, but I’m really okay.” Raven takes a step backward, picking up on the malice blaring in Astoria’s aura. She’s about to escape from the scene entirely when Astoria seizes her wrist in a tight grip. 

Then Damian breaks her hold and pulls Astoria away from her. He growls something in her face that Raven can’t quite understand, but she doesn’t need to. The rage clear in his eyes tells her everything she needs to know. That what happened isn’t an accident, it’s sabotage. 

Damian sends Astoria scurrying off with a squeak of terror, but Raven is already turning away. The front of her dress is covered in something sticky and although it’ll only take a second to fix it with a spell she desperately needs a moment alone. 

Damian tries to talk to her, “Raven, I’m so sorry—” 

She cuts him off, not able to take another apology, especially from him, “It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I’ll be right back okay?” 

“I’ll go with you.” 

“No,” she waves him off, “I promise it’ll just be a minute. Please, excuse me,” she rushes off, not waiting to hear his reply. Not able to stand there a second longer, because she had been so close to a dream she thought was too far out of reach. And then it had been taken from her. 

Raven pushes the door open to the bathroom, heels clacking on the linoleum. When she reaches the sink she takes hold of it with both hands and looks into the mirror. Her chest is heaving with panicked breaths and bites her lip to keep from sobbing. Her hair is askew from her dash from the dance floor, and her cape is hanging haphazardly over one shoulder. At least her makeup is still nice, and as long as she doesn’t cry her mascara should stay put. She focuses on the spill next, murmuring a few charms to clean it up after getting her breathing under control. 

She’s a few minutes away from deeming herself capable of going back out when one of the bathroom stalls opens. Pansy Parkinson walks out in a slinky black gown with a villainous smirk growing on her face as their eyes meet in the mirror. 

“It looks like you missed a spot, need some help?” she asks haughtily. 

“No thank you,” Raven ignores her in favor of soaping up her hands to wash, “I’m managing just fine.” 

“Actually I don’t think you are. Do you know how many people are vying for Damian’s attention? Compared to them you’re just a drop in the bucket.”

Raven stills, anger heating up her face, before continuing to wash her hands, “I think I’ll let Damian decide who he wants to give his attention to.” 

Pansy draws closer, “You might think this is just a game, but it’s not. You think what Astoria just did to you is bad? That’s just the beginning if you continue down this road. I’m only going to warn you once, demon. Stay away from Damian Wayne.” 

Her hands shake with thinly controlled rage as she washes the water off, which she knows Pansy assumes is fear from her smug smile. Raven takes the time to dry her hands before she turns back around and faces the Slytherin directly, “Trust me when I say I know all too well that this isn’t a game, but you don’t really know who I am. I’ve walked a very thin line to get where I am here at Hogwarts. I still walk that line. Every. Day.” She pauses to ensure she has Pansy’s full attention, “If you do anything to mess that up for me, I will have nothing left. And when I have nothing left, I’ll show you just how much of a demon I can be.” 

The color slowly drains from Pansy’s face, and Raven cocks her head innocently, “You’re looking a little pale, Pansy. Why don’t you take a minute to freshen up? I think I’m going to go out and enjoy the rest of my evening . ”

That seems to bring the girl’s color back redder than before as she grits her teeth, gripping her clutch so hard Raven can see the white of her knuckles. “You’re going to regret the way you just spoke to me.” 

Raven rolls her eyes, “The only thing I’m regretting right now is entertaining this conversation with you.” 

“You have no idea who you’re messing with. My family can make your life a living hell, and if you stand in my way then I’ll make sure of that myself.”

Raven's laugh is hard and cruel, “You’ll never be able to make my life worse than the hell I’ve already lived through. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go back out to my date . Unless you want to take this up with the headmistress instead?” 

A myriad of emotions cross Pansy’s face, before landing on something lethal. Her eyes narrow as she steps close enough that Raven can smell her rosy perfume, “Watch your back, demon filth,” Pansy hisses, pushing past her and storming out of the bathroom. 

Although Raven should feel victorious for standing up to Pansy, she mostly just feels on edge. This is her reality if she wants to be with Damian. Always looking over her shoulder for someone that’s desperate to take her place. Forced to play the role of a viper and strike back twice as fast to protect herself. 

She takes another minute to collect herself in the mirror before following Pansy out of the bathroom shortly after. Then Damian is immediately at her side, handing her a cup of water, “Are you okay?” he asks.

Raven musters a smile, and accepts the glass gratefully, “Yeah I’m okay, just some girl talk.” 

“Pansy?” 

“Yep.” 

Damian runs a hand through his hair, disheveling a few of the strands, “I should tell you that her family’s been trying to make a marriage contract happen between us for years, but my father’s turned them down three times already. I don’t think they know how to take ‘no’ for an answer.”

“So it seems,” she says, slightly amused. 

“Do you want to go for a walk outside? I think we could both use the fresh air.” 

“Yeah,” she breathes, “That would be great.”

As Damian guides her towards the exit leading to the school gardens, a commotion catches her attention. Just out of her peripheral vision, before the party fades from view, she spots Jinx across the room, tossing her own drink at Astoria. 

Raven suppresses a chuckle as a funny feeling in her chest grows. So maybe she isn’t completely alone in this. Maybe she has a few friends who won’t hesitate to defend her. That’s a comforting thought, and she takes it with her on the walk, allowing it to shroud around her like a shield. 

Maybe demons can dream after all. 

The first thing she notices when stepping outside is the sky. It’s clear, nearly a full moon, and the stars are just as bright. It bathes the gardens in a celestial glow, and the snow covered grounds makes it all look surreal. 

She takes a deep breath, relishing in the fresh air. It helps to clear her mind, especially as Damian’s hand settles on the small of her back to steer her towards a gazebo outlooking the central yard. It’s covered in fairy lights, and she’s delighted to find that there’s a warming charm when she steps inside. 

“Feeling better?” Damian asks, his hand traveling up to brush her arm. Raven nods while enjoying the view. 

“Much, this was a good idea,” she bumps him lightly, “Thanks.”

“No need to thank me, what happened earlier was my fault. I should have known that Pansy and Astoria were planning something.”

Raven props her elbows up against the wooden rail, and looks up at the sky, “No, it wasn’t your fault,” she glances back at him, “I’ve been dealing with discrimination since my first day here. This really isn’t anything new.” 

“Still, I wish that I could have protected you from it, somehow.”

Raven smiles at his blatant concern, “I used to think that if I stayed quiet and kept my head down that everyone would just leave me alone. Try and graduate without a fuss,” she chuckles drily, “I was stupid to think maybe that could be enough.” 

Damian covers one of his hands with hers, capturing her attention.“You’re definitely not stupid Raven, but you are a fighter. You’re one of the bravest people I know. To have hope like that, even knowing that people might treat you differently because of what happened? That’s admirable.” 

Something stirs in Raven’s chest at his words. A spark that lights a fire within her, “You’re right, I am a fighter. I deserve to have the same opportunities as everyone else, regardless of my family name. I can dream about anything I want—and I’m starting with that internship.” 

Damian’s smile is wide, “That’s my girl.”

Her stomach makes a little flip at his words, but she doesn’t let that stop her from throwing her arms around his neck, “Thank you Damian.” 

His arms tighten around her after getting over his initial shock from her touch, and his chin rests gently on the top of her head, “You’re welcome Raven,” he leans back to look down at her, “Now how about you tell me what really happened in the bathroom, and maybe I’ll consider giving the next book in that series you’ve been reading all semester.” 

Raven ignores the fact that Damian obviously keeps up with her reading habits, and looks at him with a raised brow, “The next book doesn’t come out until next summer.”

“I may or may not have the author’s copy.” 

“You do not,” her eyes light up at his smirk, “How did you manage to get one?”

“I pulled a few strings,” he trails, choosing not to indulge any further. 

“I cannot believe you!” 

“I’ll show it to you later. It was going to be your Christmas present, but now it’s my bargaining chip.” 

Raven sends him a mock glare, “That’s not fair, it’s my present.”

“Nope, it’s not fair at all,” Damian grins, “So spill first—then you’ll get your present.” 

She bites her lip, “You have to swear that you won’t do or say anything about it to anyone else.” Even though she had threatened Pansy earlier, she never intended to say anything to Damian about their conversation. 

“So something did happen?” his eyes bunch together with concern, “Did she or Astoria hurt you?” 

“No, no one hurt me,” Raven sighs, “I’ll tell you what happened but I’m serious. I don’t want anyone getting in trouble, that’ll just make everything worse.” 

“I promise,” Damian holds out his hand, “Pinky promise.” 

With a smile she interloops her pinky with his, “And you better be serious about that book. I expect it to be in my hands before the night’s over.” 

“Don’t worry, we’ll go right up to my dorm to get it after you tell me everything. ”

Raven rolls her eyes and feigns annoyance, but the grin obvious on her face betrays her true feelings. So they sit down on the closest bench under the gazebo, and Damian leans in close as Raven starts to recall her confrontation with Pansy. She lays a hand softly on his arm when his hands clench, nearly shaking with unbridled and righteous rage. They continue to talk until they’re both calmer, and ready to put the events from the evening behind them. Then their conversation evolves to other things—her internship, his family—everything and anything they can think about. 

The longer they spend together the harder it gets for Raven to keep her hands to herself. She reaches out to rub a comforting hand down his arm as he talks about the strained relationship with his parents. Then she smacks his shoulder when he jokes about that one Niffler incident last year. (They had chased it down for nearly an hour before trapping it in a corner…right before it jumped right on top of her head). 

He listens intently as she talks about her wishes of becoming a part of something bigger than herself. Together they dream about the world they want to create. 

As it starts to get later and the warming charms begin to fade, Raven follows Damian back inside and through the halls to his dorm. She waits outside while he grabs her book, and then together he takes her hand and they walk to Ravenclaw common room. 

Students are filtering in and out of the halls, all still filled with an excited energy from the night. Raven’s thankful they’re not on patrol duty tonight, and she holds her book close to her chest with the hand that’s not holding Damian's. 

Witches and wizards whisper to each other as they walk by, but Raven doesn’t care. She’s too focused on the warm, fuzzy feeling growing in her chest as Damian’s thumb strokes lightly over the back of her hand. 

The door to the common room is wide open when they get there. Damian insists on walking her to her room, and from the amount of inter-house couples visiting she figures it won’t hurt to add another Slytherin to the mix. There’s a part of her that’s a little anxious about Damian seeing her room, but the larger part that just wants him closer keeps her walking. 

She lets go of Damian’s hand to open the door, missing his warmth, and she holds it open wider for him to follow her inside. 

“Yeah, this is almost exactly what I imagined your room would look like,” Damian says, voice full of amusement. His eyes quickly scan her room, taking note of the high black shelves—each stacked to the top with books. Another in the corner is full of potion ingredients. Her walls are painted a dark navy blue (her house colors of course), and her gray blackout curtains are pulled back, putting the courtyard below on full display. 

“Oh bugger off,” Raven places her newest novel on the desk, fingers lingering on the cover, “You know how much I love books and dark colors.” 

“That’s true, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a book in your hands,” he teases back. 

“Well they’re book free for now,” Raven wiggles her fingers at him, “but I don’t know if I’ll be able to say the same in the next few minutes.” 

He smiles, shoving his hands in his pockets, “Well I’m glad you like your present. Happy Christmas Raven.” 

“Happy Christmas Damian. I feel bad though, I didn’t get you anything.” 

“Of course you did. Tonight with you was my Christmas present, the best one yet.” 

There’s something in his eyes that looks like before when they were out on the dance floor and enraptured in each other. Now they’re in the safety of her room with no one to interrupt them, and it sends Raven’s heart racing. She wraps a hand around the back of her neck, suddenly feeling a bit shy. 

Damian steps closer, and Raven sucks in a soft breath. She so desperately wants to grab him by his lapels and pull him forward to meet her lips. How many times had she daydreamed about snogging him? Too many to count. Now that he’s right here, inches away and leaning in, she feels herself pulling away. Despite how perfect she imagines it will be because Pansy’s words are stuck in the back of her mind, telling her that all she’ll do is hold him back. 

And her heart breaks just a little when he pulls back too, concern clearly written on his face, but all she can do is turn away. 

“I think we both should get some rest,” she whispers, her voice shaky but clear enough for Damian to realize that this is goodbye. 

He looks at her and Raven thinks for a moment that he might argue. Nothing has ever stopped him from doing just that before, but he doesn’t. Instead he sighs, “You’re probably right,” he says, taking her hand in his once more. Then he brings it up to his lips and gives it just the barest of kisses before letting it go, “sweet dreams Raven.” 

“Goodnight Damian.” 

She has to bite her lip as she watches him turn away to keep herself from calling him back. When he shuts the door she slumps on the bed, the fabric of her dress crinkles as she sits, and she drops her face into her hands. 

She spends the rest of the night wondering what would have happened if she didn’t care about what anyone thought and just kissed him anyway. 

.

The fall out of last night with Pansy isn’t as bad as Raven thought it would be. 

Rumors fly of course (both literally and figuratively), but she’s surprised to find that just as many people seem to take her side as they do Pansy’s. 

Regardless, being at the center of attention is always something that Raven tries her best to avoid. So when witches and wizards flock to her from all houses in between class changes she’s nearly at her wits end by the time she gets to her last one with Snape. She sits down with a huff as some students turn back to look at her. After a well-placed glare they turn back just as quickly. 

Jinx applauds her, “Nice glare Ravenclaw, you have a lot of Slytherin potential.”

“Thanks,” Raven grumbles, “But I’m trying to distance myself from Slytherin right now.” 

“This doesn’t have to do with a certain Slytherin prefect and Quidditch cup champion does it?” 

“How did you know? It’s not like the entire school is talking about us right now,” she mocks, then sends Jinx a smirk, “Although I will say there’s a lot of people also talking about how you humiliated Astoria last night.” 

The smile Jinx gives her is downright evil, “You don’t know how happy that makes me. If we’re being real though she had it coming since first year.”

In a rare moment of vulnerability Raven gives her a warm smile, “Thanks for sticking up for me Jinx, that honestly means a lot.” 

“And I’ll do it again,” Jinx flips her vibrant pink hair over her shoulder, “Hey listen. This thing you kind of have with Damian—it’s good you know that right? I saw him at lunch, he doesn't care about the rumors. He just asked about you, and if you were okay. ” 

Raven sighs, “I like him, Jinx. A lot. I just…I’m not good for him. I have so much baggage, I’m afraid I’m going to drag him down.” 

“You’re an idiot, and I mean that in the best way,” Jinx rolls her eyes, “Anyone would be lucky to have you.” 

“Awh, how sweet of you to say,” Raven says drily. 

“I know, I’m really channeling my inner Hufflepuff. Don’t expect that to last though.” 

Raven shakes her head, but smiles nonetheless as Professor Snape starts class with hiss to quiet down. 

They’re well into creating their next potion when Jinx bumps her shoulder after handing over the fluxweed. 

“Just think about giving it a chance.” 

Raven doesn’t have to ask her what she means. Damian’s been the only thing she’s been able to think about all day. She nods, and they finish their potion together in silence. The rest of class goes by fast and she makes the trip back to the common room after telling Jinx goodbye. Then she shuts her door to her room and the rest of the world, deigning to read her book in isolation as everyone else starts to pack. 

She doesn’t know when she’ll see Damian next, but she can’t quite make herself go out to search for him yet. 

Mostly because she’s afraid of what he’ll say if she tells him the truth.

.

There’s only one part of the year the corridors at Hogwarts are empty, and Raven looks forward to it every time it comes around. Everyone else leaves to go home for Christmas break, all except her of course, but that’s okay. Hogwarts is more of a home than her father’s manor ever was. Now especially. It’s quiet and calm, and safe . 

Soon everyone will be back for the spring semester—but at least for now she can breathe again.

For the first time in a while she finds herself relaxing in front of the fireplace in the living area. Tucking her fuzzy-socked feet underneath her, she leans back into the couch with her wool blanket. While pulling out the book Damian gave her she hums to herself with gratification at the snow falling steadily outside the nearby window. The only thing that can make this perfect is—

“Tea?” A voice calls out behind her. Raven turns, cooling her features to hide her surprise when she finds Damian there, with a mug in each hand. 

“Damian? I didn’t know you were still here?” She takes the cup with thanks, bringing it to her nose and breathing in. There’s a hint of something herbal and sweet—almost fruity like apples, and it’s wonderful. Chamomile. 

“I’ll be leaving this evening,” he says, taking a seat on the couch next to her, “I wanted to stay back for a bit before I go.” 

She thinks about asking why, but she knows that Damian is about to tell her himself. She feels the undercurrent of his emotions in his aura, each one just as complex as the other. There’s something brewing underneath, bubbling as he draws closer. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs, taking an experimental sip. It fills her with warmth and sends tingles down to the tips of her toes. She knows they should talk about why she’s been avoiding him. She opens her mouth to give him an apology when he cuts her off, 

“I have another present for you,” Damian says, and Raven notices the letter in his hand for the first time. She raises her brows, tentatively reaching out for it when Damian hands it to her. 

“What is it?” she asks, turning it over. The Wayne’s wax seal is stamped onto the back and her fingers brush over it. It’s gold with a large W in the middle, surrounded by a crest and a sword at the top, intertwined with vines. 

“It’s my father’s recommendation letter. I told him about how you’ve been wanting to apply for the internship at the Ministry a while ago and he wanted to help.”

Raven feels her heart skip a beat. After Headmistress McGonagall and Professor Snape both agreed to write her a recommendation, she only needs one more. A letter from Bruce Wayne is pretty much a guaranteed acceptance. This is her opportunity to show the Ministry that she’s not her father. This is life changing. It’s everything. It’s…too much. 

“Damian I can’t accept this, it’s too generous,” she holds the letter back out to him, “I don’t deserve this.” 

“Raven,” Damian says, capturing her wrist in his hand to stop her, “You’re going to be fighting to prove people they’re wrong about you for the rest of your life, all because of your father. I get a chance to help because of mine. Take it, because this will be an uphill battle. You’re going to need all the help you can get, and it’s okay to let us—let me help.” 

Tears well in the corners of her eyes. Never has she been presented with such generosity without someone trying to serve their own self-interests. The sincerity in Damian’s voice is overwhelming. He wants to help her because he can, and that’s it. 

“I don’t know how I could ever thank either of you for this,” she says, taking a shaky breath. 

Damian smiles and tenderly reaches out to brush her hair out of her face and behind her ears. “You can come visit home with me and thank him yourself if you want. Everyone would love to have you, especially Alfred. He’s been wanting to meet you ever since I came home talking all about you during first year.”

Raven laughs through her tears, shaking her head, because this can’t possibly be real. Except it is, and Damian’s smile is hopeful, mirroring the hope now blooming in her chest, and his thumb is brushing away the tear that rolls down her face. 

She doesn’t know how this will go—doesn’t even know how to navigate a courtship, but she does know she wants to try. Damian’s worth it. 

“Deal.” 

His grin lights up the entire room, “Can I kiss you now?”

Raven nods enthusiastically, “Yes, please, I want that very much.” 

“Good,” he murmurs against her mouth, “Because you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to snog you.” 

“I think I have an idea,” she says, closing the rest of the distance. 

Their lips meet for the first time, and her eyes slide shut as she breathes in his scent. The same one from his beanie that had driven her crazy. Just like the way he holds her tight as if she’ll disappear forever in an instant, and the maddening path of his hands sliding up and under her sweater to feel the bare skin of her lower back. 

When he deepens their kiss, and she moans softly into his mouth, she thinks about how she never wants to be sane again.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Cold Killer

Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Summary: There was now blood on your hands that you could never wash away. The prince does his best to comfort you.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: mentions/depictions of manslaughter, conversations about death/murder, fem!reader, angst, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: there is an alternate aemond version of this just cos i wanted to do one for the other loml Tagging: @pinksirensong @deniixlovezelda also, @targeryenmoony, who i realized i was only supposed to tag in daemon fics LOL HAHAHHA woops

I ran.

I ran and ran and ran, down the hall, down the stairs.

The castle was eerily empty. I supposed that was a good thing for me, but in truth, it really was not. I wanted someone to be here. I needed someone to be here, so that I knew everything that happened was real and I was not going mad.

Where was everyone?

And then I reached the façade, the one where the window he had fallen from was situated, the window where I had pushed the sorry lord out of. A chill ran up my spine when I saw the body on the ground. My hands dart up to my face when I let out a horrified gasp.

I see the blood.

I feel bile rise up my throat.

Gods there was so much blood.

The sound of my steps were heavy to my ears, as was my breathing.

Then I see his twisted form. I let out an ear piercing shriek.

I reel back and fall to my hands and knees, eyes glassing as they looked out to the horrifying display.

I heaved. My mind was telling me to get up but I could not find myself to do so. I should get up and run away, as fast and as far as my feet will allow. It was a deranged instinct, I think, that I, instead, crawled toward the corpse.

I extended my hand out to him. I could not control the tremors in it when I cradled his head and tried to sort him out.

I let out uncontrollable screams as I did so, fighting with myself, my thoughts, my actions, unknowing of what to do. I scream for help, not that I thought anyone could help him.

I hear someone call for me. The sound of men running to me filled my ears. I turn to the two guards who looked at me with shocked expressions as I told them over and over again, "I saw him fall, I saw him fall, I saw him fall--"

"Gods," one of them calls. The other gets to his knees, "come with me, my lady."

I am unable to break my gaze off of the felled lord, "what about him?" I ask frantically.

"I will call the maester," he says, grabbing my hand carefully, "and bring you to prince Daemon at once."

The events from here and there were lost to me, as the only thing burnt into my mind was the blood on my hands I have been staring at ever since I made it to Daemon's chambers.

I only turn away from my hands when I hear the doors opening and saw the sight of the grave look on the prince's face.

I jolt from the edge of the bed and run to him. I crash into his chest with my hands still raised Daemon lets out a grunt and a breath at the contact; his hands come around me as I pant against him heavily.

He hushes me, speaking something in High Valyrian that I heard him say to Caraxes many times over, "calm down."

I shake my head as I turn to him, "I saw him fall, Daemon."

"Who?" he knit his brows.

"The Lord Greyjoy," I mutter, feeling tears rush down my face, "his blood- I- the blood-- it was everywhere."

Daemon turns his gaze lower, then pulls away once he sees the blood on my hands. To my horror, he grabs it and mutters, "you should not have gotten yourself filthy."

The next thing I know, I'm being dragged off to the bathroom.

Once we get there, I see the tub is already prepared, water in it steaming. Daemon moves behind me and undoes the laces of my dress impatiently. A chill runs down my spine when he finishes. He runs his hands down my arms, causing goosebumps to form, "get in the tub, dragonfly."

I suppose his nickname was said to make the moment feel normal, for he called me that in moments where we shared giggles and kisses. It does not have the effect at all. In fact, it made me sick.

I step out of my dress and walk over to the tub, slowly stepping in, feeling myself sigh.

Half expecting Daemon to follow suit, I turn to him in shock when he kneels down beside me and begins scrubbing my hands with his in the water.

I watch him as he works on my stained hands with such focus. I wade over to him and rest my head on his shoulder. He sighs, wrapping his arm around me, pressing a kiss on my hair, "you're trembling."

I shudder, "I did just kill a man."

"What?" he pulls away, making me turn to him. When our eyes meet, he grabs my face and leans close as he mutters, "you did not. The guards said you witnessed him jump."

"I pushed him, Daemon," I word sternly, grabbing his wrist tightly. Daemon watches as my eyes glass. My lips quiver, "I pushed him away because he touched me--"

Daemon's stoic expression darkens.

"-- but I didn't mean to- I didn't mean for him-"

"No," he quips, withdrawing his touch to grip the side of the tub tightly, "you defended yourself, and the Stranger exacted the rightful punishment."

I such in a jagged breath, "no, Daemon-"

"Your act was mercy," he states coldly, staring off into space, "I would have done far worse than push him off the fucking building."

Daemon seems to snap out of it as when he turns back to me. His face falls and his grip loosens. I am broken in tears when he cups my face with his hands, "look at me."

I whine and choke on my sob, "Daemon, please!"

I shut my eyes as I try to calm my breathing.

"Look at me," he calls a bit louder.

I release a deep breath as I open my eyes. My chest rises and falls as tears streak my face.

He wipes my tears away with his thumbs, "do not feel sorry for a man who showed no remorse when you told him to leave you be."

I shake my head, "but he didn't deserve to die! He was my age."

"And you know the meaning of yes and no," he mutters sharply, "if he had any sliver of honor, he would not have chased after you like a cockroach."

I bring my hands to his sides, gripping tightly at his tunic. I call out his name with so much desperation, like it was a plea of sorts, though I did not know what I was pleading for.

My breath leaves me when I hear his next words.

"Do you love me?"

I feel a heavy tear roll down my face as I look at his earnest expression. My lips part and my stomach rolls as I think of the answer to his question.

Daemon clenches his jaw when a long moment passes. He turns away and sighs, asking something easier, "do you trus-"

"I love you," I mutter, emotions taking over me again as my breathing grows heavy. I nod my head as I pull him closer, "I love you, Daemon."

Daemon reels back at the admission, a breath of surprise leaves him. His grip on my cheeks grows firmer as he leans in and presses his forehead against mine, "avy jorrāelan," he breathes, nose brushing against mine, "I love you."

My chest constricts for a different reason as I connect my lips with his. He does not allow me to further deepen it as he busies himself with kissing my tear-laced cheeks.

"If you can love me," he mutters, pulling back, "a man who has killed with the intention to do so," his face hardens, "then you can forgive yourself for what happened after you merely acted in defense."

My lips curve downward; my hands dart to his wrists as sadness pours out of me.

He lets out a deep sigh, turning away from me as he shakes his head. His grip on my cheeks fall down to my neck. He turns back to me with a pained expression, "what can I do to ease the guilt you should not be feeling?"

I whimper at the sight of him. I reach out to his face with one hand and tuck hair behind his ear, "join me, my prince?"

Daemon pulls away and pushes himself up. I watch him closely as he undoes his belt.

[hearted-anon]

Analysis of love

Words: 3515 Note: For @itzsana-kiddingmenow T/w: Restraints, tools, angst (ed), changbin is dying Lee: Changbin Ler: Channie

Changbin was quiet the entire day. It didn’t mean that he was busy with tasks all day, that he refused to step foot out of his room. In the past few days, Changbin was over reliant on Hyunjin for comfort, clinging to him like glue whenever he even caught a glimpse of him. But the moment he returned to his hiatus as expected, his ever dim light that glowed faintly diminished once more, sullenly cooped up in his room. 

And to add on to the rapper’s struggles, the comments online haven’t been any nicer either, mostly due to his sudden weight loss. His nights were spent sobbing out each and every comment that pointed out how skinny it was, insecurities mixing in with his longing for Hyunjin. The members sat at the dinner table in silence every night, eyebrows furrowing at the faint sound of wailing in the background. None of them knew what to do, knowing well enough that Binnie refused any chance of opening up, not letting his mood affect others.

If only he knew it had since the beginning.

“Guys, I’m going to check on Changbin.” Chan sighed after a week of the rapper’s unrelenting and depressing schedule, making the rest at the table gasp in shock. The room went quiet with tension, the sounds of forks and spoons scraping against their ceramic plates causing enough ruckus. The leader could feel his hair stand at its wits, why didn’t anyone dare come with him? Heaving a frustrated breath, he sat up from the table abruptly, leaving his food untouched. It was steamed to perfection, mouth-watering steak that sat atop it crying out with juice from being sliced open without a bite, his fork and spoon shining with water droplets indicating it had just been washed.

“Bin? You there- Oh my baby…” Chan frowned when he saw the state of the dwaekki’s room. There were pieces of Hyunjin’s hoodies on the floor, weights scattered across the room as well, along with what the older thought was a month’s worth of protein powder. He saw a shape along in the blankets among the cold air that represented the sombre mood, along with snippets of the ferret hung up on walls. A scale was placed beside his bed, covered in writing that made Chan want to bawl with how degraded the younger made himself out to be. 

Walking over quietly to the lump in the bed, he felt around for the silhouette of what he hoped would be Changbin. However, he felt goosebumps rise when he did eventually find him, but with almost no arm or tummy fat at all. The fear that struck through Chan was immeasurable, instantly digging and tossing off the blankets in a desperate attempt to get Binnie out. Changbin stared up at Chan tiredly, dark eye bags under his eyes that were bloodshot, tear stains that haven’t been washed off stuck on his cheeks along with hair that was tied with knots.

“Hyung? Why are you here-” Changbin was cut off with the leader instantly throwing the rapper over his shoulder with a huff, careful to not press Bin’s stomach against his shoulder blades too much not to hurt from the starvation. With a squeal, the younger squirmed and bucked in the older’s old, eventually placed into a chair at the dining hall, where all the members were still seated. They all wore looks of shellshock and horror, staring at what happened to their once cheerful, cuddly teddy bear of a member.

“Look at what has happened to our Binnie..” Chan could only blink back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes staring at what his child had become, what he couldn’t prevent from happening and protect, what he didn’t do to ensure that this would have never happened. Changbin was like a deer in the headlights, staring blankly at the members with pursed lips with the amount of concern they wore. Immediately, he was tackled into a tight group hug, Binnie could faintly hear the sobs of multiple members that apologised for what he had done to himself. 

His heart was engulfed in guilt, ashamed that he was causing his members, his family so much pain from his own actions, wanting to shrivel away into a corner of the room or dig a hole in the ground to bury himself; anything that would hide himself. Changbin felt himself cry along with his members, the loudest of them all now quietly sniffling with pleads of apologies. He didn’t want to make the members feel guilty, it wasn’t their fault at all.

“C’mon, eat up…b-bunny..” Lee Know choked out, trying his very best to steel his nerves and remain calm through the storm despite the tears that streamed down his face. Both Felix and Minho looked the most distraught of the group, the older’s trembling hands holding a spoon of soup in an attempt to feed Changbin. However, nothing could stop the cat’s voice from cracking and stammering, heartbroken to no end that his sunshine child had ended up this way. Meanwhile, Felix was in on a full meltdown, grasping at Changbin’s shirt through broken records of sobs and sniffles that were a pathetic attempt to stop. He couldn’t handle seeing his favourite hyung like this, still in slight denial that any of this was real, just a nightmare to wake up from. 

Changbin reluctantly opened up his mouth, he couldn’t bear to see Felix this upset for much longer. He swallowed down the soup hastily, feeling his tummy grumble for more. The chick looked up with a glimmer of hope, messy bangs that covered his eyes damp from tears, said eyes completely red akin to Binnie’s bloodshot eyes. Felix wasn’t hesitant to wrap his arms around Changbin’s tiny stomach, coaxing him to eat more as Lee Know fed him more soup. Each gulp and swallow that the rapper took brightened up the room, the members starting to smile softly at the trio. 

“One more spoon bunny? For us?” Minho persuaded gently, now kneeling in front of Changbin with the spoon in hand, as if he was a baby. Felix was tenderly massaging the rapper’s stomach while humming tunes in his ear to take Binnie’s mind off all the guilt he was carrying on his shoulders, that he was more than just numbers on a scale to his fans, his members, and most importantly himself. The rest of the group brewed more soup for the malnourished baby, lightening the atmosphere with playful giggles and shouts in an attempt to not burn the soup. Changbin wore a tired smile, but turned to confusion when he realised the leader was nowhere to be seen, nowhere taking care of the rogue kids who were cooking, nowhere with the cat who just finished the second bowl of soup fed to Bin, nowhere with Felix to cuddle. 

“You should get some rest, okay? Don’t ever do this again hyung, be warned.” Felix hissed out calmly, giving Changbin one last, very tight squeeze before letting him off. Minho gave a soft chuckle, but it definitely was more predatory than lighthearted if anything, sending chills down Changbin’s spine at what was to happen if he dared attempt things like these one more time. His tummy felt full from all the soup, still feeling slightly insecure about it. How much was he going to gain from this? What if all that ‘dieting’ was to waste? How many calories did he just down? Stumbling back to his room, he was prepared to flash himself with comments on how skinny he was once more, frowning at the thought of weight gain that outshined his members' warnings.

To his surprise, his room was spotless as he entered, cleaned neatly in every crevice. His clothes were stacked away into his cupboard tidily, his sheets were arranged and organised, and was that the smell of air freshener? He caught sight of a leader softly smiling at him from his bed, outstretching his arms and legs like a child who was needing attention. Hypnotised like a moth to a flame, Binnie was quick to rush over, inserting himself into Chan’s arms without hesitation. But what he thought was weird was how bubbly the leader seemed to be, seeing his state from earlier.

“Welcome to the doctor! It seems that we have quite the cute patient today, hm?” Chris started off suddenly, the signature Aussie grin on his face as he beamed down at Changbin. The younger’s eyes widened, what did he mean by doctor? He supposed that explained the clean room, and the smell of lemons, along with the…fake claws? Poor Changbin was confused, simply deciding to stay cradled in Chan’s lap.

“Today, we will be doing a thorough analysis of you, it’s called, ‘Analysis of Love’.” Chan continued with a giggle when the dwaekki didn’t grasp the concept. Carrying him off his lap, the leader tossed the rapper onto his own bed, tying his arms up with a sweater and holding his legs apart with two pretty baby pink ribbons. Changbin shrieked, realising his weakened state allowed no resistance against the restraints he was put in, allowing himself to be completely stretched out like a rag doll. Still, he remained puzzled on what was happening, unable to piece what the leader was planning with that sinister grin.

“We will be starting with the ears, alright? Let me know if it’s ever too much Bin.” Chan explained calmly while putting on those fake claw things, before tracing them around the shell of the younger’s ear, earning a sharp squeal. It felt so incredibly ticklish, the rapper bursting into breathless snickers as he squirmed in his restraints, the vocalist making sure to not put too much pressure onto it. Everytime he leaned more into one ear, it would squish against his skin, it didn’t hurt with how gentle Chan was going, but it tickled even more, making Changbin settle for squeezing his eyes shut.

“So pretty, look at those ears, right? Now, we will go onto the neck and collarbone.” Chan moved his fingers to gently scribble over said spots, tracing little hearts before scratching up and down Changbin’s neck, earning another squeal. To be honest, the leader was quite into this roleplay, humming as he so called ‘analysed’ his patient with a wide grin on his face. 

“Ehehehe! T-This isn’t ahahaha- an analysis! Hyuhuhuhng!” Changbin begged, quite embarrassing considering that it had barely been two minutes in. His cheeks were already starting to burn, unable to scrunch his shoulders to keep those sharp but torturously claws away from his neck, arms stuck high above his head to do that. He squeaked when those fake claws went for his collarbone, stamping his feet when it lightly scraped against the sensitive bones.

“It seems that you have a case of ‘insecurity’, but don’t worry, doctor Chan is here! Next would be your armpits and chest…” Chan mumbled, before taking off the fake claws. He didn’t want to injure his patient, trying to make things as safe as possible while having fun. The younger shrieked at the mention of the next spot, shaking his head as he babbled for mercy. It was too late nonetheless, his shirt already up and gone to his palms, leaving him completely bare. His pale tummy and ribs were stretched out, making the older frown at how unhealthy it was. 

He grabbed a bottle of body oil, heated up at the courtesy of Felix. Slowly, he rubbed it all over Binnie’s sensitive torso, massaging it tenderly with a smile hearing Changbin’s whiny whimpers and giggles, begging him not to do anything. Setting the bottle aside to the nightstand, he wiggled his fingers above the pinned member, making him shy away with a shriek of embarrassment. 

“Plehehease! Nohohot there! HyuhuhuHUHUNG!” Changbin squealed with laughter when Chan inserted his fingers into Changbin’s armpits without an ounce of mercy, using the slippery oil to scratch his nails all over the smooth hollows. They glided along smoothly akin to ice skating, going up and down as if playing merry go round. The dwaekki howled with laughter, tugging weakly at the sweater that held him up without relenting his arms any mercy.

“It seems you really can’t handle nails huh? Great observation, what about here?” Chan hummed in satisfaction, shifting his hands right above his pecs. He pondered for a moment, before grabbing one of those juicy things and squeezing the muscle under it rapidly. The other hand wandered back to his armpit, scribbling quickly and smoothly. Changbin screamed in ticklish agony, flexing his chest muscle involuntarily before cackling his head off. His cheeks were now a bright red, contorted into an ear splitting smile.

“ARGHAHAHAHA! NOHOHOT THERE! PLEASE PLEAAHAHAHAH!”  Chan relented with a sigh, almost disappointed he couldn’t remain there for long. Shifting down, he raked his nails up and down Binnie’s outstretched ribs, taunting him by tracing each individual bone before digging harshly in with his fingers into the remaining flesh inbetween. The oil just made it much easier for access, sending Changbin into a fit of snort filled cackles. 

“NOHOHO! NOT THEHEHERE EITHER! AHAHAHA!” Changbin screamed through desperate laughter, making Chan snicker with evil intent. He was enjoying, no, having an absolute blast lifting the rapper’s spirits, giggling the entire way as he didn’t let up on the sensitive spot, basking in the laughter he was hearing.

“I think that this needs further testing, don’t you think?” Chan questioned, although it was quite obvious that the question would be rhetorical, earning a very loud scream of protest. Sighing, he moved down to his stomach and sides, simply pressing in his oiled fingers to the smooth skin of his stomach as he awaited. What a menace, the leader will never not miss out on a chance to tease his children, grinning evilly as Changbin tried like a captured bunny to escape; it was all futile.

“This part is especially important, because it’s where most of your ‘sadness’ is found. Do not fret, I’ll be sure to cure it all.” Chan giggled, before kneading his fingers into Changbin’s sides, one side scratching gently all the way to the top before going in rounds, the other rapidly squeezing at the other, sending Changbin into frenzied laughter. Chan’s breath ghosted Changbin’s skinny stomach, frowning at the fact there was no more sensitive pudge for him to toy around with, to have fun with.

“YAHAHAHAAH! I CAHAHAHAN’T! NO NO NOHO PLEASE- AHAHAAHAH!” Changbin tossed his head back in hysterical laughter when the leader decided on blowing a long raspberry onto the top of his belly button, the older reminding himself not to swallow any of the oil as he continued his attack. Poor Binnie was stuck, wherever he squirmed it would just bring him more into one of his hands or his lips, tears of mirth slipping down his taut cheeks. His hair was a mess behind him, all poodle-like to make Chris melt from the cute sight. 

He relented for a moment, letting Binnie pant and gasp greedily for air as tears rested prettily on his lashes, cheeks and ears a bright red with all the laughter. He lifted his head weakly from the bed, whimpering when his shorts were lifted up to reveal his thighs, once full of pillowy fat that the members took pride in using as their free bed now gone. Chris simply tutted, pressing his fingers into the hollows of Changbin’s hips right after he caught his breath, kneading the small space with strength and speed, quickly sending him into another bout of hysterics.

“I presume that your thighs are also a case of the ‘sadness’, but your hips are so pretty! They make you stand out.” Chan cooed above the dwaekki, you could practically feel that tail of Chan’s wag like a dog who got the toy it wanted since forever if he had one, grinning happily with wrinkled skin under his eyes.

“AHAHAHAHAHA! NOT AHAHAGAIN!” Changbin was distraught with laughter, bucking his hips as much as he could, sprawling out his fluffy hair onto the pillows, grown out from the lack of care for it. To his dismay, it only made Chan go lower, right to his thighs. He tapped the inner part where they would clash when he sat with a singular nail, whistling a happy tune to Changbin’s desperate begging. 

“Yes again! It’s only three more spots, and you’re telling me you can’t?” Chan taunted with a smile, and to his shock, Bin nodded aggressively. But that was such a pitiful lie, knowing well enough that the safe word hadn’t even been used once despite the crazy laughter that he got from the rapper so far. Shaking his head, he grasped Changbin’s bare thighs in that exact spot, and dug right in. Squeezing, scribbling, scratching, kneading, you name it, he;s doing it. Changbin screamed at the top of his lungs, shaking the entire bed as he tried to close his legs, pulling at the pretty ribbons that matched that red face of his. 

“NOT THE THIGHS! HYUNGAHAHAAHAH! PLEASE PLEASE PLEHAHAHAHA!” Changbin could barely think straight, mind completely turned into mush under the finger’s of his caring but ruthless leader, his head thrown back against the fluffy pillows in his hysterics that seemed to never drain his throat dry, falling out seamlessly like a waterfall. Chan giggled, he didn’t even have to increase the sensitivity of this spot with tools, knowing well enough that he would crack without them anyways. 

“Alright alright, I’ll be softer for you Bin. Such a cutie, I think you’re getting cured~” Chris hummed with glee, moving down to his knees and giving the kneecaps a gentle squeeze, eliciting a squeal. Changbin’s once boisterous laughter died down into sweet giggles, once in a while filled with tiny squeaks when the leader hit a sensitive spot on the back of his knees. His fingers worked along to trace tiny hearts into the warm flesh, smiling down at the gushy rapper.

“Eek! Eheheheahahah! Chahahan hyung! Plehehehehase!” Binnie begged through breathless giggles, feeling his strength fade away with each round that the nails went on the knees, each scribble giving Chan a giggle fit. His heart melted completely, if he could he would swear this would become a morning routine, but he could tell Changbin was already getting tired out quickly with each spot he tested out. 

“Last analysis~ You’ve been doing well Bin, m’ proud of you.” Chan muttered, grabbing a bottle of lotion before spreading it all over Changbin’s soles. His sweet words were in contrast to his evil actions, making the bunny scream and beg once more for some mercy. It was all futile, feeling his feet tingle once all of it was rubbed in. He knew he wasn’t making it out of this one, seeing Chan put back on those dreaded claws.

“Wahahahit! A-Anything but thahahat! Hyu-”

“Should’ve thought about that before this happened, your funeral.” Chan cut the rapper off before he placed the claws onto his feet, scratching tenderly all over his soles. He went for the arches first, without an ounce of regret in his eyes as the lotion made his feet ten times more sensitive than what it was supposed to be. Changbin screamed into loud, squeaky cackles once more, his feet wrinkling up as he tried in a fruitless attempt to pull them away, shaking his head rapidly to dispel the sensations any way he could, it was all futile. 

“ARGAHAHAHAH! PLEA- PLEAHAHAAH-” Just like that, Changbin had no more voice to beg, no more voice to cry out to, no more voice to cackle out his frustrations from the rough tickling on his poor, soft feet. Tears watered down his cheeks for the second time, coating the pillow case in an obvious wet patch where his eyes were. Chan smiled, relenting at last as he untied the rapper. He didn’t want to make him faint after all, kissing his forehead gently as he put aside all the tools, enwrapping him in a tight hug.

“I can conclude from this analysis that you have been cured.” Chan sighed contentedly, cuddling Bin into what the dwaekki thought were the warmest, safest cuddles he had in awhile. Entangling his hand into the younger’s scalp, Chan traced soft shapes onto Binnie’s back, earning soft, out of breath giggles as his eyes lidded, sleep finally getting its fair share of karma on him.

“Ahahaha…I love yohohou…all..” Changbin muttered weakly before passing out in his bed, his cheeks and ears calming down from its cherry right colour, now a light pink that made Chris want to coat it in all the kisses in the world. Exiting the room, he placed one last kiss to Bin’s forehead, heart swooning at their rapper finally getting the rest he needed after much worry and stress.

The next day, it was heard Hyunjin snuck back in to give Changbin quite the ‘surprise’ with the rest of the group, and yet again, Changbin was back at the doctor’s office.

[merrock]

event: Hallo-Week

location: all around Merrock

date & time: October 25 - November 3

ooc duration: same dates

It's time… to get your spook on! We know how much this town loves Halloween, so we've rounded up as many Merrockites as possible to get fun things happening in town, whether it be movies, spooky fun activities, party nights, or anything that your haunted little hearts desire.

Please note: for the kids, trick-or-treat will still be happening on Halloween (October 31st), so make sure that you have candy ready to go, to treat them right! Or else… you might find yourself getting a trick. You can go door to door, do the trunk-or-treat, or head to the nursing home to get candy!

Dive under the cut for a complete list of things happening in and around Merrock from October 25th until November 3rd, and have fun!

DOWNTOWN

bookends -- book sale on all horror novels

brownstone inne -- ghost stories in the hotel lobby (& refreshments)

cityview park -- pumpkin carving & painting contests, various craft stations set up (for adults and kids)

cobblestone cafe -- pumpkin spice everything

the holiday shoppe -- 50-75% off all Halloween decor

mack's -- special seasonal pumpkin menu

merrock railway -- haunted train ride

the mirage -- spooky karaoke in the speakeasy (come in costume!)

mods -- flash tattoos & face painting for kids

stubs -- nightly Halloween movies (see below!)

touchback -- spooky cocktails & drinks

town hall -- Halloween safety demonstrations

vibrations -- monster mash party night all week-long (come in costume!)

STUBS:

All movies will be available on the Stubs app, as well, for you to watch at home! There is a small charge for each film, but the money goes straight to the theater. Early films will play at 6PM, late at 9PM.

October 25 -- Casper, Friday the 13th.

October 26 -- Beetlejuice, Pet Sematary.

October 27 -- Addams Family, Nightmare on Elm Street.

October 28 -- Scooby Doo on Zombie Island, Psycho.

October 29 -- Nightmare Before Christmas, Scream.

October 30 -- It's the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown, Carrie.

October 31 -- Hocus Pocus, Halloween.

November 1 -- Coraline, Child's Play.

November 2 -- The Haunted Mansion, The Exorcist.

November 3 -- Rocky Horror Picture Show, The Craft.

ALSO AVAILABLE: Monster House, Halloweentown, Goosebumps, Practical Magic, Sleepy Hollow, What We Do in the Shadows, Ernest Scared Stupid, Scared Shrekless, The Witches, Death Becomes Her, Poltergeist, Happy Death Day, Jennifer's Body, The Crow, The Lost Boys, Rosemary's Baby, The Conjuring, The Invisible Man, Trick 'r Treat, Totally Killer + more.

COASTAL AREA

anchors away -- seasonal drinks and pumpkin beer

breathe in -- yoga & pilates with the Sanderson Sisters (come in costume!)

cassidy's candies -- mega discount on all Halloween candy

from brush to canvas -- autumn/Halloween paintings exhibited

the lighthouse -- ghost stories at the top of the lighthouse

the marina -- haunted boat rides (murder mystery style)

mawk tales -- seasonal spooky mocktails all week

sea breeze -- special Halloween flavors available

SUBURBS

aster playground -- pumpkin painting, various kids games set up

benny's -- massive Halloween decor & costume sale

children's museum -- various halloween-themed activities

community center -- costume closet open for takers

the creamery -- black & blue milks available, halloween ice creams

cul-de-sac diner -- halloween-themed meals (& specials for kids)

flour co. -- decorate your own pumpkin cookies

the fun spot -- horror skate nights (come in costume!)

the great escape -- horror escape rooms

memorial library -- spooky story reads, horror book displays

pinecrest cemetery -- cemetery tours (not haunted; respectful)

treasure chest -- 50% off all fall and Halloween decor

COUNTRYSIDE

the barn at lake malory -- haunted houses; family friendly (for kids & easily scared adults who want to take it easy), supernatural/fantasy (medium), slasher (scary).

handpick'd -- specials on seasonal wines

harmony ranch -- haunted hay ride & corn maze

hideaway market -- trunk or treat sponsored by takato's (come in costume!)

lavender lane -- pumpkin, mums & fall favorites on deep discount

little chapel -- ghost stories (with surprise haunting)

north shore -- trick-or-treating with senior citizens (come in costume!)

paradise gardens -- seasonal fall/halloween displays

pet haven -- free treat to all pets that show up in costumes

pine grove gardens -- true merrock horror / scary stories

state park -- spooky walks along the trails (very kid friendly)

the wheel -- 50% off all halloween related items

ADMIN NOTES: have at it! If you want to post costumes, they can be done any time through the week, whether you're partying at Evolution, dressing up to work at your business, or just want to get spiffed up for actual Halloween. Please tag them with #merrockfashion. Socials can be tagged with #merrocksocial, as well. Please do remember to tag anything with trigger warnings if it veers into triggering things, such as excessive blood! You can do other things for Hallo-Week, like having a slumber party and watching movies at home with your bestie, roasting pumpkin seeds, going out to toilet paper someone's house (please have permission), this is the perfect time to just have fun with anything that has to do with Halloween! <3

[frankendykes-monster]

Countdown to Halloween 2024 ranked

54. The Willies (1990)

53. Hell High (1987)

52. Face of The Screaming Werewolf (1964)

51. Terrifier (2016)

50. The Last Halloween (1991)

49. Cathy's Curse (1977)

48. The Last Shark (1981)

47. Godzilla × Kong: The New Empire (2024)

46. Creepozoids (1987)

45. The Horror of Frankenstein (1970)

44. Frankenstein's Castle of Freaks (1974)

43. Man Beast (1956)

42. Tourist Trap (1979)

41. Daughter of Dr. Jekyll (1957)

40. Fiend (1980)

39. Vampyros Lesbos (1971)

38. Devil Girl From Mars (1954)

37. Halloween Hall o' Fame (1977)

36. Nightmare (1981)

35. The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra (2001)

34. Peeping Tom (1960)

33. Violent Shit (1989)

32. Invaders From Mars (1986)

31. Eggshells (1969)

30. Night of The Ghouls (1959)

29. Scream, Blacula, Scream (1973)

28. The Strange World of Planet X (1958)

27. The Colossus of New York (1958)

26. The Scooby-Doo Project (1999)

25. Night of The Living Doo (2001)

24. Scooby-Doo! and The Reluctant Werewolf (1988)

23. The Great Bear Scare (1983)

22. The Wasp Woman (1995)

21. The Cyclops (1957)

20. Frankenstein and The Monster from Hell (1974)

19. The Tingler (1959)

18. The Boogey Man (1980)

17. The Dragon Lives Again (1977)

16. Quatermass and The Pit (1967)

15. The Brain That Wouldn't Die (1962)

14. Mad Love (1935)

13. The Alien Factor (1978)

12. The Walking Dead (1935)

11. Dr. Caligari (1989)

10. The Deadly Spawn (1983)

9. Invaders From Mars (1953)

8. Alucarda (1977)

7. Uzumaki (2024)

6. Sole Survivor (1984)

5. Nosferatu the Vampyre (1979)

4. Shock Waves (1977)

3. Frankenhooker (1990)

2. Invasion of The Body Snatchers (1978)

1. Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla (1974)

What a productive year. October lasts all of 30 seconds which is why I have to start watching these in July if I want to make any decent headway (31 films is not enough). I desperately tried to make this a year of "have not seens" after last year's top spots being flooded with films I already loved; we mostly did it, mostly. Another top heavy year with relatively few abysmal entries, let's get started.

The Willies is the grand shitshow for this year. It feels like it's an evolutionary precursor to something like Goosebumps or Are You Afraid of The Dark?, but it mostly plays to gross out rather than scares. I don't normally care for anthology horror films to begin so to start off a film with brief segments like a woman eating a deep fried rat or a little white dog being microwave exploded and then doing extended stories on monsters hiding in the school bathroom does not do it for me. The most minimal points possible for some decent lighting and special effects but they are not enough by any means to make this worth watching. Stay away.

Onto the 1980's horror: Hell High is what happens when a film crew asks "what if we put a woman into a situation and didn't stop". I want to call it misogynistic torture porn, but I don't want to devalue that phrase for when I use it for a film later on here, but suffice to say a woman is tortured. Emotionally. For very little reason. Universal was right to block The Last Shark from US theatrical distribution. Not because it's a very blatant Jaws ripoff and they wanted to protect their copyright, but because it's abysmal and nobody should have to pay money to see this. I think the stock footage of sharks juxtaposed with the unmoving props between shots is funny, and some of the soundtrack elevates the experience, like the high shrill drones when the shark attacks a helicopter. Creepozoids is an odd one because 1987 was a bit late for a Mad Max/Escape from New York/Alien knockoff but also too early for some Full Moon tier/softcore porn adjacent 1990's production, so it loses out on both fronts. Fiend I'm struggling to even recall, I feel like Don Dohler had one movie in him (see: his plethora of alien invasion films) and him trying to branch out did him no favors. Nightmare is one I want to enjoy because it's beautifully shot but I feel like I've seen one too many slasher adjacent films at this point that include plot points like the killer having a troubled relationship with his mother or him moonlighting as a regular guy (still better than Pieces mind you). Same with Violent Shit. I feel like my tastes are pretty attuned to films that are just gore effects showcases but this one doesn't have any zany concepts to justify or compliment it, so it just falls flat.

The Boogey Man belongs to that tirade of Halloween knockoffs that flooded theaters up till about 1984 or so, but it puts in some extra effort like having a ghost be the main antagonist and a symbolic interest in mirrors, which is much more than could be asked of films like Terror Train which came out the same year. Dr. Caligari is the obligatory "this is what Tim Burton thinks he's doing" film of this year; its sets and its performances are perfectly otherworldly to a humorous degree. It's something of a quasi-sequel to the 1920 film but its relationship with logic is attuned to such a frequency that it's not a hindrance. Very hard to objectively quantify, you're either in the target audience or you aren't, so of all films here take its tier placement the least seriously. The Deadly Spawn is such a gloriously gross film. The house it's shot in isn't supposed to be disgusting on purpose, it's just one of those century's old buildings where I feel like I'd revulse if I had to touch any surface, and that's before fleshy alien monsters break in and start shredding people to bits. Sole Survivor is one of those magical "missing link" horror films, we've finally found what comes between Carnival of Souls and Final Destination. The actual scares in this film are incredibly minimal as it prioritizes atmosphere that balances between comfort and unease, something incredibly rare for films of virtually any genre. Don't go in expecting ghosts and you'll be pleasantly surprised.

Taking a brief-ish detour to the 1960's, Face of The Screaming Werewolf is one of those films I'm more angry at than anything because it's one of those films that's just the combined stray footage of multiple previous films. Rare for these to be produced in the western market (most of the examples I think of are from (south)east Asia) but it's infuriating nonetheless to see something only to discover it's a worse version of multiple better things you could be seeing. Peeping Tom is our "most overrated" entry winner, I don't know why so many people applaud this one, I feel like barely anything of substance happens to such a degree that any ounce of suspense you could draw from this just disappears, and what a shame with the concept at play here that feels as if it would take another decade for everyone else to catch up. Eggshells is the directorial debut of Tobe Hooper and while cohesive narrative is virtually nonexistent here, the amount of experimental editing keeps this going throughout the entire runtime, you can definitely see where The Texas Chainsaw Massacre came from down the line. I feel like I'm somewhat disappointed with Quatermass and The Pit (not sure what "The Pit" refers to now that I think of it) mostly becasue the first two Quatermass films are among the best 1950's science fiction films. All three are theatrical remakes of television mini-series and that's most felt here with how so much of the film takes place in the single location of an unearthed Martian ship in the heart of London. I do love that we have a science fiction film positing that humans are partly the genetic ancestors of aliens prior to people taking that seriously with books like Chariot of The Gods. The Brain That Wouldn't Die is magical, sometimes those oft hated 1950's/1960's science fiction films have something to give back to the rest of us. Here it's a man so obsessed with his own work that he sees his wife's death as an opportunity to try and kill other women so that he can use their bodies as grounds to bring her back. Which sounds like something else I watched...

...said film being Frankenhooker, which has largely the same plot but now functions as a dark comedy. God. I hate so much that the capitalist enclosure on the production and distribution of film prevented us from getting so much more from Frank Henenlotter. The man is one of the best to ever direct horror, and anyone who thinks this film or any of his other work are "bad movies" just flat out do not know what they're talking about. I think compared to Basket Case and Brain Damage however, Frankenhooker is the one that "keeps giving". You think you've seen everything the film has to offer and then something like a hotel room full of women combusts as they succumb to the effects of exploding crack or Elizabeth (the titular character) has her head punched back and starts spewing smoke and electricity everywhere. Film is a magical medium of art.

Terrifier is what I held onto "misogynistic torture porn" for. No narrative, no character work, just opportunities to show Art the Clown dismember and murder women in revolting ways. It's one of those films that vindicates everyone that doesn't like this genre and makes me wonder what I'm doing sitting side by side with people that like this shit. I think Art cutting off a woman's breasts and scalp and attaching them to his nude body to disguise himself as another prior female victim of his is when my mouth went agape and audibly asked what the fuck am I watching, cannot stress enough how much it takes to get that reaction out of me. There's an upfront showcase that Terrifier knows that it's trash and revels in it, I mean there's an early scene where we see Art has spelled out his name in his own shit, and I'm not sure how to interpret that other than I feel like I might be landing in a Duchamp's Urinal trap. For reasons that allude even me I am still eyeing the prospect of watching both sequels.

I think my overall reaction to Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire is one of "whatever". A passably bad film is a definite improvement from the abomination that was Godzilla vs. Kong but it's admittedly easy to rise up when you start from the bottom. Adam Wingard more or less sucked all the joy I could muster out of the Monsterverse, I truly do not care anymore. If anything can be gleaned from this film it's that this is a film made to reconfirm people's existing biases of "I hate the boring human scenes, I'm only watching this for the monsters." Kong is the best actor in this film because the special effects team have to have him actually emote in response to a given situation, which is more than could be asked of anyone actually on the set, apparently. It's a miracle that this came out in the shadow of Godzilla Minus One than on its own terms.

The glut of 1950's science fiction films are a perennial staple of the Halloween countdown but they don't have a huge showing this year. Man Beast is one I'm going to confuse with all the other yeti movies of the decade though having a main antagonist that's actually a human hybrid gets it some points for originality. Daughter of Dr. Jekyll infuriates me because women who become monsters in film never get to be "hideous" and "scary" like their male counterparts, I'm throwing tomatoes at this one. Devil Girl From Mars is mostly memorable for having a giant clunky robot a la Gort, but the actual titular antagonist doesn't "serve cunt" enough to warrant interest, she should have taken notes from The Astounding She-Monster. The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra is an honorable mention because it's a feature-length pastiche of the z-grade films of this era. I don't think it's particularly funny and I kind of wish they lampooned a "good" film of this type rather than make something that fits in line with the middling genre efforts. Night of The Ghouls is the last horror film directed by Ed Wood and I feel like I enjoy it slightly more than Plan 9 From Outer Space. It's far more competent in producing that lulling insomniac reaction than Wood's prior efforts but I still don't "get" the attention his work consistently gets. The Strange World of Planet X gets a special pass from me just because the finale has a bunch of giant bugs attacking stuff. Moving on.

The Colossus of New York is an oddball modern Frankenstein of sorts with a guy being transformed into a giant robot and struggling to maintain some attachment to his former life. It doesn't always work but once again giant clunky robots are giant clunky robots. I'm something of a Bert I. Gordon apologist so something like The Cyclops is going to hit harder for me than it does for most people. I just like people wandering around Bronson Cave and poor matte shots of giant animals moving in and out of frame, okay? The Tingler was the oddest revisit I've had in a while. I don't think I fully "get" William Castle's approach to film but what stuck out to me is how this one takes place in largely two locations and how Vincent Price's character is kind of the antagonist, experimenting on animals, himself, and other people (resulting in a murder) to get at the Tingler. Much like in House on Haunted Hill I'm not wholly sure how some of the spooky things in this film actually work and I don't think I'm meant to, adding to the bizarre nature of the entire series of affairs here.

Invaders From Mars...oh yes. One of the absolute best 1950's science fiction films is also the most lyrical and dreamlike. It reads at times like a Soviet parody of an American child's story would be like; a boy sees every institution designed to protect him as a child and as an American turn against him on account of some nefarious foreign invader, so his only course of action is to get the US military involved. It plays out so well because it's a POV piece from a young boy, which eases over any leaps in logic both in terms of form and content of this film. Which is more than can be said of the remake, part of the diminishing returns of Tobe Hooper's then contract with Cannon. The film largely follows the same plot structure but decenters the frame through which we see it unfold giving it a "the military is legit" vibe. It also is just a bit more mean-spirited in ways that are designed to taunt the audience versus the original film's more hardened edge to it. I think a great summation of the difference between the two is that the 1953 film had Martian bodyguards that are clearly guys in fuzzy green pajama suits, but they're more threatening than the ones in the 1986 film which are giant quadruped Stan Winston monsters. I digress. Had this come out 20 years later it would be classified as part of the wave of "why are they remaking everything?"

Speaking of remakes, briefly want to mention the 1995 Wasp Woman. It's The Wasp Woman for the 1990's, now with explosions and softcore sex scenes. I can't wholly defend the original 1959 film despite my affinity for it, so let's just say this one is of comparable quality.

The 1930's are a delightful treasure trove for horror but sadly we only have two up for offer. Mad Love makes me curious as to how other adaptations of The Hands of Orlac handle the material; I was convinced a guy got his head surgically reattached and with artificial hands to boot. Always good to see Colin Clive and Peter Lorre. The Walking Dead feels like a dry run for what Boris Karloff would do later that decade in the much better The Man They Could Not Hang, just with him as the victim here and not the mastermind. Truly some of his best work as an actor as he has to float through the world not being allowed to live or die, that shit sticks with you.

We watched a scant few Halloween specials proper, I always feel like I want to watch every Halloween special possible but sometimes the enthusiasm leaves me. The Last Halloween is trash, but that's on me for thinking something made for very small children would appeal to me as an adult. It crams far too much into its brief 22 minute runtime, so the only thing that manages to escape into the zone of interest is that the CGI aliens are actually very well done for a 1991 television production, had this been all about them (voiced by Hanna Barbara stalwarts such as Frank Welker and Don Messick, along with Paul Williams), this would have been far more tolerable. Halloween Hall o' Fame is the first of apparently several Disney television specials that repackaged their theatrical shorts inside a live-action framing device. It's quaint but this format would live and die by the quality of the shorts included; I'm not intimately familiar with Disney's back catalogue solely because they've barely released anything on home media but I absolutely adore the one where Pluto goes to Hell and is put in a kangaroo court with cats on the jury. I feel like the novelty of The Scooby-Doo Project and Night of The Living Doo have carried them along further than their actual quality have, stray artifacts from when Warner Bros was briefly testing to see if Scooby could be an adult property now, doomed to the same fate as Harvey Birdman: Attorney at Law. The latter of these two specials made me come to terms with the fact that David Cross was "a big deal" at some point. The Great Bear Scare is the winner here. How could you not like an animated special where bears have to stand up and be brave against an oncoming horde of Halloween monsters? What makes this an oddity (sort of an obligation for me and Halloween specials) is that this is animated 100% without in-betweens, so every character in every scene cross-dissolves in real time between their keyframes. Depending on who you are it could be ridiculously distracting or make you step back and appreciate how hard animation is.

Clearing out our remaining animated showings, I felt like I would really get back into Scooby-Doo and The Reluctant Werewolf. In the mid-late 2000's when Cartoon Network was desperately trying to excise showing anything from their backlogs, this is one of those films that was on repeat constantly as midday viewings especially over summer. It's just so far removed from what Scooby-Doo "proper" is that it's an enigma, I go to bat to defend each of the "red shirt Shaggy" movies but this is brain melting at times, there is no mystery to solve, monsters are real, Fred/Daphne/Velma are completely absent, half the film is dedicated to a drag race, it goes on and on and on that I feel numb after a bit. Uzumaki...it's good. I feel like the fact that this was in production hell for five years following the first trailer release made me stop caring so all the shenanigans regarding the reaction to the animation dropping off (the production team got screwed over, how the fuck do studios not have the money for FOUR EPISODES, David Zlasv strikes again) brushed off of me. Regardless of that I think the actual pacing would have restricted this given how much sequential material from the manga now has to occur concurrently. It gets by solely because it's Uzumaki and as such it channels such a foreboding sense of dread and despair that is unreal. This more than anything is the true epitome of cosmic horror because there is no "source" or "identity" behind the threat that is warping reality around you, there is nothing to oppose and be defiant against, which was true of the manga and it remains true here. Bravo.

The 1970's prove to be another sporadic decade for horror. Cathy's Curse proves that no matter how good technical effects are, do not watch any Carrie knockoffs. Blah. Frankenstein's Castle of Freaks...you took a movie where a Frankenstein monster fights a caveman and made it boring, congratulations. In the interim between 2021's viewing of Curse of Frankenstein and now, I've made the effort to watch the entirety of the Hammer Frankenstein series. They make for a brilliant reinterpretation of the source material with Frankenstein effectively being antagonist: he kills consistently for his experiments, which often time warp and alter people's identities along with their bodies. The "holy triumvirate" of the series as referred to by me would be The Revenge of Frankenstein, Frankenstein Created Woman, and Frankenstein Must Be Destroyed, all for showcasing new stuff that can be done with the character and any prior influences such as the Universal films being absent. Then comes The Horror of Frankenstein, a soft remake of Curse of Frankenstein, with Terence Fischer and Peter Cushing both absent. It's a dry and tedious affair that just rehashes what Curse already did, just now with a black comedic angle and no real consequences for Frankenstein himself. It's easily the worst of the series and why I'm glad Hammer backtracked for Frankenstein and The Monster From Hell. This is probably the first instance in film history where a sequel has consciously ignored a preceding remake, and while it's not wholly original either, it's comfort food for fans of this series, and now employs a darker more claustrophobic setting in an ~insane asylum~. Not the best ending for the series, but Hammer, along with Toho and Ray Harryhausen's efforts with Columbia, sort of represented the "old" styles of horror that were pretty quickly being replaced as the decade went on. This film specifically came out the same year as the likes of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, it was a transitional period where what horror once was was cast away. Still not sure why the monster in this film looks like a Neanderthal man but that's just me.

Tourist Trap desperately tries to be one part Psycho and one part Texas Chainsaw, and it admittedly starts off with a nice hook of animatronic puppets being the main focus of the film, but it falls through the cracks and just becomes another random 1970's horror film. Vampyros Lesbos makes me realize that my infatuation with Zombi 3 last year did not mean I'm suddenly infatuated with Lucio Fulci's overall filmography, exceptions are not the rule. Come to think I don't think I've seen a single lesbian vampire film that I'm smitten with, how do you make this boring and not sexy at all, fuck you. Scream, Blacula, Scream is the obligatory Blacula cash-in sequel, nothing worthwhile to see here and none of the charm and significance of the first film is carried forward here, sigh. "DEDICATED TO THE MILLIONS THAT LOVE BRUCE LEE," The Dragon Lives Again is one of the plethora of films featuring Lee impersonators following his death, showing Lee in Hell as he has to find a way back to Earth while also fighting off The Godfather, Dracula, The Man with No Name, Emanuele, Zatoichi, and James Bond while allying himself with Popeye and Dr. Who. No I am not making any of this up, yes, this film was made with very little money so it sounds far more interesting than it actually ends up being, but it's a cute film, I can't be mad at a film made for me, nor can a movie showing Popeye eat spinach to fight mummies or Bruce Lee knocking out Dracula with his "third leg" be something you don't go out of your way to watch.

The Alien Factor is Don Dohler's first and best film. I love the fact that a dozen people made a small scale alien invasion/slasher film in their backyards with actually solid special effects for something that was probably made on the weekends. You can't hate this film, it's made from pure love for what was already decades old genre material. Had some of the script and acting been tightened up this could have become one of the more widely recognized independent films of the decade. Oh...Alucarda. I hate when they make a lesbian devil worshiper film between girls coming to terms with theirs sexual orientation and then they aren't the heroes of the story. We've come a long way since then.

Given that the Eggers film is still a few months out, I'd say Nosferatu the Vampyre is my preferred interpretation of the story (not my favorite Dracula adaptation overall mind you). Let me say that I think remaking Nosferatu is ridiculous solely because you're just doing Dracula, again, just with some stylistic details brought on from a specific prior Dracula. But this film goes all out. It's one of those times where I'm reminded of why slowly paced films with shots that last minutes at a time are so great. It relies very little on narrative (the extent/nature of Dracula's power of the geographic barriers between Wismar and Transylvania go unexplained) but you get so thoroughly sucked into the setting and the characters that you can't complain. This has undeniably the best portrayal of Mina in any Dracula film, she's effectively the protagonist by the second half and each of her encounters with Dracula are on her terms, he's effectively powerless against her even if she ensures they both die in the end. Also, rats. So many rats. Everywhere. The plague is in town.

Shock Waves is just great 1970's horror. Shoot on location, hold the camera in hand the entire time, do it cheap, have a dreamy distant narrator, and make it grisly. I do find the concept of Nazis engineering platoons of super soldiers and we only seeing just the one in this film is probably the scariest thing about it, it invites you to think about what else is happening out of sight. My favorite first watch of the year.

1978's Invasion of The Body Snatchers is also a phenomenal remake. This one is difficult for me to talk about because it just pushes all my buttons, I felt like I wanted to cry throughout the duration of this viewing, it is an incredibly mean film. Someone you know just one day turns on you, and then everyone else follows suit. You think you know your surroundings and your city but everything is flipped upside down and you can't even describe why. From the very start when you see the premature pods land on Earth it's made immediately clear that no one is making it out of here, it was too late as soon as it started.

But there can only be one #1, and this year it's Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla. Another instance of "nothing is going to beat this" as soon as I rewatched it. I feel like I'm alone in considering this one of the absolute best in the series, I feel like between the espionage and exploration and blood and laser fights that this is just one of the films that reminds you of why we make and why we watch movies, you get to have some semblance of every possible human emotion watching this. There's not much more you can ask for.

[alkalineapparition]

Give

Chapter 16 - The buckling sutures

König x You

Darkness.

It's been years, you think. Unsure of if there was anything before, or would be anything after, you've stopped trying to claw your way out.

Silence. 

Just you, alone. It's lonely, you think. But you can't be sure - you've known nothing else. 

When you have nothing, how can you even begin to understand anything other? The opposite is incomprehensible. 

Light.

And oh, it blinds you (were you not before? Is darkness the thief of sight, or is it a light you cannot see beyond?).

Cacophony.

The whir of machinery, beeping, clicking -

Click.

Click. 

Click.

The air in your lungs is water - suffocating, drowning. Each inhale is a fresh hell. 

For one wild moment you live in the past. In that wretched VA hospital, fucking rotting away -

No.

No .

You are here, you are now. But you've got to breathe, dammit. Can't do it in here. Never here.

Shakily, you pull yourself from the bed and stumble into the hall. No shoes, no coat, in nothing but your night clothes, you throw your body through the closest exit.

The ground is cool beneath your feet. Head between your knees, a violent wail climbs it's way from your chest, slips from your throat. The sound is broken and pitiful. You are pitiful, broken-

König POV

Tonight is the kind of night König likes most. In the wee hours of the morning, when all is still, he is truly alone. No prying eyes to perform for, no lingering stares that shy away upon meeting his eyes, no one shrinking away in terror. He feels human.

But as always, peace for him is short lived. A loud crash behind him has him rotated 180 in short order, hand automatically resting upon his firearm. But he does not see the errant solider raring for a fight or the intruder he expected.

No, he sees a small, broken bird - crumpled to the ground, precariously holding the pieces herself together with trembling hands. A mournful wail pierces the night, the desolate sound making his hair stand on end, goosebumps pricking his flesh. It is equally heart wrenching and eerie, a sorrowful lament calling out to an unforgiving vacuity. 

But he recognizes the shattered little thing, the silhouette is familiar. 

Atlas.

And oh, how that just rips him apart. To see you like this, so wretched and aching. He cannot stand it.

"Täubchen..." His voice is soft as he crouches down, hand reaching for you. You flinch away, a small sob passing through your lips. Tears soak the mask covering your cheeks, shining softly where they gather beneath your lashes, and the sorrow in your eyes when you look up nearly brings him to his knees.

König has never been a soft man. He has seen many horrors in his time, has been responsible for at least half of them. But your pain topples the barriers he has so dutifully erected, tears at whatever wriggling remnants of his heart that are left. 

"What happened?" The words are low and pleading, and he cannot recognize his own voice. It is too gentle, too soft to be him.

"Bad dream." Your voice is small, choked.

He sits next to you, hesitating a moment before wrapping his arm around your shoulders. He expects you to go stiff, but you surprise him by leaning your weight against him, tucking your head into the crook of his neck. 

Then, a most peculiar thing happens.

A warmth spreads in his chest, a little flutter of something in his gut. How odd.

He swallows against the feeling.

"Tell me," he urges. 

Another choked noise escapes, a shuddering inhale against his neck.

"I... I was back there, in that place. So dark..." You pause, body twitching, as though your muscles are fighting the memory. "Two years, they left me to rot. I was asleep for weeks, felt like... like I was in hell. Thought I died and-" you break off, unable to finish. 

Though vague, König has a pretty good idea of what you are talking about. The injury mentioned in your file from your last mission, it had left you incapacitated in the veterans hospital for close to two years - with a nearly month long coma to kick it off. 

But he hardly thinks this is the time to mention he has seen your unredacted file. You are an intensly private person, so he leaves it be for now. 

His arm tightens around you. "You are here with me, Täubchen." You nod, sniffing miserably. "Come. Back to bed now, I will help you." 

When he has managed to hobble you both into your room, he lets out a sigh of relief. Eyes drooping in exhaustion, you give no fight as he directs you back to bed. But as he turns to leave, a soft tugging on his sleeve stops him. 

He turns, and his heart clenches at the raw look in your eyes. "I don't want to dream again. Can we... talk?"

König tilts his head in confusion. "About?"

You shrug, no longer meeting his eyes. "Anything. About you, I mean." König raises his brows. "About me?" When was the last time anyone asked him a question that did not have to do with infiltration strategy or reconnaissance? He cannot remember. Perhaps when he first met Horangi. Though he had soon learned that he would be met with silence more often than answers, and so had just... stopped asking.

König grunts. "What would you like to know?"

A tiny smile creases the corners of your eyes, illuminated by the bit of moonlight streaming through your window. Your visible feautures are an understated kind of lovely, he realizes with surprise, even marred as they are by sorrow. How had he not noticed before? Your gentle eyes, inquisitive brows scrunched in supplication, the delicate bridge of your nose... The sight softens him as he sits, resigning himself to staying just a bit longer. He is, as you would say, a sucker.

And so, he tells you about the small village in Austria that he calls home and the dish his mother made every Sunday because it was his favorite. He speaks of rolling foothills turning to awe-some mountains that cradle ever green valleys in the spring, and dancing around the Maypole to welcome the seasons bounty. Of swimming in crystalline rivers to escape the lingering summer heat, and snow-capped winters with warm fires. He recounts the crisp autumn air and vibrant leaves in a breath taking array of red, orange, and gold, how the Alps almost seem ablaze with the vivid hues, long twilight walks and quiet evenings spent stargazing. 

He does not mention the cruelty of his peers, or the sadness he often caught lingering in his mother's eyes, does not speak on the lonliness and isolation of his adolescence. Instead, he chooses to remain in the softer moments, the pretty pictures he paints for you. He does not wish to ruin the content look on your face.

No, König talks of a simple life. A simple life filled with simple pleasures that he had long forgotten to miss.

[heartinhyacinth]

Recently watched The Haunting of Bly Manor and The Haunting of Hill House and I’m still thinking about them (mostly Bly). They were both just such beautiful stories exploring the concept of ghosts and haunted houses and asked what they really mean at their core—what are they, what makes them truly scary?

By the end of both stories, the answer was always the same:

Love

and grief.

While this isn’t the conclusion most would expect, nor a particularly frightening answer upon first glance, I did not find myself lamenting the lack of jump scares or goosebumps running down my spine. The fear was very much still there.

They are horror stories.

But it's horror in the way of watching your beloved lose their life before your eyes or your happy, close-knit family slowly grow to resent each other.

Horror in the way of moving forward when you feel like you can't anymore—of having to learn to make peace with living, even through all the suffering.

It's horror in the way of being trapped in an abusive relationship and not realizing until it's far too late.

Horror in the way of repeating toxic cycles and becoming exactly what you hate most in the world.

Horror in the way of slowly losing yourself, piece by shattered piece, until you’re nothing but an empty shell.

It's not horror in the way of things you can't see that are quietly looming in the corner behind you. But horror in the way that its standing right in front of you and you have no choice but to look it in the eye. No matter how badly you want to turn away. No matter how badly you want to close your eyes.

It's horror in the things you can't run from—grief, mental illness, death, and perhaps even your very own soul.

They are horror stories.

But they are not horror because we cannot understand the impossible thing lurking in the halls.

They are horror because we can.

They are horror because it is all too real.