#The Fence Macabre

[flo-machina]

What was the name of your stoner Tauren guy from like 3 ½ years ago?

That would be The Chungler bay beeeeee o yea let's get ready 2 chungle

He started off as a weed joke and a reference to a tweet and then became everyone's best friend who was secretly a green dragon youngling all along!!! A true party Animal, he/they ace, the originator and master supreme of Vapeweaving

[gale-heart]

It’s done. It worked. Kyranastrasz’s spirit was released, everyone walked away alive, and I think I’ve finally come down enough from my giddy, senseless relief and adrenaline to string a coherent thought together. In order, lest I lose something in the recounting.

I gave the reports of lingering Scourge forces far, far too little credit. I expected the same numbers we’ve faced from our skirmishes with the Blighted, maybe double at most, but easily compensated for by our having a larger team than before. I thought that time and freezing conditions would have taken the bulk of them out of action long before we got there.

Nope.

We got a flood. A sea of wailing bones and blue lichfire, and MANY towering abominations. One particular horror (the only one that I noticed, and gods help us if I’d been oblivious to more) loomed above it all, a horrid amalgamation of skulls and wing bones wielding an axe larger than my old apartment. If not for Roy, Neil and Salix pouring everything they had into our shield, I’m certain that one would have waded in and cut us down from the start. As it was, I had only a moment to question what the fuck was I thinking signing up for this before the crack of Remington’s rifle sounded—stragglers started breaching the barrier—then Taveth was ripped away from us on a meat hook and I didn’t have any more room for panic because everyone exploded into movement and I had to keep up. A second abomination and a swarm to keep us from Tav (I think Syl made it over there anyways?), another battering for me (no broken bones this time, thankfully), a storm of bones and bile and fire and frost and blades—only for the Scourgelord to CHEAT and funnel them full of darkness again right after we’d torn them down the first time. No choice but to keep going and bring them down again; Salix did a neat thing, bringing down embers from the barrier to revitalize us and keep us fighting, until finally they were broken beyond raising, the Scourgelord’s spell cut off and him reduced to ash by Syl (nice!)

A few seconds to catch our breath, then, while the Scourge outside paused on seeing the aftermath. I thought that we had it in hand now, that the worst was done (stupidly forgetting the giant flying fucker still hanging around outside the bubble.)

Then the dragons started to falter.

The Scourge rose in a collective howl, surging forward to hurl themselves emboldened against the barrier. We hauled back uphill to reform the line.

Vivistrasza fell first. The others followed.

Salix broke rank, rushing to his mother and leaving Roy and Neil to try and maintain the barrier.

I didn’t see what he did or when it happened, but I knew enough from Vivistrasza’s anguished roar and the flux of magic going still behind me. When I turned, for a second, it wasn’t them I saw. I saw echoes of a little fool, huddled over a dead friend in the rain, smelled smoke and citrus and copper.

I almost lost myself then—first in my grief for them, then in fury. I don’t understand it now, but I think, in retrospect, that at that moment I could have called power enough to rend the sky itself and bring it crashing down on the Scourge. I don’t think I would have the control to keep it away from my people, had I tried.

Somehow, it was Lucidre that kept me from trying. Underneath the shrieking undead, the calls and commands flying around our group as Roy fell and the barrier shattered, and the rush of blood in my ears muffling everything out—out of all of that, somehow one small whelp’s soft gasp of awe brushed past all the noise to catch my attention. A new pulse of magic kept it.

A joyful roar, echoing off the frozen cliffs. The spirit of Kyranastrasz rose amidst the swell of life radiating from his flower, and soared, finally free to join his brethren in the branches of G’hanir. The Scourge fell as one, unmade and sent to permanent rest by the waves of life magic. The reverent hush in the wake of Kyranastrasz’s departure broke, at last, when we heard Salix’s voice.

“Mother…?”

I kind of did lose my shit then. Not in the storm calling, death and destruction way I’d been so close to a minute ago, but in a weird, giddy mess of giggling and crying that—in all honesty—I’m still not completely certain has worn off. I think it had finally set in then that we did it, that our task was accomplished and we’d survived and Salix and Roy were going to be alright and (most striking of all, for me) how…happy I was, to be here alive, with all of these people, having helped to make something incredible happen. I think some people may have given me odd looks as I kept bursting back into little giggle fits all the way back to the ship, but honestly, I just felt too delighted about it all to really care. Motherfucker, we just helped to free a DRAGON from an eternity of corruption and unrest! I’m perfectly entitled to be a little loopy while processing that if I want to. Maybe I’ll even gloat a little later! Try and stop me!

Or don’t. I’m actually starting to feel quite tired and shaky after using so much magic today. Just let me gloat unchallenged, please.

I don’t think I shall ever tire of hearing someone say they’re proud of me. I know Rem said it to all of us collectively, but I am a part of that collective so I will count it all the same and let myself marinate in feeling special and accomplished and all that warm fuzzy crap.

I can’t believe it’s been, what, only a few weeks since this all began? A couple months, maybe? With how much has happened, it feels more like an entire year at least. I don’t think I’ll be going home the same person I was when I left, but I think, this time, it’s for the better. I feel…not braver or more powerful, necessarily, but. Lighter? Like an old, wounded, gnarled part of me has healed over with new growth. Like I can rest a little easier now. Whatever it is, I like it and I want more of it. I’d like to keep doing this—well, not THIS specifically, I’ve smelt enough abomination puke in one day to turn me off of fish for a month. I want to keep traveling, meeting and helping people. Repair some of the damage that’s left, if I can. Maybe once we get back, I can ask Fiona for some time off, pack my bottomless satchel and take off to wander the world for a bit.

But not yet. I still owe Myth’s headstone a recap on all the wild shit that’s gone down, and then I really want to stop at home and make sure Eoselle knows how much I appreciate her. Maybe I can bring groceries and treat her to a nice dinner.

——

(( @fence-macabre ))

[fartistt]

MAKE YOU MINE!

would you take someone else's hand if you had the chance?

fem reader

warning(s): fanon personality, fanon name, i'm writing this fic literally hours after the video dropped we deadass know nothing about this guy -🍝

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skelly, as much as he hates to admit it, has to come face-to-face with the fact that his little pumpkin patch has developed a bit of a trespasser issue. normally he wouldn’t mind—after all, what kind of pumpkin king would he be if he weren’t to share the spoils and wonders of his humble kingdom with the rest of his people—if it weren’t for the fact that whoever kept romping about his lovely abode wasn’t like the other pumpkin patch visitors.

see, skelly considers himself to be a gracious host. he is the pumpkin king, and the duty of any good ruler is to ensure that everyone within the gates, or in his case: sprawling fence, of his kingdom is enveloped in joy thanks to his wise governing. be they the resident mice or a lost passerby, his responsibility is to make sure they all leave with a wide grin. macabre perhaps, but his best dealings are in sparking happiness through the morbid. 

but you.

each time you come to his pumpkin patch, you come ready to burst into tears. your eyes are watery and glossy, vision undoubtedly blurry as you stumble over the pumpkins through the pitch black dark of the night. the first few times you’d come to the safe haven of his pumpkin kingdom to sniffle your eyes out, he ignored it. he figured you came here after something sad to cheer yourself up and would want space more than the consolation of a pale, creepy lonesome man, but once it becomes a semi-routinely occurrence, he makes the sage decision that now your issues have fallen under his jurisdiction.

isn’t he such a benevolent ruler? he knows it’s wrong to find excitement in someone’s despair, but he can hardly remember the last time he’s had a proper, breathing human visitor. it’s like fate, like destiny itself has drawn you from whatever it is causing you this much sadness and into the soothing comfort of his soon-to-be embraces.

“don’t you worry ‘bout a thing, sweet darling. i’ll be right there,” he hums to no one in particular when the quiet sounds of your clumsy footsteps alert him to your reentrance into his pumpkin patch. he thinks that he looks rather dapper, dressed to the nines in his finest tattered suit and pulling on a matching pair of gloves decorated with bone motifs. “your dearest king is but your humble servant. soon enough, i shall turn that melancholy of yours into unabated joy for none other than me. a far better outcome than whatever is ailing you, don’t you agree?”

there’s no one to respond to him, but he still stretches his dry lips into a satisfied smile. the final touch is his trusty pair of dark sunglasses. a good king never shows his true emotions even during the simplest of diplomatic journeys. that, and he doesn’t want to scare you with his bright orange eyes from the get-go.

it doesn’t take him long to find you. you’re planted in the heart of the pumpkin patch, ensconced and hidden away in the comfort of the long shadows of the night, hunched over and wiping futilely at your eyes while big fat tears drip over your waterline. the sight of you crying makes skelly’s heart wrench inside of his chest. what in the world could possibly make such a sweet creature like you cry like this?

he clears his throat. he’s a gentleman, and he doesn’t want to scare away his lone guest. “my dear… what’s troubling you?”

his voice is soft and careful, but it still makes you gasp and jerk away reflexively. he doesn’t blame you: the last thing you’re expecting during your nightly trips to what you probably assumed was an abandoned pumpkin patch would be a tall, lanky man hovering over you while you cried. he stays in his place and holds his hands up in mock surrender as if to signal to you that he has no foul intentions.

you wipe at your eyes and peer up at him through your clumped lashes, the serene moonlight bouncing off of your wet cheeks. your voice wavers and cracks, “who… who are you?”

“oh! i’m so sorry,” he gasps, placing a hand over his heart. “where are my manners? you may call me skelly. i’m the ruler of this quaint pumpkin patch, so to say. some even call me the pumpkin king. a bit pompous, if i do say so myself. i’d say that maybe you’ve heard of me, but given how surprised you are… i’d wager that you haven’t.”

he flashes you an innocent smile. you know the smart thing would be to run and never look back, but when he squats down so that he’s eye level with you, some part of you can’t bring yourself to muster the strength to flee. you’re already this miserable, what’s the use in trying to wade off an inevitable end?

“so what brings you here? this isn’t the first time i’ve heard you sobbing your heart out. it makes me rather upset to see you this distraught. i’ll lend you an ear, so tell me your troubles.” you can make out the slight glint of his eyes past the dark lenses of his glasses. “maybe i can help you out.”

you bite the inside of your cheeks. your mind is frankly too frazzled to think things through too thoroughly, but you still know better than to spill your deepest darkest secrets to some stranger that crept up on you in the dead of the night in the middle of nowhere. but at the same time, you’re only here because you’re at your wit’s end with nobody to turn to, and a chance encounter like this with a seemingly benevolent being might be your last straw to grasp at desperately.

you suck in a nervous breath. “it’s… it’s silly, really. nothing that the- uh- pumpkin king needs to concern himself over. i’m being dramatic.”

his dry lips twist into a frown as he peers at you. “i doubt it’s anything silly if it’s enough to make you cry like this. you can tell me everything. i promise it. take a chance on me, why don’t you?”

you gaze up at him. his white skin, the strands of his snow white hair, the outline of his body, the silhouette of dark suit and all of the pale ribbons cascading from his chest all seem to glow under the illumination of the night. every part of his man, from his painted smiles to his practiced words, are too good to be true. it makes him look almost deceptively angelic, poised perfectly so that you have no choice but to hand over yourself to him. you should know better than to gamble on something that’s not guaranteed, but you’ve chosen security before only to be stabbed in the back mercilessly.

you swallow back whatever fear bubbles up from the depths of your heart. 

“um… i go to a school nearby. night raven college. it’s an all boys school. maybe you’ve heard of it,” the words tumble from your lips clumsily. your heart thunders inside of your chest. “i’m from… somewhere really far away. i can guarantee you haven’t heard of it. no one ever has. the headmaster promised me that he’d help me go home in time, but it’s been so long without any progress. i’m starting to think i’ll never go home.”

you sniffle and hang your head, wanting to bury your face back in your arms. you mumble under your breath, “and… i don’t want to speak badly of anyone… but i’m sick of the students at the school too. they’re all mean and selfish, and i’m just tired. i’m tired, skelly.”

something in his unmoving dead heart stirs slightly when you sigh out his name. he reaches over and places a soothing hand on your shoulder, and a shudder creeps down your spine when you feel just how cold his body is even through the layers of his gloves. it’s like ice against your skin, the grips of frost tracing your body.

“homesickness, is it? i don’t think your sadness is silly at all. it must have hurt you so badly to have to endure everything in such an unwelcoming place. poor thing,” he coos. “no wonder you come here so often. you must have suffered so much if you preferred being alone like this over spending another night in that awful school… if only i knew sooner! i would have done so much  more to make you feel welcome.”

you shake your head. “it’s not your fault. i was the one who was too trusting from the beginning. i… i should have never taken the headmaster’s hand through the mirror.”

you feel pitiful under his gaze, but at the same time, you can’t help but feel a knot deep inside of you loosen slightly at his honeyed words. it’s childish, to want to be pitied and cared for, but simultaneously, this was the bare minimum of everything you wanted. all you had asked was for a place to make your own while you waited for a way to return home, and even that much was too much to ask for from the incompetent schoolmaster and his equally intolerable students.

skelly smoothes down the fabric of your clothes on your shoulder, each stroke of his long fingers like the unforgiving touch of winter. it’s like he’s trying to comfort you, but you fight off the urge to shiver under his hand. 

“say…,” he starts after a pause of silence, “i know a pumpkin patch is a far cry from the amenities of a school, but if you don’t want to go back… you don’t have to. i know it’s sudden, and you surely don’t have to give me an answer right away if you don’t want to. but what if you were to stay here with me?”

you freeze. you blink slowly, twisting your head so that you’re looking at skelly again. he offers you a placid grin, shrugging his shoulders slightly. 

“stay here…?” you mumble. “with you?”

“precisely, my dear. i’ve been growing quite lonely all by myself too. i think we have a perfect deal! a pumpkin queen to a pumpkin king,” his words take on a more lively note. your stomach churns, and skelly claps his hands together. “i would never mistreat you the way those silly boys do. i’m a gentleman, first and foremost. i’ll make you feel at home right away. you won’t even have the time to miss that school and all of the misery it's put you through.”

temptation. you wish you were smarter. more resilient. more grounded to know better than to be swayed by the offer of a total stranger. but you’re at your rope’s end, and anything sounds better than the gilded cage that night raven college has become to you. would it be so bad to take a chance elsewhere? to follow a man who solemnly swears that you can put all of your suffering behind you if you only have the faith to look towards him without any regrets or doubts?

as if he can read your mind, skelly stands up and turns back towards you. he crouches down slightly, dipping forward into a subtle bow, and he holds out a gloved hand towards you.

this scene is all too familiar to you. it harkens you back to the first night you landed in this universe, everything warped and unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. the all knowing moon, the darkness threatening to swallow you whole, a dark robed stranger with promises of salvation dripping from their lips, and a chance to take back some semblance of control of your life that’s jumped from your reach. instead of a mirror, your reflection stares back at you with a lifelessness from the wide glass lenses hiding skelly’s eyes. 

it’s like you never learn, and a sense of foreboding washes over you as the pumpkin king’s disarming smile widens.

a hand extended to you. a hand taken.

this time around, you hope you’ve chosen correctly.

x

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[sanctum-of-ramshackle]

🔪🪓 GIVE IT UP FOR I.N.K.!🩸🎤

[TWST AU]: This MC/Yuu/[Reader] may have more than just fairytale magic.

[Synopsis]: In this timeline, MC/Yuu/[Reader] returns back from the “dead” and is ready to unleash their horror-based magic. Also to understand that they were resting for about 30 years.

[Gender Neutral!MC/Yuu/[Reader]]

[TW]: Mentions of murder, blood and horror movie depictions of violence.

[(A/N)]: Hi everyone. It’s been a while since I last posted any content here. Things got busy IRL and also put up some content on my main blog. I’m sorry I didn’t warn anyone about my sudden break. Anywho, I wrote another MC/Yuu variant twisted from Ice Nine Kills (the vibe of the band).

To begin this journey, there is a hidden grave deep in the forest behind Night Raven College. Nobody has visited that very spot as their families have either passed or moved far away.

The etchings of the tombstone reads…

“Here Lies [Y/N]/MC/Yuu [L/N]”

“You Left Too Soon”

“Therefore If A Miracle Happens, Doom Will Be In Tune”

Then one night as the Dorm Sorting Ceremony, a storm occurs with lightning striking down.

Then, a strike hits the unbothered grave, electrocuting the fencing that protected the grave from trespasser and the ground shakes as a resurrection happens.

[The ground cracks open as a coffin unveils its lid and reveals a well-preserved corpse.]

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu/[Reader]: *Yawns from their supposed eternal slumber* That was a long nap…Why am I in a coffin?

[The living corpse leaves their disturbed burial and walks aimlessly out of the forest, unintentionally leading themselves to the NRC building.]

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu/[Reader]: I don’t remember much, but this place…

[Then a voice boomed across the hall to grab MC/Yuu’s attention.]

Crowley: *From afar* You! Why are not at the ceremony?

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu/[Reader]: I beg your pardon.

Crowley: *Closing the distance between him and MC/Yuu* I asked what…are…you… *Stops dead at his tracks* You…How?

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu: Old man, I don’t know what kind of ceremony is happening but I remember now. I’m already an NRC student.

[And so, after the ceremony ended, Crowley gathered the Staff members and explained they have a student returned from the dead. They weren’t pleased by this sudden information. In the meantime, MC/Yuu will have to start NRC again as a first year student and they were transferred to the infamous Ramshackle Dormitory.]

🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼

[At the Heartslabyul]

[MC/Yuu was invited by Cater as they joined back the Music Club and the MagiCam influencer thought they were cool.]

Cater: You got a new phone? Need help with anything?

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu/[Reader]: I still need help with the apps. How do you find movies on this thing?

Cater: I can teach you.

[Few Minutes Later]

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu: Whoa! You guys released new horror films? It’s been years since I watched one. The last one I seen was some hockey-masked killer.

Cater: *Little concerned* MC/Yuu, when did you stop attending NRC?

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu: Oh. Well…I guess around 30 years ago? Why asking, suddenly?

Cater: That explains why you asked what MagiCam is.

🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼

[During a Dorm Leader meeting]

Riddle: You’re explaining you used to attend Night Raven College 30 years ago?

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu: Yeah, I used to be the president of the Music Club and still well versed in the darker side of magic.

Azul: What kind of magic you possess?

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu: The kind if you can stomach the macabre world. The goriest parts of that field.

Vil: Necromancy, I presumed?

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu: Sort of. It’s hard to explain about my magic, but all I know is it gets stronger when I perform music.

Kalim: Like it’s your Unique Magic.

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu: Yeah, like that. Crazy how today’s people are using that term.

Leona: Still odd how you came back to life. You remember your old life?

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu: I remember my family used to live on this island and the accident that happened in this school…

🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼

[Chapter 5: During the VDC event and Vil’s Overblot]

[Ice Nine Kills - Welcome To Horrorwood]

Epel: We need to distract Vil-Senpai.

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu: Allow me. I know the perfect song.

[Then the stage is set for MC/Yuu’s performance. They magically summoned a dark dome to cover the entire stadium for the light effects and manifest some pseudo band mates to play the appropriate instruments. Finally, they summoned their cursed electric guitar to fend off the latest Blot battle.]

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu: *Starts singing*

Ink fills the page

A classic killer completes the cast

If evil's all the rage

Cut to the close up, then fade to black

Sit back for the sequel of your dreams

All psychos crave more shocking scenes

Who cares if it bleeds beyond the screen?

Are you misunderstood?

Are you more bad than good?

Welcome to Horrorwood

Where anyone would kill for a call back!

[They casted some powerful spells to weaken Overblot!Vil. The rest of the gang starts throwing their spells at the corrupted Head of Pomefiore.]

'Cause everyone is just so fucking…

Desperate for fame

Can't blame the savages this town attracts

I guess we're all insane (Insane!)

So silence the critics, 'cause this is not an act

(But here's the soundtrack!)

Sit back for the sequel of your dreams

All psychos crave more shocking scenes

Who cares if it bleeds beyond the screen?

Are you misunderstood? (YEAH!)

Are you more bad than good?

Welcome to Horrorwood

Where anyone would kill for a call back

The tabloids say

"There goes the neighborhood"

But long live Horrorwood

The only place it pays to be a hack!

(But will you make the cut if you know?)

Stardom's just an afterthought

For all those stabbed in the backlot

Piled up and left to rot

“So how's this for an establishing shot?”

[MC/Yuu shoots another fire spell at Overblot!Vil.]

Are you misunderstood? (YEAH!)

Are you more bad than good?

Welcome to Horrorwood

Where anyone would kill for a call back

The tabloids say

"There goes the neighborhood"

But long live Horrorwood

The only place where everyone should

Fear the premiere

There's always a target out on the red carpet

Between 'Silver Screams' something's awakened

And you'll never make it

But enjoy the show!

[They perform an impressive solo-guitar play as they summoned restraints to trap the weakened Overblot!Vil in one place.]

Are you misunderstood? (YEAH!)

Are you more bad than good?

Welcome to Horrorwood

Where anyone would kill for a call back

The tabloids say

"There goes the neighborhood"

But long live Horrorwood

The only place it pays to be a hack

Be a hack!

Welcome back!

[After the song finishes, MC/Yuu holds up their guitar and brutally swings it at Overblot!Vil to dislodge the Blot stone.]

Vil: *Turns back to normal and groans* What happened?

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu: You kind of went berserk and we had stop you from almost killing everyone.

Vil: I see. My head is aching, however.

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu: Uhhh…You probably hit your head during VDC.

🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼

[Back in Crowley’s Office]

Crowley: *Shaken up by day one* I couldn’t believe they’re back…

“Dire, you wanna hang out today?”

“Dire, you forgot the assignment? Fine, just copy mine but change it up a bit.”

“Dire…You’ll regret the day I resurrect from my slumber. Heed my warning!”

???: CROWLEY!

Crowley: *Spooked by the outburst* IT’S NOT MY FAULT!!!

Crewel: Great Seven, you seemed out of your mind lately.

Crowley: Oh, I’m extremely busy, especially since their return.

Crewel: Oh yeah. They seem to be doing well with academics despite having to teach them newer materials. Their magic is what I fear about them.

Crowley: Yes, yes. Their magic hasn’t changed much.

Crewel: Dire, I heard that.

Crowley: It’s nothing. I’m just worried about the students.

Crewel: Uh huh. I’ll leave my reports here. *Leaves the office*

Crowley: *Suddenly scared* What if they remember that day?

🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼

[Cafeteria]

Ace: You murdered someone?!

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu: I didn’t murder anyone.

Sebek: Then what is this?! *Points at the crimson stain on their shirt*

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu: *Wipes it off and taste the content* Oh, ground beef. I was helping Jade and Floyd with some hamburger orders.

Jack: And you just licked it? Won’t you get sick?

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu: I’m undead. Nothing’s gonna harm me, again. *Bites into their extremely rare steak as some myoglobin leaks down from their lips*

[The First Year group felt fear of their new friend.]

✨[Reblogs helps creators and creates for more content]💫

[lokisgoodgirl]

Final Bids: Love Wins [Avenger!Loki x Fem.Reader]

Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection A link to my (new) Masterlist is HERE Summary: (20) A loved-up Loki has a surprise or two for you in his chambers. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Hostile Fluff. Language. Biker! Loki 'fit cameo. (w/c 3.8k)

You and Loki hadn't stop kissing from the moment the elevator closed to the moment it slid open on the sixty-fifth floor. You had run out the main doors of the event suite with the stares of bemused looking spectators following you, the crowd parting. There was no looking back as Loki’s fingers grasped your own, knitted tightly.

He was still bare-chested, the button of his trousers still undone. Hair was wild, cheeks hot, smiles wide as cat-calls and ringing shouts of ‘finally’ followed far beyond the lavish foyer.

Your searching hands clawed at his naked back as he pressed you against the glass wall of the lift. Floor disappeared below, winding higher as you moaned into his open mouth.

“Come on…” he muttered, eyes flashing with mischief before yanking you out the open elevator doors and around the corner towards his rooms. His sanctuary. He strode ahead, making you teeter on your heels as you tried in vain to keep up. With an impatient growl, he spun - lifting you effortlessly around his hips. You gasped, a giggle escaping as his features retained their set determination. “You were taking too long. As usual. ” he growled, taking several more strides before slamming your back against his front door.

Loki’s hand at your back blanketed the impact as his lips ravenously enveloped your own. The god’s tongue swept inside your mouth, a mewl sneaking from your throat as you turned to messy putty beneath his possessive wiles. Somewhere, there was a low beep. The door fell open. Loki stumbled inside, holding you steady with one strong arm. His tongue never left your mouth as you groaned against him, his furiously hard cock pressing eagerly against your inner thigh. Reluctantly, he lowered you the floor, spinning you gently to face the room beyond the entryway. You gaped, taking in the lavish dark furnishings you had only imagined as you touched yourself beneath your bedsheets in the dead of night. Thick velvet curtains hung closed against the windows; green, of course. The scent of rich mahogany filled the air, shy curls of smoke wafting from dozens of candles set on the bookshelves which lined the living room. A fireplace that you were entirely sure wasn't to code suddenly roared to life in the corner. To your right, you could just see a sliver of a majestic bed-frame through the crack of a door. Looking back to the room at hand, you suddenly realised you had company. Of sorts. Nine mannequins were placed in a semi-circle at the far corner of the room, giving them the look of some sort of macabre council. Loki’s warm breath fanned your ear as he stooped to speak, noting your interest. “Do they bring back fond memories, darling?” he purred, making you shiver. The wetsuit, the biker ensemble, the kilt, the fencing pants, the captain’s uniform, the slutty caftan, the Tudor king, the wolf fur, the holy vestments – they were all here. “I thought you would appreciate a reminder of our journey together on this auspicious occasion.” he whispered slowly, measuring your reaction. You giggled, throwing a glance over your shoulder before moving towards them to investigate. “What would you have done with these if I’d not...you know, done what I did downstairs?” “Burn them, obviously.” “Obviously.” you replied dryly, pinching the edges of the wetsuit and running your fingers down thoughtfully. It feels like so long ago. “Although I was quietly confident that my masterplan would yield fruit.” he smirked, perching elegantly on the armrest of hi sofa. “Master-plan...” you scoffed derisively, gravitas quashed by the unshakeable grin stretched across your face. “Keep telling yourself that, Laufeyson.” Minutes passed as you inspected each piece while Loki watched in silence, a gentle smile on his lips.

“I thought I would allow you a choice of attire for us to consummate our truce.” he said, slowly rising and circling behind as you paused in front of the ravaged kilt hanging on its holder. "Truce? How romantic." you murmured sarcastically, hearing the tap of his dress shoes against the mahogany floor. The mannequins were an exact replica of Loki’s frame, you realised, running your hand down the rough woollen sash. You shivered, remembered the sight of his war-stained features surfacing between your spread thighs on the wet battlements. Loki’s hips pressed against your ass, his hard stomach moulding to the shape of your spine as he loomed behind you. “Can’t you see which one I’d choose, the whole mindreading-whatever-it-is?” you said absent-mindedly, snapping a long strap of the fencing pants for effect. Loki chuckled. “Oh, that." Loki drawled. "With some difficulty, I fashioned an enchantment so that I cannot see too deeply. I have cut myself off, as it were. It is only an aura of your mood that I have access to – and nothing to be done about that. Unless your love for me wanes, of course.” You turned, unable to disguise your shock. “What?! Since when?” Loki's features twisted in an apologetic grimace. “At the faire...I began to delve too deeply. I knew that you did not approve, I felt...guilty." He paused, surprised at his own revelation. "Was I wrong?” he added, brows slanted. “No I just…” you started sheepishly, biting your lip. Your eyes widened. “But some of the things you said in Rome, the little comments, the-” “About you wanting me, you mean?” Loki scoffed gently. He shook his head. “Any fool could see that, darling. My brother, for one.” You turned away, closing you eyes as you tried to process how unbearably in love with him you were. It felt like your heart would burst from your chest. He really is full of surprises. “You could have told me.” you said with a feigned air of annoyance, fingering the intricate embroidery of the sheer caftan. “And lose my advantage in our little tirades? I think not, Agent.” Loki purred, eyes burning with mischief. “Besides, I do not need magical abilities to read you.” You could feel his soundless approach, the warmth of his bare chest inches from your back. “Now choose, please.” he whispered, a wandering hand slipping around your waist. Your palm slid up his cheekbone from behind, pressing him against the crook of your neck. “I don’t need a costume, Loki” you whispered, turning. “I just need you.” The god chuckled into your hair. “Are you sure they didn’t help pave the way to your heart? I thought it would be...romantic.” You rolled your eyes. “Well they didn’t hurt.” You ran your eyes down the white captain’s uniform pressed neatly against its mannequin. “But really…” you said, sliding your palm over Loki’s shoulders. “I just want you, Loki. All of you.” The god’s brow furrowed, a bob in his throat as his mind fought to catch up. “I see.” he managed to say, catching on his tongue. There was a pause, as Loki’s stare searched yours. “Is it really so hard to believe?” you said, cupping his jaw. “That I love you?” Loki nodded once, his gaze lowered, lashes spread in a perfect fan against his skin.

“Why?” you whispered, knowing the answer. But it seemed important that he say it. He swallowed.

“You must understand I have never been most people’s favourite person. In this realm or any other. ” he said bitterly, avoiding your eyes as he twirled a strand of your hair around his finger. “Anyone’s favourite person, in truth. To be loved. It is rather a strange concept to me.” His eyeline staggered upwards, reluctantly meeting your gaze. “But I am trying.” “I know. I’m sorry about all the red stuff – the dress was an accident but the bra and the g-string I didn’t know-” Loki’s finger pressed to your lips. “Do not apologise.” he murmured. “Just promise me that you shall not lie with him when you tire of me.” You couldn’t help the gasp of laughter that erupted against his finger. “Tire of you?” you choked. “I don’t think that’s likely.” Loki raised an eyebrow, making your features straighten. “But I promise, I will not…” you wrinkled your nose, “...lie with Thor.” The god nodded regally, accepting your pledge. The tips of his cheekbones had flushed palest pink. “I love you.” you said softly, capturing his fingers as they brushed your collarbone. “I love you.” he replied with a shy smile. His voice was rich and warm, the tenor sinking into your soul like salve. “But it is more than that…” he added mysteriously, his tone deepening. You felt the familiar zing of arousal between your thighs, the eroticism of his power building in earnest. “I have burned for you, every cell of my being yearning uncontrollably since the moment you first cut me with that sharp tongue.” he murmured, sweeping hair from your neck. “It is a need, an obsession. And the obsession of a god is not easily swayed. I hope you are prepared for that.” His parted lips danced across your shoulder, as your hands slid beneath his armpits and between the muscled blades. “I could not bear to think that you would never be mine-” he growled, “not after all the times before, and never like this...never as-” “-Real.” you gasped, as he placed a gentle bite on the curve of your neck, a deep moan filling the space. “Real.” he echoed quietly, before placing a soothing kiss on the mark he had left. “I could not bear it.” His eyes met with yours, glassy with emotion. “I thought...that the only way to harvest the passion I desperately craved from you was-” “-by being an asshole?” you postured, raising your brows. Loki smiled sheepishly. “You gave as good as you got, darling.” he murmured, his hand beginning to toy with the zip of your dress. “Better, some might say.” you gasped, feeling the tug of your seams coming loose. “In your dreams, Agent.” Loki whispered, as your dress pooled around your ankles. “And besides…” he quipped, walking you backwards through the living room towards the king bed next door. “One cannot accuse us of being predictable.” “Perish the thought.” you said, as the back of your knees hit the firm mattress. Loki lowered his chin to his chest, the fire in his eyes that burned right before he fucked you smouldering with new intensity. “My love…” he hummed, possessively sliding his hands over your ass and squeezing. “My love.” you responded with a gasping groan, the curve of your lips cresting each vowel like a breaking wave. “Choose one.” he growled, a ragged moan vibrating in his chest as he slipped his hand inside your panties. “I must insist. For old times sake.”

Your eyes flickered to the row of mannequins just visible outside the door. “The b-biker…” you stammered, as Loki’s digits began to play lazily against your soaking slit. “Mmm” he hummed, knowingly. “I’m sure the garments for that particular ensemble isn’t the only thing you desire from it, my love?” My love. You would never tire of those words from his lips. You could feel heat rising in your cheeks as Loki’s suit trousers began to turn to scuffed black denim beneath your touch. The fingers digging into his back suddenly had a thin layer of fabric between his flesh and yours; the scent of old oil wafting from the cotton. Cool, heavy metal swung against your chest as he shoved you playfully back onto the bed, watching as a familiar vintage leather jacket unfurled over his torso. The god chuckled, seeing your legs widen as you drew your feet onto the mattress; sinking into the thick crispness of his duvet. He ran a hand through his hair, a trail of seidr rendering it wild. Your breath skipped as you saw the outline of the deep scar through his eyebrow form, ink flourishing on both sets of his knuckles. C.H.A.O.S. You shuddered, ass clenching. The crossed daggers flourished in all their glory over his heart, the edges faded as old tattoos do. Loki’s fingers toyed teasingly with the buckle of the studded belt, hanging sluttishly around his hips. “Do you want me to be a bad boy, Agent?” he growled, untamed hair falling in waves against his sharp cheekbones. “You’re always a bad boy.” you purred, making Loki wink before he cleared his throat. “Well, I better not disappoint then.” he postured, sinking into character as he lowered himself on top of you. The leather creaked against his biceps as he braced, the stretch making you clench as he descended on your mouth in a mess of teeth and tongue. You thrust upwards, the thin fabric of your wet gusset colliding with his belt buckle. Loki chuckled, scooping you upwards. He knelt on the bed, ass resting on his worn combat boots; shifting so only one of his denim-clad thighs sat between your spread legs. “Use me.” he rumbled, lowering his chin as he began to rock your hips back and forth. Friction made delicate skin sizzle as he set your pussy alight, every whimper met with enthusiastic sighs of pleasure and praise. “That’s it, darling…” he groaned as you grasped at his hard cock beneath the tight denim. Searching.

He was a mess of adulation, words unsaid for too long spilling from his lips with every flame of climax blossoming in your belly. “I’m for your pleasure, now.” he gasped, gyrating his hips as you rocked against his thigh. “Always...take it. Take i-it, my love. It’s y-yours. I’m..f-fuck, I’m yours.” Your nails dug into the leather covering his shoulders, marking the soft material as you came undone against him. “Loki...y-yes..uhhh” you moaned into his open mouth as he gazed up at you, rough ebony curls thrown back. One of your hands fell to his chest, catching on the loop of the pendant hanging against his heart. The slicing angle of Loki’s jaw was poised, lips parted. His eyes were wide, brow creased as you came with a grateful cry of his name. He continued to guide your hips back and forth while your grip tightened and then relaxed. You burrowed your face in the curve of his neck, noting the musk of Croatian alcohol and smoky bars that still clung there. “I do so love watching you cum…” he murmured shyly, as you began to pull wantonly at his belt buckle. “Well I love watching you cum” you said, pressing your lips together in a coy smile. “So I guess that works out, doesn’t it?” Loki’s hand ran through your hair, tugging your head back before he placed a messy suck to the pulse point. “Mine.” he growled breathily, as your fingers raced to undo his belt. “Leave it…” he muttered, making your hands fly to his leather jacket, forcing it roughly over his shoulders. It fell to the floor with a soft thud, the low thump of his combat boots hitting the floorboards making your whole body shiver. He shuffled backwards, standing at the foot of the bed.

“Are you ready, love?” he muttered seductively. You nodded, your feral desire barely contained as you bounced on your knees. Instinctively your fingers rubbed his violently hard cock through the rough denim, feeling for metal. The god hissed as your fingers caught against the tip. "Oh, it's there." Loki purred knowingly, whipping the belt from its holster and slowly rolling down the zip. You licked your lips, seeing the majesty of his pierced cock bob into view. Wordlessly you leant forwards, sucking the moist head of his manhood against your tongue with a calculated swirl. You tugged the silver barbell, flicking. Loki whimpered, steadying himself against the bedpost. “F-fuckk, darling…” he gasped quietly. “I shall n-never be prepared for that.”

The metal balls of his piecing were cool against the heat of your mouth, rolling them against your searching tongue as he groaned above you. A metallic taste rose against the warmth of his sweetness, the god's musk swirling intoxicatingly against the sharp tang of steel. Saliva leaked out the sides of the join, letting it coat his cock as you slid back and forth, sucking gently. Your lips tightened, the stroke of your hand against his thick, slippery shaft making his hips jolt. “Won’t l-last l-long…gods-” he rasped, gently winding the hand not steadying him into your hair.

Your own whoreish moans burned deep in your eardrums, mouth stuffed with his girth as you felt him begin to tremble. “D-don’t stop…” he panted, as you increased your pace. “Do you w-want me to cum in your...fuckkk-your mouth, p-precious one?” Loki stammered with difficulty, his breath catching as his hips began to tremble. You groaned enthusiastically, vibrations making his balls tighten. You heard a low crack of wood, Loki’s grip making the wooden bedpost split beneath it. A thundering moan ripped from above, hot cum flooding your tongue; dripping down your throat as you swallowed against the tip of his thick cock.

You released him with a messy pop, tugging once more at the piercing while gazing up at the dishevelled god with pure love. His bliss-drunk eyes lazily searched your face, hovering on the slick of his delicious cum coating your lips. He licked his own. “We can do the rest later, don’t worry.” you cooed, sitting up on your knees as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Loki chuckled, delicate skin creasing at the corners of his eyes. “Ah! About that-” he smouldered, before falling forwards and pinning you beneath him on the bed. “Gods have a very short refractory period. I’m delighted to inform you that we can fuck endlessly, if that is your desire.” There was a mischievous glint in his eye as he watched your jaw drop.

“You mean all this time we could have done it twice?” “More than twice, darling.” he jibed, feigning offence. “But to be frank, typically the mood had been ruined by one of your mid-coital insults by that point.” “My insults?!” you huffed, feeling his cock growing hard again against your thigh. Loki kissed you deeply, making your back arch as you felt the tingle of his seidr evaporate the rest of his biker clothes. He slid a finger through your folds, moaning appreciatively. “Wet, warm...perfect.” he muttered, curls grazing against your cheeks. You felt the metal balls of his piercing on the wide tip nudge against your entrance, the coolness tingling against your heat. Twin moans filled the air as he squeezed himself past the tight opening, Loki’s eyes rolling back before they fluttered closed. He bottomed out with a low pant of pleasure, a final thrust of his hips making the metal spheres tug against your deepest walls. The metal stud fastened to Loki’s pubic mound pulled gently against your clit, every slow roll of his hips making you rock into him. “Loki...f-fuck, I’d f-forgotten-oh god..oh g-god.” you panted, as his knees widened on the bed. The base of his flat stomach was pressed to your own, the thick veins running along his biceps bulging as he thrust into you in mind-altering waves. “Let yourself go, my love...there is no limit anymore. Not with us.” he praised, as your fingertips sank into the taut muscle of his ass. Effortlessly, Loki raised himself from his forearms; angling his hips so only the tip of his cock remained inside your wet cunt. “Loki...please” you begged, squirming beneath him. He smirked, beginning to make small thrusts against your g-spot. Your head slid back against the pillow, back arching. “Fuck-Loki...y-yess oh-god.” It caressed the swollen spot inside you, tingling with the urge to burst while the piercing rubbed on either side. It was heaven. “Cum for me, lov-ve.” he murmured, his voice breaking on the final syllable. Your hands fell back against the pillows, fingers curling around the antique brass railings of his bed-frame. Loki growled through shallow pants, his large palms cupping the joint of your hips as he guided you back and forth on his mighty cock. “C-come in me, Loki…” you whined, chin pointed to the ceiling as every muscle in your body screamed for release. "Own me, you fucking own me."

You were a writhing mess of pure sex, every swing of his hair; every harsh exhale of air from his throat a primal cacophony of lust and love. Both of your moans grew louder, the slap of his balls against your skin driving you over the edge as he unravelled. There was a sudden rush, a burning thrill of flooding climax as Loki’s shallow pants of praise blossomed to a thundering roar. The groan of his name from your throat was primal; threatening to shake his books from their shelves.

The god's breaths slowed, melting against you in a wet kiss before rolling to the side. His head hit the pillow with a muted thump. “Have I ever told you, that you're the best fuck I’ve ever had?” he panted. “No, I don’t think you mentioned it.” you quipped, resting your chin on his heaving chest. “That would be too complimentary, you were too busy trying to make my life hell.” Loki rolled his eyes with a smirk, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. “As I said on our first tryst, darling...indifference is the true insult.” He squeezed you tighter, before the amused smile faded. “There is one more past outfit I must show you.” he said tentatively, before frowning. “Return to you, actually.”

You sat up, propped on your elbows. “Oh?” you muttered, raising an eyebrow. “Although I have made one notable alteration.” he added, raising a hand and waving it gracefully in the air. A bright shimmer appeared at the foot of the bed, rolling downwards to reveal silken fabric fluttering suspended in the air. “Oh my god…” you whispered, eyes wide. The red dress that Loki had ripped with his hands and teeth from your body while he fucked you to oblivion in a jealous rage the night of the shareholder’s party swayed in front of you. Loki flicked his fingers, making it dance in the air.

It was immaculate, even by his standards of repair. Except now, it was a rich emerald green. “Loki-” you started, feeling a lump in your throat. Gently, his fingers tipped your chin to face him. “You have made me a better man, Agent.” he said slowly, enunciating every word. “Are you sure about that? I’m not sure Clint would agree. Or Amanda, actually.” you smirked, placing a kiss on the tip of his nose. “And enough with the ‘Agent’, you know how much it annoys me.” Loki laughed softly, sighing as he stretched his naked legs across the sheets. “Ah, so you heard about Barton.”

You let your eyes wander up his endless limbs, admiring the curve and dip of each perfectly carved muscle. “He put in a complaint with Tony.” you said, making Loki nodded sagely, lips pursed. The fact that Tony had, of course, told everyone, did not need to be stated to be understood. There was a pause. "And by the way, where is Thor getting a spare two million from to pay for you?" Loki smirked, rolling towards you with a fist propped innocently beneath his temple. "He's been putting off offers for a raunchy photoshoot with a well-known underwear brand for years, darling. I wouldn't worry." "Sorry, what was that you were saying about being a better man?" you goaded, holding back a laugh. “Well, our misplaced animosity may not have been the smoothest path to encouraging a reformation of my admittedly devilish character-” Loki said thoughtfully, nestling his nose against the tip of your cheekbone. “-but your love might.” You swung a leg over his hips, enjoying the exaggerated oof he released as you settled your core to his stomach. Your palm cupped his face, smoothing the silk of his jaw with your thumb. Loki tilted his head, raven curls a mess of tangles against the white pillowcase. “You’ll still always manage to irritate me, you know.” you said, as a smile played at Loki’s lips. "Just because I love you, doesn't mean I'm going to go easy on you." In a flash, Loki had you on your back, giggling beneath him as the warm comfort of his solid frame pressed to yours. “Likewise, my love-' he sighed happily against your sex mussed hair. He placed a firm kiss on your temple, thumb pushing back strands of damp hair from your forehead. “-And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

A/N - Thank you SO SO MUCH for coming with me on this journey. What started with a humble slutty wetsuit has blossomed into our beloved arsey, impossible Loki and stubborn Agent and I hope you're as happy with this ending as I am :) There will be a lil Epilogue (coming soon) Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection

Tags @gigglingtigger @meowmeow-motherfucker @muddyorbsblr @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @coldnique @holdmytesseract @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @wheredafandomat @vbecker10 @imalovernotahater @thomase1 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @123forgottherest @peacefulpianist @maple-seed @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @infinitystoner @goblingirlsarah @ozymdias @peaches1958 @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @sidepartskinnyjeans @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @goddessofwonderland @smolvenger @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman

[fave-fight]

ROUND 2, MATCH 9

NO MAGIC, POWERS, WEAPONS, OR ADDITIONAL HELP FROM OTHERS

Gomez Addams:

“Loves fencing, the macabre and finds joy in the unconventional. Accurate with ranged weapons (such as golf balls) and pretty darn good at fencing.

Also, he can be unpredictable and weird.”

“He absolutely can and would, honorably, kick your ass.”

“Gomez is a practiced marksman with erratic methods, he would win against controlled people especially”

Cecil Palmer:

“in a recent episode someone was being mean to... i think either carlos specifically or the townsfolk of night vale at large? in a diner. and cecil said he swung a punch at the guy. and then there was a break, and after the break, he said "I've never punched anyone before. And I still haven't." and went on to describe how hes so fucking uncoordinated that he missed the guy completely and slammed his fist into a metal beam and injured himself.”

“I love him, but there's no way this man is winning a fight”

[heartfullofleeches]

Some background on my college yan and older neighbor reader because I love both very much

Tedric "Teddie" Jones- [he/they]

Teddie has always been a quiet and reserved guy. Sheltered by their parents due to difficulties at birth, Teddie would eventually receive his first taste of the macabre world as a young teen when a mishap at the local movie rent had him receiving a documentary on serial killers in the state instead of the age appropriate film his parents had picked for them. Saving all their allowance and birthday money to fuel their new obsession, now 23 year old Teddie Jones chemistry major is a horror fanatic, and has had vivid fantasies about tormenting those who have caused trouble in their life - but never the drive to commit such acts

Like many in the community, he avoided Reader when they first moved in per instruction of his parents. Through brief interaction over the years, he framed them as someone to be cautious of, though admired their independency and closed off nature. When rumors of their past began to pop up, he was the first to do some digging and his admiration only grew. The two wouldn't formally meet until one afternoon when his normally attentive parents forgot to tell him they had had the locks changed that very morning. Not wanting to be caught in the brewing storm, Teddie knocked on reader's door and asked if they could climb their fence to get to his backyard. Reader refused as they wouldn't be able to get over without a few scrapes and instead invited them inside to wait it out. With the way reader stared at him, a part of Teddie feared there was more to their generosity and lured him in with the gesture of kindness to add them to the growing roster of missing persons reports, but as soon as Teddie sat down they-

Just talked.

Reader asked how he was doing in school. How his parents were. They asked why he never used that skateboard they saw his dad bring home for him which Teddie had to bashfully explain he had fallen too many times for the idea of learning to be fun. It was the only time their expression changed during the conversation. They scolded him for giving up so easily and told him to bring it over if he ever got the chance. Within two weeks, Teddie had a new mode of transportation to and from school. When he asked why they helped him Reader said he reminded them a lot of themself when they were younger. Always afraid of the what-ifs and pain in spite of taking action. They didn't want him to end up like them at their age - alone with no one to turn to.

In that short timeframe, Reader became Teddie's rock. Whenever he had a problem they were who he fled to without a second thought. They shared their knowledge with him and in turn Teddie tried to be that same beacon of light for them they had been for him. He wanted to be their crutch, someone they could depend on in their darkest hour. Whenever he had thoughts of hurting others they always showed up in some fashion - encouraging them for his bravery or clutching their hands around his as the two drove a blade into the chest of their victim. They'd wash off in the shower together and Teddie would finally get to see more of their bedroom than just the glimpses he caught from his window. They'd lie together and with adrenaline still coursing through their veins, Teddie would finally know the warmth of another living being. They wondered if the kids would be reader's first as well. They dreamed they'd be each other's first in other ways, but would be fine with any outcome that ended with them both happy and in each other's arms.

Teddie is aware Reader sees them as someone to mentor which they use to their advantage to receive a taste of what their heart truly desires. They beg on their knees for dating practice so they can ask out someone they met at a party. Some make out experience would be nice too. Teddie works hard to someday become the person Reader can proudly call their own. They want to give Reader the youth they lost and take them heal their wounded heart to the world around them. The people in it can all burn for what they've done to them, but there's so much good the two can do together it all out weights the bad. If only they'd give him the chance.

"Reader"

Ranging somewhere from late 20s to early 30s- Reader was severely in high school for the hapless crime of being in the wrong place in the wrong century, Reader's misfortune only got worse as the one time they fought back to result in the head trauma and later death of a bully. At this point their harassment had escalated to borderline torture which left Reader with scars to this day. Through witness testimony and their injuries, Reader was not punished by the law by tradition means and instead sent away from the psychological damage they innocent caused.

Mostly free from their past, Reader could not return home after what happened and moved into a suburban neighborhood in a home owned by a distant relative who had passed and descendants who couldn't bother with the upkeep. Reader has made their peace, but is still haunted by ghosts and lessens their stress by avoiding relatively everyone. Well, mostly everyone. They take pity on the shy kid next door, seeing a reflection of themselves in him. When they heard they knock at their door they see a chance to right some of their wrongs and help the poor guy out. With their assistance, that quiet guy comes more out of their shell by the day and even managed to make a couple friends at their college. They couldn't be prouder.

Teddie still clings to their hip which puzzles them now that he has others who tolerate his company, but it's nice to have another voice in their barren fortress they call a home. Their age gap isn't too far off, but Reader can't help but find some of his mannerisms a little.. odd. Sometimes he waits on their porch like a lost puppy despite having a key, and he seems damn near obsessed with their love life which is pretty much non-existent. Must be just city things. They brush off his more outlandish queries and jokes that they'll kiss him if he gets a high enough score on his paper. The color drains from their face when the results are sent out and Teddie waits excitedly for their reward

[luvissues]

cold as a wagon tire

groundskeeper! ghost x reader, inspired by this post

cw: death, murder(?) kinda

His rugged boots have long since dug their soles into the mud of the sullied ground, treads worn and tired (somehow, the steel toes always shine spick-and-span, rain or shine).

He walked a familiar path each day, the hours lapping into one another- a rhythmic lull. Every day, for as long as he’d counted, he’d take the path that stretched miles and miles around the length of the graveyard.

And then, when he stopped counting, he kept walking it anyway.

It wasn’t just walking, though. Simon did *everything*. He did everything for the rotting bastards buried deep beneath the soil, because the families and friends and lovers who had rightfully left them to be forgotten wouldn’t.

Regrettably, it was his home. Tethered to him by the macabre work he’d found himself in. It wasn’t so much as tie to the job, as much as it was a metal chain anchoring him there.

There was no iron ball at the end. Only the weight of hundreds of gravestones, dirty and ugly and languishing, just like him.

He knows the name they all give him. It’s from the people who do come back; stupid sods who keep themselves indebted to remains long gone, to a soul that rests far lower than where the body was ever buried.

He doesn’t mind it. Doesn’t speak to them, anyway. In somewhere along his long haul, he’d started to associate with it, too. They’d done him a favor, ridding him of his name- because no person would ever work this job, would ever keep themselves so close to the dead that even something as human sleeping was reduced down to shortening the hours until he had to work again.

They called him Ghost, and the name rested well with that enigma of a man. But he did the job well.

The grounds are always clean. Not pretty, but oddly well cared for. He doesn’t respect the people who lie underneath his feet, no, but he was never one to half-ass a job.

The iron fence shines. The grass is always trimmed, weeded. The gravel path is a neat, straight line, the only out-of-order being the marks scuffed into it by one hefty pair of boots.

At the end of the day, there’s always a fire burning in the house that lies just behind the thick canopy of trees at the yard’s border. Because even though they call him Ghost, he hates the way his cold fingers tremble as if he’s just seen one when he tucks in for the night.

But of course, he never holds a spark to that kindle during the day. Perhaps that’s why maybe you presumed the home to be abandoned; for how orderly the graveyard was, the house seemed not to warrant the same type of care.

It wasn’t like you had ever seen anyone around the cemetery, anyway. And that kind of privacy is what you needed.

Naturally, Simon notices when there seems to be a second pair of footprints along his daily route. The grit was wet and muddy after the previous day’s rain, and it only made the marks more apparent.

If he didn’t know better, he might’ve guessed that it was a pair of heels tracing his walk. What was more concerning, though, was the long streak of mud that followed right beside it.

Not that the groundskeeper was deterred one bit. He followed the tracks in the same way a hunting dog would follow the spoor of it’s catch, attention unwavering. And when those prints veered off course and into the grass, he was sure to follow.

The rush had grown long and thick over weeks of rain, never seeming to dry enough for him to go in and crop it. Water caught on the rough fabric of his jeans as he waded through the overgrown blades, passing through the rows and columns of headstones, following the thick line of mud that had sprouted off the pathway.

Strangely, it stopped in front of his house.

Not that his home was very visible from here, not with the stocky blanket of forest that enveloped it. But you had lead him all the way to the end of the acres, past the fence and into the encompassing woods.

Simon wasn’t quite sure what he’d expected to be at the end of his hunt. Maybe a canine had dragged it’s sorry meal through the winding field, or a sorrowing lover had carried with them a wagon of sorts when coming to visit their spouse’s grave. But you?

No, he can’t say he expected you to be standing there; wet, cold body lying helplessly at your feet. Living up to his name, Ghost doesn’t say a word or move even an inch as he watches you bring up your shovel, only to use all your strength to haul it back down over the poor cadaver.

It’s admirable, really. He notices the blades of your shoulders flexing with each swing, muscles tensing and straining. If anything, you’ve piqued his interest.

But he knows that any successful chase lies in the wait. So, he watches on with sick interest, simply surveying the way that this corpse is becoming more mangled and unrecognizable with each blow you throw at it.

Eventually, your shoulders rise and fall in time with your chest. Deep, heavy lungfuls of putrid air he has long grown adapted to.

And like that, you’re walking. Waltzing off as if you hadn’t left a mutilated mess just practically on his front porch.

So he wastes no time closing distance. Before you can even register who it is, you’re turning around at the sound of bulky steps moving through the sod.

When you meet his eyes, you know that your shovel will be of no use against this man.

He doesn’t say anything, not at first. His masks conceals just about everything except for his eyes, deep and brown like the dirt beneath your feet. He makes no attempt to conceal the way they rove over you, though.

Truthfully, you look harmless. Not the same woman who’d maimed the body at the edge of his woods. In the back of his mind, a voice from years past stirs in his head, a click of a tongue and a murmur about what a wee lamb you appeared to be.

“Y’ve got no business leaving me such a mess to clean,” he gruffs. When his voice finally raises, it’s rough and low, and exactly what you’d expect from a man like him.

The only thing you can think to do in the moment is blink up at him owlishly. Clean up? This was a matter of court, of prison, of the worst crime, and he…

didn’t seem anything more than a bit agitated. His indifference to it all was enough to make the skin at the back of your neck prickle.

“Leave him.” Is all there is to say. You’d beaten that measly man for a reason- he didn’t deserve any more grace. You’d already given him a quick death, an easy regret, and this was making up for it.

Simon doesn’t reply. He’s still trying to figure you out, gears clicking and chugging along in his head.

Your stockings are absolutely filthy, shoes ruined and peeling with mud and grime. The shovel slung over your shoulder is damn near bent ninety degrees with how much you’d put it to work. Brows pinching together, he tsks.

“Leave ‘im?” He scoffs. “And let the ugly bastard sit t’ rot in my yard? You ‘ad a shovel, the least you could do was bury him.”

Like him, your mind is hard at work. He‘s just witnessed you drag a dead body for well over a mile, beat it senseless, and for what? He’s more concerned about digging a proper hole for the grubby remains. You’re half convinced he might pull a measuring tape from his pocket and start mapping out six feet beneath your feet right now.

Somehow, you’re voice doesn’t waver as much as you might’ve thought. You shake your head at his suggestion. “Doesn’t deserve it.”

The keeper’s gaze darkened a bit at that. He was plenty sure that the man didn’t deserve it- why else would a little dove like you have gotten herself into all this trouble? Still, he can’t let you go just like that.

“You thought you were gonna get away?” He hums quietly. You’re both painfully aware of how he’s shortened the space between you.

Once he’s close enough, he leans down to get a better look at your face. The rain that drips copiously from the trees has mingled with your sweat, leaked into the cotton of your clothes.

In any other circumstance, he might’ve passed you up as another ditzy bird. But all dirtied up, you couldn’t have looked any more appealing.

Simon had long grown tired of trying to break in whining little women all by himself. He hadn’t considered finding one who was already well worn to the rugged edges of the world.

“What if I turn you in?” He proposes, and the following silence hangs heavy. He’d have no issue slinging over your shoulder to march you off to the sheriff, and that’s a certainty.

“Then at least it’ll be for the right cause.”

He almost wants to laugh. God, no, you’re no precious lamb. You’re a damn wolf, an ugly little beast, and you’ve fallen right into his hands.

They always said that opposites attract, but Simon can’t help that his tattered soul is becoming determined to pin you down. Maybe they lied.

“Tell you what,” he murmurs, tone deep and steady as if mulling things over. “I’ll cut you a deal. You sit nice and pretty while I clean up yer mess, and we’ll go from there.”

When you don’t respond right away, a gloved hand comes up to pinch your cheeks, pulling your lips pursed together. He’s no fool to think that you’re powerless- no, not after this- but there was always something rewarding about getting those girls to settle in.

You’ll be different, that he’s sure of, but the thrill is familiar.

“Deal?” he presses, pulling you in until you’re near eye to eye. And when you do give him a stiff nod, he’s quick to let up, ushering you along with a big paw heavy on your back and promises of an ashy fire waiting to warm you up at home.

Your tongue is a bit too tied to correct him at the suggestion that it’s your home, not his. But that’s okay. He prefers it better like this anyway.

[eattherichplease]

Love watching the old Addams Family show from the 60's because you can see very clearly the episodes and even the specific scenes that served as inspiration for Wednesday.

Cool thing is: they are mostly related to Morticia.

Here we have Morticia holding a séance in Halloween Addams Style (S02E07):

She's holding a séance because Wednesday want to see a real witch for Halloween and she doesn't want her daughter to be disappointed! So they try to contact Aunt Singe. Naturally.

Wednesday learned the basics of her mother's craft, as we all know:

Cool!

And! here we have Morticia writing! in Morticia, the Writer (S02E08):

She writes in the caves under the manor! How cool is that?

Her set-up was clearly the inspiration for Wednesday's own set-up at Nevermore:

Could this be the same typewriter? Family heirloom?

As you can see, both images depict Morticia doing things that we now associate with Wednesday.

And the best thing is: Morticia is doing both of them for Wednesday's sake!

Morticia is holding a séance only because Wednesday wants to meet a real witch.

Morticia is writing a children's book only because Wednesday hates the ones they force them to read in school, where the knights kill dragons and goblins and other magnificent and perfectly nice fellows.

So as you can see, Morticia and Wednesday have lots of things in common, and many things we now associate with Wednesday (fencing, string instruments, writing, seances, along with restrain, focus, pragmatism) were Morticia's traits and hobbies first.

And Morticia and Wednesday love each other very much! That's like Addams Family 101. Infinite love for each other. Perfectly healthy family with caring parents, no matter how macabre they look. It's the striking contrast that makes it great!

So why does society (Netflix) insists on pitting two bad bitches against each other? Don't know!

But anyway is cool they took inspiration from the original show!

Bonus: A glimpse of our glorious (wenclair) future:

[gale-heart]

The Rubies may no longer think we’re the worst, but tension rises all the same. Levity died a day away from the Lost Glacier; folk keep their heads down over their tasks, speaking only in terse, short murmurs or when Fiona barks news from the wheel. Even Kavard and Neil have gone unsettlingly quiet. Clouds choked out the sky hours ago, but thus far they lack the decency to unleash the storm. I would relish the distraction—I can only do so much preparation for the fight ahead.

And yet I continue nevertheless. It’s either review the same spells another dozen times, try to plan ahead for any possible contingency (although it couldn’t possibly outdo the packet I drafted for my wedding), or sit around letting my nerves grow until I snap and do something stupid.

Anticipation makes me terribly itchy.

——

( @fence-macabre )

[terrence-silver]

With halloween 🎃 and spooky season approaching, I'm rewatching all my eerie TV and movies including Wednesday and the Addams Family...

I had a little daydream that terry silver and his beloved had their in laws over and let them terrorize their party guests on halloween. Their in laws (beloveds family) being the Addams family! It was so funny and actually oddly heartwarming to see Silver have unconditional support and understanding from his beloveds family.

Terry would love how eccentric, devoted, macabre and witty the Addams actually are - looking past appearances and reputations that scare away the normal crowd.

Honestly, I can figuratively see the Addams family just loving Terry Silver too. 😂

Gomez gladly fences with him and they share cigars (along with possible anecdotes how very devoted they are to their respective significant others), Morticia admires how deep, dark and murderous his capacity for love is, the children just adore Terry for all his unhinged self as he pretty much enables to them to do whatever with a manic smile on his face, Grandmama Addams is starstruck by the handsome billionaire they have over as a guest and Uncle Fester might just be the only one slightly envious over the fact that both Gomez and Terry are absolute lady killers; guy might just want some advice on the subject of l'amour from the obvious experts. Lurch? Terry might (jokingly?) remark he has a butler eerily similar in manner back home --- a complement Lurch might respond with through a grunt and nothing more. Overall, a shockingly harmonious dinner event.

[alphabetbill]

Macabre [ HEMLOCK GROVE ] - Chapter 3

~ description ~

A werewolf whose only skill is running from his fears, a half-upir with no idea of the true darkness lying inside of him, and a girl found alive in the woods months after her mysterious death.

Some secrets in Hemlock Grove should have just stayed buried. In a town that isn't so sleepy after all, monsters of all kinds are wide awake under the surface, crawling their way up.

~ warnings~

This story will contain mature and heavy themes that may involve potentially explicit content, gore and murder, talk of kidnapping and stalking victims, animal death, supernatural/paranormal/religious themes and trauma, any other themes not covered in the general description will probably be tagged here at the start of the chapters that other significant warnings apply to.

A list will be linked here upon completion and upload of each chapter:

Cicada and the Snake

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

c h a p t e r t h r e e .

Jude Evergreen

<<>>

ROMAN DID NOT STAY AT HER HOUSE THAT NIGHT. Jude went outside.

Something called her to the back porch of the trailer that she couldn't explain. The deer were screaming again- which was strange in itself- because they usually stopped, but tonight they didn't. Tonight they cried out, barking and snarling, stretching off into the darkness in a discordant melody and echoing from far beyond, closer and then distant, distant and then closer.

The breeze on her face was warm and then still, like someone had abruptly turned off the heating, leaving her in an uncomfortable limbo between warmth and cold. Jude stood there for quite some time simply looking at the edge of the woods, trying to figure out exactly where the strange sounds were coming from. She stood there until the air turned cold and goosebumps formed on her flesh, and suddenly she regretted coming outside in just a sweater and shorts.

She tried to look and see if she could spot any of the usual deer that liked to graze in the clover patch near the fence.

She saw a thing in the trees.

At first, she wasn't sure what it was. It was a blur of white from far off in the darkness, nowhere near close enough for her to even begin to comprehend what it might have truly been. It flickered intermittently, casting strange shadows that danced and swirled among the trees. Jude's initial thought was that it might be a torch or some kind of illumination from a house across the stretch of forest. The trailer park was situated on one side of a relatively thin stretch of woods, with the town on the other side, and Jude would often see house lights glittering through in dark on the other side.

This was different than a house light, and when it flashed on occasion it would spill out and illuminate the outline of the trees through the path. Jude assumed it was a torch, and while it didn't raise enough concern to feel afraid, she still decided to go back inside.

Deer screaming and torch lights. Perhaps someone was hunting, or hiking. After all there was a walking trail through there, and it wasn't uncommon for people to go jogging along it. Not this late though.

Jude made some popcorn and put on a movie to try and pry away the feeling of being watched. It worked, and soon the uneasy feeling vanished as she settled in for a cozy late night with Minnie.

She stayed up for a few more hours.

Then Minnie did something strange, stranger than usual. She got up from Jude's lap and went over to stick her bulbous head beneath the blind to stare out the window. She began pawing at the glass. The French bulldog never really took an interest in anything aside from sleeping. It was beginning to spook her.

Five does stood outside when Jude got up to take a look. They emerged cautiously from the nearby bushes, their ears twitching as they surveyed their surroundings. The motion-sensor light by the fence flicked on, startling the deer and causing them to skitter off into the woods. She watched them go, wondering what the fuck was going on.

That night Jude had a strange dream.

She dreamed that she was standing in a circle, the circle itself made up of a python consuming its own tail. Each time she went to step out of it the serpent would hiss, which she took as a sign to just stand still.

The white light of a torch continued to flash on and off, on and off, on and off, in a particularly rhythmic fashion although Jude was sure that even if it was morse code she would not have been able to understand it anyway. She couldn't see who was holding the torch or even how far away it was.

Soft music was playing, jangly and industrial sounding. If she listened closely she could even hear what sounded like someone whistling, followed by the crunch of footsteps over dry dead leaves.

Heart in her throat she tried to scan the tree line for whoever was out there, her breath escaping her lungs faster than what it could be pulled in. It was fear, stark and real and pure. She couldn't move in any way that wouldn't disturb the snake, and was therefore forced to stand still and wait, unable to run.

Something was stalking her, she could feel it. No more than the way you just knew how to breathe, instinctual, something you could become acutely aware of if you just focused.

Movement in the trees.

The five does that she had seen at her window were standing by the edge of the clearing, bleached white in the light of the crooked crescent moon. A trickle of blood leaked from each one's mouth and, as she peered closer, also from their eyes. The once peaceful and gentle creatures appeared to her now in a grotesque and macabre form. She felt a tug in her stomach at the sight, discomfort hatching like maggots in a wound. Squirming and putrid.

Terror seeped into her bones, pulling her down, keeping her frozen. It wasn't what she saw but what she felt and it felt awful. A rotting smell reached her nostrils, and when she looked down she saw her the flesh of her arms tightening and ripping- wilting to black before her very eyes. Rotting, rotting away to the milk-white bone.

The snake let go of its tail. It bit her on the calf, fangs penetrating the supple flesh without much resistance. Jude couldn't scream. Something was covering her mouth, a glove or cloth or something material. It felt like she was frozen in time, her head pounding so violently she thought it might explode- thin red streams leaking from her ears and the corners of her eyes. The eerie music grinded to a painfully slow motion trawl, scratching like a broken record on rewind.

The cracking of bone spliced the sound of the jagged violin.

Jude woke up to a TV screen of static and beeping. She stayed awake until daylight.

She stayed home from school the next day after she woke up sick to her stomach.

It was miserable, truly, and when she wasn't in bed she was keeling over the toilet hurling up her guts. The contents were black. As she sat there bewildered and shocked and horrified, she saw an insect wing. Large, with a blue-green sheen to it.

Huh.

Almost as soon as she blinked the black bile along with the wing was gone. Jude took it upon herself to lay back down in bed and keep hydrated. She considered texting Roman back, who had already flooded her messages with his disapproval of her skipping school without him, but she didn't have the energy to come up with an explanation for her own delusion.

Minnie stayed by the window, watching rain drops trickle down the glass, the air humid and sticky. For some fresh air the girl also went to sit there for a bit, watching the trees as a few deer once again came to the clover patch. One of the does looked at her, from over by the fence as its curious gaze met hers on the other side of the window. She would have gone outside to try and get a little closer if it weren't for this weird crippling nausea.

Night fell once again and her father, Lance, was not home. He worked as a truck driver which meant being away for periods of time, which up until now she had never minded.

Over the back fence in the stretch of darkness the torchlight flickered again.

Jude went missing that night.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

cool sweet anyways here's a playlist

[germhammy]

“Fencing Practice”

Xavier: so where is Wednesday? She’s late

Bianca: she’s meeting with the directors and executive producers in Jericho

Xavier: the Netflix show is getting to her head. Hanging out with Harley and Pippa. What do you think of that, Enid?

Enid: I’m excited for Wednesday. This show. Her first novel. And she’s actually made a friend on her own!

Xavier: you’re just saying that to hide your disappointment that you’re replaceable

Granny Frump: who is replacing my granddaughter’s ray of sunshine?

Xavier: what are these two old ladies doing at our fencing practice? Bianca, are you going to tell them to leave? Shall I see them out?

Grandmama Addams: now that is no way to speak to your elders

Bianca: ah! Hester, Esmeralda! Thank you for coming. Wednesday should be here soon

Granny Frump: yes. My daughter informed me that Wednesday is having quite the argument with Mr Waipapa

Grandmama Addams: for now, please introduce us to the the squad

Bianca: of course. We won’t finalize the squad until closer to the actual day of the event. But I can at least introduce the team you helped when we visited Ilvermorny

Granny Frump: I remember coming here, to the fencing room with my girls. Ophelia started dancing. Morticia was so angry at her disrespecting the room

Grandmama: I was disappointed that Gomez had no interest in fencing despite his love for it.

Bianca called up the squad that traveled to Ilvermorny. Xavier tried to come up

Bianca: Xavier you were not part of the squad. -turning to the two witches- Ilvermorny uses a unique form other than them cheating with magic.

Xavier: I should have been on the team! You know it! Just because you’re afraid of Wednesday! Mrs Frump, tell Wednesday I should be on the squad!

Entering the room Morticia spoke

Morticia: ahh. The fencing room. I haven’t set foot in here since my days at Nevermore. Hasn’t changed much. I see your grandmothers are here already Wednesday

Enid ran towards the exhausted looking Wednesday and gave her a big hug

Enid: was it that bad? -not letting go-

Wednesday: it was terrible. Mr Waipapa made everything a farce. He signed off on Mr Johnson’s ideas of bigger and more bigger. Agreed to all of Ms Rowling’s rainbow friendship is magic ideas

Enid: oh no. So what happened?

Morticia: Hunter was on Wednesday’s side stating that all the changes made less stunt work and more CGI. Harley was on Wednesday’s side stating that Mr Burton gave her a copy of Wednesday’s original story and went out on a limb by stating that Ms Rowling’s script was a travesty turning what was a glorious macabre story of a group of uneasy friends forming a strong bond into a happy go lucky outing of friends

Enid: oh wow. Go Harley

Morticia: Mr Johnson and Ms Rowling called for Harley to be fired. Mr Burton ordered Ms Rowling to leave the set. Asked Wednesday if she had the time to rewrite the scripts. She said she does not enjoy screenwriting but Frankie does so Mr Burton gave him a copy of Wednesday’s story to read.

Enid: sounds like a mess.

Morticia: it is. Again Mr Johnson and Ms Rowling not wanting to believe that my Wednesday is a shy socially awkward 17 year old

Grandmama: -having walked over to her daughter in law and granddaughter- shall I cast a spell on them? I could whip up a couple of potions

Wednesday: -reluctantly pulling herself out of her girlfriend’s embrace- that will not be necessary, Grandmama but I will keep it in mind

Enid: so are Ms Rowling and Mr Johnson off the project? What about Mr Waipapa?

Wednesday: nothing set yet. We found the best dress for La Llorona. The makeup crew is working on the makeup look. And Pippi Longstocking. The costume department has a perfect wig. But let us get this meeting about Ilvermorny started

Xavier: can you please get me in? I want to be a part of the show

Morticia: about using the town’s people as extras? Mr Burton has come up with a scenario. He gave me the script pages

Wednesday: -taking the pages from her mother and reading- oh? A Halloween version the town square instead of a party? That makes sense. I approve. Costumes don’t have to be provided. Everyone can come up with their own.

Morticia: just what Mr Burton said

There was an explosion sound. Bianca and Xavier panicked

Wednesday: oh bother. What does Pugsley want? -she opened her text from her brother to see drone footage of him walking down the block with Phineas, Bianca and Flower in line behind him. Their neighbor Mrs Bucket outside planting flowers way too early in the season. Shrieking seeing the skunks. Shooing Pugsley away and swiping at the furry trio with a nearby rake and promptly getting sprayed. She showed the video to Enid-

Enid: oh dear! Go skunkies! Wait?! Do you think Pugsley can bring the skunkies when he comes for Parents Day? I miss them

Wednesday: we would have to ask Principal Thropp

Morticia: I will ask Elphaba

Xavier: wait what? Skunks?

Wednesday: yes. Pugsley, Enid and I adopted three baby skunks. We named them Phineas, Flower and Bianca

Bianca: you named your skunk after me? Why am I not surprised?

[prettyundeadgirl]

For All Eternity

Summary: Severus takes you on a date to a cemetery.

Pairing: Severus Snape x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.0k

Tags: Fluff

A/N: This may or may not have been inspired by Morticia and Gomez Addams

AO3 Link

Walking atop the flat cobblestone walls fenced around the cemetery, you held hands with your stoic lover, who stepped alongside you on the sidewalk.

The crisp air exuded an intense petrichor and the fragrance of resilient and unbidden wildflowers that had sprouted in the crevices of the masonry and grew among the freshly cut wands of grass dappled with dew. At your unforeseen approach, a startled squirrel dropped its acorn and latched onto the tree's fissured bark, scurrying up into the unfurled russet leaves. You observed the sacred grounds comprised of the deceased and the still trees that formed a cathedral-like canopy overhead and, in the past, witnessed a plethora of tears and interments.

Though an unconventional choice for a date and what most would find creepy or macabre, you deemed it hauntingly beautiful and… very Severus.

He glanced over at your figure, and nature faded into an insignificant blur as he traced the contours of your face in deep reverence. He struggled to fathom your arrant devotion to him and often pondered whether it was a trick or a long dream. But your undying love proved his moronic beliefs to be entirely false, and a small half-smile formed as his compelled gaze traveled over your physique and gradually made its way to your legs, watching your careful steps and savoring every detail of your exterior like a captivating painting one viewed in a museum.

If not for reaching the iron gate embellished with ornate patterns and remnants of patina from exposure, his eyes would have remained fixated on you, lost in complete admiration.

Severus, hands placed at either side of your waist, helped you down, and the dead leaves scattered asunder crinkled at your light contact. Smiling, you interlocked your arm with his, letting your fingertips brush against his coal-black sleeve.

You both furthered into the sepulchral realm, where between the rows of stone memories and desires reposed. You viewed the sun-blanched gravestones, some standing tall, adorned with intricate carvings and beautiful angelic sculptures—sullenness chiseled on their expressions forever, and marble cracked by the dejection burdened upon them. Other gravestones leaned precariously, their inscriptions weathered into obscurity by countless detrimental precipitations.

There was a strange sense of peace within the center of the cemetery—a place where the living and the dead coexisted and the delicate veil between worlds grew thin. Each crunch of gravel underfoot echoed and broke the palpable silence, along with the transient caws of ravens resting on jagged branches, some taking off to begin or continue their adventures. As the warm sunlight lifted the thin layer of fog hovering over the ground, the early autumn leaves broke off and fluttered gracefully to the ground, ready to rest and decay like the dead beneath.

You each took turns guessing the lives of each person and their ultimate tragic demise. Of course, his were far more detailed and structured with copious amounts of emotion, as if the stories had been his own experiences. You found yourself unable to resist the allure of his low, vibrating tones falling from his lips as he shared his conjectures. His voice was woven with threads of raw authenticity, seamlessly blending each word with passion, and you were in love with and drawn to it.

After some tales, trodding the endless path as graves whispered of love, loss, and sorrow throughout, you skimmed the engraved names and dates, some years being unfortunately close to one another. Suddenly, a particular headstone caught your eye. One grave. Two names. Lovers. Died on the same day. You imagined yourself and Severus with the same end: to never even let death do you part and lay tenderly beneath the dirt, side by side, rotting away together for all eternity. And even after all of the stages of decomposition, your love remained transcendent, as it did when life still coursed through your veins.

“There isn’t anything I’d want more.” He mused softly, his hand reaching to the small of your back. You smiled and scoffed playfully at his sudden use of legilimency. That was how he initially discovered you took a liking to him, and he found it somewhat amusing when you’d act calm and collected, destined to keep your feelings sealed away in the chambers of your love-filled heart. But the inside of your mind betrayed your guise, and it didn’t take long for you to confess.

Your face soon fell flat, and an unintentional seriousness enveloped your voice. “Do you swear it?” You awaited his answer, to which he replied with a slight raise of his brow.

“That you won’t ever leave my side?”

The question hung for nothing more than a moment between the two of you, and then he began with your name like a prayer beneath his breath.

“If you were to die,” his hands rose, cupping your face as his unwavering eyes stared deep into your glossy-coated ones. His touch, gentle and sure, allayed your foolish worries. “I would not spend another second on this miserable earth. The only reason I still tolerate it is because you make life worth living.”

Although you hadn’t replied, your look said it all, and for a moment, you both shared an intense gaze, exchanging sentiments that could not be expressed with words. The close contact never failed to send a swarm of butterflies inside you, and you reminisced on every moment that caused it. 

His eyes soon broke contact to flicker elsewhere, and without hesitation, he connected his lips to yours. The earth felt as if it had paused, granting you a moment beyond the constraints of time. Shared desire drew both of you closer, and the space gradually disappeared. Your hands traveled to the nape of his neck, and he angled his head to deepen the kiss. This action alone ignited a spark within you, setting your heart ablaze at the intensity of his affection.

And when you pulled away, something neither of you truly wanted to do, your breaths mingled, leaving an imprint of your profound endearment on the land. As contradictory as it seemed, the graveyard teemed with life, and you spent the rest of your date conversing with one another, relishing in each other’s company.

The cemetery, once a symbol of endings, became a place of beginnings for the both of you, and it was an enchanted time that you would forever cherish and take with you to your grave.

[gale-heart]

“…My esteemed coworkers.”

I was inspired

Two warlocks try to solve a problem

( ft Kavard who belongs to @woofling , Neil is mine )

[dwarnian]

SHE IS MY SCAR: an Agatha/Rio fanmix in chronological order

listen here

(selected lyrics for each song under the cut ^_^)

Is This Love or Mass Extinction - Emily Axford

Got a feeling that it's just begun The excitement and the fun And the revelation The flirting and the phone calls And the cataclysm I'm in love and also frightened

Hell And You - Amigo The Devil

I love the shitty things we do together Live with me in this sin forever Hell, and you I know you want it too I say, take the shot, see this chance Feel the fire and let me have this Dance with you

Danse Macabre - The Oh Hellos

[Instrumental]

Hit Me Where It Hurts - Caroline Polachek

Go on and hit me in the heart, hit me where it hurts Go on and hit me in the Bullseye, dead end Moving target Carousel, carousel Baggage, claim it Promise one day You will hate me But right now, just ride it out Ride it out, ride it out

Are You Hurting The One You Love - Florence + The Machine

Are you hurting the one you love? When you leave them sleeping on the hollow ground

hard to breathe - bugsy

Come on, make it easier And go the fuck away 'Cause you make it hard to breathe And not in a good way

I Don't Want Love - The Antlers

If I leave before you And I walk out alone Keep your hands to yourself When you follow me home I don't want love I don't want love

Landfill - Daughter

Cause this is torturous Electricity between both of us And this is dangerous 'Cause I want you so much But I hate your guts I hate you

Kiss With A Fist - Florence + The Machine

Broke your jaw once before I spilled your blood upon the floor You broke my leg in return So let's sit back and watch the bed burn

Pedestrian at Best - Courtney Barnett

I love you, I hate you, I'm on the fence, it all depends Whether I'm up, I'm down, I'm on the mend, transcending all reality I like you, despise you, admire you What are we gonna do when everything all falls through?

Pass The Knife - No/Me

Thought you had control, I'll strip you till you're bones Scraping your knees till you beg for more Cover you in scars, just to leave a mark Get you addicted, then tear you apart

Poison & Wine - The Civil Wars

Oh, your hands can heal, your hands can bruise I don't have a choice, but I still choose you Oh, I don't love you, but I always will Oh, I don't love you, but I always will

Bitter Water - The Oh Hellos

I still taste you on my lips Lovely bitter water The terrible fire of old regret is honey on my tongue And I know I shouldn't love you I know I shouldn't love you but I do

Bite The Hand - Boygenius

I can't love you how you want me to I can't love you how you want me to I can't love you how you want me to

Breezeblocks - alt-J

She may contain the urge to run away But hold her down with soggy clothes and breezeblocks Cetirizine, your fever's gripped me again Never kisses, all you ever send are fullstops

Your Love Is Killing Me - Sharon Van Etten

Break my legs so I won't walk to you Cut my tongue so I can't talk to you Burn my skin so I can't feel you Stab my eyes so I can't see

Oceanographer's Choice - the Mountain Goats

And then we fell down And we locked arms We knocked the dresser over as we rolled across the floor I don't mean it when I tell you That I don't love you anymore Look at that Would you look at that The way the ceiling starts to swerve What will I do when I don't have you When I finally get what I deserve

To Meet You There - Anjimile

Have I been unyielding? I cross the line to meet you there Have I been unwieldy? I'll walk the line to meet you there All desire All delight I will give up the fight All remorse All regret I forgive not forget

Grave Dust - the Mountain Goats

[Instrumental]