#Haunted Castle on Hallows Eve

[gusdacruz]

YCH Halloween comission for Ripypony (FA).

[dionysus-and-the-bacchantes]

"It's really frightening when a girl of sixteen has to think things like that." In my day, he thought of saying mockingly, girls thought of nothing but cocktails and necking. "I'm seventeen." She looked up and smiled at him again. "There's a terrible difference," she said.

- Shirley Jackson, "The Intoxicated"

[2ndsoul910]

[harrisx28]

Eastern State Penitentiary in Philadelphia

[brushbeak]

Lost and Late.

[amomohthefairy]

Read Princess in the Haunted Castle at Fairy Library. A spooky fairytale starring an abandoned princess in a castle full of monsters.

[liamthemarowak]

Liam, Jack and Fighterman are visiting the spooky castle for Halloween.

Liam The Marowak and Jack The Cubone Belongs to me

Fighterman Belongs to ksuniverse on deviantart

Pokemon Belongs to Nintendo and Game Freak

[a-romantics-guide-to-life]

⋆⟡˚ ཐི⋆♱ 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐯𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐦 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞 ♱⋆ཋྀ ˚⟡⋆

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: fred weasley x fem reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: halloween has always been magical time at hogwarts but your first all hallows eve with fred ends up being extra special

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: mentions of blood, costumes, mentions of pale skin (for a costume), mentions of blood and ooze comng out of some ones mouth (nothing too graphic)

𝐚/𝐧: happy flufftober!!! here is the first out of five weekly fics all centered around spooky season! i was very inspired by british traditions of halloween so i hope you enjoy! title is from 999 happy haunts (haunted mansion's ride song)!

𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟-𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Halloween at Hogwarts was a magical time of year. 

Every single year, the castle was always bright with delightful merriment and warm pumpkin candles. There was always laughter in the air as people played pranks on each other leading up to all hallows eve which also happened to be one of the mischievous nights of the entire year.

Every one would wear loud costumes, paint their faces, play pranks and cast harmless hexes at each other. The Great Hall would always be a war of pranks and debates of who had the scariest costume. 

Of course, every year you and a couple other fellow Gryffindors would create a trial of bravery in the hallway leading up to the tower. It was always so fun with magic and tricks playing. Fred and George Weasley, obviously, were usually the ones to mastermind the trials. They even created a new spell to summon ghost-like figures to haunt the hallway.

Ghouls, dragons, spiders, and even hauntingly terrifying Veela were cast as the main haunts of the hallways. Well, not real ghouls or dragons, they were all the horrifying realistic spells, spell-enhanced dolls, or sometimes even students dressed up and scare those brave enough to enter the trial.

One year it was a play on the Forbidden Forest with huge spiders and frightening trolls. Somehow, the twins even got some of the frog choir to perform horror music alongside the jumpscares. Another year it was based on Azkaban and all the dark wizards and witches trapped who had seemingly escaped. That year was by far one of your favorites since you got to dress up as some lunatic witch who got to scare cowardly Slytherins shitless (although some of them did make it up the tower and got to go to the party in the common room). 

It was amazing to say the least.

What was even more amazing though, was how Fred looked at you that night. Even with your hair all messy and poofy, your face painted snow white, lips dried using a spell to make you seem like you had actually just escaped the famous maximum security prison, he still surprised you, as he did everyday.

It wasn’t hard, loving Fred Gideon Weasley. 

You had always felt a magnetic pull to those two boys, Fred and George. It was never a gloomy day with those two around. You had been so ecstatic that you had been sorted into Gryffindor, even if it was much to your family’s disappointment.

Fred would never forget the way your enchanting eyes had lit up as you looked straight at him from where he sat at the Gryffindor table. Your joyful smile as you sat down next to him. Not George, not next to one of the other newbie Gryffindor’s, him.

He likes to think of that moment as the moment he fell in love with you.

You had surprised him by choosing and loving him. And from a household of seven children, six boys and only one girl, it was seldom that the twins, much less Fred, had the attention of anyone else besides Ron or even George.

He vowed that from then on, he would always try to surprise you.

Just like how he surprised you in second year by always trying to make you laugh, especially when the bad times rolled around.

Just like how he surprised you in third year by gifting you one of his favorite bracelets that his grandfather had gifted him.

Just like how he surprised you in fourth year by asking you out to hang out with him at Hogsmeade, just the two of you. That day had been magical and he even walked you back to your dorm where you bid him good night with a kiss on his cheek.

Just like how he surprised you this year by kissing you in the hallway after someone dared him too.

At first you thought it was nothing, the feel of his lips against yours, the way he cradled your head so gently as he kissed you. He pulled away within a second and you looked up into his swirling amber eyes and you swore you saw something in him snap into place as he kissed you again in the hallway right outside of potions.

You would be lying if you said it wasn’t a dream come true. And a war raged in your chest telling you it was nothing more than a stupid dare. But, when he pulled away again, air filling your lungs again, the look on his face said it was more than a dare.

His whiskey eyes told you that this was all he wanted, the smile playing on his lips told you that he would do it again.

So, before he could kiss you again, you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him fervently.

Fred could’ve died a happy man at that moment. He felt like he was on top of the world, all hallows eve was soon, his and your favorite time of the year, and you two were finally together.

You two felt unstoppable.

“Freddie?” His arms wind themselves around your torso tighter as his face finally leaves your hair.

“Yes, pretty lady?”

You chuckle at his horrendous pet name for you. Yet it was comforting to know that it was something just for the two of you. Even after all these years of friendship, dating Fred felt so unreal. Yet, it flowed so naturally it was akin to rivers flowing to the sea; it may have taken a while, a long winding journey, but it always made its way back home.  

That’s what Fred was to you, home.

You spin around, the blankets covering you two from the frosty air of the Gryffindor tower twisting along with you. You place your hands on the fuzzy fabric warming his chest. He wore the lovely knit sweater his dearest mother made him last year. Mrs.Weasley always did have an eye for fashion you thought as your eyes trailed down Fred’s lean but broad chest where a golden embroidered F proudly signaled which of the prankster identical twins was which. 

Of course, you never needed it. After all these years of friendship and youthful love, you could tell the two of them apart in a heartbeat. Fred had always been the more daring and adventuring one while George was slightly more grounded. Your boyfriend also had a mole on his right ear that always made you think it was an earring while George had a freckles on the side of his neck. 

Needless to say, there were a plethora more differences between the two but that only made Fred feel more loved. To know that his girl, his bestest friend, could tell the twin apart from the other. What the real kicker was that you still loved him when everyone else couldn’t help but love “the Twins”, never just Fred or just George, “the Twins”; however, you love Fred, and that meant the world to him.

“We’re dating.”

“Mhmm, finally” He leans forward kissing your forehead gently, his eyes closed as he revels in your warmth. His hands find purchase at your hips, his fingers tickling you softly eliciting a soft chuckle from you.

“This is our first Halloween together.”

He opens his amber eyes, looking at you through his long lashes.

“Mhmmm, and what does the princess want?” He smiles, pressing a tight lipped kiss to your cheek.

You swat his chest, “Not funny. I'm being serious right now git. Like, what are we going to do this year? Couple costume? You could be Frankenstein and I’ll be his Bride. I always found those muggle horror movies especially unique. I mean, I’ve never seen, much less heard, of any kind of “Frankenstein”s in Britain so however in Merlin’s magical world did the muggles make special movies on something no one has ever seen or documented?”

He laughs as you ramble on and on about plans for Halloween mentioning how you two aren’t on the trial committee this year so you two have too much free time on your hands. You two lay there bouncing off ideas for costumes and epic pranks to play on unsuspecting Hufflepuffs and uptight Ravenclaws. 

“Darling, as much as I bloody love this mischievous side of you, we really should get some sleep. We can talk about this tomorrow babe.” He sleepily groaned as he shut you up by pressing his lips into yours. You conceded, your eyes drooping as you fell prey to Fred’s warm embrace. 

Maybe tomorrow will be a more productive day.

Turns out that yesterday’s tomorrow was indeed not a productive day and instead was spent lazing around the castle, taking in the air of mischief and terror that would soon flood the halls, paint the walls, and fill the air.

Even Peeves was ecstatic. He had already begun his torment on the younger students, pulling pranks messy with paint and terror-inducing scares.

Of course, being the seniors you were, Peeves let you alone seeing as he has already served you your fair share of youthful scares (although no one would ever say it to his face but you and Fred thought his “scares” were more like intense funny pranks). 

The air of the castle was already spooky and playful as more and more pranks were played on fellow students and even faculty, although the poor young soul that tried to pour a potion on Professor Snape was now facing weeks worth of detention and a ban on participating in mischief, mizzy, night, forever. 

As the hours passed, Halloween was only getting closer and closer; that means that you only got more and more excited for that year's festivities to start as everyone finalized all their plans for mizzy night and costumes.

Oddly enough, that meant that Fred must surely have already made plans for pranks and parties. The trial was nearly in full swing as the hallway was getting decorated with eerie lights and faux cursed items. Thundering bolts of lightning would shake the floors of the hallway, the first years would piss their pants in horror as more electrifying lightning shot down upon them. 

It was bloody brilliant, Fred had to admit.

Every single student within those castle walls was so ready and excited for a wonderful night full of mischief and pranks, and an epic party in the Gryffindor common room, but Fred was most excited to surprise you. He had a naughty, but brilliant, “prank” to pull on you.

It was only a matter of time, as soon as the clock struck midnight on halloween night, then mischief would begin.

You had to admit, it was hard to trust Fred with your costume. Knowing him as well as you did, which was very very well, you knew that it could be part of another grand prank of his all just to get a kick out of you. 

Of course, he may play a few tricks on you occasionally, but it was never ever to humiliate you. More to make you laugh or make you smile. Godric, one time he played a prank so unfunny that not only did you laugh from how terrible it was, he was the one to be humiliated. 

So while you were a bit nervous, for good reason, you knew that you could trust Fred. 

Still, the nerves like butterflies flew all around your stomach, your insides all flowery as they tickled you incessantly from inside. 

Going to classes on any day is as follows, breakfast in the morning, classes then lunch where you’d eat with the twins and all complain about some bullshit divination homework from Trelawny, and then a few more classes before you and Freddie would go hangout in the Room of Requirement, then of course the day would end with supper and curfew. 

Of course, Halloween at Hogwarts made everything turn upside down. You still had your classes and the mornings would still stay the same. But, you and Fred would never dare miss the Halloween feasts (neither did Ron). Plates stacked high with savory foods with a spooky twist, roast chicken made to look like a terribly large monster’s wing, corn so sharp it looked like a rotten witches teeth, and sweets so terrifyingly delicious, you had to go for round two. 

But it was never the enticing sweets or the rich savory feast that made both you and Fred love the Halloween feast, it was the air. The air of the room was filled with excitement as everyone buzzed to be let out of the Great Hall and back into the dorms where they would transform into a tantalizing mermaid or perhaps a captivating Veela. Along with the costumes and dressing up, the pranks and scares would start.

Gryffindors would host the trial as Hufflepuffs start handing out candy to random passersby. Slytherins would pull scares that even shook you to your core and made you jump, and that took lots of effort. Ravenclaws would usually stick to just the feast, opting to go back to their dorms to study but some would still dress up and go out, usually keeping to themselves as they assess the trial and lounge about at the Gryffindor party.

It also meant that Fred would finally unveil what he had been working tirelessly on for what he likes to call his “most epic halloween plan, ever.”

“Okay, so darling, you’ll be wearing this, ta da!” Fred exclaimed. He held out a box to you that had no doubt been sitting underneath his bed for Godric knows how long.

You took the box gingerly, lifting the worn and dusty lid to reveal a pristine delicate dress. The crimson velvet felt silky and soft underneath the pads of your fingers as you ran your hands over the delicate dress. There was dainty black lace outlining the chest and hip area, an intricately gothic pattern woven into the crushed velvet. You lifted the dress up to your front in astonishment, noticing the layers that made the skirt slightly full. You shifted to look at yourself in the mirror, noting how the dress would cling to your curves, accentuating your silhouette with the dark red fabric and deep black lace.

You look at Fred through the mirror, his eyes a dark and deep swirling amber. He walked up to you, hands holding the velvet at your hips, his lips falling to your shoulder.

You turn around to look up at him, “Fred, this dress is beautiful, where did you get this? Why?”

He kisses you softly, taking the dress and laying it down on the bed, the velvet matching the dark red of the Gryffindor blankets. 

“My aunt knows somebody who knows one of the oldest dress makers in Paris. Turns out that exact dress maker was also in the market for a really good love potion so my aunt got me in touch with her and we made an exchange. I'm just glad that the parcel made it in time because Errol is not known for being speedy.” He smiles gently, as you wrap your arms tightly around his torso, crushing your face to his chest, hugging him tightly.

“Thank you so much Fred, really.”

“Baby, it was nothing. Besides, that’s not all there was in the box.”

You squeal, shooting out of his arms rushing to dig through the box. You find a pair of dainty see-through gloves and…. fake teeth?

“Love, um, thank you for the new teeth, really but mine are just fine.”

He laughs sitting down on the couch, taking the sharp teeth out of your hands putting them next to his wide smile. You giggle and sit down next to him.

“Darling, there for your costume. I was thinking that you could be a vampire and I’ll be a werewolf.” He fake howls at the moon, eliciting a hearty laugh from you.

“Freddie, you do know there are much easier glamour spells for cosmetics and such right?”

You two had finally finished getting ready. You were wearing the elegant velvet dress, a black belt also loosely hanging around your hips, necklaces hung from your neck and pearl earrings adorning your ears. You left your hair down, changing the color to a dark red, pairing the whole look with dark red lips, the red smudged around your lips like blood, and a pair of seductive heels.

Unconsciously, your eyes searched the wild crowd of zombies and demons for a certain redhead. Fred had kicked you out of the room after he had finished helping you cast glamour spell after glamour spell. Your teeth were now as sharp as could be and your skin pale like the dead.

The butterflies from earlier today flew back in, your stomach fluttering as you nervously started to walk around the common room looking and smiling at everyone. Some came up to you, admiring your dress. 

Suddenly the dim lights of the crowded common room went out leaving many, most of them younger, squealing in excitement and fear. The lights flickered as music started to play. In the middle of the room is where you saw them. 

Fred and George standing on a circular table in the middle of the room, hyping up the crowd. They both wore plaid loose flannel and tight pants that accentuated their height.  Fred’s eyes met yours and the familiar glimmer of trouble swarmed his eyes. 

The nervous butterflies that flooded your blood soon turned to spinet dragons of excitement as your blood hummed in your veins. 

“HAPPY HALLOWEEN HOGWARTS, WHAT A NIGHT!!!”

Cheers erupted as George started yelling into the crowd. 

“AND WHAT A NIGHT WE HAVE PLANNED FOR YOU, IT'LL BE A BLOODY BRILLIANT FRIGHT!!” 

Your boyfriend shouted, looking right at you as he said fright. You smirked, surprising Fred as you mouthed…

“Try me.”

Fred felt his heart face as your delicately painted and smudged lips worded a silent challenge. He smirked and announced 

“Let the games BEGIN!”

The room erupted into cheers as the twins drank some sort of potion. And within the minute, they started to choke and black ooze started to bubble out their mouths. Many gasped, backing away. Your heart leaped out of your chest as you rushed to the front. 

That’s when you heard a blood-curdling scream from one of the third years. You rushed to see that the black ooze had turned a crimson red and the twins started to wake, their eyes wild and red. Snarls came out of their mouths as they jumped up and  ripped their shirts open only to reveal a full chest of hair, much like werewolves. They started howling, jumping up on the table. 

Their feet on the wood thundered through the room as everyone started cheering them on, some squeals even. 

Fred smiled softly, reaching his hand out to you. You take his hand, stepping up onto the table. His strong arms pull you to him, cupping your cheek trapping you into a savage kiss. Hollers and whistles were heard in the room, Fred pulled away from you for a minute, admiring your pale skin and your deep red lips before pulling you to him again.

“I gave you a real fright there, didn’t I, darling?” He smiled, looking down at you as the chaos and revelry started once more with screams of joy and terror.

“Sure, a really terrifying prank there. I was more concerned about the black ooze staining the table and Professor McGonagall yelling at us.” You smiled.

“Admit it love, you were bloody terrified for me.” He smirked, you looked away to look at all the smiles and smirks around the room. Halloween truly was the best.

“Of course I was terrified for you, I love you,” you kiss him, cupping his slightly stubbled cheek; no doubt a side effect of the potion, “git.”

thank you so much for reading! hope you enjoyed! also pls pls pls let me know if i forgot to tag something triggering because i feel i always do! thank you!

[fuckyeselucien]

Creator Highlight #11 - @labellefleur-sauvage

Today we'd like to highlight @labellefleur-sauvage! We were so delighted when she came up on the wheel of fate, because @labellefleur-sauvage writes, consistently, some of the most interesting fan fictions in the community. She has no shortage of creativity, which makes picking three of her works incredibly tricky- all of them are so interesting, so fun, and SO well-written!

@labellefleur-sauvage captures the essence of Elain and Lucien, regardless of the setting. They might be in the mortal lands meeting for the first time, or an ancient mummy and a modern archeologist- no matter the time or place, they are ALWAYS recognizably Elain and Lucien.

Check out some of our favorites from her below, or check out her masterlist HERE:

Tempests And Urges:

Slowly, Lucien turned his head and his gaze found hers. Everything quieted. The house’s inhabitants were gathered around Lucien, talking about what he could expect, but Elain focused only on the male in front of her. She tried to convey her apology and sorrow and want with her eyes, frozen with indecision and unable to say what she wanted.

Lucien stared back at her, and while she could so clearly see his own sadness and longing reflected in his brilliant russet eye, he gave her a small, slow bow and turned away. Elain’s stomach dropped. He was going to leave her, and Elain would be stuck in this house like a neglected piece of furniture, without the one being who had a hope of truly understanding and listening to her. She took a half step down the stairs at the same time Lucien turned to Rhys and nodded his head…

“Wait!”

...

"Take me with you."

OR: A divergent ACOTAR fic, in which Elain goes with Lucien to find Vassa during ACOWAR.

The Highland Fox and English Rose:

Elain Archeron, the middle daughter of an enterprising English merchant, has been raised with one goal in mind: become the wife of a respectable Englishman. Everything else—her interests, her desires—didn’t matter. But when her father convinces her to enter into an arranged marriage with a brutal Scottish Laird to save their family from ruin, Elain is suddenly forced to reevaluate everything she thought she wanted in life.

As the newly appointed Laird of a derelict clan with a crumbling castle, marriage was the last thing on Lucien’s mind. His entire life is thrown into disarray when he is forced into a marriage contract he didn’t sign, to an Englishwoman he’d never met.

But Lucien harbors a dark, ruinous secret that affects more than just himself, and he is determined to resolve the issue at hand. Together, the Highland Fox and the English Rose will go on a journey that will force Elain and Lucien together—or drive them apart.

Or: an entirely indulgent Elucien Scottish Historical AU

The Curse of Sleepy Hollow:

In the quiet village of Sleepy Hollow in the human lands south of the Wall, there’s a local legend: that every All Hallow’s Eve, the ghostly form of a headless fae on a horse from the lands north of the Wall haunts the town for an evening, looking for his missing head and a human woman to take as his bride.

Too bad for Elain Archeron, the headless fae has found his head; now he’s looking for a bride, and he’s set his eyes on her.

Want to nominate someone? Fill out the form HERE

[hazyange1s]

HL Characters’ Tricks and Treats

It’s my favorite day of the year so before I go and fall into a candy/cocktail coma tonight… here’s a few ridiculous headcanons about the HL characters on Halloween 👻

Sebastian

Dresses up as something scary/clever/historical like a character from a horror novel. Definitely uses magic with his costume to make it more realistic (is that actual blood?!)

Would DIE for a haunted house. He’s the one laughing and having the time of his life at the front of the pack.

Probably asks to take a moonlit walk through a cemetery. What, it’s romantic!

He is Scottish, and they’re quite superstitious about Hallowe’en. Seb doesn’t walk across the street when he sees a black cat or anything, but he’s very respectful towards the dead (barring the aforementioned graveyard romp)

Scares everyone — teachers, his friends, Hogsmeade shopkeepers. The only person he can’t seem to get is Ominis, and it haunts him.

Would say cheesy little things to his S.O. (or friends) like “if I pull a trick on you now, will I still get a treat later?” 🙄

Ominis

Doesn’t really understand Hallowe’en or care about the holiday, but his friends love it so he goes along (begrudgingly).

Dresses up as the same thing with slight variations every year unless Sebastian can wrangle him into something else. Definitely likes classic/scary costumes i.e. vampire

The guy clinging to his friend/partner in the haunted house (usually Poppy; she doesn’t mind).

In my lore, he owns a little black cat and is highly protective of her on Halloween. Like takes her everywhere (sadly some people are known to harm black cats on this day ☹️)

Denies most party invitations because the energy is just too much. If he does come, he’s in the corner talking to like two people and drinking lmao

However, he’d secretly live for mischief night type antics and would come up with the most devious pranks. Never gets in trouble for a single one.

Garreth

Bought out Honeyduke’s by October 1. Most of it is for him and he’s in a coma by midnight.

Creates a drink that tastes like candy corn and gives you so much energy you can’t fall asleep until sunrise. Nobody in the castle sleeps that night and the professors are running around literally stopping kids from bouncing off walls.

Dresses up as a pun/something silly (obviously) or “badass”— could show up as a knight or as Merlin with a really long beard just so he can say “Merlin’s beard” fifty times. Would totally show up to class dressed as Professor Sharp and get detention for it.

Cracking jokes in the haunted house and messing with the actors until they have to kick him out.

Is either in an all-out war with Peeves or has teamed up with him to pull a practical joke on the Slytherins.

Enthusiastic pumpkin-carver and apple-bobber. Did the Monster Mash before it was cool.

Amit

Gotta be honest, can’t see him being a big fan of Halloween. He’d rather be in front of a fire writing his memoir than out with all the hooligans (aka his friends)

IF someone can manage to drag him out of the common room, chances are it’s his partner and he’s stuck to their side like glue all night. The unfortunate victim of many a prank.

Costume consists of different astronomers every year, which are remarkably detailed. Sometimes he’ll mix it up and try out a mummy or something from mythology.

Will likely refuse to step foot in the haunted house, but on the off chance he’s persuaded, Amit flinches at every little sound 😅

Knows a lot about the history of All Hallows’ Eve and will tell anyone within earshot.

Not a fan of ghosts (I mean, they are a bit unsettling), although they all seem to love him — he’s just got a soothing presence, I guess.

Natty

She didn’t grow up celebrating Halloween like everyone else did, so she could really take it or leave it. But it can be fun!

In Africa, they focus on the oldest traditions of this time of year by honoring their dead. Natsai and her mom would probably pay homage to her father.

Doesn’t wear a costume her first couple of years in Scotland, but by sixth year she’s decked out in something pretty. I could see her dressing up as a powerful female historical figure like Cleopatra or Morgan le Fay.

Honestly might go for a couples’ costume and would dutifully think of the perfect one. Always coming up with good ideas for things to do, too.

Is eerily chill in the haunted house. Nobody even sees her flinch until the very end, she’s too busy herding everyone to notice what’s going on.

Enjoys a good scare, but she doesn’t really like to scare other people (unless they deserve it).

Poppy

Her and her gran had little Halloween traditions, but she never got to fully appreciate the holiday until she started making more friends at school.

Often dressing up as some type of magical creature (shocker, I know) or a cute/whimsical being; like a unicorn or a dryad.

Is down for the count after about three Butterbeers at the end of the night and needs to be carried back to Hufflepuff common room.

Gets moderately scared at the haunted house; still braves it admirably. Is pushed to the middle of the group for protection since she’s the smallest 😂

Makes special treats for the creatures and would probably yell at anyone who tried to force their pets into costumes oop

Loves to decorate the dorm/common room with enchanted lights and wreathes and shimmery cobwebs.

Imelda

Pretends to think that Hallowe’en is ridiculous but secretly LOVES it. She’s counting down the days as soon as school starts.

It’s the day before the first Quidditch game of the year so honestly don’t be surprised if she disappears for a few hours to practice. Or makes the rest of the team join.

Has the best costumes and you’ll never guess what she’s going to show up as. One year it’s a Holyhead Harpies player, the next it’s a disturbingly convincing zombie, and another she goes as Sebastian to piss him off.

Fighting people in the haunted house. You touch her? You lose a hand. You touch Poppy? You die. She’s kicked out even before Garreth.

Has no qualms about spooking the underclassmen (watch out Zenobia) — or anyone, for that matter. Absolutely BRUTAL.

Tells a great scary story, and she can make them up on the spot. They’ll just give you nightmares for a few weeks, it’s fine.

[gusdacruz]

YCH Halloween comission for Whatthebruh (FA). OC name: Blue Star. Specie: Hyena. Genre: male.

[nyyx-xoxx]

when you get this ask you have to you could perhaps maybe bless us with 5 of ur fav songs (currently or of all time), and then send this ask to 5 of your moots who you think have good taste! 🔥

(ily pookie)

ooooohohhoohhooh alrighty!

here we go (THIS IS IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER)

[collecosplay]

All Hallow's Eve LARP by L'Chaim Games - Meiserich (my ghost OC, yes he was shot in the face)

aka "Ghost Ball! Ghost Ball!", London, 02.12.23

Photos by Astora Photography on FB

My jester took so long to make because I took inspiration from Diana Wynne Jones' 'Howl's Moving Castle' where Sophie cuts up Howl's suit into triangles and then sews it back together, so Meiserich's outer layer is all triangles.

I wanted to make Meiserich out of scraps from previous projects, so virtually all of the cost of the outfit is the time that went into it. I worked on him for six months in virtually any free minute I could find the energy for. But it was worth it.

It's not 100% historically accurate, but this outfit was designed to double as a cosplay for the Fool from Robin Hobb's 'Assassin's Apprentice' and the rest of the Farseer Trilogy. (I still have to read the other books! No spoilers please though I have seen some sneak peeks thanks to fanart <3)

More about Meiserich as a character under the cut!

Meiserich (anglicised pronunciation: My-Zer-Rick) is a colloquial German name for galium odoratum, sweet woodruff. It's a flavour you can get commonly in German desserts and schnapps (Waldmeister), but I've never come across the flavour in the UK.

Meiserich is a jester from the early 1400's and lived in a part of the Holy Roman Empire that is now Germany, namely within the Roman Catholic Diocese of Münster. At the court of Droste zur Aa Meiserich had a close relationship with Lady Klara of the keep. In 1412 this court took part in a knights' jousting tournament in Buda where the future Holy Roman Emperor Sigismund was also in attendance. Whilst there, through social occasions, Lady Klara found out and obtained evidence that Sigismund was the one who poisoned the previous King of Germany, Jobst of Moravia. She confided in Meiserich what had happened.

It comes to light that Lady Klara knows too much, so Sigismund sends soldiers to Münster to besiege the keep. Meiserich encourages his Lady to run and hide with the evidence of the poisoning. As a jester it was also Meiserich's job to act as a messenger and diplomat at times. However, the siege negotiations failed, he was shot dead with an early arquebus design and the castle was fired upon with trebuchets. Lady Klara initially survived in the rubble in an airpocket but ultimately suffocated.

Meiserich usually haunts the ruins of the castle keep he used to live in. It is now a tourist destination and he likes to tease the tourists. He also eavesdrops and through them and the keep staff learns of other things going on in the world. He has not forgotten about Lady Klara and wants to reveal the truth she uncovered to the world.

Please note: The poisoning plot is fictional, Sigismund doing this is something I made up based on some Wikipedia reading I did.

His wish to have fulfilled at the LARP was to have the keep in Münster renovated and restored, revealing the buried corpse of Lady Klara. In her hand are a vial of poison and a letter proving Sigismund was the one who poisoned the previous king of Germany, Jobst of Moravia. It will be a joy for the historians and great to hear the tour guides at the keep bring this up in perpetuity.

And he got his wish fulfilled at the game! I'm so happy. Monsieur Roc Flamboyant (a French noble, 1600's) was touched enough by Meiserich's story and devotion to Lady Klara that he made the wish for Meiserich. I could not have asked for a better end to this game.

Shout out to the podcasts that helped me put together Meiserich as a character:

Gone Medieval by History Hit

We're Not So Different - esp. episode "Medieval Fail Sons: Wenceslas IV & Sigismund"

Weird Medieval Guys - esp. episode "Sieging for Dummies"

The Court Jester by Kleio Pethainou

I'm glad I picked the early 1400's for Meiserich's death, this is still before the Western printing press, Columbus sailing off to the detriment of many, the fall of Constantinople, and the big witch hunting craze, so he died in a bygone world on the cusp of the Early Modern Period.

If I could give him one power like in BBC Ghosts, I'd say that the two bells on his hat are audible to the living.

[artmolonara]

Halloween Highroad - Writing Commission

My first ever writing commission on Ko-Fi (Check the end for a link)! Thank you again, @lyndexv!

***Please Enjoy***

The last day of October was a beckoning call to take the high roads of chance and find that spectral adventure that all sought. As it was, there was such a chance to be taken tonight.

A tall young man trotted up the gravel road, through dustings of fallen leaves, a backpack slung across his arm, ladened with perhaps more than he needed, but something felt special this evening, that perhaps, just maybe, the old stories would be true.

Nour was definitely the adventurous type, drawn to stories and tales of yesteryear. Pulp fictions, radio dramas, noir and western classics, all were so appealing to him and his particular interests.

And feeling that call of adventure, he had made it a Halloween goal to go on an excursion to someplace interesting. A search online had yielded a very interesting tale of urban exploration, of an old castle on the outskirts that was supposedly haunted. And not by some simple ghoul, but by what appeared to be an old timey car that seemed to drive around all by itself. Locals described it as a 1937 Citroën Traction 11B Cabriolet and had given it the charming nickname “Bernadette.”

This fascinated Nour a great deal indeed.

Only tonight he wasn’t Nour. The tradition of Hallow’s Eve was to embody another soul altogether, either a revulsion or a reflection. Nour had chosen the latter, for tonight, he was “Fajar, adventurer extraordinaire,” a character of his own creation.

And here he was, at the threshold now of a long abandoned ruin, overgrown with rot and decay. What wonders awaited inside? Hopefully, a table lay within, one which to host the tiny banquet he had brought within his pack; nothing too extravagant, just some cutlery, a nice meal, some wine, should he encounter some interesting company.

As luck would have it, he did.

Rounding the facade, looking for an entrance to the looming building, Nour was suddenly halted by the sound of slow and heavy rolling over gravel behind. Turning, he beheld a large shape in the dark, before his sight was temporarily blinded by two bright beams that flared to life.

A voice spoke out, as gravelly as the road he trod, while his vision slowly recalibrated from the light.

“This here is private property, you best be getting on now.”

It was an feminine voice, with an old type of speech pattern popular in 1920 talkies, and it sounded like it was being projected out of some speaker. Remotely, or…

His eyes now clear of purple smear, he could see clearly the vehicle before him. There it was, the old Cabriolet, as described in the forums. The body seemed well kept for the age, though it was missing a roof. The dark blue, almost black hued hull looked unblemished in the moon’s pale light.

Nour looked for the driver, but the glare obscured the interior from view. There was the possibility that this was simply a Halloween trick, a Scooby Doo spook just opting for scare tactics and nothing more. But even so, Nour embodied Fajar, unafraid and hopeful that there was truth to the legends, and knowing what to do.

He made a gentlemanly bow.

“Good evening, fair lady. Pardon me for possibly intruding, for I was heeding the nightly call to wayward wandering. My name is Fajar, and it is good fortune to be making your acquaintance.”

There was a moment of idling from the vehicle, then a soft beep and roll forward as a sign of intimidation.

“Now I do hate to be repeating myself,” came the lady’s voice again, slight annoyance with a twinge of walled fear, “but I will not be entertaining any more gentleman callers at this time of night, all looking to make a quick buck from stolen parts or take speakeasy joy rides around town. I won’t stand for it! So, again, I suggest you take your leave before I run you flatter than a buckwheat pancake… er, Please…”

But ever determined, Nour held his ground, looking up at the rumbling engine grill. 

“I hate to be so forward for asking this, but could you perhaps be Bernadette, the supposedly haunted car?”

The Cabriolet rolled back slightly as if in surprise, the mirrors suddenly moving this way and that at all angles, as if looking around.

The voice came out staticy and slightly panicked, “Are you one of them ghost hunters who’s been trying to leave cameras every- the nerve of- well you… good day-er night!” The car suddenly started to back up to leave. 

“Wait!” Nour called out, “I am no ghost hunter, madam, I just wanted to come visit you.” He reached into the pack and pulled out the aged wine, “I even brought dinner to share!”

At this, she stopped, flank now facing him as she had turned toward the gates. The side mirror spun to reflect him like an eye, angling to look him up and down. From this angle there was no mistaking now that the car was empty.

After a pause, a response floated out from within, “... goodness, how… hmm… now why…” There was a sound of clearing the fluster out of her throat, “What possessed you to… well, seek me out, specifically?”

Nour thought a moment, then responded with sincerity, “You must get lonely up here, all by yourself. I thought, on night of all nights, you might enjoy some company. If you’ll have me, that is.” The offer was extended, hanging in the air like the hallow moon.

Finally, a small chuckle came from the vehicle, “Well, you certainly are much more civil than any other gent that’s crossed my path… fine, sir, I suppose I can entertain the idea… so long as you behave yourself.”

Nodding his head, Nour put the wine back in his pack, “Of course, my lady. Is there someplace here we could sit and talk or…” He looked around at the ruinous steps of the castle, covered with moss and refuse, hardly a comfortable spot to rest.

“Oh no,” she responded, “Here is much too drab. I know a good spot down the road,” the passenger’s door swung open, “Hop in, I’ll take you there.”

Nour felt a slight hesitation. This was all happening so fast. A true living, seemingly haunted, car, and he was speaking to it, and now, it wished to drive him somewhere? Truly a tale off the pages of his favorite novels was coming to life around him. It was almost overwhelming, but the spirit of Fajar urged him on eagerly, to continue forward and see where the night led.

And so, he climbed in. There were thankfully seatbelts. Old cars like this tended not to have them, though this one seemed to have had some installed.

“By the way,” he asked, “Is it alright if I call you Bernadette. I know it’s what you’re known as, but if you go by another name…”

The radio in the dashboard crackled in response, showing the origin of the voice, “Bernadette is fine, I don’t know of any other name I’ve ever had besides it. And is it ok if I call you Mister Fajar?”

Nour smiled giddily, “Fajar is fine… I also go by Nour too. Whichever you prefer.

As they took off down the road, the steering wheel turning on its own with each curve they passed, Nour took the time to introduce himself more, explaining his hobbies, passions, life experiences, anything he thought may be of interest to her. And in return, Bernadette told him about her own life, as it was.

She didn’t recall being anything other than what she currently was, only that one day, a decade or so ago, she woke up under a sheet in a garage somewhere, gathering dust. Obviously a car that could talk and drive itself was all together strange to most, so she went into seclusion, only taking night drives to feel the wind about her. Folks still took notice, of course, and she had encountered a number of unsavory individuals over the years, which made her all the more glad that Nour, or as she continued to call him, Mister Fajar, was very respectable and treated her like a person.

They continued to talk as they came to a good spot overlooking the city. With luck, there was a picnic table nearby where Nour could have his late dinner and talk to Bernadette some more. When asked if she would perhaps like to get some oil or something, she explained that she’d never had the need to refuel at all, only sleep to make her gages go up. She hadn’t really questioned it, nor really felt the need to find out why. Nour didn’t pry further, and she was very appreciative of that.

The night wore on, and after a time, they decided to take a drive around and admire the festive lights and activities of Halloween, eventually finding a drive-in theater that Bernadette knew about. A double feature was enjoyed by both, Nour sharing facts of the films and Bernadette listening with great interest.

When pink haze began to creep over the horizon, and the excitement of a night that seemed to have gone by way too fast began to fade as exhaustion took hold, Nour, with great reluctance, decided to call it.

“Well, my dear Bernadette, I could talk to you for hours more, but unfortunately, the sandman is coming to spirit me away as we speak.” He finished with a yawn.

A giggle tingled though the system, “It would certainly seem so. Allow me to drive you home.”

After some directions, they arrived at his place, to which Nour saw himself out, bowing sleepily to the open car door. “It has been an enchanting evening, I thoroughly enjoyed your company.”

“I as well, Mister Fajar. You are truly the most upstanding and interesting young man I’ve ever met.”

Bashfulness colored Nour’s face, “May I call on you again sometime, fair lady?”

Bernadette chuckled, “Certainly. You know where to find me… and speaking of which, I should be getting back before I’m noticed by someone. Not everyone is as understanding as you, unfortunately.”

Nour nodded, “Safe travels then, I will visit you again soon.”

With a farewell, and a horn toot, the Citroën model car sped off into the rosy distance. Nour watched it go until it was no longer in sight, finally sighing, and heading inside his home. He would remember this magic night for always, and plan another night to visit his new companion soon.

He also would need to get his pack back, as in all the excitement the two shared, it had been forgotten on the seat.

~FIN~

Hope you liked it.

I still have slots open on my commission page, and I also do art if anyone else would like to have something done. Check out my Ko-Fi via the link.

BUY ME A KO-FI

[merlot-and-chardonnay]

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons Bonus Chapter: The Haunting of Daemon Targaryen

I'm getting a little ahead of myself here, story wise, but I really needed to get this written down. 

I want Daemon to suffer and face the consequences of his actions.

Also I realize if I publish this right now, it would actually be perfect for a Halloween special since that is literally around the corner.

So enjoy and All Hallows Eve!

Also general content warning for curses horror themes, some societal metaphors that are often explored in said themes, and body horror as well as allusions to domestic abuse, miscarriage, and everything else in between.

Main Masterlist

Bonus Masterlist

----------the Riverlands: Harenhal------

It was midday in the castle- oh no wait, it might be a little later than midday. Daemon was serving himself some food as he listened to Ser Simon Strong droll on about negotiations that still needed to be carried out to rally the River lords to Rhaenyra's side, despite their liege lord Grover Tully being incapacitated at the moment due to his failing health.

Daemon, having not gotten a full decent night's sleep for who knows how long- probably since he landed in this castle and being away from Rhaenyra- found himself beginning to dose off.

As he drifted into slumber, the faint sounds of a woman's voice echoed off the wall.

"Wolves asleep amidst the trees..."

Daemon's eyes widen, fully alert than he was mere moments ago, "What was that?" he demands. "Whatever was what, your Grace?" Ser Simon asks with concern. In another corner of the hall, Alys Rivers was busy crushing herbs and adding them to a cup of wine she intended to serve Daemon with hopes that perhaps it might help him get a full night's sleep this time around.

"Didn't you hear that?" Daemon questions as he looks around. "I don't believe I quite follow, your Grace," Simon admits. "I thought I heard singing," Daemon insists, "a woman singing." "That can't be," Simon assures, "unless it was Alys over there, but I'd have known." "It came from over there, I'm sure of it," Daemon points in a random direction, not even sure where the vaguely familiar singing voice was coming from.

"Perhaps it wasn't a woman at all," Alys suggests, "perhaps it was a songbird...a nightingale, or a robin...or perhaps a little lark." At the mention of that last particular bird name, Daemon sat straight and gave Alys an indecipherable look as the witch hands him his cup of wine, "I added a little something extra to this mix," she tells him, "perhaps it might help you sleep tonight."

Daemon looked at the herb laced wine and then looked up to see Alys walking away, "when little birds who've known true freedom are caged, they refuse to sing...and slowly begin to decline."

------------later that night----------------

Deep inside the walls of Harenhal, in the dark of night, Daemon laid in his bed chambers, doing his best to sleep in spite of the haunting nature of this cursed place.

The king consort had been in Harenhal for weeks now...or was it months? Daemon had this feeling he was losing his sense of time in this haunted castle. He's heard the rumors, that Harenhal was cursed from the moment of its inception. He didn't exactly believe these stories to be true, but after spending some time and seeing the visions of a young Rhaenyra and Laena, he has come to believe that maybe this was so.

Either that, or maybe he needs to lay off whatever potions that witch Alys has been giving him to help him sleep.

Daemon closed his eyes, intending to let sleep take him, hoping that negotiating with the river lords will be done soon and he can return to Dragonstone, and return to his old bed with his queen niece-wife at his side. In peace.

"Wolves asleep amidst the trees..."

Once again, that familiar yet eerie voice sings out, faintly reverberating against the decaying walls, forcing Daemon to open his eyes. The Rogue Prince looked around. No one was in his room, and he couldn't hear anyone outside at the door. Daemon closed his eyes once again, hoping he could finally sleep.

"Bats all a swaying in the breeze"

This time, Daemon bolted from the bed. "Hello?" Daemon calls out, hoping someone might answer, "is someone there?!" No answer. With an excessively tight grip on his sword, Daemon approached the door. He looked down to see the shadows of someone passing by down the hall. Daemon kicked the door open, sword pointed at whoever was waiting for him.

No one was there.

The king consort then heard the pattering of tiny footsteps. He looked at one end of the hall to see a small figure turn a corner. It appeared to be a child. Against his better judgement, Daemon followed.

But one soul lies anxious wide awake Fearing no* manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths

The voice sounded closer. Daemon recognized that siren's call anywhere, as it was a voice he became familiar with a long time ago when he was still young and reckless. Keeping his sword in hand, Daemon saw the child like figure run into an unoccupied room. The child looked familiar, it almost reminded Daemon of when Aemma was still that size, when she was a girl of at least three years, roughly the age and height she was when her mother attempted to take her away from him that night in King's Landing....

The night the witcher came to take the both of them away from the Rogue Prince. The voice continued its lullaby as Daemon cautiously stepped into the room.

For your dolly Polly sleep has flown Don't dare let her tremble alone For the witcher, heartless, cold Paid in coin of gold

Inside, by the burning hearth, sat a woman, holding some kind of bundle in her arms, rocking it as if it were a newborn babe. The woman wore a dress of black, her long dark hair flowing down to her waist, back facing Daemon as she continued to rock the sleeping babe in her arms. She also wore a veil that shrouded her face from view.

He comes he'll go leave naught behind But heartache and woe

As Daemon approached, he noted the pool of blood the woman was sitting in that seemed to have come from nowhere, but she continued to sing regardless. He wasn't a fool; even if he couldn't see her face, her voice made it clear that this was the Lady of Larks. The Rogue Prince has yet to determine if she was real or if this was the curse of Harenhal resurrecting her spirit for the purpose of further haunting him to the brink of madness.

Deep, deep woe

"Mama?" a young Aemma's voice got Daemon's attention. The girl in question approached her mother in a curious manner. "Shh, little love," vision you softly addresses your daughter, "we don't want to wake up your brother, now do we?" You look to the bundle in your arms, then briefly turn your gaze up to Daemon, "there are monster lurking outside these walls, after all."

You looked back down at your son,"He has his father's eyes." You continue to hum your melody as Daemon came about to get a better look. Initially he was confused as to why you had another child in your arms in place of Aemma. But then he recalled that earlier on the day of your escape, when he initially came to you to with hopes of having his way with you, but you had stopped him when you announced that you were pregnant once again.

With this in mind, he saw the child in your arms. It was a boy. The son and heir he had hoped you would've carried for him. The babe had tufts of silver hair on his head, and he slept peacefully in his mother's arms. "What shall we name him?" Aemma asks, leaning over her mother to get a better look.

Daemon looked down to see that the blood that pooled around you was seeping from under your dress...from between your legs. When he looked up, he saw the baby in your arms was completely deformed, looking similar to baby Visenya when she was prematurely expelled from Rhaenyra's womb when news had reached the both of them of Viserys' death. He saw the blood stains on your arms as you look up, the veil lifted off your face to reveal the dark spots under your eyes as well as your gaunt, ashen face.

"...I was hoping your father would name him..." "My father?" "The White Wolf."

On that cue, Daemon looked up to the mantle of the fireplace to see the reflection of someone standing behind him...with white hair and glowing, gold eyes. Daemon immediately turned around to see it was the Witcher himself, eyes burning with seething rage.

Before Daemon could react, Geralt stabbed the man through the gut. Daemon braced himself, expecting there to be lots of pain and lots of blood spilling from his wound. Instead, when the king consort opened his eyes, he found he wasn't in Harrenhal anymore, but in what appeared to be some kind of dusty crypt, a mausoleum almost.

Birds* are silent for the night Cows turned in as daylight dies

At the sound of your voice, Daemon looked ahead to see you and Aemma standing by a shroud covered body on a table, almost as if you and her were keeping vigil, the both of you dressed in black, your veil lifted to show your face, which somehow looked even more gaunt and ashen as before. Aemma, he noticed, looked a little older now, roughly now a girl of nine, maybe ten years old.

Ten years might be more like it, Daemon surmised, as that was the age Aemma's dragon was first fitted with a saddle, and Aemma was currently in her riding leathers. Daemon approached the table to inspect the body as you continued to sing.

But one soul lies anxious wide awake Fearing no* manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths

"What happened to him, Mother?" Aemma asks as Daemon leans over, moving about with the intention of removing the shroud so as to get a better look at the body. "I wish I knew, little love," you sigh, "it all happened so fast in the dead of night...but he's in a better place I think...at least now, he can't hurt us anymore."

Daemon pulled off the shroud to see the body was his own, naked, eyes missing, his torso revealing scars of some kind of beast that slashed him opened. Daemon eyes widen once more at this reveal. "I know what had happened," a gruff voice spoke. Daemon looked up to see Geralt had appeared from nowhere once again. Realizing this time, he was defenseless, Daemon braced himself, expecting the mutant to stab him  in the gut once again.

Instead, the witcher walked through him, placing a hand through the autopsy incision to investigate the cause of death. "His heart is missing...along with his liver," Geralt states, keeping a neutral expression, "there's only one creature I know who is that picky an eater...a striga."

"No, that's a lie!" Daemon accuses, though no one seemed to hear him. He turned to you and Aemma, "he's lying, he's the one who committed the deed. This MUTANT is a kingslayer, Little Lark, you cannot trust him! He cannot be trusted with our daughter!" "What's a striga?" Aemma asks, clearly not having heard her father. "A rare creature that was created by means of a curse," you answer, now facing up at Daemon with a clear look of contempt, eyes bloodshot as if you've been crying for quite some time. "Who enacted the curse, mother?" Aemma asks.

You didn't answer right away. Daemon put it together right away, realizing YOU were the one who enacted it. "Little Lar- (y/n)?" "I did what I had to do," you say, voice starting to become distorted with rage, "I did what I needed...in order to finally be free..."

A high pitched screeching sound reverberated throughout the crypt. Daemon looked around frantically, trying to figure out where that sound was coming from. He looked back at you and Aemma, only to see your daughter had all but vanished. "Aemma?"

"Strigas are female," you say, causing Daemon to look back once more to your again, your countenance now expressing sorrow. "The striga is a princess," he heard Geralt say behind him in realization.

Tears fell from your eyes, regret showing clearly on your countenance, "It should have been me," you sob, "it should have been me..."

The striga screeched once more, and the scene changed. You and Geralt vanished as Daemon found himself in the halls this time around. He frantically looked around to realize he was back in Dragonstone.

None of the torches were lit. The darkness in the halls was pitch black, giving a foreboding ambience. Daemon looked ahead to see a dim light in a room down the hall, similar to what he saw before back in Harrenhal.

As he approached, he heard you resume that woeful lullaby once more.

My dear dolly Polly shut your eyes Lie still, lie silent, utter no cries

As the witcher, brave and bold Paid in coin of gold

He peaked into the room to see bodies lying on the floor, covered in blood and gore as if they were massacred by some kind of beastly animal. Bodies belonging to his stepsons Jace, Luke, and even little Joffery. He looked to see the corpses of his daughters as well. Seeing Baela laying next to Jace and Rhaena next to Luke caused several tears to fall from Daemon's eyes. More still would flow forth when he saw the little bodies of Aegon and Viserys laying right next to each other, clutching the sides of their mother who also laid dead.

He'll chop and slice you Cut and dice you Eat you up whole

Daemon approached Rhaenyra's body, kneeling down to touch her face. She was cold, and he wondered she has been this way. How long had it been since the striga came in and slaughtered them all?

No...! It wasn't the striga. It was the witcher who did this. It had to be him. HE had to be the one, he's a Butcher, that's what a witcher does. They kill indiscriminately without feeling and steal children from their beds as these sterile, freakish mutants cannot reproduce like regular human beings can. They take those same children and turn them into witchers, robbing them of their fertility and twisting their bodies into something unnatural.

No doubt, if Daemon had not come for you and Aemma, the witchers of Kaer Morhen would have put his daughter through a similar fate.

It had to be the witcher...it had to be...he had to be the one who did this to Daemon's family. He slaughtered them like animals and stole Aemma from her bed as recompense, with the intention of turning her into one of his kind.

In shock, Rhaenyra opened her eyes, taking Daemon by surprise. How was it his niece-wife survived? "You did this..." Rhaenyra weakly says, handing reaching out to touch one of her dead sons, "you brought this on us." "No...no, it wasn't me," Daemon insists, "it was the mutant bastard that did this. He slaughter our children and made off with Aemma."

"You brought this upon us, Daemon," Rhaenyra insists, "as you brought upon my ruin." "No, I had nothing to do with that," Daemon shakes his head in denial. "You should have just let her go..." Rhaenyra continues, "you should have let them both go..."

Eat you whole

Sensing there was someone behind him, Daemon turned to see a beastly grotesque creature standing before him. It resembled that of a rotting corpse, making high pitched clicks as it approached him.

Daemon reached for his sword once again, but again realized he was unarmed. Unarmed and defenseless. Even if he did have a weapon on hand, Daemon actually wasn't sure if he would survive anyway.

Daemon saw some kind of trinket hanging off the striga's neck. He recognized it to be a silver necklace, the same one he sent to Aemma for her 14th nameday...the same one he placed on Aemma the day of the Driftmark petition before she yanked it off and replaced it with the witcher's medallion.

"Byka zaldrīzes?"

The striga, whom Daemon now recognized to be Aemma- whom he presumed had the curse brought down upon her by your doing in a desperate bid to get away from him- tilted her head in a curious manner, making a small chirp in response.

Daemon found himself starting to cry, finally realizing what had happened.

He looked past striga!Aemma to see you at the door, still gaunt looking, still dressed in black, fresh tear stains from your eyes.

"What have you done?!" Daemon demands with an accusatory tone. "I freed myself from your cruelty...it appears to have cost us both everything..." you answer, covering your face with the veil once again, "you should have let us both go..."

With those final words, the striga howled with a rage that was deafening. She lunged at Daemon, ripping a chunk of his neck, forcing Daemon to fall, landing right next to Rhaenyra. He laid in agony as blood poured from his wound.

The striga/Aemma stood over Daemon, raising her long claws before slashing through his gut, his visceral organs falling out as a result. As Daemon laid there dying, he found it surprising that it was not as painful as he would have anticipated.

As his vision darkened, he saw the striga vanish, that witch Alys taking her place. "When songbirds who have known true freedom are caged, they start to decline," Alys says to him, "and sometimes...they will brings others down with them," She leaned further in, "tell me, Your Grace...was it worth it? Was caging your Little Lark worth all this carnage? Worth the lives of your children? Of the child you sired with the Lady of Larks?"

Sounds of knocking at the door forced Daemon to bolt upright from his bed, cold sweat breaking out as he panted in terror.  The Rogue king consort looked around to see he was back in his bed chambers in Harenhal. He checked his hands in case he cut himself in his sleep again.

No new cuts on his palms this time. But remembering what the striga had did to him in his nightmare of a vision, he began to assume the worse.

Daemon hastily jumped off the bed and quickly removed his night clothes to inspect his body for any fresh wounds in those areas, not paying heed to Ser Simon opening the door.

"You Grace, I thought I should inform you, a raven has...oh dear."

Simon stood there, speechless as a naked Daemon used his hands to inspect for any potential wounds on his torso. "Uh, your Grace?" Simon speaks up, bringing Daemon out of his panicked state.

Daemon stood straight and turned to face Simon, pretending like he didn't care that this man had caught him in such a vulnerable state. "I assume you barged in without permission for a reason, Ser Simon," Daemon says with a snappy, inpatient tone.

Simon shook himself out of his embarrassed state before he addressed the king consort, "oh uh, I meant to inform your Grace, that uh, another raven had just arrived."

Daemon gave Simon an indecipherable look. In his irritable state, Daemon informs the Strong knight that he will read the message momentarily, and has Simon dismissed while he gathered his clothes for the day.

When a fully clothed Daemon walked out of his rooms, he looked over to see Alys standing in one corner of the hall, looking all strange and mysterious like as usual. Daemon frowned a bit, starting to wonder what exactly was in those herbs she gave him the other day. Whatever it was, he would need to lay off that stuff for a while...possibly for the duration of his stay in this haunted place.

Daemon turned and walked away, but not before he heard Alys speak up while he was still within earshot.

"So was it all worth the cost, Your Grace? All that to keep your little songbird trapped in her gilded cage?"

Daemon made a 90 degree turn to confront Alys on that question, only to see the witch had disappeared from the hall.

Deep down, much as he didn't want to admit it, he knew Alys' question was a valid one. If Daemon had continued to entrap the Lady of Larks, if he had stopped her from escaping with the witcher, if he had continued to force her by his side...if he had stopped her from leaving King's Landing in the first place...would he have paid an even heavier price for his actions?

Daemon felt like he had already paid plenty for his selfish recklessness already. For stealing you from the witcher's keep in the first place. For forcing her to remain on Dragonstone and King's Landing when he was fighting in the Stepstones. For forcing you to wed him and forcing you to consummate their marriage with the hopes that you would give him a male heir. For ripping Aemma from your arms the night of your escape with the White Wolf.

All those things Daemon had tried to bury deep down and go to great lengths to ensure his oldest daughter would never learn of those things. 

All the lengths he went through had all been for nothing as Aemma had eventually found out after 16 years...and she disavowed her father for it as a consequence.

How different things could've been if had been kinder to the Lady of Larks...how different things could've been if he never pursued her to Kaer Morhen in the first place...

If he had just let her go...and allowed her daughter to live a life that was vastly different then the one she was forced into.

[pxmun]

Late Halloween Fanfic short.

It was a stormy Halloween night on Sodor.

Thomas and Percy were spending the night with Salty. The seaside diesel was currently sharing a scary tale only told to engines, it was easy to say that Salty's story was leaving Thomas and Percy shaking to the core of their smoke boxes.

"An every Hallow's Eve, the two tragic sisters awaken from their deep-sea slumber to search for an engine to take the place of their ascended older sister, haunting the shoreline looking for any unsuspecting locomotive silly enough to be traveling by the coast on this night." Salty recited.

Then from behind the two friends, Porter rushed in blasting his whistle, causing the pair to nearly jump off the rails.

"Porter"! Thomas and Percy glared.

" Sorry fellas, but I couldn't resist." Porter snorted.

"We thought you were one of the ghost sisters"! Percy said.

"Ghost sisters? Is Salty sharing one of his tall tales again"? Porter asked.

"They ain't no tall tales! Those two are as real as the rust on my buffers"! Salty retorted.

"I know their real Salty, everyone knows their real, it's just these spooky stories you and the others have made around them, well, don't you think its disrespectful to talk about something so devastating in such a manner"? Porter asked.

The shed became dead silent, before Salty spoke in a serious tone.

"Ai, tis a tragedy, but Porter listen to me, I wouldn't be make a laughing matter out with something so devastating."

"Whatever you say Salty, now if you excuse me, I got to go out and help bring Gordon back from the mainline, goodbye." Porter said upset, leaving the three engines alone.

Meanwhile, Gordon had gotten lost while trying to return to Tidmoth sheds. The storm had knocked over trees, blocking his path and the wind was blowing severely, making it impossible for Gordon to climb up Gordon's hill. His crew was currently looking at a map for any other routes or at the very least for any nearby shed for them to rest at for the night.

Gordon groaned as he didn't want to spend the night out in the storm waiting for an engine to help him home. The big engine desperately searched around for a way out when he spotted a nearby track clear of debris.

"Aha! There's a way out"! Gordon said to his crew.

Gordon's driver and fireman were confused.

"Where did that track come from? I could've sworn there wasn't a track here before." The driver said baffled.

"More importantly where does it lead too"? The fireman added.

"Oh, pah! Who cares, it's a way out"! Gordon responded.

Gordon's driver and fireman looked at each other worryingly.

" Alright Gordon we'll take this track but go slowly. We don't know what is up ahead." His driver warned.

Gordon was switched onto the strange track, and with a firm hand from his driver, puffed slowly on.

As they travelled Gordon noticed the storm lighting up. He grinned.

"See! This was a good choice; this was a good choice"! Gordon said happily, but his crew were still uneasy.

Up ahead they could hear the sound of the oceans waves. It was baffling, but not so much as what laid ahead.

"Is that a station"? asked the fireman.

"It looks too big to be a station, more like a terminal but that's impossible, there's no terminal on this part of the island." The driver responded.

Gordon however was in awe. The large brick building before them looked like a magnificent castle, even in its abandoned state. Looking up to the roof, Gordon noticed some large letters.

"W-i-e S-ar C--ard." Gordon tried to pronounce; it was clear some letters had fallen off the building some time ago.

Gordon entered the building and was stunned, even the inside was marvelous.

"By Audry, this must have been a palace for royal engines"! Gordon said as he looked at the glass ceiling and gold chandeliers.

There was a master staircase made of marble and stone, leading from the human entrance to the terminal, stone pillars had beautifully carved mermaids, making it look like they were holding up the upper balconies and ceiling.

While Gordon was admiring the decor, his driver realized what the building was.

"I think this was once a ship terminal." He said as he brought Gordon to a halt.

"You really believe so"? The fireman asked.

"Yes, but why would Sodor need two ports? The driver asked.

"I don't know." The fireman said. He then let out a yawn.

"However, I know it's getting pretty late and that the storm is still going on, so I'm going to turn in." The fireman said with a yawn.

"Guess you're right, we can worry about this tomorrow." The driver said.

The two found a long bench to rest on.

"Goodnight Gordon"! The crew said to their engine.

"Goodnight." Gordon wished his crew.

As the big engine closed his eyes and felt the last of the embers in his firebox fade out, he thought about asking Sir Topham Hatt about turning the old terminal into a shed for Edward, Henry, and him.

"It would be marvelous, having a shed as glamorous as this for a grand engine such as myself." Gordon thought.

With one last big yawn, Gordon drifted off to sleep.

Sometime later, Gordon's crew woke up.

"Brr, why has it gotten so cold suddenly"? Driver asked.

"Don't know, let's get Gordon's fire going, we can warm up in his..."

The fireman was interrupted by the sound of a whistle.

Titanic horn - YouTube

Something was approaching and fast.

The crew could see an eerie glowing green light approaching the nearest dock, as it did, the air around them got colder and colder.

The whistle blew again, this time much louder.

Gordon was startled awake.

"What's going on"? Gordon yelled, scared.

Another whistle blasted, different from the first.

HMHS Britannic’s Whistle (HIGH QUALITY) - YouTube

It was unbearably cold now and the whistles were deafening. Then finally, the underwater light rocketed to the top.

Two large beings emerged, When Gordon's driver and fireman saw them, they screamed as if it was the end of time.

The following morning, Porter had finally managed to reach Gordon's last whereabouts. When he did, he was surprised to find only Gordon's crew, sitting huddled next to each other in a tight embrace.

Porter's crew quickly attended to the two men, rushing them to the nearest signal house to call emergency services.

Sir Topham Hatt would stop by to check on the men later, when he did, Gordon's driver shakily told him what happened.

"They took him sir." Driver said.

"Who took Gordon"? Sir Topham Hatt asked.

"The sisters." Driver quietly admitted.