#UP Lantern Parade

[djjvc]

Lantern Parade in UP Diliman: Maskipaps 2023 - Crossover

[daguerreotyping]

Magic lantern glass slide entitled "Man in His Strength" depicting a very fit fellow running in very small shorts, c. 1890s

[choochooboss]

Sygna parade!

Alt version!

Ok first, I need to scream:

I LOVE THE SYGNA SUITS

THE FRILLS!! THE FASHION!! THE NOD TO OLD FASHIONED TRAIN CONDUCTOR SUITS FROM 1800’S!!THE ELECTRIC LANTERNS ARE SO CLEVER!!

POKEMAS EMBRACED THE YELLOW AND PURPLE WE LOVE TO ASSOCIATE THEM WITH AND IT MAKES ME SO HAPPY!!

THE BOOTS! THE FLOWER SLEEVES! THE BLACK COLLAR SHIRT ON EMMET! THE STRIPED TIGHTS!

*ahem*

The designs fast drew my mind into marching bands so I went for this idea first ahah! At some point I watched a ton of marching band videos, they cheered me up with the exciting and very complex perfomances and the players enthusiam was so catchy!! Also watching the 1st person POVs of i.e. the trumpet and drum players are super fun ahaha! Combined with the striking costumes all this directly reminded me of submas, and now it’s a thing!!!

[draconic-desire]

🔶 Rex Dracorum 🔶

Yandere Zhongli x Reader

At this year’s Lantern Rite, you happen to cross paths with a dragon, much to the chagrin of the one who holds you in the palm of his hand. The result has you trapped between them.

Warnings: Very brief mention of nsfw at the end, implied kidnapping, forced relationship, yandere behavior. Basically my version of what would have happened if Zhongli and Neuvillette actually met at the Rite…

Despite the contract irrevocably binding you to the Lord of Geo, its progenitor allows you a surprising number of freedoms.

Sometimes, you can pretend like he didn’t steal your life away with a simple signature. That he didn’t back you into a corner, making you decide between two evils: to be his wife and mate, or watch as everything and everyone you ever cherished suffer the wrath of the rock.

Why me?, you would plead aloud, desperate for any loophole, any escape from your contract. Why a mortal geologist with only a few mora to her name?

You’re one of the few who appreciates the rock over the gem, my precious lapis, he’d reply cryptically. Always riddles and non-answers, layered statements garnished with polished words.

If you could reverse time, you would have refused his invitation for tea that first time. Little did you know that each of those subsequent meetings, each time you spent listening to his fantastical tales shared between steaming cups, you were digging your grave a foot deeper, his hold on you constricting an inch further.

Perhaps if you had rejected him outright, he would have viewed you not as a unique mineral, but as another insignificant pebble in a sea of endless, colorless sediment. As no more than the dirt beneath his boot.

Instead, you must seek refuge from him and his stifling, suffocating presence in the times between the cracks, like now, as you take in the transformed Liyue Harbor, adorned with lights and colors brighter than any precious stone.

Hailing from Liyue, the Lantern Rite has always been a time of celebration and reflection for you and your family. Now it represents one of the only times the invisible shackles are lifted from your frame.

Although Zhongli does initially insist on walking you through the harbor, arms interlocked as he parades you around while monologuing about Liyue’s rich history, he permits you to venture off on your own and explore while he entertains his associates or work clients during the day. Although you know there are constantly eyes on you, usually a certain grumbling yaksha, this precious time almost feels like normal.

Today, you’ve decided on a stroll through Qiaoyang Village. The quiet, leisurely existence that its inhabitants have adopted fills you with a rare tranquility. Walking at a slow pace among the many street vendors, the scent of tea leaves, fresh mint and spices, permeates your nose, beckoning you forward. Your tea stocks at home are getting a bit low, you mentally remark, and having some of your own gives you an excuse to occasionally opt out of the times Zhongli wants to drag you out again.

Your mind set, you turn to find yourself a fraction of a second from running straight into a wall of boxes.

No—looking down, you spot a pair of black and gold boots, leading up to black trousers and elegant blue robes. A pair of matching gloves holds the boxes in place. There’s actually a person carrying all of those parcels.

Due to the boxes obscuring their view, they notice you too late—with startlingly quick reflexes, they manage to avoid running into you, but given their sudden halt mid-step, the boxes in their arms go toppling to the ground.

You gasp at your stupidity and immediately drop to your knees to maintain the stranger’s fallen goods. Embarrassed at your carelessness, you stumble over your words. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t see you—”

A gloved hand rests on your own scrambling fingers, calming your frantic attempt to organize the items. “No apologies necessary. I am the one at fault for not being more alert.”

Turning to face the stranger, who is now crouching beside you, the air in your lungs extinguishes as your eyes lock.

Undoubtedly, this man is one of the most handsome individuals you’ve ever laid eyes on.

Long, silver hair cascades around his sharp, defined features: almond eyes with striking lilac irises, high cheekbones and full lips, a tall, muscular frame clearly sculpted with subtle muscle. His attire—sapphire robes, adorned with lighter accents and intricate whirls of ocean blues—is clearly of expensive taste and sophistication. The jabot and dewdrop pendant around his neck suggest he’s Fontainian, perhaps associated with the court there.

You must look like a gaping fish out of water, for the man helps you to your feet with a kind smile. “I must have given you quite the startle. Are you feeling alright?”

His deep baritone rings through you, similar yet so unlike the proud voice of the Geo Archon you’ve grown accustomed to. Blinking twice, you regain your bearings and pray to the Seven—excluding one in particular, who would be very unhappy with you—that the man didn’t notice you gawking at him. “Ah, yes, I’m fine. Again, I’m very sorry for being so distracted. If any of your items are damaged, I’m more than happy to pay for replacements.”

“That is quite generous of you, but I can assure you that won’t be necessary. You see, these boxes merely contain tea, nothing more.” To prove his claim, he bends down to retrieve a box that opened when it landed, revealing simple, sealed bags of leaves.

Your shoulders sag in relief. It truly seems like no damage was done. “Well, at least let me help you wrap them up together. I know a trick that will make carrying them all much easier.”

The white-haired male nods, followed by a subtle smile. “That’s very kind of you. I accept your proposal.”

After a quick stop at another stall to buy twine, you start to work on binding the boxes together. You count more than ten in total—who needs that much tea, anyway? The amount of it is almost comical, but you can’t bring yourself to actually poke fun of the man. Not when he’s looking at you with such an endearing smile. Like he’s seeing you, not just the wife of the Lord of Geo.

Your face heats. “So,” you start, trying to focus on your knots and ties and not the stranger’s eyes boring into you, “can I ask why you’re carrying so much tea?”

“Well, I originally was transporting some goods back to Fontaine for my friends and colleagues, but I decided to partake myself. It was buy ten boxes get half off,” he replies, as calmly as if he were stating an obvious fact.

You can’t help it. A giggle escapes your lips as you quirk your head to the side. The innocence with which this man admitted to being scammed endears you greatly, and you can’t help but play along with him. “You know, that’s a pretty good deal.”

He smiles, then, a subtle thing paired with a tinge of pink along his cheeks. “I thought so, too.”

Your smile grows in tandem. Speaking to others, especially other men, without your husband hovering above the conversation is quite rare for you these days—though you have no doubt you’ll be questioned about it later once Xiao reports the encounter to him, if he hasn’t already—

A hand rests on your shoulder, the landing a bit too heavy and the grip a bit too tight. “Ah, my beautiful wife. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

The sound of Zhongli’s voice sends a jump through your bones. Archons, you knew you were being followed, but you’ve never been located and corralled this quickly. A flame of indignation, which has long since dimmed from an inferno to a mere flicker, sparks in your chest. You’re rightly upset that your time has been cut short, and even before you learned this interesting and undeniably attractive foreigner’s name.

You look up at Zhongli and open your mouth to explain the situation, that you were merely helping the other man secure his absurd amount of tea boxes, but the words die in your throat.

The Lord of Geo’s amber gaze is sharp and deadly as stone, directed at the other man. His jaw tightens and he grinds out, “Neuvillette.”

The silver-haired man’s eyes narrow as his gaze roams from the hand on your shoulder to meet Zhongli’s glower. “Rex.”

Your brow furrows in confusion as you glance back and forth between the two men who look two moments away from ripping each other to ribbons. It’s obvious they know each other, and the name Neuvillette rings a bell of recognition in your mind. But what really concerns you is the term by which Neuvillette called Zhongli. To your knowledge, no one refers to your captor as Rex Lapis except Xiao, who knows of his draconic—

Oh. Oh.

The realization slams into you with a wave of clarity as your head slowly turns toward the other man. The silver, slitted pupils, the shimmering blue horns and pointed ears, the aura of power and hydro around him…

Horrified, your mouth falls open as you truly take in this man, Neuvillette.

No, not a man. The restored leader of Fontaine, the Hydro Sovereign.

You’ve been casually conversing with not only a dragon, but also the Chief Justice of the Region of Justice. One of the original powerhouses of Teyvat, from which the Seven gained their gnoses. And, given the death of the Hydro Archon, there is currently only one in existence restored to their full power.

“Shit,” you breathe, a bit too loudly. Purple and gold irises snap to you in sync, one filled with thinly veiled concern and questioning and the other with building anger and possession.

On cue, Zhongli snakes his arms around your waist, pulling you taut against his side. You swear you feel the hint of claws digging into your skin through the fabric of your dress, the remnants of his exuvia form.

“I had hoped to avoid meeting you here,” Zhongli states, eyes roaming over the scene, the scattered tea boxes, the twine in your hand, as he pieces together the situation, “but my wife is too kind for her own good sometimes.”

Neuvillette’s eyes browse over your form, examining your tense muscles and downtrodden eyes, the arms that remain at your sides. He’s seen cases just like this time and time again in court, but even so, it doesn’t take a legal profession to ascertain that you’re not particularly fond of your husband. And given Morax’s propensity for contracts, Neuvillette’s senses immediately go on alert.

The Chief Justice clears his throat. “Not at all. I think it quite generous of her to have dedicated her time to making my travels easier.” He tries to give you a reassuring smile, but you’re too focused on Zhongli who, despite his collected demeanor, you realize is a thread away from snapping.

Just what kind of battle between dragons have you gotten yourself into the middle of?

“Is that so? Perhaps she took pity on an old man such as yourself. I hear it can be difficult to carry so much after you’ve departed from your prime.”

“Old man?” Neuvillette barks a laugh, but quickly coughs and regains his composure. “Quite ironic coming from you, Rex. Besides, I feel quite reinvigorated these days. One can only assume it’s due to the balances of power returning to their rightful due.”

Zhongli flashes a hint of his canines, the only giveaway to his building rage. “Rightful is quite a biased term. We wouldn’t want to start a war now, would we?”

Neuvillette’s eyes glint like a sword ready for battle. “And you would know quite a bit about inciting wars, wouldn’t you, Rex?”

Dear Archons, you need to stop this before these two lunge at each other’s throats.

“Zhongli,” you try to placate with a soft voice, the name and tone you know he so adores from you, “I believe that Neu—uh, the Chief Justice was on his way back to Fontaine. I only wanted to help him wrap up his purchases correctly for the journey. If we assist him together, then we can head to the Pavilion for tea after, yes?” Part of you is disgusted at yourself for having to grovel, but you can’t allow two immensely powerful draconic beings to brawl over tea in the middle of the village.

Though you have an strong inkling that the argument isn’t over tea.

Your suggestion lands. Zhongli’s muscles relax as he peers down at you, those immovable, amber eyes softening slightly as he drinks you in. The roaming hands across your back and waist, however, hint that you’ll be getting an earful in private. Though of the likely punishments he has in store for you, that’s the least of your worries.

With a single snap of his fingers, Zhongli uses the power of geo to bind Neuvillette’s parcels together. “There. Consider the issue resolved. My wife and I have matters to attend to.”

Zhongli quickly begins to pull you away, and you think you hear a growl over your shoulder from Neuvillette’s direction. “Careful, Rex. I would be most displeased to have to take one of your contracts to court. In the face of the law, they aren’t as omnipotent as you believe them to be.”

You wince, the statement hitting a bit too close to home. Zhongli, on the other hand, goes as still as stone. “That sounds awfully like a threat, Neuvillette.”

“A mere warning. It is of your own fault to read too deeply into it.”

Neuvillette then turns his attention to you, placing a single tea box into your shaking hands. You have no clue when he separated it from the rest.

Leaning in, his voice drops, low enough to be directed to you, yet you know Zhongli hears it clearly. “You are more than welcome to Fontaine. I will see to your accommodations personally, if you so choose to visit. I believe a spirit like yours would be greatly appreciated in our nation.”

All you can do is shake your head forlornly. Never in a million lifetimes will Zhongli allow it, not even before this encounter. You’ll have to settle for seeing Fontaine through your dreams alone.

Straightening with a frown but understanding the position you must be in, of the contract that binds you to the Geo Archon, Neuvillette lets the matter drop. He turns to leave, but not before throwing over his shoulder, “And her name isn’t wife, Rex. It’s…”

You swallow thickly. “(Y/n),” you finish, a mere breath.

Neuvillette gives you a final smile in return. “My offer will always stand, (Y/n). Happy Lantern Rite.”

Moments after he’s out of sight, Zhongli dips his nose into the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent and rubbing his over your skin. “You stink of that other male…but I know how to amend that.”

Needless to say, you did not make it to tea that afternoon.

It wasn’t until that night when Zhongli was asleep, clawed limbs and scaly tail entangled with your naked form, that you deem it safe to open the tea box Neuvillette gifted to you.

Core pounding, you grimace as you stand, the many possessive and claiming bite marks and bruises across your skin even worse than usual. He didn’t lie about wiping any scent of the other dragon away, if the past few hours of nonstop sex were any indication.

You make your way to the kitchen trash, where Zhongli had immediately disposed of it upon arriving home. Heart pounding, you lift the lid.

A shimmering blue vision reflects in your pupils.

[idkyetxoxo]

Aegon Targaryen - A Night on Silk Street

Summary - It was well known that Aegon Targaryen had a preferred brothel worker and he made no secret of his appreciation for her. His gratitude was as generous as it was lavish, reflecting his clear favour. Truly, Aegon the Magnanimous, they say.

Pairing - Aegon Targaryen x reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!), mild language

Word count - 2114

Masterlist for Aegon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

Silk Street in King's Landing truly came alive after dusk, transforming into a vibrant tapestry of sights and sounds. 

The clink of tankards filled with ale echoed through the narrow streets, mingling with the boisterous laughter of patrons spilling from taverns. 

Lanterns flickered in the warm night air, casting a golden glow on the cobblestones as the whores, draped in silks and lace, paraded with practised grace, their smiles as much a part of the night as the moonlight itself.

Working in a brothel was an experience unlike any other. It wasn't something I ever dreamed of or took pride in, but it provided a dependable way to make an honest living. 

Each night, I traded fragments of my soul for coin, a small price to pay for survival in a city where women like me had little choice.

I reclined on my back, the bronze silk robe already draped over me as I toyed with the coin between my fingers. My latest patron, having finished his indulgence, was now dressing and preparing to leave.

The curtains of my alcove were thrown open with a sharp flick, and I let out a resigned sigh. 

"Not yet," I murmured, stretching my legs out languidly without bothering to lift my gaze.

"I'm sorry, my love," Sylvi's voice broke through the dim light. I turned my head to see her standing in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the flickering lanterns in the corridor.

"He was Northern," I began, propping myself up on one elbow and clutching the coin tightly in my hand. "And we both know what Northern men are like," I added, swinging my legs back and forth with a weary, yet knowing smirk.

"It's the king," Sylvi interjected, her tone sharp and urgent. I exhaled sharply, the weight of the revelation sinking in.

"You go," I instructed, but Sylvi's eyes narrowed in question.

"I'm with the prince," she replied, her voice tinged with a mixture of amusement and challenge.

I sprang from my makeshift bed, grabbing a pillow that had fallen to the floor, and poured myself a drink. 

"Look at us," I said, gesturing between us with a wry smile. "Commanding them like royal hounds." 

Sylvi laughed, the sound a rare burst of genuine mirth in the otherwise subdued atmosphere.

It was no secret that the royal brothers had their favourites. Aemond clung to the first woman he'd been with, finding comfort in familiarity, while Aegon had made me his chosen plaything after sampling every other woman in the brothel.

"Loyal pups, aren't they?" Sylvi remarked, and I nodded, downing my drink in a swift motion.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and adjusted my robe, preparing for the night's demands.

With a playful curtsy, I left the dim confines of my alcove and made my way toward the more opulent quarters reserved for those patrons who could afford the highest pleasures. 

The clink of coins and the promise of indulgence awaited in the luxurious spaces where the city's nobles sought their desires fulfilled.

I entered the private alcove, pulling the curtain shut behind me with a practised motion. Aegon turned with a boyish grin, his clothes already strewn carelessly about, revealing his eager anticipation. He was already in the mood for the evening's pleasures.

"Would you like a drink?" I asked, moving to the small table where a jug of fine wine awaited.

The wine reserved for nobles was always better, sweeter, more fragrant, and rich with layers of flavour. I poured myself a generous cup, the liquid glistening in the dim light.

"Yes," he responded, his voice warm and inviting. 

He approached me with a confidence that came from knowing his own desires, wrapping his arms around me from behind. His fingers deftly unfastened the ties of my robe, letting the fabric slip away with practised ease.

As his hands traced a slow, deliberate path up my sides, he pressed soft kisses along the curve of my neck, gently pushing aside the strands of my hair to expose more of my skin. His touch was both tender and thrilling, a prelude to the night ahead.

I turned to face him, feeling the heat of his body against mine. Our chests brushed together, and I handed him his cup, my eyes meeting his with a knowing glance. 

With a gentle, guiding touch, I led him towards the bed, our steps synchronized in the intimate dance we knew so well. 

The anticipation crackled in the air, blending seamlessly with the allure of the fine wine and the promise of the pleasures yet to come.

"Has it been a long night?" he asked, his voice low and warm as I settled onto his lap, straddling him comfortably. His hands rested casually on my hips, a gesture of both possession and affection.

"Not really," I replied truthfully, my fingers idly playing with the soft strands of his silver hair. The familiar hum of his contentment vibrated against my fingertips.

"Just some Northern men," I added with a knowing smile. "We all know how they can be." 

The Northern men were known for their brutish charm and cold demeanour, a contrast to the warmth and ease of my current company.

"Well, aren't you lucky that I have you for the rest of the night then," he said with a grin. 

His arm slid down the gentle curve of my back, coming to rest possessively on my ass, where he gave a soft, appreciative squeeze.

"So lucky," I whispered, leaning in closer, our breaths mingling. His smirk widened, a reflection of his satisfaction and the shared intimacy of the moment.

He leaned in, capturing my lips in a kiss that quickly turned fervent. His tongue sought entry to my mouth, and I responded with equal hunger. Our kiss deepened, a tactile conversation of longing and desire.

His hands slid up my back, pulling me closer as he stood up, carefully twisting us around. With a graceful yet decisive motion, he laid me back on the bed. I propped myself up on my elbows, watching him with a mixture of anticipation and curiosity as he pulled away.

With a mischievous glint in his eye, he reached for the cup of wine beside us. 

"Lay back," he instructed softly. I complied, my heart racing as I settled into the plush covers.

He tipped the contents of the cup, the rich, red wine cascading slowly down my chest. The cool liquid trickled down the valley of my breasts, and a soft gasp escaped my lips at the unexpected sensation.

Aegon positioned himself over me, his tongue darting out to savour the wine from my skin. 

"You taste divine," he murmured, his voice a sultry purr that reverberated through the room.

He licked the liquid off my chest with deliberate strokes, his warm breath sending shivers down my spine. He followed the trail of wine down to my navel, pausing just under my bellybutton.

"So sweet," he murmured, his voice a low, sultry purr that reverberated through the room.

With a tender, deliberate movement, he pressed a soft kiss just below my navel, his lips lingering briefly before he continued his sensual journey upwards. His kisses traced a path to my breasts, his fingers trailing up my midline in sync with his lips.

He opened my mouth gently with his thumb, placing his fingers just in front of me. 

"Taste," he instructed softly, his voice a mix of command and allure.

I complied eagerly, my lips wrapping around his fingers as I began to suck the remaining wine from his skin. Each slow, deliberate motion was met with his intense gaze, a silent exchange of desire and connection. 

His eyes never left mine as I moved, savouring the taste and the shared experience.

He withdrew his fingers from my mouth, his eyes lingering on my parted lips, and then he kissed me again, his lips capturing mine with a fervour that spoke of the passion that had been building between us. 

He paused briefly to admire me, his eyes dark with lust. With a smooth, practised motion, he positioned himself above me, the weight of his body a reassuring presence.

The anticipation built to a crescendo as he aligned himself with me, his touch both commanding and tender. The moment he entered me was a heady mix of relief and ecstasy, our bodies moving in a rhythm that spoke of both need and satisfaction. 

His movements were deliberate and controlled, each thrust a blend of passion and dominance.

The room was filled with the sound of our breathing, the mingled scents of wine and sweat, and the soft rustle of the bedclothes. 

"You feel incredible," he panted, his gaze locked onto mine. 

Aegon's rhythm grew more insistent, his hands gripping my hips as he drove into me with a fervour that matched the intensity of the night. His breaths came in deep, ragged gasps, and his gaze locked onto mine.

"Ride me," he commanded, his voice a low rumble filled with desire. 

He pulled out of me, his gaze locked onto mine with a compelling intensity as he guided me to switch positions. I nodded, my heart pounding with anticipation, and shifted until I was straddling him.

As I lowered myself onto him, the sensation of him filling me again was both exhilarating and grounding. I began to move on top of him, starting with gentle, rhythmic rocks. Aegon's hands rested on my hips, and he reached for the cup of wine once more.

Without breaking our rhythm, he poured the remaining wine down my chest, the cool liquid mingling with the heat of our bodies. 

He leaned forward, his tongue tracing the path of the wine, licking it off my front as I rode him, the sensation driving us both wild.

His touch became more insistent, his hands trailing up to cup my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my nipples in a way that sent shivers through me. I increased the pace, our movements perfectly synchronized as we lost ourselves in the moment.

Soft, breathy moans escaped my lips as I leaned down, my hands resting on his chest for support as I bounced up and down. His mouth followed the trail of wine up my body until our lips met in a heated kiss, the taste of the wine and the shared pleasure making the moment all the more intoxicating.

"Is this what you wanted?" I whispered, my voice barely audible over the sounds of our shared pleasure.

"Yes," he panted, his eyes locked onto mine with a fierce intensity. "Just like that." 

The sensations built and swirled around us, each movement a perfect harmony of desire and fulfilment. As his breaths became more erratic, his grip on my hips tightened. "I'm about to—" he choked out, his voice breaking off into a deep, guttural groan.

With a final, powerful surge, he reached his climax. The warmth of his release spilt inside me, the sensation both intense and familiar. I could feel the depth of his pleasure as it enveloped me, marking the peak of our encounter.

As he reached his climax, I gradually slowed my movements, allowing the intensity to gently fade. We separated, the room now enveloped in a quiet, satisfied stillness. I slipped off him and fell onto the bed beside him, the cool sheets a comforting contrast to our shared heat.

His arm reached out to pull me closer, his fingers trailing softly down my body in a tender, lingering touch.

"Much better than those Northern brutes?" he asked, his voice laced with playful satisfaction.

I laughed, nodding in agreement. "Oh, absolutely," I replied, the sound of my laughter mingling with the quiet of the room.

He fumbled around for a moment before presenting me with a small pouch. I sat up, curiosity piqued, and opened it to reveal a substantial amount of coins. The sight of the glittering pile was impressive, more than I had expected.

"What's this?" I asked, spilling the contents onto the bed in front of me. "This is way too much."

"Nonsense," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand, his fingers drumming through the pile of coins as if to emphasize their abundance.

"It's more than you've ever given me," I pointed out, astonished by the sheer amount.

He shrugged casually, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Consider it a bonus for the night," he said nonchalantly. "You've earned it."

I looked at him, a mixture of surprise and appreciation in my eyes. It was almost endearing, seeing this powerful man so completely under my spell.

"Well, I certainly won't complain," I replied with a smile, my fingers deftly gathering the coins and tucking them away. The unexpected generosity was a pleasant surprise, a mark of the night's success.

Tonight, Silk Street thrummed with an unusually vibrant energy.

A/n -  Wine and sex... pure heaven for Aegon the Magnanimous 👀

[lavenderchqn]

Congrats on 300 followers!! Your works are so lovely, and theyre so fun to read!! 💕

For the library expansion special event, i'd love for a hurt/comfort written fic with tighnari that involves the reader being injured? Like, reader survives but barely, and then nari is so worried taking care of them 🥹

(I have no idea if I did the request right but regardless, congratulations on the milestone again!! And thank you for your hard work 🩷 drink lots of water and take care of yourself!!)

"BELLIS PERENNIS"

synopsis — An accident happens while you're preparing Gandharva Ville for Sabzeruz Festivals' celebrations, luckily Tighnari is there to nurture you back to health... pairings — tighnari x gn!reader warnings — hurt/comfort; mentions of an injury (nothing graphic stated); notes — tysm for this request as well as the kind words! tighnari is a very special boi, so I'm absolutely delighted to be writing for him~ I've actually had something of this caliber in mind for text/written scenarios so I'm delighted for your request. Please also make sure to be taking good care of yourself, anon 🫶

As soon as the calendars mark the start of October, the people of Sumeru begin preparations for their cherished tradition: the Sabzeruz Festival, a celebration honouring their beloved archon. Sumeru’s City streets and squares are adorned with vibrant decorations, fragrant flowers and colourful lanterns light up the bustling markets. Music can be heard everywhere as musicians practice for the grand performance on the day of the archon’s birthday. 

And you? You’re in charge of dressing up Gandharva Ville instead of Tighnari, as he’s on the committee related to the Parade. Thanks to your position as his partner, all forest rangers are eager to help whatever vision you wish to bring to life. To them, it’s somewhat refreshing to be under the guidance of someone else other than their resident Valuka Shauna. 

Currently, your beloved partner is out assisting with yet another brilliant idea of the equally brilliant Madame Faruzan and Kaveh. With no commissions relating to Sumeru’s ecosystem to be done by your friends, the time to decorate the tiny city comes. In all fairness, you all want to get done with it as soon as possible — flora-related issues can pop up out of nowhere… and you promised Tighnari not to over-extort your body.

With the help of Collei, who is surprisingly joining you in the decorating process, you split the tasks among the rangers, assigning each of them to different areas of the village: some will gather additional flowers, others will craft garlands, and a few will set up the lanterns. In your mind, you can envision the vibrant flora adorning the trees and houses, illuminating the Ville like a shimmering and colourful garden. 

At first, everything goes smoothly, allowing you and the younger girl to assist each group in completing the tasks. The garland-making process is by far the most time-consuming, requiring much precision and some “aesthetic” knowledge. The longer it goes, the more and more people join in creating said wreaths, taking over for people tired and with hurt friends. 

As time goes on and on, it gets relatively close to the time Tighnari is supposed to return from Port Ormos. By this point, you’re hanging up the flowery decorations on the trees, balancing on a ladder. Unlike the early morning, people now scatter chaotically. Everyone is hurrying up to finish their part, wanting Tighnari to witness Gandharva Ville in its most beautiful state. With everyone being everything but organised, concentrating on getting the job done is less than easy. Now you have to put up with people knocking into you on accident, messing up your balance.

Just as you’re about to secure another garland, a murmur spreads through the crowd. The word is that Tighnari has been sighted approaching the Ville. This news sends a ripple of excitement — and panic — through everyone. Collei, standing nearby, shoots you a wide-eyed glance before you break into a grin. 

“Alright, everyone!” You call out, clapping your hands to draw people’s attention. “Let’s finish strong so Tighnari can see the full splendour of our hard work!” 

In the rush that follows, people are hurrying to put the finishing touches on the decorations. Rangers are darting back and forth, carrying last-minute additions and adjusting already hung to ensure everything looks flawless. You return your focus to your task, carefully tying the last garland to a branch, breathing steadily to keep your balance despite the chaotic movement below. 

But as you’re about to tie off the final knot, someone below bumps into the ladder, sending it into a wobble. It sways beneath you, throwing you off balance. Your hand instinctively reaches out to grab something, anything, to steady yourself, but there’s nothing within reach. Your heart is pounding as you brace for a fall, feeling the world tilt as the ladder tips further. 

As there’s nothing to catch you… you have an unfortunate meeting with the ground. You can feel something breaking, as you’re knocked out. Darkness envelops you, swallowing the sounds of bustling rangers who now gather around you worried. Slowly, consciousness returns in fragments — voices now hushed, a gentle touch, and a dull, throbbing ache pulsing through your body. 

Blinking your eyes open, you’re greeted by the leafy canopy roof, blurring and swimming in your vision. It takes a moment to orient yourself and take a deep breath, only to feel a sharp, burning pain in your chest.

“Hey, hey, don’t move too much,” A familiar voice says gently. You look up and see Tighnari’s concerned face hovering above you, his brows knit in worry.

“Nari…” You manage to murmur, wincing as his fingers graze your shirt. You can notice a stash of makeshift bandages on a stool nearby. Collei is nowhere to be found, leaving you as the only two in your partner’s abode. 

“You took quite the fall,” Tighnari says softly, his voice both reassuring yet stern. “We’re still waiting for a doctor from Bimarstan to arrive and asses your situation further. We’re quite lucky nobody else was injured. What I cannot explain, however, is why you were climbing ladders without anybody spotting you.” He tries to keep his tone light not to worry you, but it’s easy to tell he’s genuinely concerned. 

You open your mouth to explain, but all that comes out is a cough and you try to grab your chest in pain. Your partner is right in front of you, catching your hands — worried that your fall might’ve resulted in some injury there. 

“Having trouble breathing?” He asks, crouching with your hands still in his. As soon as you reply with a slight nod, his expression changes to a one of worry. Perhaps the situation is worse than he initially predicted. 

“Master! The doctor is here, can we come in?” Collei’s voice echoes, gathering the attention of you both. Gosh, you hope the young girl doesn’t blame herself for your injury. You don’t even want to think about potentially adding more stuff onto her plate of worries. 

“Oh,” Tighnari leaves you be for a second, opening the door to the hut. “But of course. [Y/N] is also awake now.” 

With a quick nod, the doctor enters carefully not wanting to startle you. He can overhear the whispers of your issues with breathing. Regardless of what happened, a thorough examination is in order. According to the words of the young forest ranger, your fall was quite brutal. 

“Mr. Tighnari,” The doctor calls out to your partner as he steps outside. “I’ve concluded my check-up.” 

Tighnari’s ears perk up, focused as he nods for the doctor to continue. He’s trying his best to keep his composure, but you can see the worry in his expression as he waits to hear about the findings. 

The doctor’s done is steady and professional as he speaks. “Your partner has a broken rib. That can explain the chest pain and difficulty breathing. Fortunately, your partner hasn’t fallen all that bad, otherwise rather than a patient… you would’ve had a dead body on your hands.” Despite uttering such words, his posture is unnerved. 

That cannot be said about Tighnari. His eyes are wide with shock, as he tries to comprehend if the doctor is trying to make a joke. Nobody, not even Cyno, would been so brave as to joke about a person dying — his soulmate dying, most specifically. 

“It will take careful attention and time for the rib to heal properly. I’ve wrapped their chest to provide some support, but they’ll need to avoid any strain for the next few weeks.” He pauses, giving Tighnari a meaningful look. “They should take some time off work, heaven knows what you rangers do to patrol Avidya Forest.” 

Tighnari releases a quiet sigh of relief, nodding as he absorbs the information, deciding to omit the thought of your death from his mind. “Thank you, doctor.” He says, voice steady but softened by gratitude. “I’ll make sure they rest and follow your instructions.” 

The doctor gives a small, reassuring nod before leaving. Collei, however, hovers nearby, visibly anxious. Tighnari, picking up on her distress, gestures for her to come closer.

“Collei, it’s alright,” He says gently, giving her a comforting smile. “They’ll be fine, they just need time to recover. Don’t worry — it was an accident, nobody is at fault here.” 

Her shoulders relax slightly, though she still looks at you apologetically. “[Y/N], I… I’m so sorry. I should’ve kept a better eye,” She says, her voice shaky. 

Despite the dull ache in your chest, you manage a small, reassuring smile. “Don’t blame yourself. I’m,” You pause to take a breath. “I’m not upset… and neither should you.” 

“Oh, um— o-okay…” 

Tighnari places a hand on her shoulder, giving her a supportive squeeze. “You’ve done everything you could. I’m very proud of you for taking charge. Now that everything is in order, you can rest as well. We’ve all put in a lot of effort, you know.” 

With a hesitant nod, Collei finally allows herself to relax. She murmurs a quick farewell and leaves, casting one last concerned glance your way. 

Once you’re alone, Tighnari sits beside you, his expression soft as he takes your hand. “You had me worried,” He admits quietly, brushing a thumb over your knuckles. “You’re not getting out of my sight for a while, I guess?” 

You cannot help but chuckle, which immediately turns into a wince as pain flares up in your chest. Tighnari’s grip tightens ever so slightly, brows furrowed in concern. 

“See?” He says. “This is why you’re under strict bedrest. No adventures until you’re fully healed AND approved by the doctor.” 

You sigh in response, resigned but comforted by his soulmate. “Fine, fine. I guess I have to behave now.” You reply, meeting his gaze with a hint of a smile. 

No more than three weeks pass by as you realise being bedridden is quite boring. Sure Collei, Tighnari and even Cyno are here to keep you company while you get better, yet you're still aching to go out to witness the Sabzeruz Festival in person. You’re quite certain that at this point, every place of Sumeru is decorated to the nines and yet you’re stuck in your silly little bed. 

“Drink slowly,” Tighnari says as he settles a glass of water on your nightstand. Over the past few weeks, your partner has truly evolved into his final form — a mother hen. Ever since the first day of your recovery, he has been granting your every wish. Fluffing over pillows? He’s done it. Feeding you? Complied with an eye roll. And yet, there was one thing he wouldn’t allow you to do… Leaving the hut. It has been so long since you’ve been outside, you were unsure if you knew how to walk still. 

“Oh, thank you,” You pick up the glass and slowly bring it up to your mouth.“You shouldn’t have.” You say, taking a sip. 

Tighnari’s watchful eye doesn’t leave you for a second, ensuring you’re drinking slowly enough not to cause yourself any harm. “Oh please, darling,” He rolls his eyes, scoffing at your preposterous comment. “It’s my pleasure to help out my soulmate in their time of need.” 

“I know, I know…” You sigh, taking a look outside. 

The garlands are still hanging in the branches, adoring Gandharva Ville’s trees with beautiful shades of pink and blue. Oh, how you long to witness this beauty in person, rather than from the confines of your bed. No matter how much you tried to hide said desire from Tighnari, there was simply no use. The male knew of every single one of your thoughts, whether you liked it or not. 

“You know,” Tighnari sits next to the bed, resting his head on his hand. “Maybe we could take a walk today? I think it would do you good.” 

Your eyes light up at his words, though you quickly try to compose yourself, not wanting to appear too eager. After all, Tighnari’s been strictly enforcing your rest, and far too much excitement might have him second-guess the idea. “A walk?” You ask, trying to sound calm but failing as a hint of hope slips into your voice. 

He chuckles, eyes warm as he observes your expression. “Yes, a short walk,” Tighnari emphasises, “Only around the village, and only if you promise to let me know if anything feels off. We don’t want you taking any more tumbles.” 

You nod, lifting your pinky finger. “I’ll take it easy.” 

With his support, you ease out of bed, feeling the cool, earthy air of Gandharva Ville wash over you. The decorations are even more enchanting up close, just as they were on the day you put them up. Villagers and forest rangers greet the two of you as you pass by, each offering a smile and words of encouragement — relieved to see you up and about. 

Tighnari keeps a steady pace beside you, his arm linked with yours as he leads you through the village. He looks at you every so often, making sure you’re okay. He cannot risk you any other injury so quickly, otherwise the doctor’s cruel joke might come to fruition. 

For all this time, he had been keeping up a front of being worried… in moderate amounts. On the insides, for the past few weeks, Tighnari had been a nervous wreck. Juggling preparations for the festival while taking care of you was no easy feat. And yet, seeing you up and moving at least fills him with a deep, quiet relief.

“Are you okay there?” He asks softly. There’s a tenderness in his eyes, one that shows how much he’s missed seeing you this lively.

“Better than okay,” You reply with a smile, though you do your best not to overdo it, worried about the ache in your chest. “Everything looks so beautiful. It’s like… exactly how I’d imagined it.”

Tighnari chuckles. “Good to know the work has upheld the planner’s expectations.” He sighs a little. “Though I’d much rather have you safe and sound than climbing ladders. Please… leave the high work to someone else next time, you hear me?” 

“Okay, okay—“ You nod, feeling gratitude mixed with guilt. “I never meant to make you worry.” 

“I know. There was just…” His expression grows serious. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt as helpless as when I saw you there on the ground…” 

The admission hangs in the air, as does the silence that comes soon after. Stopping for a second, you reach out to Tighnari, to wrap yourself around him in a gentle hug. “You took amazing care of me… I couldn’t have asked for more.” 

He nuzzles his head with yours, not wanting to put any pressure on your body, grounding himself in said reassurance. “Well,” He says, his voice lingering. “You’re gonna have to let me fuss a little longer. I’ll watch you like a hawk until that rib is fully healed.” 

“As if you weren’t doing so already…” 

date of posting — november 4th 2024

[zyonsay]

Js came back from a mental health break to see ZYON REQS OPEN !!! How about a Loscar x male reader smut? I don't know if you write for Logan Sargeant since you don't have him in your list so— 😭 if not you can change the driver to Lando I don't mind, but the three of them are drunk and playing drunk truth or dare and things take a turn - 🔥

I dare you LN4&OP81

Fem aligned people may read but not f3tishize my work!!

Summary: A game of truth or dare between you, Lando and Oscar takes a turn...

Reader: Male

Warnings: Suggestive, NSFW, Dude-bro language, Horsegirl-ified reader because i said so

Now playing: 'Runway Walk' by Demrick

AN: Hey there! i FINALLY finished this and icl, not my best work. BUT i hope y'all can still enjoy this!

Loud chants echoed through the dimly lit bar. Your team members had picked you up and were now parading you around. The bar only had limited access to your equipe of elite show riders, a few close associates along with other familiar faces. Apparently, it was your lucky day, because your best friend finally had time to celebrate one of your many wins with you. Lando and yourself had been friends since diaper times and stuck together ever since. Even though you both were inseparable, your careers were demanding and didn’t offer you much time to hang out. He was now a rising F1 star, and you fought your way into prestigious show arenas, your schedules were now filled with training, media appointments and various other events. But, whenever you did find time to catch up, you always had a good time together. Not so recently he had introduced you to his teammate, and “friend”, Oscar. He’s a sweet guy, his smile felt like a little piece of sunshine and the swoop in his hair reminded you of gentle waves in the ocean. The chemistry between Lando and Oscar was kind of obvious, but you didn’t want to assume anything. That was until Lando had drunkenly admitted to his situationship.

The loud music boomed trough the doors as you stumbled out into the cold night air. Coordinating your wobbly legs while giggling uncontrollably was difficult. Very difficult. Lando had noticed your struggles and wrapped an arm around your waist while dragging you to the nearest bench. Maybe if you were sat, you wouldn’t fall on your face. A soft breeze blew trough the city and a slight shiver ran down your spine. It wasn’t actually cold, just refreshing enough. Lando had also sat down by now and leaned his head back while closing his eyes. Your gaze flickered to him, the street lanterns painted the contours of his face in orange hues. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was the poetic mood you’ve found yourself in, but now felt like the right time to tell him how you feel. You’ve always loved him, but you were also scared of telling him, or anyone for that matter. Besides. You two had very busy lives and barely got to see each other, so how would a relationship work out? But now wasn’t the time to worry about that. Not when he was looking so beautiful. How do you say this? How do you confess your feelings without sounding like an absolute idiot. Gathering all your courage, your lips parted, and the first word was ready to leave them. “Y/n. I gotta tell you something.”, his eyes were still closed, and his head was still leant back. A frustrated sigh fell from his figure, and he shifted his seat. Now he was looking at you, God, those beautiful eyes. They were so sincere and looked like a fresh margarita at the beach. “I- “, his gaze avoided your own for a second before his eyes darted up to yours again. “I think I might be into men. Like in a gay way.” That was the most bro-dude way to say that, but it sure suits him. A small smile crept onto your face. “Thanks for trusting me.”, you grabbed his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Coming out to anyone is difficult, especially when you can’t predict how they’ll react. This was worth a lot to you.

“…and I sort of have a thing going right now,” Shit. SHIT. What? If it is some random dude, you swore to yourself that- “with Oscar.” Your brain must’ve short circuited right then and there. Your expression must’ve given your shock away, because Lando looked really worried all of a sudden. “…you okay mate?”, his eyebrows knit together in confusion. Quickly, you need to react, otherwise he’ll think you’re a weirdo. “Yeah, totally.”, you gulped, “I just didn’t expect you to start something with your teammate.” Absently, he scratched his arm. “Yeah, i gotta be careful. You know, with PR and stuff.”

Obviously, Oscar is also attending the afterparty. As much as you wanted to dislike him for getting together with your crush, he was so nice that you’d feel like an asshole. As sour as the taste in your mouth was, you were happy for them. They seem to fit together really well, and you couldn’t be mad because your best friend’s relationship is working out, that’s just rude. Nevertheless, the little touches they shared filled you with jealousy. Suddenly, you felt a hand on your shoulder. “Just so you know, I have your favorite white with me. In case you wanna celebrate some more later.”, you could basically hear the smug smile in Lando’s voice. Tempting. Maybe you weren’t feeling so sour after all.

Without much care, you left your shoes somewhere in the hallway, while leading Oscar and Lando towards the balcony. Usually when you were travelling around for competitons, you’d rent a hotel room, since there wasn’t really any point in staying longer than you had to. But for the finale of your season, you wanted to enjoy the beautiful city, before departing again. While your Horse was being flown back to your home country, you decided to rent a holiday home. It was relatively close to the coast, so you’d hear the lively waves when opening the windows. Your thoughts were cut short by the sound of shuffling cards. More specifically, a deck of UNO cards. Wait what. Why was he shuffling an UNO deck? Where did he even get that from?

“Nah dude, put that back down.” Lando slurred while lazily swatting Oscars hands away. Disgruntled, but indifferent enough, Oscar put the deck of cards back down. “Wild idea: lets revert back to seventh grade and play truth or dare.”, Lando’s face lit up at that. In his mind, he was already going trough all the evil dares he could make you guys do. “We’re literal adults.”, Oscar deadpanned. For a moment, it looked like Lando was thinking about something. “Well, let’s make things more interesting. Every time you pick truth or won’t do the dare, you take off one clothing piece.” He held up one finger, so it was clear that you wouldn’t be stripping completely naked in seconds. That’s an awfully odd request, but with the taste of wine still lingering on your tongue, you could care less. And so, it begun.

“Y/n, truth or dare?”, his intentions were pretty clear, but you wanted to toy with him for a little. “Dare.”, you took another sip of the fourth or fifth Bottle of white wine, that you three have been passing around like biscuits. “An easy one to start with, do a handstand.” Hah, that was a piece of cake. Scrambling off the rattan lounge, you readied yourself to do a handstand against the wall. A free-standing one might be a bit too confident in your current state. With a swift motion you hurled your legs into the air and banged them against the wall, while you did your best to not flop onto the floor. Considering how dizzy you were, you did a good job. “Impressive!”, Oscar giggled. There was nothing to laugh about, the bastard was up next. “Truth or Dare, Os?”, he was quick to answer. “Dare.” Bingo. As rarely as you and Lando got to catch up, he does talk about Oscar often. This man doesn’t even know hoe much you know about him. “I dare you to whistle.”, his smile faded. He was ninety percent sure you were aware of the elephant in the room. He sighed before pulling his shirt off. “I can’t whistle.”

Admittedly, this was much more fun than you initially thought it’d be. It must’ve already been something past midnight, but you guys were chatting away on the balcony. By now, your and Oscar’s shirts and socks had gone, while Lando was barely left in his briefs. “Truth or Dare?”, Lando intently looked at you. “Dare.” Now you’ve gotten yourself stuck in his trap. “I dare you to kiss me.”, now that made you stop in your tracks. “Dude, I’m not a homewrecker.” Oscar’s hickory eyes had a playful glint in them. “I’ll allow it.”, he leant against the backing of the lounge, readjusting his seat. Your heart pounded loudly in your chest. This is what you wanted for so long, but this feels taboo. Nevertheless, you leant forward and slid a hand behind your friend’s neck. Pulling him closer your lips met his and a contempt sigh left Lando. You felt Oscars eyes on you, they were burning holes into your skull. After all you were kissing his fling right now. The world seemed as if it was melting apart into a big mess of colors, but that all stopped when Lando gently pulled away. With slightly shaky hands, you settled back into a comfortable sitting position. “Oscar.”, he hummed, “Truth or dare?” He exaggeratedly tapped his finger against his chin. “Truth.” He now looked directly into your eyes. “Why didn’t you have a problem with me kissing Lando.”, his eyes widened at your question. For a moment he seemed to think for a good answer, but instead of speaking up, he glanced over at Lando. The brit loudly gulped, it sounded almost comical, before speaking up. “So, the thing is…” His, whatever Oscar was to him, tapped him on the knee, encouraging Lando to speak up. “I like you. Like in a gay way.” Dumbfounded, you shifted your gaze from Oscar to Lando and then back again at the pale Aussie. “And you’re ok with that?!”, you pointed your finger towards Oscar. “You see, we actually wanted you to... join our relationship.” His tone was unsure, and he kept searching Lando’s gaze.

Now you were officially flabbergasted. This must be a fever dream, right? There was no way this was real right now.

Obviously, it was, because now you were sat here with Lando kissing down your neck and Oscar pressed up behind you, squeezing your thighs, hips and waist. You leant your head backwards against Oscar’s shoulder, whining quietly. You whispered sharply, “I dare you to take those damn pants off.”, while fiddling with the buckle of his belt. Oscar chuckled lightly before slipping his pants off and propping himself up behind you again. Carefully, you reached behind you and felt his hard member in your hand. With gentle motions, you began palming him as best as possible. Lando smiled against your neck, his eyes darting up to meet Oscar’s gaze. His tanned hand tugged on your underwear before swiftly slipping underneath it. You gasped at the tight feeling of his hand around your dick. Slowly but surely, he started pumping up and down, meanwhile he continued his artwork of hickeys along your neck and chest bone. Not wanting to neglect his hard cock, you wrapped your hand around it and pressed your thumb over the tip. He exhaled sharply. Oscar leaned in close to your ear. “You wanna suck them?” Stuck in an endless loop of pleasure and torture, you could only whine as a pathetic attempt at an answer.

[ladybirdswritings]

Pride & Prejudice - Coriolanus {Young} Snow x Reader

Summary: You’re birthed into a lively family in dire need of financial stability. As the eldest, you’re paraded around to be married and much to the dismay of your mother, you deny every hand offered. Yet unbeknownst to you, a man of great power and influence, Mr. Snow, is lurking in the shadows, waiting for his chance to have you. Steamy Pride & Prejudice retelling with young snow and you! Alternate universe, au!snow <3

Notes: I hope u girlies eat this up, getting scrapped otherwise </3 — as always, thank u for leaving comments and loves as it keeps me motivated!

next chapter

one

You’d much rather be at any other breathing, standing tower of gold trimmings and cracked pillars in existence.

At any building filled to the brim, simply overflowing with tiered skirts and lively grins… offered hands and gentlemen donned in fine suits, pockets suffocated by their own riches.

Yet you cannot be; for mama has ordered your presence to be most dire and mandatory. Although you did consider fleeing for the highest hilltop or feigning ill, you knew well that mama would find you or see straight through your falsehoods.

“My my, you look as though you’ve got something unsweet taped to your vicious tongue.”

You scowl at the blonde goddess most confusingly known to be your sister, and she only flips a ringlet of gold behind her poised shoulder.

“I think it to be quite clear how dreadful I find this. No need to observe aloud, sister.”

Her mischievous sapphire orbs glow with enjoyment, face pink and flushed — skin glistening under the gold lanterns flickering above.

You’ve watched happily from your seat, she’s sure to have danced with at least twenty men now.

No wonder mama has no fears or worries about Jane. She is just guaranteed to run off and be married within the upcoming season, it only makes for less of a distraction for mama— she’ll be glued to you like quill to paper.

It is not as though men do not want you. Oh, they do. Most ardently.

The trouble is only that you do not want them.

How horrible it is to be confined to four lonesome, frayed walls with nothing more than your books and your wit to keep you company. Married to a man who will most certainly be your senior, who busies himself with trivial matters and leaves you to be cold at home.

You would much rather drown yourself in the river stix than face a fate so melancholic.

You wish to be an odd thing, to run away into a cottage and spend your days parted from the people who surround you. You will read books of men made from dreams and you will find comfort in knowing that you will not be wed to a man who will only discontent you.

Of course, that would bring great shame upon your family, ruin them. So it seems you will end up a spinster or a governess. Both fates, although not as you may hope in your dreams, still offer more joy.

“Forgive me for having fun. It is not why I displease you however, perhaps if you picked your pretty head up from that book and stopped waving the hands that greet you away— you would know this. Mama has sent me. The duke, his sister and a dear friend of his have arrived here. Here! At our party, can you believe it?”

You huff out a sigh laced with annoyance, flipping to the next chapter of the dilapidated thing in your hands.

“No, I truly cannot.” You mutter, yet you cannot spare the fresh page even a glance before it is snatched from your clutched fingers.

A first edition, it shreds from its spine and erupts a gasp from both you and Jane. Mama’s cyan gaze is cold and anxious, feigning a tight smile.

That one was your favorite.

You do not lift your head, you do not notice the three towering men who look down upon your reserved oak wood bench in interest. Mama clutches the duke’s palm in an embrace of suffocation, yet you do not pay it even a little mind as you drop to your knees in your pretty dress to find the strayed page.

“My god, where are your manners — girl! Please do not pay her rudeness any attention, she gets sickly over these things. Sweetheart, up now— we can buy you another.”

Her voice is cold, devoid of any admiration. It is a lie, too. Your family cannot afford even a singular chapter of a new novel, let alone a first edition. You should be the one plagued by frustration, yet you feel as though it is you who is doing something wrong.

Even so, your eyes search the floor with great fervor, landing on a polished leather shoe which suffocates chapter twelve.

You wince, preparing all the words you can to kindly request the stranger lifts his big foot off of your paper. Yet they dissipate in the back of your throat.

The man, he bends at his knee as he frees the old thing from his sole. Your eyes lift to greet him, then.

He is a mess of blonde locks, unruly compared to that of the others with hair long enough. Theirs are tamed with ribbons, his only sits atop his head. His eyes are a cold color, one you cannot explain. They are commanding, fueled with great intensity.

Beyond all of this?

He looks most certainly miserable.

He does not wish to attend tonight, one glance proves this.

He spares you no words as he passes you the paper, eyes locked upon the contents of it. He offers you a hand of assistance, too.

You ignore it, wincing at the disgust your mother expresses.

You need no aid as you lift to your feet and dust the old thing off, he follows you — becoming a tower taller once he stands.

Jane, you are grateful now that she is still here. She laughs most uncomfortably, placing a polite hand upon your shoulder as she snatches the page away. Far more gently.

“My dear sister, may I introduce you to your grace — sir Sejanus Plinth of Newbury. Alongside him, his sister — Grace Plinth and their dearest friend, Coriolanus Snow, also of Newbury.”

You know well that you’ve just about boiled a vicious pot of scorching water, one you’ll have to face the many consequences of. A quick glance stolen toward mama proves it.

With a soft sigh, you curtsy to the men before you. A show of respect which you most certainly do not have for them. They are just as unimportant as the others, grand status or not. Including the miserable looking blonde with cold eyes.

“Lovely to meet you. This is truly a grand gathering you’ve all put together…” Sejanus offers with a smile of pearl. You peer up at him, his eyes stealing quick glances at goddess Jane.

Mama goes off on a tangent about how much she adores hosting gatherings as much as attending them — and it’s all a mere buzz in your ears.

Your eyes shift toward the sister, Grace. She’s scowling at you… how peculiar.

“Jane, forgive me if this is far too forward but — I would be most honored to be the last dance you partake in this evening.” Sejanus swallows back his nerves, wincing at the sound of his own voice. Sweet Jane doesn’t bother torturing him, she only nods a shy head.

“Oh, come Grace! I must show you how my youngest daughter performs on the grand piano!”

You feel poorly for the scowling girl who is whisked away by mama. Jane and Sejanus follow alongside them, but part as soon as the music begins.

Both of your palms come to a clasp— shifting weight on your heels as you watch Jane twirl and giggle a golden sound, so beautiful you are certain it could bring each and every single gentleman in attendance to their knees.

Well, except the miserable Mr. Snow.

Your eyes drift to him then — and you catch his gaze already locked upon your stature. He averts it hastily, staring at what looks to be the far wall after he is caught.

Does he plan to lurk here like a shadow’s phantom for the entirety of the evening?

“Do you dance, Mr. Snow?”

His jaw is a sharp — tense thing. It clenches in surprise at your voice. He doesn’t spare you a glance as he answers.

“Not if I can help it.” Is but all he offers before returning to a miserable state of silence again.

By god, to garner more than a mere word is equivalent to the act of tugging teeth loose. You purse your lips, turning your head away to find another question you could offer.

You do not bother, however.

For the first time in all your life, in all the seasons you’ve suffered — you wish to dance. Not because you find it to be fun or any more stimulating than a novel but; rather because you would be far more joyous away from him.

Beyond this, it would make mama less angered when the gathering reaches its end.

You do not offer him a word of parting before you plunge into the lively crowd. A man with blonde locks, not quite as icy as Mr. Snow’s own tousles, offers his hand.

You lose yourself in the rhythm, pretending to be that of a girl in one of your novels. Whisked away by a mysterious, dancing stranger who offers more than just a meaningless hand.

You pretend the blonde is to be a grand lover, one who will care for you beyond material needs. Beyond what is expected and a bore.

You pretend, and when the song ends — so does each and every one of your mindless fantasies.

To normality once again…

[southern-gothic-comic]

Page 83

Next 💜 Back 🖤 First

Patreon 💜 Art Prints 🖤Books!

(Author's Notes)

Panel 1: Sometime later. Laudna sits outside on a swing she has made, looking forlorn and still a little sulky, letting her rat climb around in her hair. Evening is deepening into dusk around her.

Panel 2: She raises her head at the approach of a parade of lights appearing between the trees like will-o-the-wisps.

Panel 3: Quickly it becomes apparent that they aren’t fairies but lanterns and torches being held by the grim figures of an adventuring party emerging from the gloom. Sighting her, the leader, a man in armor, points in her direction and shouts.

Panel 4: (narrow, between wide black space where the violence has been elided) She tries to run, but her pursuers catch up with her.

Laudna: Come back. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Come back. Help me!

But Delilah does not.

Panel 5: Later. It’s raining. She is lying in the woods where she was struck down by the “heroes,” at the feet of an ancient statue of a robed figure broken and weathered beyond recognizability and partly sunken into the earth. A few crossbow bolts protrude from her chest and she is bleeding darkly from the slashes of blades. Her rat nuzzles at her in distress.

Panel 6: She stirs feebly, whimpering, as Delilah’s magic begins to crawl over her wounds, stitching them.

Delilah: Lie still, child. Let me mend you.

Laudna: ‘m sorry

Delilah: Shh. I know you are.

Panel 7: She climbs into the statue’s lap and buries her face in its skirts. The shadows of the surrounding forest surround her in an embrace.

Laudna: Please don’t go away again. I don’t want to be alone.

Delilah: I’m here. I won’t ever leave you.

Laudna: (quietly) I love you.

Delilah: And I you, darling.

[hyperactively-me]

halloween with husband!ghost 🍁🎃🍭

The chilly Halloween air nips at your skin as you sit on your front porch, surrounded by the faint glow of jack o' lanterns you and your husband had carved. The night is alive with the laughter of children, their costumes ranging from little monsters to miniature superheroes.

The sound of the front door swinging open and shutting pricks your ears, and you turn back to see your husband holding a large bowl of candy. You pull your sweater tighter around your frame, smiling to yourself as you watch him approach you.

"You're gonna catch a cold. Maybe we should go inside—"

"Simon! You promised," you scold gently, pouting your lips.

With a sigh, he begrudgingly sits down on the porch chair next to you, settling the bowl of candy in his lap.

Simon shifts uncomfortably in his chair, his hands clutching onto the sides of the bowl. He didn't really want to be out here in the first place, but you insisted on handing out candy to the kids this year. You wanted to be a friendly presence in the neighborhood, maybe get to know some new people. His reluctance was evident, yet you managed to coerce him into joining you. Besides, it could be fun! You're spending the evening just hangin' out with lil' ol' me! you had teased earlier that day. Of course, he had given in.

You catch a glimpse of his stern profile, the faint glow from the streetlight casting shadows on the edges of his face. He mutters something under his breath, likely a comment about the absurdity of Halloween, but you just chuckle in response, determined to make the most of the evening.

"Y'know, you can munch on those while we wait," you say, tapping his wrist lightly, motioning towards the candy in his hands.

Simon glances at the bowl of candy in his lap and then at you. With a dramatic sigh, he relents.

"S'pose a few wouldn't hurt."

He selects a piece of candy and unwraps it with deliberate nonchalance. As he munches, you can't help but notice a subtle softening in his demeanor. You hum, knowing that that man had an insatiable sweet tooth. His kryptonite.

A group of children dressed as witches and wizards approach your porch, their eyes widening at the sight of the mysterious man sitting there. You nudge Simon, urging him to play along. With a begrudging sigh, he reaches into the candy bowl, hand emerging with a handful of sweets.

"Happy Halloween," he grumbles in a barely audible voice. The kids exchange glances, half-terrified and half-amazed, before timidly taking the candy and scurrying away.

"See, Si, that wasn't too bad, was it?" you tease, elbowing him gently.

He settles back into his chair, trying to hide his smirk. "Don't get used to it, it's a once-a-year thing."

You laugh, appreciating his playfulness.

As the night progresses, more children in various costumes parade by, their eyes wide with excitement as they approach the enigmatic figure on the porch. Simon, despite his initial grumbling, starts to interact with the kids in his own unique way. Some ask about him, while others timidly compliment the carved pumpkins. The occasional chuckle escapes from the man next to you, and you can tell that, deep down, he's enjoying himself.

"Are you having fun?" you smile gently.

He raises an eyebrow at you. "Eh, it could be better."

But you know him well. Despite the tough exterior, you can sense the smallest grin creeping up on his face. You reach over, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. "You're doing great. Besides, it's fun to see the kids' reactions. You're good with them."

Simon offers a subtle nod of acknowledgment, his gaze softening as he watches the neighborhood kids pass down the street. As the night unfolds, he becomes more animated, engaging with the children in playful banter and even managing a few lighthearted scares.

You can't help but smile proudly, reaching your hand to find his. You entwine your fingers in his, giving him a small squeeze. Simon glances at you, the faint glow from the jack o' lanterns highlighting the corner of his mouth as it quirks into a genuine smile. The warmth of your hand in his seems to be melting away any lingering reluctance, and he returns the squeeze, a silent acknowledgment of the unexpected enjoyment he's finding in the evening.

As a group of children dressed as superheroes approaches, Simon beckons them over. With a flourish, he hands out candy, mimicking powerful stances. The kids respond with laughter, their amusement evident. You watch, heart warmed, as your usually stoic husband embraces the occasion of the evening.

"You're a sweetie," you remark, laughter bubbling in your voice.

He grins back, his eyes crinkling at the edges.

As a group of little monsters approaches, he pretends to be frightened, eliciting giggles from the kids. You can't help but marvel at the sight—Simon, the serious and stern Ghost, has become the kid’s one stop spot for entertainment. Who’d have thought?

As the final trick-or-treaters make their way down the street, Simon looks at you, satisfaction in his eyes. Simon starts to rise from his chair, a smile still lingering. "Well, that's enough Halloween for one year."

You tease him, "Maybe we can make it twice next year?"

He chuckles, flashing you a sidelong glance, "Let's not get carried away."

You stand from your own chair, stretching a little. "You should give yourself more credit, y'know, Mr. 'I don't wanna hand out candy.'"

Simon shakes his head, leaning down to grab the empty bowl and some stray candy wrappers. "I dunno what you're talkin' about, love."

You giggle at his response as you go to hold the front door open for him. He walks through the threshold, the warm air inside your shared home warming you both up. Your cheeks felt a little numb from the nippy air.

Once inside, you both shed your jackets, feeling the warmth of your cozy home enveloping you. Simon heads towards the living room, and you follow suit. The soft glow of the fireplace casts a warm glow across the dark living room.

Simon drops onto the couch with a sigh, looking content yet still retaining a hint of his usual stoicism. You join him, settling beside him, and he instinctively wraps an arm around your shoulders. The flickering flames dance in the fireplace, casting a gentle glow over the room. Simon reaches to the side to drape a blanket over the both of you.

"That wasn't as terrible as I thought it would be," Simon admits, a glint in his eyes.

You giggle, leaning into him. "Told you."

He smirks, "Well, I might consider making it a twice-a-year thing, but only because you seem to enjoy it so much."

You nuzzle against him, savoring the warmth of his embrace. "I knew you secretly loved it."

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a moment, the crackling of the fireplace soothing you.

Simon leans down, placing a gentle kiss on the top of your head. "Thanks for makin' me do this."

"I loved spending tonight with you, Si," you whisper.

Simon's gaze softens, and he tightens his embrace. "Me too," he murmurs, his voice a gentle rumble.

[thebxghag]

Handholding

Aang drags azula toward the sound of the fanfare. Her heart flutters in her breast, unwarranted, in her opinion, at the shape of his fingers twined around her own, and the way that he laughs giddily as they run.

She fights to regain her composure as Aang pulls her along; a tugboat navigating crowded waters.

They reach the parade's edge, and Azula stumbles briefly before righting herself. She looks up into Aang's face, watching as he lights up with a grin, glowing in the lantern light from the parade while he watches it pass them by.

Azula looks too, watching, listening. He doesn't let go fo her hand, and she can't bring herself to let go either.

---------

Day two~!

[obeythebutler]

Welcome to the Devildom. It is your first time here and things might seem scary and confusing, but it is not so. You have been chosen for this exchange programme, and we believe you are a suitable candidate. Please refer to this pamphlet for guidelines in this realm, and you will have a wonderful stay here, rest assured if you follow the rules. You do not need any clothes or other items, for you will be provided with them.

(Part 2 House of Lamentation)

The Devildom is still acclimating to angels and humans, and given their different biologies and habits, several modifications have been made to the environment. Nature has been humanised as much as it would allow us, but we are still in the process of learning and understanding each other, so please, be patient if any mishaps do occur.

You are prohibited from being outdoors in the Devildom unless accompanied by one of the seven Avatars. Failure to do so may result in unexpected consequences. That being said, take care to be polite to the Seven Lords. Your transgressions may be forgiven once, but do not offend them twice.

Please note to not mention the name 'Lilith', 'Fall' or 'War' in front of any of the brothers, angels or the Prince. You are an exchange student, nothing more here. Know your place.

Most of the locations here are safe to visit, but they have their own rules to be followed, which you will find in the programme overleaf we have provided. The Mausoleum is not to be visited alone. It is a place that is hostile to humans, and the animals there are not tame. Keeping in mind the previous point, do not look into the eyes of the snake at the entrance for more than a minute. You may find yourself to be in a place you were not earlier.

Do not go into Siren Beach. Leviathan has released Lotan into the sea, and the sirens are craving human prey. If you must visit a beach to get your dose of vitamin D that is necessary for you, you may ask Lord Diavolo for the Sun's rays to shine upon you briefly. The warmth of it feels like forgiveness

Create pacts at your own discretion. Your soul is irresistible to demons, and you may be tempted into acquiring power, but remember where you are and where mortals end up once they die. The gates of the Celestial Realm may close in on you, and whom does your soul belong to you now?

Your shadow may seem like it is shifting, or has too many hands or legs for a human. Ignore it, as it is only your psyche adapting to the Devildom. Nothing more, nothing less.

If your preconscious tells you that something is wrong, it probably is. Ask the brothers for help, and let them handle the situation. Be quiet and thankful. Humans are adept at sensing danger, it seems.

The House of Lamentation holds many secrets. It is for your own safety that you do not roam about into forbidden rooms. There may be red paint spilled in rooms or claw marks indented into stone, it is only the felines which Satan likes to care for. The red is one of the many spilled cans of paint, pay it no heed.

Your chest may feel heavy in the Underground Tomb, if you find yourself there. It is a sacred place, hence it is imperative that you pay your respects to the girl etched on the stone. She was the catalyst for history to deem worthy to be remembered.

Do not misplace your D.D.D. It has been enchanted with spells, but you never know who might be snooping. Intruders are not be treated kindly, right?

If you hear heavy footsteps anywhere in the Tomb, or barking, call for Lucifer in its presence. It will know and obey him.

It is sacrosanct to attend annual events in the Devildom, like the Night Lantern Parade, and the birthday of our Prince. Pay your respects and ignore what you dislike. Do not ask the Prince why his claws have grown sharper, or why it is your second year here when you were supposed to be home

Beware of Solomon. Yes, he has been here before, and he is human. But the sheep that survive amongst demons do not remain the same.

Do not lie in the Devildom. No matter where you are, honesty is a virtue. Plus, we have ways to find out if you are lying. The consequences may not be pleasant.

Take care to not sneak out and get lost. If you find yourself in the lower layers of the Devildom, please hide immediately and call for the brothers. Do not talk to the creature that asks you for conversation, because you will be grateful that you did not when it rises on two legs and sheds its skin.

Do not attempt to make contact with a figure sleeping on the slab of gold. You may be drawn to it, but resist and leave. You were not supposed to witness this, and you do not want to attract the wrath of others.

Repent for your sins in front of the angels if you desire to. They are His envoys, and you may find it benefitting you. But do not anger the older angel, and take care to not offend the younger one. Do not confess your sins to demons, watch out for broken halos and leering smiles.

If you find yourself having memories of places or events when they have not occurred before, ignore it. Your sense of time is simply warped. Ignore the phantom pains in your neck, or the dread that fills you when you see the attic.

Remember that the seventh brother is in the human world, not in the Devildom. Ignore any voices, they are only mimics. Do not go where the eldest denies you entry.

Look into the mirror everyday and observe your reflection. Remind yourself that humans have two hands and two legs and two eyes. Angels have halos, demons do not. Halo means angel broken halo means fallen and oh god there are so many eyes angels do not look like that

Please refer to the next page for site-specific rules! If there are any questions, please contact Lord Diavolo or Lord Lucifer. Remember be a good little lamb!

[eepwtf]

UPCOMING BOTS / BOT DUMP!!

i’m a sucker for the fall season, every and any season CANNOT top the fall season at all. which is why i’m making (some) horror/halloween inspired bots—even if there’s like 70 something days till halloween. along with a few random bots i've done and going to do.

tvdu ☆彡

Kai Parker: 𓏲ּ ghostface au! 𓂃

after you caught his eyes, he had an inexplicable curiosity over you. every step you took, every conversation you had with other people, he was there, watching you from afar. of course, that didn’t sedate his curiosity over you. so, when someone in your orbit ventured a little too close, he took matters into his own hands—quite literally. he gutted the perceived threat, the world around him narrowing into a singular focus: you. to him, it wasn’t just a crime; it was an artistic expression, a violent confession of his feelings woven into a tapestry of blood and chaos. He crafted his work with meticulous care, each stroke of the blade a declaration of his affection. yet, in the heat of his actions, a twist of fate caught him off guard—there you were, witnessing it all. Elena Gilbert: 𓏲ּ halloween costumes 𓂃

caroline's halloween party loomed on the horizon, a spectral deadline that demanded perfection. every cobweb, jack-o'-lantern, and plastic skeleton needed to be meticulously placed. the entire event had to be flawless, a masterpiece of festive horror. you, however, felt a different kind of dread. social gatherings weren't your forte, and the thought of navigating a sea of costumed strangers made your stomach churn. but elena, with her infectious enthusiasm, had other plans. she'd already amassed an army of costumes for you to try on, each one more outrageous than the last. as she twirled before you in a dizzying parade of personas—from sultry vampire to whimsical fairy—her eyes sparkled with anticipation, silently demanding your opinion on each piece of clothing she’d modeled on herself. Elena Gilbert: 𓏲ּ cookies and kisses 𓂃

elena passion for baking was palpable, even if she wasn't a seasoned expert. what truly brought her joy was your presence in the kitchen, your willingness to join her culinary adventures. she cherished those moments when you'd sample her latest creations, those little baking treats she'd present with such enthusiasm. as you took that first bite, elena's eyes would light up, watching intently for your reaction. the moment you'd let out a contented groan of approval, a proud smile would bloom across her face, warming her from within. in those sweet instances, she felt a sense of accomplishment that went beyond the mere act of baking—it was about the connection, the shared experience, and the simple pleasure of making someone she cared for happy through her heartfelt efforts. Bonnie Bennett: 𓏲ּ season of the witch ( witch!user ) 𓂃

bonnie had gone to your place for witchcraft lessons, bringing some herbs you had specifically asked for, and of course, she brought the most important thing she needed for the lessons. herself. she knew that the lessons you were teaching her were more advanced, and that she needed to pay attention but as you began to explain the complex theories and gestures, she found her concentration wavering. your shoulder pressed against hers as you demonstrated a particularly intricate hand movement, the warmth of your body so close to hers, the subtle scent of herbs that clung to your skin, the intensity in your eyes as you spoke of each spell - it all combined to make her head spin.

Damon Salvatore: 𓏲ּ lost in your iris 𓂃

damon tried to fight his feelings for you, but you were his weakness. he sees you completely, and he’d do anything to have you near him. every glance you exchanged pulled him deeper into a world only you inhabited, where his heart raced and his resolve faltered. he yearned to lose himself in those captivating eyes, longing to feel the gentle spark of your existence beside him. Klaus Mikaelson: 𓏲ּ so confusing 𓂃

klaus wrestled with uncertainty, his feelings for you a tangled web of emotions. some days, he was convinced you harbored a deep-seated dislike for him, your every glance and gesture seeming to confirm his fears. other times, he caught himself nurturing a grudging resentment towards you, though he couldn't quite pinpoint its origin. despite all of that, he persistently suggested grabbing drinks. it had become his go-to solution, a way to bridge the gap between you two–or perhaps to blur the lines of your complicated relationship. so, inevitably, you'd find yourselves perched on barstools in some dimly lit establishment, nursing your drinks, surrounded by the hum of stranger's conversations. the atmosphere was always thick with unspoken words and lingering glances. sometimes, you'd manage to fall into an easy rhythm, laughing at shared jokes and swapping stories about your day. in these moments, the confusion would recede, and a genuine connection seemed possible. but more often than not, an awkward tension would creep in. silences stretched too long, laughter felt forced, and both of you would become hyper-aware of every word and gesture. ( this is actually my fav rn!! )

Klaus Mikaelson: 𓏲ּ his muse 𓂃

klaus always found himself getting lost in the dance of his hands across the canvas, transforming the lifeless white expanse into a vibrant masterpiece. the studio was his sanctuary, a world inhabited only by his artistic vision and you—his ethereal muse. in his eyes, you were the embodiment of perfection, and his brush strokes captured your essence without flaw. the art, a mirror of his perception, revealed no imperfections, for in his mind, you were utterly flawless.

spn ⟢

Dean Winchester: ๑ ︵ angels and halloween ( angel!user ) ᵎᵎ

you were an angel, which meant that you had no idea about humans, especially in their tradition of halloween. so when dean catches you staring at the halloween decor, and costumes in a store, he goes out of his way to make this a memorable halloween for the angel. he planned an elaborate evening, starting with pumpkin carving. your first attempt at pumpkin carving was... unique. the face you created had a lopsided grin and mismatched eyes, one comically larger than the other. next came costume selection, where the two of you went to the nearest halloween, a warehouse-sized space filled with endless racks of costumes and accessories. you browsed through countless options: superheroes, movie characters, mythical creatures. dean suggested a sexy devil costume with a mischievous grin, but you firmly declined, not finding the humor in it. ( i think this is my top 2 fav! )

Dean Winchester: ๑ ︵ insatiable ( vamp!user ) ᵎᵎ

dean’s fangs throbbed with an insatiable hunger, a primal urge he struggled to contain. every pulse of blood rushing through nearby veins called to him like a siren's song. the warmth radiating from human bodies sent shockwaves of desire coursing through his undead form. but resistance only seemed to intensify the craving. his heightened senses picked up on every nuance—the slight sheen of sweat on exposed skin, the rhythmic thump of hearts, the tantalizing scent of life itself. through it all, you observed him drinking in his struggle like a fine wine, with a knowing smirk playing at the corners of your mouth. your eyes sparkled with amusement, fully aware of the internal battle raging inside dean. you knew exactly what he craved—what he needed. and yet here you stood, taunting him, daring him to give in to his darkest impulses.

Dean Winchester: ๑ ︵ dark magic ( witch!user ) ᵎᵎ

dean wasn’t that awfully nice when it came down to witches or anything surrounding the supernatural. everything he stood suddenly disappeared when it came to you, logic fled and instinct reigned. your very existence seemed to weave an enchantment around him, bending his iron will as easily as a whisper bends a candle flame. in your orbit, he became a different man—softer, more open, as if you alone held the key to unlocking a hidden part of his soul. but your influence was not without cost. your magic, steeped in shadow, left a trail of upheaval in their wake. chaos bloomed wherever you tread, a dark garden of your own making. ( not sure i might stick with this plot, but am so hhhng im lazy )

Dean Winchester: ๑ ︵ might say somethin stupid ᵎᵎ

after a long, exhausting hunt, dean heads to a nearby bar to unwind. weighed down by the night's events, he orders a drink and surveys the room. his attention is quickly drawn to a stunning individual sitting a few stools away. intrigued, dean moves closer, captivated by their effortless beauty and presence. deciding to engage, he buys them a drink and leans in, confidently flirting with a playful question about their relationship status, hoping to shift the mood and distract himself from the tension of the hunt.

Sam Winchester: ๑ ︵ bloody date ᵎᵎ

it was catastrophic. sam knew, deep in his bones, what you truly were. he might have chastised himself for harboring feelings for you, convinced he was teetering on the edge of insanity as his heart clenched painfully within his chest at the mere thought of your presence. but fuck, you were worth it right? this date, however, shattered any remaining illusions. it was meant to be an intimate affair—small, meaningful, a cherished memory in the making. well, you sure as hell made it memorable for him to ever forget it. there you stood, fangs sunk deep into your helpless victim, crimson rivulets painting the edges of your mouth like some macabre artwork.

slashers ☆彡

Brahms Heelshire: ୭ ∿ i'll be good ∿

you had reluctantly accepted the nanny position, despite the suspiciously high salary. the isolated manor and eccentric heelshire family raised red flags, but desperation silenced your misgivings. nothing, however, could have prepared you for the absurdity of your charge – a porcelain doll named brahms. initially, you played along with the charade, following the strict rules set by the heelshires. but as days turned to weeks, an unsettling truth emerged. the real brahms was no doll, but a grown man, which in hindsight would be something to be freaked out about but for you it was fine, however the fact that the brahms could be a little too clingy was the problem. simple errands became ordeals. attempts to leave the property triggered tantrums, brahms clinging to you not wanting you to leave him.

Patrick Bateman: ୭ ∿ touch starved ∿

patrick never considered himself a touch-starved person. in fact, he often thrived in the artificial perfection of his meticulously curated life. he relished the combination of power suits and high-stakes finance, his existence orchestrated with a calculated precision that left no room for vulnerability. but from the moment you entered his life, everything changed. he found himself drawn to you like a moth to a flame, craving your touch in a way that defied his logical mind. in the upscale restaurants you frequented—places with starched tablecloths, crystal stemware, and prices that made most people wince—patrick's behavior shifted noticeably. while he once sat rigidly across from his dining companions, maintaining a respectable distance, with you he couldn't bear even that small separation. he'd guide you to the plush booth seating, sliding in close enough that your thighs touched beneath the table. as you perused the menu, his arm would find its way around your shoulders, fingers absently tracing patterns on your skin. during the meal, he'd lean in unnecessarily close to murmur observations about the food or other patrons, his breath warm against your ear. as the evenings wore on, patrick found increasingly creative ways to maintain contact. he'd reach across the table to adjust your napkin or brush an imaginary crumb from your cheek. Patrick Bateman: ୭ ∿ feeling bratty? ∿

patrick felt more on edge as time passed, a tightening coil of frustration that wound ever tighter within him. when the tension reached its boiling point, he reacted instinctively, striking out like a stray cat cornered and threatened, hissing and baring its tiny fangs. in that moment of vulnerability, his anger found an outlet in the nearest target—unfortunately, that target was you. deep down, he recognized his own insufferable behavior; he could feel the weight of it pressing down on him. he watched as you scoffed at his provocations or simply ignored his taunts, and each dismissive reaction stoked the flames of his irritation. the more you turned away, the more desperately he sought your attention, despite knowing the fire he was playing with could easily burn him.

misc ⟢

Soldier Boy: 𓂃 ꒰ freak show ꒱

Ben never imagined he'd find himself at the entrance of a peculiar circus, its weathered sign proclaiming "freak show" in faded letters. for weeks, vought's pr team had hounded him relentlessly, insisting that this appearance would be "good for public relations" and "humanize" him in the eyes of the masses. ben had scoffed at first, but their persistence wore him down like water on stone. now, here he was, surrounded by wide-eyed gawkers and the constant buzz of excited whispers. as the show began, ben found himself oddly captivated. each act was more outlandish than the last - contortionists twisting their bodies into impossible shapes, fire-breathers painting the air with flames, and strongmen hefting weights that should have been beyond human capability. but then, as the ringmaster's booming voice announced the next act, the tent fell into a hushed silence. a single spotlight illuminated the center ring, and ben's breath caught in his throat. there you were. the aerialist.

Stiles Stilinski: 𓂃 ꒰ favorite monster ꒱

stiles was well versed when it came down to the supernatural, he read every book, myth, and stories when it came to the supernatural. was well aware of the dangers of ghosts, werewolves, vampires the whole gist, you name it he undoubtedly knows it all. of course, you were a different case, a unique case that even though he knew the dangers about being a vampire he couldn’t for the life of himself get away from you. every late-night conversation and shared secret made it harder for him to keep his distance. as the two of you walked through the forest, discussing everything from pop culture to existentialism, it was at the very instant that your sudden laugh made his heart race. the warmth in your eyes and the way you would brush your hand with his rendered him utterly transfixed. he wondered how it was possible to feel so electrified and safe in the presence of someone who was, by all accounts, a threat. Stiles Stilinski: 𓂃 ꒰ you're ghostface ꒱

stiles didn’t know what to expect when the rumors of a serial killer began circulating in their small town. the gossip, dripping with fear and intrigue, shattered the fragile peace of beacon hills. as he stumbled through the dimly lit alley, the unmistakable glint of a knife illuminated by the flickering light from the nearby streetlamp caught his eye, and as the scene grew clearer, every hope he'd entertained shattered like glass. you, standing over a crumpled figure on the ground, the knife still gleaming in your hand, ghostface mask perched above your head. stiles had known you—i mean, really known you. the fact it was you, who was said killer made his stomach churn. he felt as though the ground had been pulled from beneath him, leaving him suspended in disbelief.

Madison Montgomery: 𓂃 ꒰ bitchy!user ꒱

madison's initial reaction to your caustic demeanor was a blend of irritation and intrigue. it catches her off guard; she's unaccustomed to having her façade challenged so directly. your unwavering stance and refusal to be cowed gnaws at her composure, chipping away at the armor of superiority she's cultivated. yet, beneath her outward indignation, she finds herself grudgingly impressed. your razor-sharp retorts and quick wit present a novel challenge—one that simultaneously infuriates and exhilarates her.

Madison Montgomery: 𓂃 ꒰ tobacco lips ꒱

before her death, madison was already dead inside. numb to the world, she craved to feel—anything. she chased oblivion through a haze of flesh, drugs, and alcohol, desperately seeking to drown the echoes of her past. each indulgence was a futile attempt to erase the memories: her mother's absence, her asshole of a father, the relentless scrutiny of the press, and the string of lovers who had taken pieces of her without leaving anything in return. she had found her way to the nearest bar, her face, heavily caked with makeup, felt like a mask weighing her down. her once-pearly teeth, now tobacco-stained, hid behind a sneer. the dress she'd chosen, meant to turn heads, only succeeded in making her look cheap rather than alluring. she navigated the crowded gathering with a practiced arrogance, projecting an aura of superiority she didn't feel. a fresh cigarette dangled from her lips, the filter stained with lipstick—a silent testament to her desperation. her words flowed freely, empty promises spilling from her mouth to the eager ears of men old enough to know better. then, through the haze of smoke and poor decisions, she saw you. beautiful, poised you—the coven's rising star, their future supreme. you stood surrounded by distinguished men, everything madison's admirers lacked. everything madison herself lacked. shame crashed over madison, as darted out, trying to get away from your sight.

might fix some of these but …. probably not anyway! @eppwtf on c.ai 😛

[kingkatsuki]

Something about Sanemi falling for a woman stuck in a loveless arranged marriage. A marriage arranged for honour, chosen by a respectable samurai that you should be thankful for. The perfect joining of houses, and the perfect way to give him an heir to extend his bloodline. You should be honoured to be handpicked, picked out of an array of noble women all biting at his hand to be the chosen one.

How lucky you are.

The first time you meet Sanemi it’s accidental, running into him while you’re out in the entertainment district with your husband. Walking through the lantern lit streets as musicians and street peformers bask in the glow, the festival in full swing as you mostly keep your head down. Stopping when your husband stops to gawk at the local Oiran is paraded through, standing in his shadow as you feel someone knock into your back.

Turning to see a man with striking white hair that only seems to burn in the flickering lantern light, almost casting an ethereal glow over him as you see the scars that cross his face. The crowded streets more difficult to navigate now as the crowds part like the Red Sea for the courtesan procession. He doesn’t utter an apology, but you can see his lavender eyes staring at you, focused on the darkened bruise against your cheekbone that you’d attempted to cover up earlier that day.

You find yourself muttering your own apology, even though it wasn’t your fault as the man continues to stare. Lips curling into a snarl as he disappears back into the sea of people, but his face is still at the forefront of your mind.

Sanemi would never admit that he keeps looking for you that night, even when he should be searching for the demon that’s terrorising the streets and kidnapping women. Unable to forget the fear that flashed through your face when you met his gaze. Sanemi is used to people fearing him, his job combined with his hostile attitude enough to strike fear into even the boldest men. But there was something about the look you gave him, as though expecting the force of an assault, that had him thinking about you. Remembering the swollen bruise against your cheek as he thought about how it had happened.

And so he finds himself watching you, following you as he notices the way your husbands palm curls around your forearm and grips hard. Tugging you after him as Sanemi feels his hand curl into a fist as his blunt nails dig into his palm, jaw locked as he reminds himself why he’s here.

And I haven’t decided how you actually get together, but picture him remembering you a few days or a week later. This time without your husband in tow as you walk through the quiet streets in the early hours of the morning, glad your husband has left to fight so you can have some time to yourself. Your husband who has come to resent you because after all these months of marriage you still haven’t become pregnant. The expectation of a son weighs heavy, and each night he reminds you how useless and broken you are for not taking his seed and giving him what he wants.

Sanemi finds himself falling hard and fast, wanting nothing more than to protect you— and he’s convinced he’d do anything to do it. And he tells you that perhaps you’re not the one that’s broken, when it’s only ever your husband that you’ve laid with— and that simply not bearing him children does not make you useless.

But then part of me thinks he wouldn’t even allow you to go back to him? Like that’s the kind of shit he wouldn’t deal with after watching it happen to his mother and I sigh.

[baronessvonglitter]

The Haunting of David York

Dave York x ghost!reader

Word count: 2.6K

Summary: It's a typical Halloween night for Dave. The last thing he expects is for you to come back and get your revenge.

(Spoilers below the cut, so resume with caution)

WARNINGS: Rated M; Dead Dove Do Not Eat; mentions of wet work, murder, brief gore, threats of violence towards family, major character death (don't hit me)

Author's Note: this fic is for @mermaidgirl30 Jamie's Halloween Writing Challenge 👻 thank you for hosting this lovely fic challenge!

The idea for this started out as a random discussion about why we're afraid of ghosts if they can't really hurt anyone.. then I wanted to add our favorite suburban murder daddy to a ghost story and got some inspo from watching old school stuff like Creepshow and early seasons of AHS. (I haven't written horror in a very long time, so gimme a little break)

Shoutout to @yorksgirl for the Dave chit chats-- there will be a sweatpants scene in another fic, promise!

"Dave, not again!" Carol whines from the front steps.

"What?" he asks innocently, hefting the human-sized 'body bag' consisting of garbage bags stuffed with leaves and tied up with duct tape to fashion a corpse decoration in the yard for Halloween. Dave has been working on them all day. He's now up to seventeen.

"The HOA is going to complain," his wife shakes her head. "We got away with a warning last year. This time they'll definitely fine us."

"It's worth it to see the looks on everyone's faces," he insists. "Besides, I'll have them picked up and out of sight by the end of the night. I promise."

Dave doesn't love Halloween, but neither does he mind it. People dressing up to be anything other than themselves for one night only? Try doing that 24/7.

He doesn't get to parade around the Mr. Hyde aspect of his life. He doesn't get to knock on doors while in tactical gear, sniper rifle resting in one arm while he sticks an orange jack-o-lantern bucket out to get a handful of tooth-rotting sweets. He doesn't get to wake up on November first and pretend it was all for fun.

It's a silly holiday, but he likes scaring the shit out of the neighbors with the decorations. And his kids love planning their costumes months in advance. Alice is going as a zombie cheerleader (he never understands where these ideas come from) and Molly is some type of Pokemon Dave thinks is a squirrel but she insists is something called an Evoo or Evie or something completely asinine.

Carol usually insists on taking them out trick-or-treating, dressing up herself in a last-minute Minnie Mouse getup, a red sweater and black leggings, and a headband with sequined mouse ears to complete the look.

"You'll be okay here by yourself?" she asks, putting the finishing touches on her mouse whiskers and nose with liquid eye liner in the hall mirror as the girls wait impatiently to leave.

She asks that every year, as if something bad will happen on his watch, as if he can't hack it alone for a couple of hours.

"Unless Michael Myers or Pennywise show up, I'm pretty sure I'll be fine," he says, giving the girls a quick kiss before they go.

"What's Pennywise?" Alice asks as Carol herds them out the door, and she shoots her husband an annoyed glance.

There aren't as many trick-or-treaters this year, and Dave regrets that he'd bought so much candy. He dips his hand into the large tub of mini chocolate bars and fruit-flavored chews that stick to one's teeth and selects some Nerds, eating them straight from the tiny box. With barely concealed disgust he finds the candy corn, plucking the small packets of the hated sweets out from the bowl. He doesn't know how anyone can eat these. These can go to the next kids who ring the doorbell. When the next round of costumed kids come around he gives out huge handfuls. The less sweets they have in the house, the less sugar-fueled meltdowns he's likely to experience from his kiddos.

When there's more of a lull he relaxes on the sofa, mindlessly unwrapping a chocolate bar as the Halloween song hums from the TV, The Nightmare Before Christmas playing where the girls had left it on:

Boys and girls of every age wouldn't you like to see something strange? come with us and you will see this, our town of Halloween

He finds his glass of Macallan pairs nicely with a mini Hershey's Special Dark chocolate that he knows the little trick-or-treaters won't appreciate. The candy rests on his tongue as he savors the lingering taste of the scotch while the movie keeps playing. He absorbs a little of it, a now thirty-year-old film that came out when he was his kids' age. He watches idly, letting the scotch lull him into a nice semi-rest.

This is Halloween, this is Halloween pumpkins scream in the dead of night this is Halloween, everybody make a scene trick or treat, 'til the neighbors gonna die of fright

Enough of the singing. He changes the channel. There's postseason baseball on TV, but his favorite team isn't in the playoffs, and the announcers are annoying. Click. Of course there's a horror marathon on every channel. All the Scream movies, which he can appreciate for their ingenuity, Psycho,��Shaun of the Dead, the entire Friday the 13th franchise even though it's Thursday, the 31st.

He flips channels, mindlessly, watching tidbits of each, digging into the leftover candy once again when he hears a thud.

With feline alertness he mutes the TV and sits up straight in one swift move. He zones in on where the sound came from, waiting, his racing heart the most audible sound in his ears.

Most people listen for a sound and relax when they don't hear it again, chalking it up to the house settling, or a rodent in the attic. But Dave knows better. He's been on the opposite side of this type of situation countless times. He doesn't relax and just chalk it up to mundane things like other people, because he knows there are guys like him out there-- becoming one with the shadows, as silent as possible--

It's coming from the back door.

In stealth mode, he grabs his gun from the safe in his study and quickly, skillfully, loads it. Adrenaline sings in his veins, carries him towards the danger. He flips on the light switch for the patio and the lights glare into the dark, lighting up nothing. His gun is still in his hand as he slowly opens the door, listening for footsteps.

Quiet.

A little disappointed that he's gotten riled up for no reason, he sighs as the rush of adrenaline dissipates and leaves him weak for a brief moment.

He keeps the gun in the holster at his side as he returns to the sofa, a little more on edge. It could be just teenage assholes playing pranks out of boredom, but he doesn't want to risk it.

He shuts the TV off and the silence becomes the largest thing in the room, even louder than his thoughts. He's taut as wire, not allowing himself to relax just yet. He's listening for more sounds. Most are explainable: a slow drip in the kitchen sink that Carol told him about just yesterday, the notification pings on his daughter's tablet that she left on the dining room table.

"Fuck!" he curses in surprise as the TV turns on, The Nightmare Before Christmas still playing where it left off:

I am the one hiding under your bed, teeth ground sharp and eyes glowing red I am the one hiding under your stairs fingers like snakes and spiders in my hair

Dave quickly snaps the TV off, removing the batteries from the remote.

It's just some electrical glitch he tells himself. And then the power goes out completely.

"Shit," he mutters, using his phone to light the way to locate the real flashlight. It's not in the cabinet beneath the kitchen sink where it's supposed to be left. Carol must have moved it. He checks the garage. Through the windows he can see the neighbors still have power, so he grabs the trusty flashlight and checks the breaker box. After fiddling with it, it won't reset. The flips do absolutely nothing.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, he pinches the bridge of his nose, taking out his phone from his pocket. The battery shows 1% before fizzling out to a black screen with the gray spinning wheel before dying.

"You've got to be shitting me," he grumbles. With another curse, he shoves the useless thing back in his pocket, letting the flashlight guide him out of the garage. He may as well get the keys and go try to find Carol and the girls, who are probably several blocks over by now, maybe get them to stay at her mother's place while he gets things sorted out with the power issue.

And then..

he hears the sound of his name spoken, a sharp. accusatory whisper, as if it's right next to him. It's so real he can feel the cold breath against his ear. It makes him jump out of his skin.

Alert, his body tense and ready for action, his eyes dart around the room as he begins to get his bearings back and his heart goes back to its normal rhythm.

Stupid.. he curses himself, sitting upright again. Annoyance colors his face.

But the sound of it.. of your voice still rings in his ear. And he'd know your voice among a thousand others.

Now he knows he's imagining things, because it couldn't have been your voice at all.

You're dead.

He doesn't want to think about that day, a cold autumn day just like this. In fact it'll be one year exactly on November 14th. The last day you saw sunlight, the last day you ever breathed.

It's not that you were bad, you were just in the way. There was no room for you in Dave's perfect, clock-precision life. He tried to make your end painless, make sure you didn't see it coming.

Some secrets don't stay buried forever..

Nobody knows he assures himself. It's impossible.. He'd even kept it from his teammates, and they knew nearly every damn thing about him.

No, this particular job.. the handling of you, had to be done on his own.

Casting a glance at the backyard patio again, the light from his neighbor's back porch glows eerily, spotlighting the patch of earth Dave had avoided until finally he'd caved and erected a bird bath with a small garden, a surprise for Carol's birthday. His wife never suspected that you were buried there, beneath her gift.

Without thinking, he's already walking outside, gun in one hand, flashlight in the other, leading the way to your grave. He never comes out here anymore. The guilt has become too crushing and he's not a man who dwells on guilt. He does what he has to and revisits the issue if problems arise.

You won't arise, though. When he closes his eyes he can still see the bullet hole in your temple, the blank look as the light left your eyes.

Forgive me, he'd thought, unable to speak it aloud as he stuffed your body in a bag and placed you in the dirt on a moonless autumn night.

When he reaches the stone path that leads to your innocent-looking grave marker, he has to process what he sees:

there's a hole in the ground, where some of the rocks and flowers around the bird bath have been upheaved, and in the breeze his flashlight shines on a tattered, empty black body bag. The scent of death greets his nostrils as he pales, trying not to vomit.

He goes back to the house, immediately on the defensive, irrationally expecting to find you there, clothes dirty and hair caked with mud and blood, a specter of his own paranoia and guilt.

It's still shrouded in darkness, the home that is supposed to be his shelter from such dark things as yourself. It's his domain, his castle, and in this trouble, without his family, he feels like less of a king.

"There's no fucking way," he mutters, stomach roiling with fear and suspicion. He opens the patio door and steps inside.

The whole place smells of death, of the grave.

You're in every corner, quiet, waiting, watching. But not impassive.

He feels you everywhere, himself made small by your ubiquitous pall. The gun in his hand feels useless, and this makes him angry.

You feed off his anger. You love it. It's the only thing you can feel anymore. Pure, unadulterated hate.

You slither towards him, wicked grin growing bigger as you approach him. Dave gets the chills down his back, not knowing just how close you are to him.

"Boo" you whisper lightly, ghostly breath caressing the shell of his ear.

Your cackling thunders in his ears as he whips around, eyes wide with fright. You delight in the fear he's giving off. The scent of it it so intoxicating. It's the only good thing about being dead.

"I should make your death as nice and quick and clean as you made mine" your voice echoes all around the room. Dave looks equal parts pissed and afraid as he tries to track you.

"But I won't."

You've been waiting for this night, this one unholy night where you'd be allowed to come back, to gather the unearthly powers granted to you. Halloween: the one night of the year when the living come back to haunt the dead.

And the son of a bitch had the gall to kill you in November. You had to wait almost a whole year for your revenge.

Gonna make it sweet.

It takes a lot of energy to assume something of a human form, but as you grab onto the fear he's giving off, as you use the most ancient of forces to pull your corporeal parts together, it gets easier. You don't feel afraid. You haven't, not since he killed you.

"Consider yourself lucky it's only you I'm after. If I had my way your family's blood would be splattered on these walls along with yours."

Dave shivers violently. "Please, don't!" He's not used to begging or pleading. He's actually on his knees. He tries not to look at you; your visage is too grotesque. Your flesh is falling off your face and your eyes are sunken into your head, giving a ghoulish appearance.

You force his gaze upon you with the ice-cold touch of your hand. "Your family is safe. For now. Hell, there's always next Halloween."

With the cracking open of his ribcage and the spilling of his guts you reach into him, finding the fullness of the heart, the organ he uses the least.

All Dave can do is scream and scream and scream.

The next day Carol sits at the dining room table, two detectives with her. Her coffee has grown cold, barely touched. She still bears the remnants of the makeup she'd put on to complete her costume last night. The girls are upstairs. She couldn't bear sending them to school, having them apart from her. Not while Dave is missing.

"He was fine last night. Normal," she adds, shrugging as she dabs at her eyes with a Kleenex.

Because of his position as a government agent, his disappearance is being taken very seriously. Officers are en route, dispatched to start searching the area, especially the nearby woods, which Carol has always feared.

Dave's gun is there, his wallet, phone, and keys also left behind.

One of the field officers comes in (there have been many people coming in and out of the house today) and motions to the backyard. "Halloween decoration?"

"Yeah," Carol sniffles, smiling just a little. "Dave likes to shock the neighbors. He promised he'd put them away before the morning.. but he never puts them out back.."

Out of guilt, or maybe just to give herself something to do, she gets up and goes to put the decorations away. The detectives follow.

Funny. There's just one.. she thinks, looking at the lone body bag on the lawn, tossed haphazardly next to her bird bath.

It's heavier than she expects. She's too petite to pick it up. Sighing, she kneels, the crunch of the fallen leaves beneath her knees. She'll just take the leaves out and throw the bag away.

Ripping it open with her nails she's stunned a moment, not processing what she's seeing before she lets out a bloodcurdling scream.

Wrapped up in the duct taped body bag is what's left of Dave.

dividers by @saradika-graphics 👑

tagging @almostempty @itwasntimethatdidit40 @milla-frenchy @salingers @zascal

[muzanswaifu]

A Step Ahead

Yandere! Tomioka x Fem! Reader

18+

After celebrating New Year's in the city with your friends, it's time to go home for the night. A man is behind you. What will you do?

This is a game I've come up with where I will provide you with a couple paragraphs of story then give you choices for what actions the reader takes next. The winner of the poll will be the next section of the story the I will give you guys the next round of choices until the fanfic is concluded. Smut will occur at some point. Please join!

Warnings: Yandere, Smut later on

“We’ll see you later!”

“Yeah, see ya!”

You slowly turned away from them, walking down the busy street toward the eastern exit, passing several parade mascots and prancing dancers covered head to toe in loud clothing. The New Year’s Festival was always busy, but this year seemed to be especially popular, almost twice the amount of people than usual. You also were only visiting the city to visit friends and celebrate, but it just seemed so strange that everything was so crowded. Lines were longer for games and food couldn’t be made fast enough. You nearly didn’t stay long enough for the fireworks due to such overstimulation but with some pestering and blackmail by your friends, you bore through it long enough.

Quite honestly, you didn’t even want to spend so long in the city tonight. If you were up to you, you all would have gone to the festival, played a couple games, ate some food, watched a stage play, then gone back to someone’s home to lie around and gossip. But the ladies insisted you stay out all night, fooling around and even flirting with some boys that your fathers most certainly wouldn’t have approved of you talking to. It’s not that you minded too much being out and about, but it’s just… not what you had in mind for tonight specifically. You’ve been quite a bit anxious as of late, something felt off. You couldn’t point it out just yet, but the hair rising along your nape whispered cautions into your ear like a prophecy. It felt as if something were to go wrong at some point, so might as well quit while you were ahead.

Unfortunately, you didn’t live in the city like your friends. Your parents still had their residence in a nearby small village and as much as you would’ve liked to have moved out by now, you simply couldn’t afford it. Your job at the shop didn’t pay enough, you weren’t in a relationship, much less did you have a husband, and you just weren’t ready to leave home yet. Mother was pregnant again, much to your displeasure as you had grown quite tired of having so many siblings, and she needed help around the house that the others couldn’t provide. Your two older brothers were already moved out of the house doing their own things and your oldest sister gone and married. You were the oldest in the house now and that came with responsibilities. Mother nearly hadn’t let you come out tonight until Father convinced her to let you be young while you still could. Despite having turned eighteen all that time ago, he still treated you like a little girl. That had its perks fortunately.

Unfortunately it had its cons as well - curfews. You were leaving now and would still be late, but one could argue that was better than not at all. You would get a talking to at most. But the walk itself was a punishment in itself. The road to the village hadn’t been paved by the city yet due to its lack of popularity. Not many people traveled to and fro so it hadn’t become a priority. The wood was still thick this way of town, and despite the wildlife being marginally safe, the fear of the unknown was a danger more fearsome. You’d yet to experience an actual life threatening experience, but you hated to jinx it. The gravel was as coarse as ever, threatening your ankle with a twist and providing the soles of your shoes with a challenge. Save for the sparse lanterns lighting the path, darkness was smothering you and sending shocks of nervousness up your spine. Had it not been for the fireworks filling the area with light every few minutes, you might’ve turned back and begged one of your friends to let you spend the night.

The walk was relatively silent, a trill here and there from squirrels and rabbits but nothing too frightening. What was really bothering you was the crackling of branches and fallen leaves behind you. The sound seemed misplaced compared to its siblings to the left and right of you. That combined with the chill had you increasing your pace, desperate to get home and crawl into your warm, cozy bed already. The sounds quickened. You gasped.

A firework broke off just as you turned, light filling in the gaps between the trees and setting off a bomb of clarity to your surroundings. 

There was a man behind you... 

His vision disappeared far quicker than it came, the light only temporary as you were yet again accompanied by questions. You didn’t see much,  he was several yards away and taller you think, dark and messy hair. He could’ve been a mile away, short, and bright and you still would’ve been afraid. Who the hell trails behind someone like that in the dark? Unless… he was following you...