#In terms of obscure horror fics I suppose

[bisexual-horror-fan]

Recently got into a fandom with a whopping *checks notes* 20 works on AO3 and now I'm curious, what's the smallest fandom you've written for?

Anon, the smallest fandoms I have written for had no works until I wrote them.

The Perfect Host (2010) has THREE fics on ao3 that have not been written by me.

There were no Stage Fright (2014) fics until I wrote them, (No gifs online for that movie either, if you see a gif for that movie there is a 99% chance it was made by me and reposted somewhere-) of all the Stage Fright fics on ao3, (that are properly tagged, one author has mistagged some Scooby Door fanfics of Fred and Daphene-) I have written all but TWO of them.

There were no You Might Be The Killer (2018) fics until I wrote them, all but ONE on Ao3 have been written by me.

Club Dread (2004) has literally ONE fic on ao3, no other one's, just mine.

I am in fandoms so small and so obscure that I am the only bitch out here putting in the work.

[ladyvesuvia]

Creepin’ Cabin || [D.M.] » Part Two

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THIS IS A TWO-PART FIC. Click here to read Part One.

anon: okay so I wanted to request a draco x female reader where it’s Halloween, and professors at hogwarts decide to spawn a haunted mansion/house near the grounds so that the students can come and visit. It would... [read more]

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Summary: Halloween’s a thrill as Hogwarts introduces the Tri-Wizard Tournament and throws a horror house in to the mix instead of just a feast.

Words: 2.6k

angst || fluff

warnings: let me know if there are any!

A/N: okay omfg i can’t believe this is so long it had to be cut in two hHAHAHDHDA

She opened her eyes to the dark and freezing setting of what she can only assume was the Creepin’ Cabin. She was thankful for the cloak’s warmth.

It wasn’t a room; it was simply a hallway that stretched to both sides and the only thing in front of her was the staircase that no doubt lead back down to the entrance. She went for the staircase, looking down over the railing to find that it went another level down, probably back to the room infested with flobberworms. Something was clambering to climb her legs. She looked down and found little plastic baby dolls clawing at her with their fixed hands.

“Stupefy!” [Y/N] pointed at the enchanted dolls (now frozen), and she realized with a start that there were more coming from the other direction.

“You don’t have a whistle?!” Draco shrieked as soon as he stepped out from the fireplace. The dolls went for him as well, and he clambered back against the mantle of the fireplace, a frightened look on his face. He frantically searched for [Y/N] hurriedly went for her, pulling him behind him as he pointed his wand on the dolls. “Cru—”

“Expelliarmus!” She pointed her wand at Draco’s, sending it flying. Draco looked at her, eyes wide as ever as she pointed her want back at the dolls and yelled the Stunning Spell instead.

“Why— What are you— What if you got killed or something?”

“This is a school-facilitated activity, and you are under no circumstances supposed to use one of the Unforgivable Curses! What were you thinking?”

“It was attacking you,” he said defensively, his arms crossed. ”and the whistle — !”

“You could have gotten in trouble, Draco.”

“And you could have died.”

“They. Are. Just. DOLLS.”

“That are enchanted to attack you!”

“Oh, I’ve had enough of this.” [Y/N] tugged on Draco’s wrist, practically dragging him to the other hall. When they reached the end, she made to make a turn where they climbed up another set of stairs. Just when she was about to pull him and make another term, something dropped from the ceiling, legs hanging. They both screamed that they almost fell over the stairs with [Y/N] holding on tight to Draco’s elbow as he held on to the railing. He pulled her up, and once he steadied themselves on the landing, they looked at the body up and down.

“It was just a dummy, nothing to worry about.” [Y/N] patted the mannequin’s stiff legs, swinging it back and forth. To Draco’s surprise, she started laughing.

“Are you seriously laughing right now?”

“This is a horror house, of course it’s funny. Let’s go!”

As she took him by the hand and lead him to the next corridor where a rustic music box stood on its own, playing an eerie song that was supposed to be calming. “Fake, fake, fake. . .” Draco scowled and pulled her back to his arms, putting back his wand into his pocket and resting his hand on top of her head as they huddled down together to avoid slimy-like screens that obscured the other hall.

“Don’t be such a killjoy!” She yelled over the sounds of screaming and pounding of the doors as they crossed another hallway. They passed a series of typical things she recognized in most horror houses except that they were all better executed with the help of magic. As they ran, she noticed that Draco kept his eyes shut too tight.

“I—AM—TELLING—MY—FATHER—ABOUT—THIS.”

“Oh, shut up. He probably funded this, too!” As they took a turn, they heard loud footsteps behind, stomping and shaking the ground.

“Bloody hell!” Draco screamed and for a split second [Y/N] thought he was gonna save his own skin (or blow his whistle) just like he always does when he took the lead and dragged her along with him, not stopping until he reached the end of the hall and slammed the door shut behind them, panting as he did so.

“That was really fun,” said [Y/N] exhaustedly laughing. “I’ll take you to a Muggle horror house one of these days. I mean, not that I’m asking you out— Are you hugging me right now?”

He let go. “No,” he said curtly, clearing his throat. He didn’t even make an insulting retort about Muggles as he walked away on his own, embarrassed. “I think we’re close to the exit.”

She hurriedly followed him into the end of the room, but it was only a steep end. It looked like it would have been better if there was a bridge, for she could see a door at the other side. Butterfly-like figures were swarming around. Tearing away her attention from it, [Y/N] caught sight of one broom resting innocently against the wall. “What now?” Draco watched as the butterfly-like creatures continued on flying.

“Wait, Draco, hand me the Omnioculars.” He did. “This is exactly like what Harry, Ron, and Hermione encountered during our first year! Oh, stop making that face. But, yeah, these aren’t butterflies. That key looks different most of all. “Take a look, I paused it at exactly the right time. You use this broom and you put your Quidditch skills to use.” She shoved the broom against his chest and showed him what was on the Omnioculars.

It took about a minute until he finally caught the key. To her surprise, the other flying keys didn’t seem to attack or pester Draco as he grabbed the other key. He made his way to the other door, put the key inside, and twisted it. The door creaked open and she glimpsed a couple of something on the floor. Draco walked back to the steep end, broom in hand.

He tossed this back to her, and she caught it swiftly. She wasn’t a professional in Quidditch, but she enjoyed the occasional broom rides. “There’s just a bunch of crap in the room.”

“I can’t see them, could you hold one of the objects up?” yelled [Y/N] among the fluttering sounds of flying keys.

“Alright!” Draco jogged back to the door and bent down to pick one of the things up when he vanished. [Y/N] laughed. It must’ve been a Portkey. She hopped on the broom and flew over to the other side.

Walking over to the door, she caught sight of right pair of shoes just like the one in the first closet they came across. She crouched down and touched the second shoe. It was a rusty old Mary Jane shoe she recognized was identical to the second shoe from last time. Taking a deep breath, she jogged back to toss the broom to the other side when she saw it was already replaced by an identical one, resting on the same spot. Shrugging, she rushed back to the Mary Jane shoe and touched it.

She opened her eyes to lighthearted chatter. When she turned around she found Hagrid beaming, waving with his big hand. Up above the sky floated countless lanterns. “Good ter see you here, [Y/N]. Had fun in ‘ere?”

“I’ve been great, Hagrid. The school outdone itself tonight!” [Y/N] took off Draco’s dementor cloak and hung it over her right arm. “I’m guessing you had something to do with the creatures?”

“Right ‘ye are, [Y/N]. I’ll tell ‘ye more tomorrow. You lot should try the cotton candy they’re sellin’ over there. Well, I’m off to check on the other students now. Happy Halloween!” With that, he stomped back to the other side of the space where areas that were marked with an ‘x’ suddenly became occupied by appearing students.

“[Y/N]?” Hermione Gra–no, Pansy Parkinson called out behind her accompanied by Blaise Zabini. Pansy’s wig was messier than when she last saw her. There were amused smiles painted on their lips, and they exchanged glances. “Draco’s run back to the cabin a few minutes ago because apparently, a certain someone ‘doesn’t have their whistle and it’s dangerous!’”

The two laughed.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t worry too much about him, he’s probably returning in about. . . . Yep, there he is!”

He didn’t see her at first, but she found the sight of him frantically searching for her hilariously adorable. His eyes kept going back and forth from the marked spawns to the open area until he saw Blaise, and then Pansy, and then finally her.

She didn’t know how to describe it in her mind, but he practically dashed toward her, and she noticed for the first time that his black button down shirt was messy as ever. He never let this clothes get scruffy. When he reached her, he pulled her into his arms, desperately gasping for air.

When she pulled away, it was his turn to pinch her ear. “Ow — !” The other two laughed, making heart shaped gestures with their hands as they left Draco and [Y/N] alone. “You did not have to do that.”

“I definitely did. You could have died in there.”

[Y/N] laughed, patting his shoulders as she did so. “It’s a school-facilitated activity and all I had to do was fly over with the broom.”

“You do know students got harmed in the previous Tri-Wizard Tournaments, right? And what if I hadn’t thrown that broomstick over?”

“Then that’s on you,” she answered playfully but immediately felt guilty when a flash of pain cross his face. “I’m sorry, that was too far.”

Draco sighed and looked away. There were still lanterns going up and above and it was a magnificent sight. The Quidditch Pitch was buzzing with life. Around them, more students kept appearing on the marked ‘x’ holding different shoes she recognized were from the room. A photographer pulled them to the side and instructed them to pose for a picture. She situated them in a huge cardboard stand with the Creepin’ Cabin posed behind them. “Ready?” the photographer asked.

“Ye—hold up.” She unfolded the cloak hanging over her arm and put it on Draco. “Do a dementor pose.”

He seemed confused at first but nodded and went to pose, but decided to detach the black sheer veil-like piece of clothing from his outfit and feigned a pose of giving it to her. “What?” she asked.

“I’m a dementor giving a piece of clothing to a house elf to set it free.”

“Hermione’s gonna hate me,” she said.

“Who’s a killjoy now?” He made hand waves with his hand in a pathetic impression of a dementor with his other hand outstretched to [Y/N], who was genuinely hesitant with this move but cowered like a house elf anyway. Draco said, “We’re ready.”

The photographer smiled and snapped the photo, a cloud of purple smoke emitting after the flash. They were both laughing, and it was just as beautiful as the floating lanterns.

“Thank you for participating in the Creepin’ Cabin, we’ll have your picture distributed tomorrow.”

[Y/N] gave the photographer a kind smile before Draco took her by the hand and lead her away. “Are we going back to the castle now? Are you tired? I think I want to stick around here for a while longer.”

He did not respond, but he didn’t lead her back to the castle either—he kept going through the crowds walking around the Quidditch Pitch’s ground, passing many brilliant booths into the side. As she looked around, she also noticed there were mini booths up the Quidditch Pitch’s stands. “So where are we going and what are we gonna do?”

As they came to a stop in front of a booth. Draco slipped a couple knuts to the attendant and the other in turn gave him something folded into a flat form. He took her hand again and lead her to the open space where many other students from different years were preparing to lift up their own lanterns.

“Ask what I’m gonna do,” said Draco as he unfolded the lantern and aired it out.

“Why?” asked [Y/N], laughing.

“Just do it.”

”Okay,” she said as she watched him point his wand at the square fuel cell and light it up. “What are you gonna do?”

Draco looked at her with a playful grin on his face as he let the lantern fill with hot air and become inflated. He took a deep breath, and smiled at the lantern he was holding. She realized he looked exactly like Lantern Draco from the Divination classroom did. “Well, [Y/N], I’m overcoming my fears.”

She would have made an insulting or satirical comment but the moment was far too special to do so. He gestured at the lantern he was holding at the sides, and she held it too. They were giggling now, and he told her to count with him.

“One. . . .” Draco started.

“Two. . .” [Y/N] joined in.

“Three.”

Together, they lift up their lantern and let it go. It went up to the night sky, more lanterns following close by. They remained silent for a while as they watched their lantern fly away until they lost sight of it as the other lanterns blocked it from their view. [Y/N] realized Draco’s arm was draped over her shoulder, and she didn’t seem to mind for she was leaning comfortably against him. She didn’t pull away and neither did he until she spotted Pansy and Blaise among the crowd.

Pansy was holding the messy wig in her hand as she helped Blaise unfold their own lantern. They looked immaculate, no doubt. “Hey, there’s Pansy and Blaise.”

“Yeah, that’s a given so stop looking at them and just keep on leaning against me.”

“That’s very blunt but I like it,” she replied, giggling lightheartedly. “And I like you.”

“Good, because I like you too.” He looked at her with curious eyes, but she did not look back. She let him watch her for a couple moments before looking right back at him.

“You know, in a way, you’re a Halloweener because you ween ergo you’re a weener!”

“I’m a what?” He chuckled, pulling away to be face-to-face with her but still keeping her close to him.

“That was bad. Okay, what about Hallowinner? It’s weird to say but I will not say the other one again. Anyway, yay because you’re a winner!”

“What prize did I win?”

“Well we got second place in our batch of ten people with about ten or fifteen minutes? I don’t really know how long we took, but once everyone of the ten got out, they tallied that we were the second best. And you won five points for Slytherin!”

“Not good enough,” he huffed.

“What do you mean? Oh come on, second place is perfect.” [Y/N] pulled away, taking a step back in disappointment.

“I’m not talking about the score,” said Draco. “If you still had the Remembrall it would pulse red and tell you you’re forgetting something.”

“Yeah, the whistle. Quit pestering me about that wretched thing.”

“No, I’m talking about this.” First, he took her wrist. Then he pressed her against himself and he leaned in to plant his lips into hers.

Surprised, [Y/N]’s eyes widened, but she closed it soon after letting it sink in and kissed him back. It was hard to capture it into words, but to put it simply—fulfilling. Maybe even more.

She pulled away, and looked into his eyes, her face red. “That was. . . .prize-ful.”

“Is there such a word?” teased Draco, squeezing her cheeks gently. “Come now, let’s go check out the other booths.”

“So we’re doing this, then?”

“Yeah, we are.” He stole another kiss, but this time on her cheek. It was safe to say this was the best she had ever felt. The stares followed them wherever they went yet she still felt as if they were alone in the best sense possible.

[PART ONE]

Taglist: @gingerale2017 @sfdlm @fives-cup-of-coffee @hey-there-angels @elevatorsdoor @mrzweasley @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts

[avanalae]

Sunlight Through the Leaves

Hello, all! I am still alive, tho not without issue. But I have made it to another birthday. Go me! I feel so old these delays, as 30 creeps ever closer. :((

Anyway. This is a fic for Yufei for her birthday. So yes, this is VERY belated. But hey, we're celebrating our birthdays together this way! 😊 This is totally as planned. 😬

So, HAPPY (belated) BIRTHDAY YUFEI! 💕

___

Fandom: Hayden’s Notes

Characters: Hayden Carter, Jason Wolfe, Original Creature(s)

Pairings: Very Pre-Wolfden (Hayden/Wolfe)

Warnings: Wolfe is an asshole, Unconscious & Reluctant Pining

Rating: G

Summary: Hayden Carter is a brat and one day will get some respect punched into him. One day. Today is not that day, trapped in this forest as they are. But at least the trees aren’t about to jump out and eat them. Wolfe would rather the walking tree branches would go away, but at least Carter is going to get them out of this mess.

He hopes.

___

Wolfe is annoyed. Very annoyed.

He’s frustrated about this whole situation and is annoyed at himself for being frustrated.

It's an endless cycle and it’s very frustrating.

His jaw clenches again and he wishes he could get out a cigarette. However, he’s aware that it would be asking for trouble. There is a high chance of danger and offense here, and he can’t chance it.

Not in these woods.

One of the small creatures tentatively approaches him, looking up from its diminutive height of just under a meter. Its bipedal body is made entirely of tree roots, making it easily blend in with the forest. Though the sharp branches that curl from the head, covered in foliage make it a little less creepy. Especially when the leaves partially obscure the void-like cracks in between the roots of its “face" that Carter claims to be their eyes.

Speaking of Carter, Wolfe looks away from the creature to the man. He’s sitting on a fallen tree, letting several of the creatures crawl all over him. One of them is on his knee and there’s one on his shoulder, who appears to be braiding his hair.

Carter doesn’t have his glasses on at the moment, and he has to avert his eyes lest he get caught staring again. Making up excuses for that the fist time had been embarrassing, and any time he can avoid the boy’s mocking is a job well done. It also helps him avoid any introspective questions on his own part.

Wolfe feels a slight tug at his pants and he looks down at the thing. It’s still looking up at him, the closest any of them had been to him so far. Sighing internally, he allows it to tug him along.

The mission they had been sent on did not go at all the way they had expected, but he supposes it could be worse. Though he’s going to have problems later coming to terms with the things he’s seeing now at a later date, when he’s not in the middle of all of it. Grumbling quietly, the thing tugs him to sit next to Carter on the log.

Carter frowns but restrains himself. This is impressive until he turns to the one who had pulled him over and says, “No, we don’t need to be closer. I’d rather he was farther away, actually.”

Through the familiar annoyance, he hears the creature make odd creaking and rustling noises. They’d been doing this off and on, with Carter always responding afterwards, so presumably this was their way of speaking. It was odd, but he’ll probably try to blot this experience from his mind later, so he will deal with it for now.

“No,” Carter says sharply, gaining Wolfe's attention. He looks oddly embarrassed. “No, he is not. I don’t know why you get that impression, but its false.” The creature on his shoulder tugs at his hair, making the younger man wince. “Seriously!”

Wolfe can’t take it much more and caves, “What are they saying?”

Carter huffs and looks away, crossing his arms in an oddly defensive gesture.

It’s kind of cute.

…

Wait, no. Carter is not cute. Wolfe wants to frown at the thought, and ends up having to play it off when he realizes that he is actually frowning. “What, are they criticizing you? You led us into this, after all.”

Carter practically snaps his neck turning to look at him so quickly, eyes blazing. “I’ll have you know that I wouldn’t have had to ‘lead’ us anywhere if the RSS could get their information right!”

“How were we to know that wearing certain colors can provoke things like that?” Wolfe snaps back.

The younger man throws his hands up in exasperation. “Gee! I don’t know! Maybe by asking literally anyone who knows anything about arachne?! And she wasn’t provoked, you idiot!”

“It came right for me!”

“She thought you were propositioning her!”

“WHAT?!” Wolfe can’t help the grimace and shudder.

“She wanted to scent you, not eat you!” Carter growls, mumbling a moment later, “At least not yet.”

“That is not reassuring, Carter!”

“We you didn’t have to draw your gun like that! It’s your fault we had to run!”

“Well, sorry for trying to defend myself! I can’t get back up like you can from that stuff!”

At this point, they’re both standing and several steps apart, facing each other. So, when Carter chucks his pen at him, it hits Wolfe square in the forehead and bounces off with a satisfying “thwack" before disappearing into the underbrush.

Throwing a hand to his forehead, Wolfe growls, “You-!” But he falters just a bit at the look on Carter’s face. Just enough to stay his tongue and instead of lashing out anymore, he turns and sits down harshly on the far end of the log. He cups his head with his arms braced on his knees and tries to take deep breaths.

The movement of the log is barely there, but he can tell that Carter has sat down on the other end, much farther away this time. There is a long, drawn out silence while the two calm and try to work out their thoughts. Wolfe hadn’t noticed it until then, but the area had gone quiet. Likely due to how loud their argument had gotten.

There’s a soft rustle, and some life starts to slowly pick back up, ending the eerie stillness. Wolfe rubs his face, exhausted. He’s not going to apologize. Neither of them is, but that’s no surprise. He’s not entirely sure he’s sorry, anyway. Or what he would be sorry for, exactly. In his peripheral, Wolfe sees Hayden hunched with his forearms braced on his thighs.

They are alone in their frustrated silence for a minute or more before he notices one of the tree-things pop out nearby. It approaches hesitantly, and Wolfe doesn’t know or care much about how it seems to be looking between the two of them. It ends up approaching Hayden… Carter. He turns his head just enough to see the thing reach up to him, holding something. A brief pause lets Wolfe see that it’s Carter’s pen before he’s startled by the man exhale loudly, ending in a raspy chuckle.

It’s…

Carter gently takes the pen and Wolfe looks away, back into the trees. He hears a rustle followed by a hum from Carter and wonders if he’ll start talking again.

The rustling of the tree-things picks up as several of them come back out from their hidey-holes. They all mostly approach Carter, but two stay further away but sit in a way to indicate that they are watching him closely now. The scowl twitches on his lips but he fights it.

The problem with Carter is that he’s far too good at riling people up. It’s troublesome and damn annoying. The kid is sharp as a whip and his tongue more so. He hates the way Carter can strip people down so easily – strip him down. He hates it.

Jason Wolfe does not like feeling defenseless.

And yet…

He grumbles, glancing away from the trees back over to Hay- Carter. The kid is sitting up now, no longer curled in. There is one of the tree-things in front of him that he seems to be talking to and another on his shoulders. There’s one more behind him, handing something up to the thing on his shoulders…

Flowers. They are putting flowers in his hair.

Wolfe watches with some kind of fascination, from interest or horror he isn’t sure. The one on the ground is picking the flowers from their surroundings and handing them up to the creature on Carter’s shoulders, who braids them in. Had he been paying more attention, he might have thought that this was the same tree- thing that had been braiding his hair earlier.

Carter suddenly looks over to him and Wolfe feels something catch in his throat. He tries to swallow it back while the young man blinks at him before scowling in a way that looks more like a pout. The flowers are forming a crown along his head, with some small ones slipping a bit from their position to creep down his bangs, framing his face.

He looks so young, like this.

The thought hits Wolfe uncomfortably. Having known the man for just a while now he’s been getting over some of his anger, but in moments like this…

The black sclera enhance the vibrant green irises and he is reminded by the fact that something must have happened to this kid to get him here. Sometimes, in moments like this, he wants to know. Maybe even more than just for leverage.

Wolfe’s head snaps back once again and the pen flies off into the forest once more. Carter’s growl grabs his attention, and he realizes he let himself get distracted.

“Now that I have your attention, Wolfe, why don’t you tell me when you’re ready to leave?” One of the tree-things rushes through the brush after the pen. The one of his shoulders is creaking unhappily, tugging at hair to perhaps try to wrangle it back into place.

“Leave?”

Carter snorts, “Yeah, the saplings are willing to lead us out of the forest and direct us to the closest residence. Then you can contact RSS and tell them you messed up the job and they need to get us out of here.”

“I-?!” Wolfe growls, tensing up in preparation to start another fight. His rebuttal is interrupted, however, by handful of flowers. They don’t make it very far, but they didn’t really need to, as the tree-thing that had been gathering flowers is now on the log next to him, having thrown them at him. Its leaves are shaking just a bit, and it waves its appendages at him in some sort of scolding gesture.

Completely stunned, Wolfe doesn’t look away from the only slightly menacing tree branch in front of him until he hears an odd noise. Looking up, he sees Carter.

Laughing.

With his shoulders up and arms around his stomach, turned just a bit more towards him, Carter is laughing. But it’s a tone completely unfamiliar to Wolfe and it stuns him just as much, if not more, than the creature had. Carter’s mouth is opened to breathe, lips turned up in a grin. The motions agitate his hair and Wolfe doesn’t – can’t – blink as a few of the flowers fall, tumbling across flushed cheeks.

“You-!” Carter giggles. “You look like a troublemaker being scolded by his mother! I never took you for anything less than rule-abiding, Wolfe!”

The stick creature had stopped waving at him and instead starts climbing up onto him. Wolfe jerks, but doesn’t react violently as Carter’s smile fades just a bit into concentration, watching him. He knows if he throws the thing off of him the man will make him regret it. So, while he grunts and twitches, he lets the damn thing climb up to his shoulders, where it starts pulling on his hair.

His eyes widen and Carter bursts into laughter once more.

“M-My hair! What are you doing?!” Wolfe stops his hands from going up past his shoulders but it’s a near thing.

“He just wants to braid your hair, too, Wolfe!” Carter cackles.

Wolfe sputters, “What?!”

“He thinks that braiding and adorning your hair with moonflowers will make you calmer.” Carter grins at him sharply, “These flowers are precious to them, you know.”

No, he did not know, you brat. Now he can’t shred them to pieces, either!

Carter’s laugh turns more into a condescending chuckle, likely guessing what he’d been thinking. Wolfe is distracted by a sharp tug of his hair and he has to hold back again when his first instinct is to lash out. His restraint is rewarded by the tugging gentling just a bit.

“Carter, how do I stop it?” he grits through his teeth.

‘Hm,” the man hums. I don’t know, why don’t you ask him?” Wolfe wants to punch that smug look off the brat’s face so badly, but a tug on his hair and a soft scent distract him once more. The brush of petals along his temple makes him twitch.

“Mm, yeah,” Carter comments, after a pause for his own hairdresser to readjust itself, “I think we’ll have to put a bit of a hold on leaving for now. That’s a shame.”

Wolfe grunts, angry and annoyed, but makes himself look away from the pain in his neck just a bit more than an arm’s reach away. Hopefully, Carter will be lenient enough to not mock him afterwards. But if he does, Wolfe can bite back easily enough with how lovely he looked with all those flowers in his hair.

Stupid.

He meant how stupid he looked.

…

Fuck.

[scrivenerofmossflower]

I Ain’t Afraid of No Ghost

Word Count: ~2.8k Summary: Four new friends decide to celebrate their recent meeting by doing some light breaking-and-entering at the local cemetery. They're looking for a ghost. They accidentally come out with the seeds for a YouTube channel. In which Gonff has done research, Rose brought the video camera, Martin's a little too comfortable with this, and Columbine wonders how a pre-med like her wound up stuck with two theater geeks and an enigma. read on ao3 Notes: Human AU, College AU. Un-beta’ed, all mistakes are my own. I’ve been sitting on this for like, over two years and the fact that the ‘verse is still bothering me and I still remember all the details to the set up means that I’m just going to have to exorcise it. Have a Halloween fic the day after Halloween.

The cemetery was on the western edge of town and looked not as a cemetery usually does, with neatly kept graves and graveled paths and mown lawns, but as a cemetery should. With the sun just below the horizon and night falling quickly, the overgrown graveyard with it’s off-kilter, lichen covered headstones and crumbling mausoleums looked like something right out of a horror movie.

“Hollywood called, they want their set back,” Rose said. All four friends were leaning against the iron gates at the entrance, nerving themselves up to go in.

“Oh, come on, this is B-list horror fodder at best,” Gonff countered. “More like Haunted Mansion or Hocus Pocus than—are you recording this?”

“Yep,” Rose said. She turned her phone towards him, zoomed in and out on his face, and stuck out her tongue. “You know how big a wimp my brother is about the spooky stuff, so I was going to send it to him. Congratulations, he just found out you’re a massive Disney geek.”

“Everyone likes Hocus Pocus—”

“Are you seriously going to do this?” Columbine interrupted, and rolled her eyes when Rose turned the camera on her.

“Scared?”

She sighed. “Of getting arrested for trespassing? Yes.” She reached out and made a swipe for the camera, but Rose avoided the grab. “Especially if you’re going to be recording us breaking the law—Martin!”

While they’d been talking, Martin had swung himself onto the top of the chest-high wall and sat straddling it with one leg to either side. “What?” he asked. “It’s not that high.”

“That’s not really her point, mate,” Gonff said. What was chest high on Martin was shoulder high on Gonff, and between that and a bit of extra pudge, it was a bit more of an undignified scramble up. Martin snagged the back of his shirt and heaved when it looked like he wouldn’t quite make it. “Thanks. C’mon, Columbine, you’re up next.”

She sighed again, but took both their hands and let them haul her up between them, with a neat little twist that left her sitting on the wall, feet on the outside.

“Here, catch,” Rose said. She tossed her phone up to Martin and waved off their assistance, bracing her hands on the top of the wall and hopping up, accepting her phone back with a grin. The group paused again on the top of the wall. “So,” Rose said, dragging out the vowel and turning the camera on each of them. “What do you think we’re going to find?”

“I was poking around in the library this afternoon,” Gonff volunteered, drumming his heels against the wall, “and turned up a couple of specifics. Apparently there was this chemist—and I use the term loosely, he wasn’t trained and it was the 1700s, I think—but when he died he said he’d be back.”

“And was he?”

“Well, he was exhumed at some point, and the body was unsettlingly preserved. Though I suppose saying the tomb was broken into would be more accurate; a curious medical student tried to cut off his head.”

“And you say it’s the theater geeks who’re weird,” Rose said. “When has a theater geek ever tried to cut off someone’s head in the name of science?”

Columbine just raised both eyebrows in Rose’s direction. “Really? We’re really going there?”

“Okay, but when has a medical student willed their skull to a theater so it can be used in a production of Hamlet?” Martin asked, and ignored how all three just looked at him in bewilderment. “Go on, Gonff. The body was unusually preserved, the student tried to take its head.”

“Which I contest, honestly,” Columbine interrupted. “You could get as good a sample without desecrating the corpse like that.”

“Anyway,” Gonff said. “As he was putting the head in the sack he’d brought with him, he heard whispers coming from the corners of the tomb.” He gestured, describing the scene with relish. “Whispers at the edges of reality, seeping through the cracks. When he turned around, there were shadows writhing and twining in the corners, reaching out as if they would pull him into the void itself.”

There was a beat of silence.

“And this tomb is in this graveyard?” Rose said, scanning the layout of the ground below them.

“Yep. The student ran, of course, and left the head behind. It’s probably still there, kicked into a corner by a panicked foot.”

Martin and Columbine exchanged skeptical looks. “Guilty conscience, obviously, and probably wind through the leaves,” Columbine said. “Look, there’s trees all along the wall, and there’s grass and stuff, too. When was this?”

Gonff blew out an exasperated breath. “I don’t really remember, a few years after the guy died?”

“So call it the 1810s at the latest,” Columbine said, crossing her arms. “Way before electricity was harnessed for things like flashlights. If he had a lantern or an oil lamp, those shadows were probably caused by the unsteady light source, and obviously an overactive imagination.”

“Speaking of which, anyone else have a flashlight?” Martin asked. “First quarter moon won’t be up for another few hours.”

There was another, longer silence.

“We are really bad at this,” Gonff said finally. “Martin’s the only person who brought a flashlight? Seriously?”

“I was just going to use my phone,” Rose said. “But that’s going to eat my battery, especially if I’m recording at the same time.”

“Lesson learned. When poking around old graveyards after dark, everyone in the crew brings a flashlight,” Columbine said, shaking her head.

“We’ll keep it mind for next time,” Rose decided, and hopped down into the graveyard without further commentary. “Come on, let’s go find this tomb. You remember which one it was, right, Gonff?”

“Yeah, it’s in the north corner. I’ll lead the way.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Martin said as he helped Columbine down off the wall, “I swung by earlier today to talk to the groundskeeper. Ghost hunters aren’t new to him, and we’ve got permission. As long as we don’t break anything, leave trash around, make too much noise, etcetera, he’s fine with it, if a little resigned.”

“I’m beginning to think you’ve done this before,” Columbine said, half joking, half accusing.

Martin shook his head. “No, I just don’t see any reason to take unnecessary risks.”

Gonff laughed from in front of them, and turned around to walk backwards and still face them. “Matey, I’ve known you for a week and I can already say with full confidence that that’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told.”

“I did say unnecessary risks,” Martin said with complete calm. “Besides, I haven’t been that reckless around any of you.”

“Yes, because jumping two flights of concrete steps is perfectly reasonable,” Rose said, giving him a very disappointed look.

“I was running late and took the landing on my shoulder like you’re supposed to.”

The deeper the four friends passed into the graveyard, the older the headstones became. What names and dates had survived the years were obscured by green-gray or orange lichen. At the very back were a row of small marble buildings, some with long fractures in their walls, some with craggy domes, some in eerily perfect repair but with the iron grate hanging askew. The casual back and forth banter grew quieter as they approached, until at last the muffled sound of shoes upon gravel swallowed it up entirely.

“That’s it,” Gonff whispered, nodding towards a mausoleum built into a low hill, the dark space where its door should have been framed by ivy and brambles.

Rose took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Break my phone and I’ll curse you,” she said, and thrust it into Gonff’s hands.

“Wait, what are you doing?”He fumbled it, checking the camera and keeping it trained on Rose. The image was becoming grainier as the light faded, but it was still enough to film, for now.

“I’m going inside,” Rose said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

“Oh, no, not without me you’re not,” Gonff said, shoving the phone at Martin. “Here, you hold this.”

“I’m pretty sure this violates the 'don’t break anything' request we got from the groundskeeper,” Columbine said, rubbing at her forehead.

“Do you want to go in to explain every ‘experience’ they have, or shall I?” Martin asked. The video wouldn’t show the fond grin he wore, but it was clear enough in his voice as he trained the camera on Columbine, equally fond for all her exasperation.

“You’ve got the flashlight,” Columbine pointed out, waving him on. “I’ll stand guard on the off chance someone comes to run us out.”

“We can jump the wall and make for downtown if that happens,” Martin said. “Always have an exit strategy.”

“You’ve definitely done this before.”

“No, that’s just general life advice.”

They were interrupted by a low call from Gonff from inside the mausoleum. “Martin! Flashlight?!”

Martin fished the penlight out of one pocket with one hand, keeping the camera steady on the door as he approached. He knocked on the jamb with it. “Hello? Sorry for the disturbance, but we were just hoping to look around for a little bit, if you don’t mind the company. We’ll leave you in peace again soon.”

He flicked the light on, and startled back when it illuminated Rose, who was far closer than he’d expected. She also backed off with a pained protest. “Warn a girl before you do that, will you?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Martin said, angling the light a bit lower.

She rubbed at her eyes. “Were you talking to the ghost just now?”

“Look, if there is someone in here, just because he’s dead doesn’t mean we have to be rude,” Martin pointed out, following Rose into the crypt. “How’d you feel if someone came poking around your room without even apologizing for it?”

“You don’t even believe in ghosts,” Gonff pointed out, squinting around. The three of them drew closer together—ghost or no, they were in a small space with a dead body after dark, circumstances creepy enough to raise the hair on the back of anyone’s neck.

“I prefer to hedge my bets,” Martin said, sweeping the penlight slowly around. It was mostly empty, but for a few dead leaves in the corner and a low, rectangular construction in the middle of the room—the tomb itself. “I don’t see anything in here. Should we go a bit deeper?” They were huddled near the door, the blue-bright LED penlight aided by the distant starlight and the sickly yellow glow of a nearby streetlight.

“Yeah, why not,” Gonff said. His voice was a bit higher than normal, but he slid one foot forward, then another. Rose trailed behind him, looking closely around the room.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t go in front?” Martin asked.

“You’ve got the camera,” Rose said.

“Right,” Martin muttered, not sounding too pleased with that. “Of course.”

“I’ll curse you, too, if you break my phone—” Rose started, only to cut herself off with a gasp. “Did you hear that?”

“No?”

Another long moment of tense silence, before all three heard a rustling sound from beyond the tomb.

“I heard that,” Gonff said, this time with an almost manic sounding giggle. “It sounds like he doesn’t like curses. Maybe don’t talk about that right now?”

“Right,” Rose said. She swallowed. “Sorry.”

“There’re a lot of dead leaves in here,” Martin said, directing the penlight towards the corners. “It was probably the wind, or an animal. Something like—huh.”

The light illuminated a misshapen lump closer to the entrance, a bundle of something that looked like it might be cloth. The trio stared at it for a moment.

“Do you think that’s the head?” Rose whispered.

“It’s definitely something,” Gonff said. All three drew closer together until their shoulders were touching.

“You know, I sort of thought the head would’ve been moved, or missing, or eaten by now,” Martin said.

Gonff blanched. “Eaten?”

“Well, yeah. Animals, scavengers, that sort of thing. What, did you think I meant cannibalism?”

“No…”

“Well, only one way to find out,” Rose said. She squared her shoulders. Each step forward echoed hollowly in the empty mausoleum, and when she spoke, both Gonff and Martin couldn’t quite suppress a jump. “Martin, will you stop moving the light around? I’m nervous enough as it is.”

“I’m not moving the light, Rose. And my hands are steady, before you ask,” Martin protested, eyes on the video to make sure this was the case.

Rose halted without turning around. When she spoke, her voice was forcibly calm. “If it’s not the light, what’s making the shadows move?”

“Martin, are you getting that?”

“I’m recording the shadows acting like shadows, yes,” Martin said patiently. “They’re moving because you’re moving, Rose, and you’re between the light and the—oh,” he said, as the shadows trembled again and moved up the wall.

There was a crash of stone on stone from behind them, loud in the sudden stillness. All three screamed, Gonff and Rose both latching onto Martin’s arms. Martin had dropped the penlight to free one hand, and the light swung wildly about the mausoleum, chasing spiky shadows and weird shapes up the walls.

“I think we should get out of here,” Gonff said, already backing out and dragging Martin along with him.

“Good idea,” Rose agreed, matching Gonff pace for pace. “Great time and all, really interesting, but we ought to, you know, go analyze the footage, see if we got an EVP—”

“Not find out what that was?”

“A ghost angry about a joke about curses.”

“Don’t joke about curses, I was cursed once and it offends me,” Gonff agreed with another high pitched giggle.

“This is just for practice anyway, next time we’ll go investigate,” Rose said.

There was another rustling, and the penlight caught the reflective gleam of eyes at the other end of the room.

They broke and ran, bursting out of the mausoleum and almost bowling over Columbine.

“What, what did you—”

“Eyes, dark, something—”

“Just run!” Rose said, pushing the both of them ahead of her.

“Over the wall?” Martin asked the group.

“Yes, fine, just away!”

This wall was conquered far more easily than the first, the fear adding extra speed to all four friends’s flight.

“You really saw a ghost?” Columbine panted.

“No,” Martin said, at the same time Gonff said “Yes!”

“There were eyes, mate, actual, glowing eyes!” Gonff continued. “And the shadows, you saw the shadows!”

“I saw shadows move that weren’t caused by Rose,” Martin said.

“And the crash? And the rustling?”

“Coincidence. Dead leaves. There wasn’t a ghost in there.”

They stopped a dozen blocks away, Rose clutching a stitch in her side, Gonff with his hands braced on his knees, gasping for breath.

“Then what was it?” Rose asked, leaning her head against the wall of the closed coffee shop.

“I don’t know,” Martin said. He was breathing deeply, deliberately slowing his breathing back to normal. “But it wasn’t a ghost.”

“That’s… because… it was a fox,” Columbine said, also bent double and panting for breath. She waved her phone, which the other three only just noticed in her hand. “I saw it come out about two seconds before you did,” she said, straightening as her breath came back. “Snapped a few pictures. He’s a cutie, you probably scared him.”

“We scared him?” Rose repeated, scandalized.

“Oh, let me see,” Gonff said, leaning over her shoulder as she swiped through the handful of pictures.

“Wait, let me get a shot of this,” Martin said, a grin beginning to steal over his face. He raised Rose’s phone again, getting a good angle on Columbine’s. “Aw, he is cute.”

“What about the eyes—?”

“Probably a family,” Columbine said. “I mean, that’d be a great place for a den, wouldn’t it? Sensible people don’t go in.”

“Did I ever claim I was sensible?” Gonff asked her, turning to look at her indignantly with his chin still propped on her shoulder. “Did Rose? Did Martin?”

Rose shook her head, beginning to laugh. “So our first ghost… was actually a family of foxes,” she said.

“Apparently,” Gonff said.

“Stepping through leaves, knocking something over, moving around so that there were shadows,” Martin listed. “And our imaginations did the rest.”

Columbine shot them all a grin. “Good thing I didn’t come in with you guys, then, or I wouldn’t have evidence,” she said, waving her phone in Gonff’s face.

“Well, you’ll have to figure out a way to get evidence from the inside next time,” Rose decided. She put out a hand and wiggled her fingers. Martin passed her the phone.

“Next time?” Columbine repeated.

“Absolutely,” Rose said, and panned the camera around the group. “After tonight, we’ve got to find a real ghost. This is too embarrassing a note to leave on, don’t you think?”

[charliesradiodemon]

Charlastor Week Day 3: Cooking

(I’m cheating here lmao sorry. This one was gonna be the Human AU fic but then I had a better idea for both prompts in terms of direction

Also is this fic about a healthy relationship? Nah.

Warning: contains blood, talking about cannibalism and murder)

Day 3 Cooking 

“Alastor!“ a sharp gasp made Alastor whip his head around to the shack’s door. Blood had splattered across his wicked grin. He found the silhouette of who he recognized was Charlie standing at the door. He couldn’t see her expression due to the outside light behind her obscuring her face, but he could only imagine the delicious horror that graced her features.

The bloodthirst set in once more and the one thing he wanted to see was his lover and prey’s face twisted in horror and despair before her sweet light drained from her eyes.

It was too bad. Charlie was a special gal who was closest to his heart than anyone ever could ever get. In a way he did find a kind of love with her in their three years together. She was always lovely and interesting and the fact that she hadn’t bored him yet surprised him. It certainly was a crying shame that his favorite prey was about to meet her end now that she’d seen too much. He had no doubt that he’d miss her as he savored each delicious piece of her.

Through the obscurity, Alastor could see that she brought her clasped hands to her chest. “You...” she paused.

Alastor approached slowly, a butcher’s knife in hand. “Yes, Charlie?”

She stood in place and didn’t move. While he appreciated her thoughtfulness to not run away and just accept her fate, Alastor was partially disappointed that he couldn’t give chase to the doe. After all, they always tasted best when they desperately fought for their lives. “You’re the New Orleans Butcher...” she whispered just enough for the two of them to hear.

‘She even whispered my secret. What a lovely, thoughtful girl.’

With a wide grin, he replied with confidence. “Yes indeedy! And what are you-“ he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks unable to continue.

Once he was close enough so that the light that obscured her face dissipated, Alastor found a small smile on her lovely face. She even seemed to be suppressing a laugh even.

“And here I was worrying about that...”

His smile remained but faltered slightly at the sight. What about this situation was so funny? Did she not understand what was going on? He almost felt concerned for the strange woman. “Worrying about what my dear?” Why was this so funny to her? She was about to die by her lover’s hand!

“Alastor... I think we’ve been hiding some crazy secrets from each other.”

The man tightened his grip on the bloodied butcher’s knife in his hand. “What do you mean?”

She stepped closer with her relieved smile in place, impossibly calm as she approached slowly. “I’ve been thinking about the future a lot recently. And I know this is selfish of me, but one day I’ll have to leave. And I was thinking, when that time came I’d never see you again. I’ve always wanted to see the good in people and see them go to Heaven, but you... I-I was sure you’d go to Heaven and I’d never get to see you again. And it’s awful, but somehow... I’m relieved,” She was now in front of him, no trace of fear in her eyes. Only a soft smile full of joy and tearful relief. Alastor had no idea how to react. He couldn’t move his legs let alone lift his arm to end the odd woman.

His lover looked up at him, her brown eyes clear even under the dim light. But then she blinked and Alastor could have sworn he’d snapped. Her sclera glowed a brilliant red while the iris was a golden ring around her black pupils. The sound of something sprouting from Charlie’s head took his attention away from her eyes. Two long horns sprouted amongst rapidly growing golden hair.

“M-my word...” Alastor whispered, not knowing what else to say. His heart pounded in his chest, making him feel all sorts of emotions. But none of those emotions were negative in the slightest.

“I’m sorry if this is too much for you. I didn’t want you to see me this way.” Seeing his expression and hearing his tone, Charlie’s gaze fell to the floor in assumed dejection. She probably looked like a hideous monster to him. She acted too hastily and now she had to be ready for whatever came next.

“What are you then, my love?” The words made Charlie’s eyes widen in shock. The term of endearment truly caught her off guard and for a moment she didn’t know what to do other than look back up at him with the same shocked expression he had just a moment ago. “You can tell me Charlie.”

His expression softened back to the smile she was familiar with as if a moment ago he wasn’t planning his next meal around her. His darkened eyes were almost loving. If he was frightened at all, he was good at hiding it.

Charlie clasped her hands together, suddenly feeling awkward and shy. “I-I’m a demon. I’m from H-Hell.”

It came to Alastor as a surprise. She was the single most pure creature to exist. What had she done to earn her eternal damnation? “It can’t possibly be. You’re the sweetest little thing to grace the Earth. Tell me, how is it you ended up in Hell?”

The ease of his questions only surprised Charlie further. It was as if this was just a normal occurrence and he was asking her about her day. “I was born there.” She replied truthfully, attempting to sound natural about it.

Alastor, butcher knife still in hand, placed his free hand on her shoulder and continued, “So when you said you had to go home one day, did you mean that you were going back to Hell?”

Charlie nodded and suddenly she was drawn into his arms. “You silly, sweet girl.” Charlie felt the handle of the butcher’s knife pressing against her back, but she wasn’t worried. She trusted her Alastor, not like the cleaver would harm her anyway. She reciprocated the hug with a small smile until she realized something.

She peered up at him with a questioning look. “And what about you? How long has this been going on?”

Alastor hummed as he thought for a moment. “About seven years or so,” he said casually as if he were just speaking about the weather. It nearly unnerved Charlie that he was so casual and calm about this. Then again, she wasn’t any better with her own secret.

“So I suppose I’ll be seeing you in Hell one day.” He chuckled, pulling away slightly to look her down.

He failed to mention what exactly he did with those he slaughtered. He also failed to mention that Charlie herself would have eventually ended up as another source of food for him once he felt she outlived her entertainment.

“I’ve been here for three. Wow... I never would have suspected!” She pulled out of his embrace, not realizing that she was now covered in blood.

“Yes that is the point, darling. If everyone suspected, well I just wouldn’t be here now would I?” He laughed with a shrug. To his surprise, Charlie let out a closed-mouthed giggle. Then again she was a demon, murder must not mean much to her.

Alastor raised his eyebrows and grinned widely. “So as a demon would you approve?”

“I mean as a demon I’m supposed to. I’m supposed to “tempt” people to sin. But I also don’t necessarily like it. I... really don’t actually.” she said hesitantly as she turned her gaze to the bloodied workbench in the corner. It still held the fresh corpse of a man Charlie couldn’t recognize.

‘What was he going to do with the man? None of the bodies of his victims have ever been found... The only thing the New Orleans Slasher would leave behind were splatters of blood and bits of his victims.’

Alastor belted a hearty chuckle. “You’re not a very good demon, dear.”

“Ah yeah...” she huffed an awkward chuckle as she turned her attention back to her lover in front of her. “My dad’s reminded me of that for a while now...”

“I bet. Now as much as I’d love to continue this conversation, this isn’t the place for that my love,” he nodded to the door and shot her a reassuring grin. “Why don’t you head back in the house and once I’m done out here we can talk.”

Charlie smiled half relieved and half gratefully. She leaned up and kissed the part of his cheek that was free of blood. “Sounds good. Do you want me to make you anything?” Her demonic form dissipated with another blink of an eye, which Alastor watched with full interest before walking back to the workbench.

“Coffee would be nice sweetheart. Oh and I must apologize. It seems I’ve left a mess on you.” he gestured toward her front and Charlie immediately looked down. She jumped in surprise and then sighed.

Charlie pouted and inspected her dress. “Al, you need to be more careful! I’m really not supposed to do this but...” she paused and snapped her fingers. A rush of hellfire consumed her for a split second before revealing a spotless dress on the slasher’s cleaned lover. He was at a loss for words at the spectacle. Charlie let out a content breath and continued, “This is my favorite dress!” She turned and made it back to the threshold before turning back to Alastor, who looked dumbfounded. “Please make sure to wash up before you come back in please? Blood isn’t fun to wash up you know.”

Alastor awoke from his daze. He nearly burst out laughing, but merely chuckled at the odd request. “Yes dear.”

Once the door closed, Alastor went back to work feeling a strange sense of ease, excitement and intrigue all in one sensation. Who was once his prey and simple ingredient was now his confidant. It almost felt good keeping someone who knew of his hobby around strangely enough. Maybe it was the sudden rush of adrenaline?

Or maybe it was because he’d realized that he’d taken a demon for a lover. And while he did genuinely love Charlie in a strange way, knowing now that she was a demon only seemed to spark a new feeling of excitement that he refused to extinguish. “A demon...” he muttered as he cut away at the bone of his latest kill. “The little dear is just full of surprises.”

He made quick work of his preparations. Once he packed and stored his future meal in a natural underground freezer, he wiped off the excess blood from his person, per Charlie’s request. The underground storage was at the peak temperature to store meats now that the first snowfall coated the ground. Properly packed, the human flesh would hold up longer. He’d make a fine meal later, but first he needed to chat with his lovely demon waiting for him.

He found her in the sitting room, reading a book peacefully with a pair of steaming cups beside her. When she heard his footsteps, she looked to the door and smiled. “Your coffee’s waiting for you.”

Alastor took the cup closest to his unoccupied chair and took a sip. “Thank you darling. Now, I hope you know I have plenty of questions. And I’m sure you do too.” he walked to the sofa and set his coffee cup down on the coffee table. He pat the seat next to him, to which Charlie smiled and obliged. He took her hand in her’s and let their clasped hands rest on the cushion between them.

The little demoness turned to face him, looking like she was ready to burst. “Alastor, I actually only have one question for you.”

“Go on.” he replied calmly.

She tensed. Alastor detected this sign of distress but remained unmoved. “Did you... ever feed me human...?” Charlie asked shyly. She prayed that her thoughts were wrong. She pieced together that he probably ate his victims seeing how he put so much care into the butchering of his victims.

“Oh no dear, I would never,” he replied promptly. He felt Charlie relax as soon as he said it. She wouldn’t know how to feel if she found out that she ate human meat. She’d had so many meals at Alastor’s house that once the idea entered her mind, she feared for the worst. “Not only would it be rude to feed it to someone who would not appreciate the taste of human flesh, I am also selfish. I don’t have it often, but I’m willing to share with you if you-“

Once her question was answered satisfactorily, she cut him off. “Nope! No no no thank you!” She shook her head wildly and crossed her arms into an ‘X’. “You can have all of it.” once she finished speaking, she placed her hand back into his grasp and plopped her head onto his shoulders with a sigh.

Alastor chuckled and took another sip of coffee while it still steamed in its cup. “How generous of you, dearest. You’re a demon are you not? I’m surprised that you have an aversion for human flesh!”

“Haha... yeah... I’m just not the biggest fan...”

They spoke for a bit longer before the grandfather clock reminded the pair of the time.

“Oh! I haven’t prepared dinner yet!” Charlie cried. She let go of Alastor’s hand and stood. She made her way toward the kitchen before turning to Alastor. “What would you like for dinner? We still have venison.”

Alastor stood as well and grinned. “Allow me to assist you my love. I’m sure my talents with flesh will help you greatly.”

Charlie scoffed and nodded. “Alright come on funny guy.”

It didn’t feel right, but she was happy. Sure he committed heinous actions, and he probably intended to turn on her one day, but Alastor was still the same Alastor she knew. It was awful but she wasn’t fazed by his hobby for murder and consumption of other humans. Once she was gone, it was inevitable that he’d one day find himself in the fiery pits of Hell and reunite with her. It didn’t matter what he did at this point. As long as he stayed by her side, she’d be content.

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

Grand Titans Rewatch: 1.02

Grand Titans Rewatch: 1.02

it’s been literal months since i started this project and neither this nor the fic series that’s supposed to go alongside it has garnered much attention, if any, but damn it, i made a commitment and this time, i’m going to follow through.

for reference, episode 1’s recap here, and its corresponding fic tag is here.

SPOILERS ahead for pretty much the entire series.

1. the recap portion of the episode leans very heavily on the type of horror genre that rachel’s character brings to the show, and honestly, i love it. the superhero genre can feel very… sterile at times, with bright, clean colours and costumes and standard team-ups ending in a climactic punch-fest. the insidious horror of rachel discovering something huge and dangerous inside of her and trying—and largely failing—to control it bleeds into the rest of the show; each of the team has an inner demon to battle, but the lesson isn’t triumph over the beast as much as it is acceptance. it’s unfortunate that the dc live action universe in general has developed a reputation for being gratuitously grimdark; i love the thematic consistency that the tone brings to the show, and it is honestly the freshest take on these characters that i’ve seen so far.

1.5. there’s something to be said, too, about this muddy-window perspective we get into these established superheroes’ lives—the intriguing, sometimes downright opaque scenes of them trying to re-build from wreckage. i love that this is how they choose to distinguish themselves in a very, very crowded arena: the origin story here is not for the superheroes or even the team themselves, but the bonds they form and the family that they become.

2. i kinda love the clash between the goofy costume and the grimdark torture scene. it’s never immediately obvious, but this show is remarkably committed to its comic book roots—so much so that it’s kind of jarring. usually in the journey from the comic to the screen there is an ironing-out of genre and tone, but this show will show you its spandex clad hero with the plastic-feather cape being threatened with torture and castration because that’s how it goes in the comics, goddammit!

2.25. it’s pretty impressive that they’re able to afford such a big place in washington dc

2.5. hank and dawn’s easy intimacy is lovely to watch. i remember not being fond of this long detour to introduce these two relatively obscure characters right after all that juicy set-up in the first episode the first time i watched this, but now i can enjoy the languid way their story unravels, the little glimpses we get into the life they’ve led and the marks that it has left behind.

2.8. a delightfully cheesy moment with the giant bird cage immediately followed by a quietly devastating depiction of sexual impotence and a possible addiction to multiple painkillers! see what i mean?

oh! and before i forget:

MIRRORS, MIRRORS, EVERYWHERE: 9

3. flashback time! can’t say that i’m terribly impressed with the fight choreography; there appears to be hardly any contact between the heroes’ kicks and lunges and the thugs they’re supposed to be fighting, and a lot of slow-motion and editing trickery needs to be employed to make this look kinetic. i don’t really blame them much, though—those capes look awfully cumbersome to be just walking around in, leave alone fight. and i’m glad that the show is making a point of showing that robin’s style of fighting in flippier and more acrobatic than the others’.

3.65. aaaand we get our first hint of History between dick and dawn. to be honest, given what i remember of the rest of s1 and what we know of s2, it does seem like they’re making it so that the original titans did exist, swapping out roy and wally for hank and dawn. i’m not super-enthusiastic about this decision, but we’ll see how it plays out.

4. dick and rachel!

I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS INTERACTION:

a) rachel desperately trying to hide how scared and vulnerable she feels behind brittle defiance

b) dick bemused and concerned and casting around for ways to connect with her but giving up too easily

c) “for the lady” – oh, dick. i love you.

d) rachel warily checking her reflection

e) dick making false promises of safety to rachel in order to get her to come with him to washington—a manipulative little ploy that i’m sure was par-for-the-course during his time with batman

f) “but sometimes there’s no time to be scared” is that what kid!dick told himself when he was starting out as robin oh my heart hurts

g) dick just dropping out of his job for an indefinite time without notice because why in the world would bruce wayne’s ward ever have to worry about keeping down a steady job? he’s utterly unconscious of this, which makes it hilarious

MIRRORS, MIRRORS EVERYWHERE: 10

5. i’m already really fond of rohrbach and charlie the m.e. i know s2’s slate is already really crowded, but i wouldn’t mind seeing a resurrected rohrbach make an appearance, and for bit more of a spotlight on dick’s day job.

6. OH MAN i honestly didn’t remember that dick phoned alfred this episode! and that he considered—for a second—calling bruce! poor guy’s genuinely scared. for all his ‘fuck batman’s, dick’s anger and fear is more internally directed than he realises. this boy needs therapy.

6.5. dick going “… obviously” at rachel telling him not to get pineapple on their pizza makes me think he was definitely setting out to get pineapple on their pizza at that moment.

6.75. oh fuck. i knew it was coming, but that dead guy screaming at rachel through the photo was still terrifying. man i wish they’d stuck a little longer with the horror/mystery vibe they’ve got going here.

MIRRORS, MIRRORS EVERYWHERE: 11

6.8. dick immediately reaching out to hold rachel and comfort her as she sobs, terrified, in the bathtub shouldn’t feel particularly special or heartwarming—it’s a very natural, human instinct, after all—but for this particular version of dick grayson to automatically show this compassion when he’s half convinced himself that his lifetime as a vigilante has left him an amoral husk of his previous self… is significant.

7. it’s an interesting choice to go with the nuclear family as the first major villains featured on this show, but fits totally with the tone so far—the dark, despairing and dank things that hide underneath a cracking veneer of cheery suburban normality. pretty standard horror genre stuff—with an added twist that these people aren’t actually androids, but regular people horrifically tortured and brainwashed to act as murder machines.

7.5. aside from that, it’s a neat contrast to the found family that’s actually starting to evolve, with all of its rough edges and imperfect but raw displays of love.

8. i really like that, for all that rachel and dick have in common, their interaction is weird, start-stop in nature, each dancing around answering the others’ questions with any kind of honesty. rachel has clearly picked up on dick’s caginess around her and dick, for all that he’s been trained in subterfuge and basically been living a lie to most of his friends and co-workers, is unable to keep acting like he knows what he’s doing. he hasn’t had to really live a double life in a while—and he’s rusty when it comes to doing anything that’s not detective or vigilante work.

8.5. dick’s interactions in general through the series contrast with the easy and intimate ways the others talk with each other; he’s just so isolated and so friggin rusty at this.

9. you’d think rachel would’ve figured out by now not to shake random people’s hands.

9.25. i’m so happy about this show’s commitment to showing just how much of a hot mess dick is.

9.35. i’ve certainly warmed up to the icy, washed-out way this show looks, and the general sense of… space, both in terms of physical space as well as the way each scene is allowed to unfold and just breathe. you don’t get that a lot in superhero media these days.

9.45. an update to the dick grayson timeline! dawn says she hasn’t seen dick in four years and seems genuinely surprised to learn that he’s working with the police now. so how do you go from zero to detective in just four years? is that even possible? the timeframe becomes even shorter if you assume that he only decided to join law enforcement after leaving batman. maybe that’s just another thing that dick kept hidden from his friends, even when they were, you know, friends.

anyway, dick continues to be a hot mess, and i am glad that is consistent over every on-screen iteration.

9.5. i am genuinely unsure why this dick/dawn history exists other than to create some weird conflict between hank and dick. i’d much rather that conflict come from dick being an asshole generally and dropping all contact with his friends when it all became just Too Much To Deal With.

10. OH MAN so him contacting alfred was to arrange a big sum of money to pay off hank and dawn?? yep, dick is 100 percent bruce wayne’s protégé. i’m sure he also thinks of this as a way to help hank recover and for hank and dawn to rebuild their post-vigilantism life. this is a terrible way to deal with your guilt, my friend.

and i love that all of this—the mistakes he’s making with rachel despite his genuine concern for and desire to help her, the way he’s unable to really talk to her instead of at her, his false platitudes when he thinks he has nothing to say—is a plausible reflection of the ways bruce floundered with him when he first took dick in. dick has spent so, so long as bruce’s sole heir; though i’m sure they learned to communicate better, the core dysfunction of his relationship with bruce is embedded in his bones.

but the show is clearly setting up the dick-rachel relationship to evolve—and in doing so, have dick come to terms with his own relationship with bruce, instead of spinning increasingly bitter and dark memories of it in his head.

all said, tho: what a dick move. in every sense of the word.

11. aaand here’s why i never understand criticism of this show that says dick is too dark: it’s just so typical of him to hold himself to insane standards and just cut loose and run whenever he feels he’s failed those standards. it’s why he’s always among the first choices to lead a team but his leadership almost never sustains very long. it’s why he’s everybody’s friend but so desperately, desperately alone, especially when it’s his turn to spiral and need help. it’s why when he is spiralling, he adopts spectacularly self-destructive methods to do so. standing aside while zucco died is essentially his (infamous) blockbuster moment, when he so egregiously compromised his moral code that he was forced to re-evaluate the very core of what he’d identified as for decades. he hates himself, but he splits the blame, recognising the very real damage being robin did to him but pinning everything that’s wrong with him on it.

this tracks with every version of dick grayson that i can think of, bar the golden age/silver age comics, more contemporary nightwing runs—especially after his stint as batman with damian as robin—where he’s matured a bit and more level-headed, and, of course, fanon.

11.5. but while dick is wrestling with himself, actual people do get hurt and lost on the wayside. i’m glad that this show is not shying away from showing that.

12. maaan you really, really didn’t have to do this to anyone, leave alone someone as prominent in nightwing’s history as amy rohrbach. still holding out hope that she’ll return somehow next season.

13. rachel using dick’s own words to get him to help hank and dawn… oh fuck yes.

13.5. to be perfectly honest, i quite enjoyed robin as this menace in the shadows, taking thugs down brutally when they can’t even see him. you never see hyper-competent robin on-screen anymore.

13.75. also? hank and dawn’s genuine horror at his brutality is another giant indicator that this is not a dick grayson who’s functioning optimally, by any standard. he needs a place to start growing from, and this is it.

14. dick getting called out on his bullshit is pretty satisfying to watch, no lie.

14.5. i’d forgotten just how brutally the nuclear family defeat hank, dawn, and dick. yikes.

14.8. that last shot of dick desperately trying to save dawn’s life while having flashbacks to his own parents falling to their deaths is so fucking haunting, holy shit.

15. that was… honestly so good, you guys! i remember seeing this episode for the first time and feeling a little irritated with the languid pacing and the way it seemed sort of like filler. but there’s so much great stuff that stands out to me on re-watch—this show genuinely rewards multiple viewings, even when you know what’s coming next.

[shade-without-color]

The Thieving Magpie Chapter 3: Accused

Note: Y’all I am so sorry for the delay in posting Thieving Magpie as I have a long case of writers’ block due to exhaustation and all. But I am glad I got it through. So I will see if I can post up the new chapter this week as it is gonna be wild and it was super hilarious. Good news I finally caved in and made an Ao3 account so please enjoy this fic!

A few weeks later

Somehow Gascon's breath grew bated, as he looked over the cafe name. That seems strange, Gascon heaved his breath quietly as he tried to ring up that number. No answer at all. Seems that from his impressions with his mysterious client, he thought for a moment they will meet in some dingy pub outside of his apartments, and soon he will lead to some secret cult where he will be passed different passwords, maybe like an obscure reference of a French film or even worse interpretive hand gestures.

Instead, it was something similar as he entered the cafe, no one gave a copious gaze to him, let alone an air of suspicion that lingered by each person. He somehow held his breath slightly.

It should be nothing.

It could be just a regular day to get some coffee. He barely glanced at his phone, following the harrowing news on Meve and the Rivia family’s estates, absorbed by the sounds of small talk (It could be categorized something like either gossip between girlfriends or a business deal), computer keyboards racing furiously for an important deadline and the whistles of steam from the milk foamer. The cashier looked at him pensively “Hello Sir may I take your order…”

“One tall latte please …” and soon he heard a buzz from his phone which reads like “G….the cheque….” Gascon closed his phone again glanced over the pastry cabinet. “Do you want something to go with your latte….”

“Oh...One pain au chocolat” as he scanned over the crowd, there is surely be someone looking for him. He smiled at her quietly as he heard another buzz which reads something urgent “Sorry…could you hold the Pain Au Chocolat… I will take the latte a moment please….”  Somehow he felt his stomach churn slightly, as he quickly dropped the exact change to her. “Your name sir??”

“G….”

Gascon bit his tongue slightly as he scanned over the cafe crowd, where he glanced at a man in a particular suit, he seems to watch him pensively “Why did you stop halfway on your order.. you got something to hide…” Gascon noticed that he started to tap something on his iPad, but he barely turns his head to the computer. "Not much, About the cheque..."

Something is in amiss as Gascon received the buzz from his phone. "Watch..." his ears perked up to the final hiss of steam. “One tall latte for G…” even before he could reach for the collection station. He felt something protruding his neck. Gascon did not hesitate to press a button around his jacket but it came too late as he snatched it away and stomped it on the ground. “We have matters that needed your presence. Our boss needs some airtime with you…”

Gascon rolled his eyes slightly “Should he come to me in the face…” as he saw a small piece of paper “And I suppose he is afraid to give me that thing in the face..” as he slipped it quietly “Would you ever be so kind to let me get my latte…before we speak of terms….”

Slowly another man came by with a scowl in his face. “I am afraid, you do not have the time to dilly dally…”

Meve cleared her throat slightly, as she repressed the trembling fear in her fists. Reynard steadied her slightly “You are brave madam to face them...” as he heard the mummers of the press “I wish this will never happen to you…” “You wish….” somehow Meve’s words grew heavier as she could hear the servants slowly manoeuvring what is left from the auction. Meve clutched her necklace slightly in fear. Her mind swirled with the what-ifs and whys while fighting the blinding flashlights, as she walked to the empty room with faces looking at her with horror and shame. It was once a venue which she could treasure a fleeting moment. But now many who question her liability including a certain Caldwell who sneered at her surrounded her.

“Say Meve… we have been associates for years am I right…” "We did not need to escalate the situation drastically, all you simply need is to tell the press that, you, Meve will give your share as ordinates by your husband and conspired a common thief to steal the statue...You are in love with him..." Meve sucked her breath and stared at Caldwell firmly “Caldwell....what you did is….” Caldwell did not hold back his empathy, as he looked over his heavy stack of documents with glee. “Simple, I oversee your husband writing his will, poor bastard has a shock of his life, at a party not too long while you are pregnant with Anesis. It was lucky that he slipped away from being armed.” He smiled gleefully at Meve “Otherwise I will take it easier, but alas cannot count my chickens before they hatched….”

“Do not mock me…”

Caldwell grimaced quietly “I do not intend too, madam…I have documents all of the years, and you do not have the fight, even Reynard witness our conversations when your husband pen his words in the moment of sanity…"

Meve bit her lip angrily, muting out any sound of anger out of her mouth. Reynard withdraws slightly from the argument. Perhaps to some extent, he was right, however, Meve found it unlawful and thought of someone else. “I have an old friend mine, and his…” Meve muttered pensively to Caldwell “He, too helped my husband to oversee his collection and he will put a case against your head and my sons…”

Caldwell rendered himself silent. Maybe it is out of glee to see Meve holding back the tears. He took that opportunity to waltz out from the room   "I will not play my cards that high if I were you..." Meve could read his expression that he would rather saunter quickly, and Reynard came to her side rather swiftly "Come, I think they all seek you..." Her eyes glared fiercely at him, she only mutters angrily that he will deserve a harrowing end.

Now she must face the show.

Meve struggled to catch a breath, as she looked over the peering crowd who lurked at her vulnerability. They probably have many questions on that scandal. “I speak, in behalf of myself and my family- yes that issue of the missing statute looms in us. I vouch that I will have the magpie in chains, and facing every worse penalty. Yes, I may be grieving..but I beg all to never escalate the situation…"

“Apologies Meve may I interrupt this press statement for a moment…we got some breaking news…"

Soon a harrowing remark came over Caldwell and he deliciously savoured the moments of torment "We deeply regret the death of our client Reginald, yes he may have a tender heart but alas when it comes to that sculpture, which we are working with the law to recover that...." as he pressed the remote control to switch one of the slides to that face. "As of now, we managed to capture him at a designated point, apparently he has been paid highly to rob the statue..."

He glared at Meve cruelly "Initially it was planned that we will take it to court over the will However recent evidence shows that she worked with a con thief..." as he clicked one of the slides to one of the emails. Meve's eyes widened with horror on these words. "G.. attached here are the maps to my estate... you can make your way...". Meve's face grew pale with horror, beads of sweat dripped from her forehead. All lies... all lies...

"I object that..traitors! Traitors! Traitors!"

The press caved in like vultures hungering for fresh meat. Soon Caldwell's men clasped her in handcuffs "As for now…you will be escorted to somewhere to suit your needs under a small court, and your rights to vouch are absolved…” Caldwell’s eyes glanced at her gleefully “Any parting words to the press, before I made a statement that you tarnished your husband’s reputation….” Meve flared her nostrils “Nothing " She could hear a pop in her knuckles as she clenched it so tightly. "I want you to see you rotting in jail, and everyone will forget you... or better…" She tried to steady her breaths by posing herself calmly and giving him a cold shoulder.

“No matter what you said, you will twist my words into heinous lies..." "Now, now, now Meve... controversial... yes..." Caldwell interrupted slightly as he delighted himself with her stiffness "I wish that Reynard would be easily swayed…” He glanced at Reynard glaring at him defiantly, as his hands are locked in handcuffs by one of his men “We discuss a while back, should you took yourself to fight me, I offered him a good sum and lifetime insurance in exchange that he will vouch for me…”

"Sadly he would rather stay with you…”

Caldwell gave a pregnant pause as if to spite her even more. “I knew that Reginald is too soft for him. And knowing him, he rather throws the fire towards you…"

Somehow Meve held her breath, as she looked over at the window of her car- she and Reynard are rendered silent “What are you going to do now...” Reynard pondered at the corner of the window, for the swarms of crowds escort them. Chatter dulled her ears and soon she slipped herself into the black car, Meve shielded herself from the glaring flashes.

“I am taking all who accomplished Caldwell...” Meve sucked her breath. “They will be sorry if they ever crossed with me..” Meanwhile, Meve’s eyes trailed to another car, and she recognised that face. That stupid face. He seems to be in ease with his arrest, along with all of Caldwell’s men trailing the path. He entertained his many fans by blowing kisses into the air and giving a wink. Gascon gave a chuckle as he slipped himself into the police car with ease.

Meve hissed under her breath. He is indeed despicable.

Soon the flashes slowly faded away into the jailhouse. They glanced at the man walking with a swagger of a rockstar. He seems to be unfazed by that whole session. A whisper came by at the distance, as if pleased “Say Meve, Caldwell really kicks your ass…”

“DO NOT SPEAK TO HER LIKE THAT. SHE ALREADY…"

"Shut it... not talking to you..." Gascon growled angrily to Reynard, and he glanced "Meve... Personally, I think he is interested to liquidate you and the sales. My, are you that bloody hopeless. The trial is just a bloody facade. Your sons and that...in the end who will win..Caldwell will get the sales. You are just an obstacle." Reynard glared at Gascon slightly "Well, of course, you guys too...", as he flicked his phone and play some harrowing tune for shits and giggles “What still crossed with me...” He popped his tongue slightly as he focused his gaze on Meve.

“Yes to a certain extent Meve…”

Gascon lamented slightly “I think he is still pissed off over one of his stolen paintings- it is still kept in my room. I treasured it as if it was my life’s work…”

“Wait is that…”

Meve heard about the mysterious disappearance of a treasured painting by Giovanni Battista Tiepolo, depicting the muses crowing Apollo. It is usually a conversation starter in Caldwell's dinners about the mysterious theft of it. Could Gascon himself do that feat? Meve thought pensively, by his casualness "And I suppose you must take things that belong to him..." Gascon glanced at one of Caldwell’s guards staring at him pensively. “Meve... I will tell that another time... ” Reynard glared at him slightly “What are you planning to do? We have no one too...”

“Getting ourselves out of that prison...." Quickly Gascon passed them earplugs, and he too covered it, with his headphones "Just bear with it, it gets pretty loud...." Slowly the speakers started to echo with a brisk march. Reynard raised his eyebrow as he paused the music to change it to a muzak theme "It seems normal…” as he took out a small pen from his blazer "You may want to keep your earplugs on..." Gascon muttered cheekily as he clicked the top of the pen, and soon that tune emits squeaks at the distance, and soon the guards’ faces seem frazzled with that ringing. They only got up again, rubbing the temples before it flicked to another obscure piece.

He has that grin which Meve could read it as, watch and learn... Soon he clicked the pen to the top. That brisk piece boomed through the speakers and soon they went through different rooms to key in the emergency codes for lockdown.

“Now run…”

He gripped the wrists of Meve and Reynard and quickly ran as fast as they could. Soon alarms blared at every corner, and only one who has his headphones noticed the chaos. “Shot they are getting away…” He got out form his seta and chased them without any hesitation. Gascon quickly spray the passageways with gas and cut every communication line with a penknife. Reynard muttered angrily, “Is this your plan, classical music and causing an emergency lockdown how this your plan…" as he tried to push the regenerate force of the way.

“You just have to keep it up…"

Via the janitors’ room, only guided by a handphone torch as their guiding light, they went. To lift their spirits he whistled that tune which was blasted in the court. “We just took a new meaning of ear worm….” which of course Reynard groaned loudly as they made out to the obscure end. For that moment Meve took a sharp breath of air and gazed slightly. “Why did you decide to help us? I thought you…”

“To spite him…” Gascon gave a playful wink to Meve “Remember that conversation in the jailhouse about a painting I stole- ahh I was Apollo being crowned by the muses for its glories and that will be Caldwell screaming to his buffoons.” He quickly showed that post to Meve. She gasped quietly, perhaps her instincts are right. It was that painting which Caldwell lamented.

“Dear gods…” Reynard muttered, “How can you…"

“And plus I have a reputation for escaping through the worse of courts. This one is child’s play…"

Soon he looked over the main road, and quietly they descended to a bus stop “Coast is clear, we need to do is to hop that bus, I will tell you more…” For that moment Meve smiled at Gascon, she was grateful that there is hope. And surprisingly she found herself along with Reynard on the shabby estate. Meve knew that her husband used to come to those places to help the children, and she heard horror stories from people.

But this.

This.

How could it be for a master thief like Gascon?

“Since you are ex-communicated by that hack...” Gascon huffed slightly “and your house will be bombarded by his Guards...” He gave a bow to his guests, and soon men dressed in jumpers and pants came down from the stairs “You have no choice but to stay here, sure it is not a 5-star hotel but at least it is something...”

The stench of mould tingled Reynard’s nose, Gascon quickly took the air freshener and sprayed it quickly “Apologies Reynard!” He hides a burst of boyish laughter. “Seems we have to pull something quick for you guys...” He cues his boys to look over the place while Meve sat comfortably on the ratty couch. “Until we can make plans...”

“So what is your idea...”

Gascon looked over at the city lights “We all know that going out and calling in public is a no-no and given that you become involved with me on the escape...” He heaved slightly “We have to wait it out Meve... until I can think of something to prove your innocence …” Gascon took a beer bottle and drank it “In which we have none.” Meve grew silent. She refused to be called out by Caldwell. “Unless I speak with Fableston. He is an old friend of my husband. He vouches for many cases…I just pray that he does not betray us…”

“And how can you be certain…”

Reynard trembled slightly “The last time your husband and Fableston spoke, it did not end well. I fear he will not look kindly at you...'Gascon nodded slightly as he looked at the city, and Reynard looking exasperatedly on the apartment's condition “And that I agreed with that grumbly folk, who knows what Caldwell pull you in…”

“I will try to call him up, see if he could vouch for you…” Meve glared quietly “With or without your help…”Soon Meve slopped against the couch, the week’s events worn her out, but for that moment Gascon saw the fierceness in her eyes. She seems determined to clear her name no matter what.

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[greekowl87]

Fic: Supposed Ghost Stories

I found this image to inspire this fic and I couldn’t start my day until I finished it. I also love Tim Burton’s Sleepy Hollow, don’t you? Tagging @today-in-fic and @fictober .  Set season six before ‘How the Ghosts Stole Christmas.’ Ever wonder why Mulder stole Scully’s keys in that episode?

Happy Halloween :)

Mulder shivered in the car of their rental as Scully passed him a fresh cup of hot coffee in a thin paper cup. He forgot how cold New England Halloween's could be, even beneath his jeans, long sleeve shirt, and heavy leather jacket.

"Turn up the heat, Mulder," she murmured. "It is freezing in here."

Mulder adjusted the temperatures on the heat as Scully sighed and leaned back in the seat. She closed her eyes, shivering trying to imagine herself physically fighting off the fall cold before she opened her eyes and took in the scene before her. Near to full moon that lit up the sky and stars everywhere. The abandoned dirt road which their car sat on was surrounded by eerie moonlight and fog. Essentially, it was the makings of a horror movie, Scully thought.

"Why did I agree to do this?" she questioned after a moment before turning to look at him.

"What?" he asked innocently. He attempted to bury himself in his coat. "Graveyard hunting?"

"Yes. I do not specifically recall you mentioning the exact terms. I do, however, recall you saying to the effect of 'Scully, want to do a historic tour on Massachuttes?' when you asked me to come up here."

"What? We aren't on a case. As far as I am concerned it is just two friends enjoying Halloween. Ghost hunting. In graveyards."

"Do I need to remind you we have a bad track record of casual outing in New England? You and your cockroaches three years ago and me with that doll thing last year in Maine?" she questioned. "I thought maybe, I don't know, something like 'Hocus Pocus.'"

"Salem. You wanted to go to Salem and see the museum?"

"Not necessarily. But is in a town with stuff to do and not on some side of the road in the middle nowhere." She huffed her cheeks. "So where are we exactly, since you know, we might as well make the best of it."

He smiled. This is one of the things he loved about her. She would always come with him, no matter where obscure place he would go. He gently took her hands and squeezed it affectionately. Scully closed her eyes at the contact of the instant warmth that came from him, wishing for him not to let her hand go. "Well, just for the record, I do appreciate you following me up here. I just wanted to let you know that."

She gave a snort and a small smile. "You know it is just to ensure I save your ass again."

"Always, Scully." He released her hand. "Spooky tonight, isn't it?"

She chuckled and narrowed her eyes in thought. "Is that the best pick up line that you have, Mulder?"

"I got more of them." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "But seriously, there used to be this old graveyard that Sam and I went to the Halloween before she was taken. It was one of those ghost tour things but I just can't seem to find it, honestly."

Scully gave a soft smile, touched. "Well, what other crazy Halloween traditions did you all have? I'll give you one of mine. When all of us were old enough to trick or treat, mom would make us do these group costumes. One year, we all were the Jetsons. Bill was George, Missy was Jane, I was June, and Charlie was Elroy." She chuckled in memory. "The wig I had to wear. Oh my god, I hated that thing. It was one of my grandmother's, I'm positive."

"Baby Scully as Judy Jetson," Mulder repeated disbelievingly.

"Mom has a picture. We can stop by at her home in Baltimore on the way back and I'll prove it."

"You have a deal," he laughed. "Sam and I never did anything like that but one time. She was three and I seven. I was Yogi Bear and she was Boo Boo. After that Halloween, I vowed to do my own costume every year. I've always loved Halloween though. That Halloween, I read her Washington's Irving "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" and she wanted to go look for the headless horseman. So instead of going trick or treating, we went to a graveyard to look for it."

"But isn't it Sleepy Hollow technically in New York and not Massachuttes?"

"Very good," he smiled. "And yes but I wasn't going to ruin that for her. It actually is a Germanic myth that goes back to the middle ages. But Irving tale explains the Horseman was a Hessian mercenary from the Revolutionary War who had his head taken off by a cannonball."

"And did you find it?"

"No, but I scared her real good like a big brother is supposed to." His smile faded. "That was the last Halloween we spent together before she was taken."

A comfortable silence settled between them. Scully glanced at the clock on the dash. "What do you say we head back to the hotel, Mulder? It's one a.m. We can get some gas station grub and watch "The Blob" till sunrise."

"What? You don't want to see if any ghosts come a calling?" He was already turning the key on the car, restarting the idle engine back to life.

"I'm freezing, Mulder. My toes are ice cubes."

"I wanted to do something fun with you this year," he replied, "especially after last year."

The unspoken silence about the cancer.

"Well, unofficial ghost hunts may be fun, but what is, even more, fun is a warm hotel room and scary movies. Come on, Mulder."

Mulder switched the car into gear, gently easing off the gravel shoulder and back on the fog covered road. "It's a pity really. Tonight's weather makes a perfect atmosphere."

"I would rather watch a movie than experience it tonight. We're off the clock, remember?"

"Fine, fine," he conceded.

Mulder began to speed up slowly, wary of the fog and woods and the chance a stray deer barreling into their car. Scully leaned forward to switch on the radio on but frowned when all she could hear was static. "Hm. That's strange. We had a radio signal out here when we first arrived."

"Probably the weather."

As they drove cautiously along, with only the silence and the sound of the engine, hanging in between. But then the neigh of a horse that was loud, clear, and echoed otherworldly. Mulder glanced at Scully and slowed the car to a stop. "Do you think..."

"No. It is a ghost story, Mulder. That's all."

They heard the neigh again, closer and louder this time. She was the first to get out of the car, with her gun and flashlight in hand. "Scully!" he called as she slammed the car door and walked in front of the headlight purposefully.

Grabbing his own flashlight, he stood out in front of the headlights, shining his own flashlight out into the dark night. They heard a horse's neigh again. It was coming closer. Mulder's hairs were standing on end and, while it was highly likely it was nothing, he reached for his own gun. "It's probably a figment of my imagination."

"A figment that we're both hearing?"

Now they could hear galloping, the rhythmic noise of horseshoes cobbling the asphalt. "Mulder," she said cautiously. Her blue eyes darted to him. "This isn't funny. Stop joking around."

"Scully, this isn't me, I swear it."

As the galloping came closer, she raised her weapon. "Stop! I'm a federal officer!"

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "What good is that going to do?"

She flared her nostrils, smelling sulfur. What was burning? In a flash that blinded them, she saw the outline of a headless figure and a black horse. "The fuck..." Mulder began.

The headless figure swung a cavalry saber skillfully as the horse neighed loudly, standing on his hindquarters. Without thinking, Scully emptied her entire magazine into the figure which seemed unaffected by the hail of 9mm bullets from her sig.  Mulder grabbed her forearm forcefully and pushed her to the passenger side of the car. "Get in, Scully. Just get in!"

Not being needed to told twice, she rushed into the car as Mulder jumped into the driver's seat and slammed the gas. He maneuvered the car in quick j-turn as they sped the opposite way down the road. Scully kept looking behind her for the headless rider but saw nothing.

"Mulder," she breathed. "I think it's gone."

"I'm not going to stop driving until we're back at the hotel." He gritted his teeth. "I swear I had nothing to do with that. I honestly do think that was the horseman."

"Mulder that is a legend, a ghost story that is told on Halloween."

"Well, what was tonight?"

Scully arched an eyebrow. "Mulder, that is crazy. Just because it is Halloween..."

"Makes sense, Scully."

"I don't know what the hell we saw but it was not the headless horseman!"

"Suit yourself, but I'm not stopping until we get back to the hotel. Speaking of hotel, do you mind if I spend the night with you?"

"What? Ghost story scare you, Mulder," she teased. Truth be told, she was shaken up herself and thought it was a good idea. The look he gave her indicated he was completely serious. "Well, I suppose a sleepover and horror movie night might be doable."

"Well, then we better stop off and get some candy just to be safe," he said cautiously, easily navigating the heavy air still in between them.

"Yes," she agreed. After a moment, she spoke once more. "Mulder, the next time you ask me to go on a ghost hunt with you, you're going to have to steal my car keys in order to make me."

"I'll remember that, Scully," he answered, his thoughts already rolling in his head for what he could plan for her at Christmas.