#be fashionable in front of a cornfield

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The Scarecrow Walks at Night - A Shigaraki x Reader Halloween Fanfic

You spend Halloween night alone at your grandparents’ farm, but there’s something strange about the scarecrow you’ve always felt a connection to.

Part of the League of Villains Halloween Horror Anthology! Featuring Shigaraki as a scarecrow!

Smut. 18+. Horror (the creepy kind not the gory kind). Mild blood. Fem Reader.

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On your way back from a concert you just attended several states away, you decide to stop and spend the night at your grandparents’ farm. You thought it would be fun to drive to the concert instead of flying, make a solo road trip of it and stop here and there along the way, seeing the sights. 

Turns out there aren’t that many sights to see in rural farm country. So you decided to just drive straight home after the concert, but you’ve been getting drowsy and decide you need to stop somewhere today and rest. That’s when you remember the farm your grandparents live on, just a thirty minute drive out of your way, sitting at just about the halfway point between the concert venue and home. It’s the perfect place to rest, and you just know your grandparents will be thrilled to see you. 

As a child, you visited the farm often, spending many summers there. But when you were around nine years old, your parents stopped taking you to the farm. Something about your grandparents buying an RV and looking for any excuse to travel, so they came to visit you and your parents instead of the other way around. You missed playing on the farm, feeding the animals, running through the massive cornfield. But over the years your memories of the farm faded, until your time there was more like half forgotten dreams. 

Still, you had GPS, and when the signal cut out on your phone due to the unreliable rural cell service, you had your hazy memories to guide you to the farm. 

It was hard to miss actually, being large and having a beautiful big white farm house, a bright red barn, and various other structures like tool sheds, storage buildings, and things of that nature. All things you suddenly remember playing around or in as you pull into the driveway. 

You immediately notice that there are no vehicles in sight. You know they still own an SUV and an old pickup truck aside from the RV, but none of them are parked nearby. You tried to call them a couple of times before you lost service, but couldn’t get through to them. They were old fashioned though, and disliked cell phones. If they were not home, chances are you’d never get ahold of them. 

After getting out of your car, you walk to the front door and knock. No answer comes. The whole house is silent. In the distance you hear chickens clucking, but no other noise. With a disappointed sigh, you walk over to a free standing garage your grandpa had built way before you were born. There’s a crack between the heavy wooden doors big enough for you to peek inside. You can see the SUV and the pickup, but no RV. They must be out traveling somewhere. 

You’re about to give up and go find a motel in town when an idea strikes you. When you were a child, you remember your grandparents leaving a house key under some stones in the front yard. You jog over and search, easily finding a shiny metal key. It was amazing how many memories were coming back to you now that you were here. 

You step back onto the front porch and use the key on the door. You know your sweet, easy going grandparents wouldn’t mind you staying at their house even if they aren’t home. 

As you open the door, you notice a homemade wreath decorated in orange and black colors, a plastic pumpkin glued to it. You’d almost forgotten that today is Halloween! 

After carrying in your overnight bag and looking around the house a bit, you walk back outside. There’s something you need to see before it gets dark out. 

You walk through the cornfield, the path feeling familiar to you, almost like second nature. Yes, you remember now. How could you have ever forgotten? You walked this same path so many times as a child, walking it now is like muscle memory. 

Finally, toward the end of the cornfield, close to the edge of the property, you find it. 

“I’m back, Tomura,” you say, looking up. “Did you miss me?”

High above you, affixed to a wooden stake, is a scarecrow. He’s dressed in faded denim pants and a red and black flannel shirt that is in surprisingly good shape. On his head sits an old hat, long scraggly corn silks hanging out from under it serving as his hair. Two red-colored stones function as his eyes. As always, he seems to be looking right at you. 

While there are many scarecrows on the property, this one is special to you. Even as a child, you were drawn to it. You came out here to play every day, and you pretended he was your “boyfriend”. Which meant you had tea parties with him and imagined him dancing with you at Cinderella-style balls. Most of all, you just talked to him. You told him everything, every mundane detail of your day, every secret, every fear. And somehow, it felt like he was listening. 

Some local kids who came over to play with you occasionally told you his name was Tomura, and you never forgot it. You almost forgot the scarecrow himself, but not that name. It was burned into your mind. 

They told you other things about him too. Things that made you cry. What was it again? Something about Tomura once being a real young man. Ah, the memories were coming back more clearly now. 

It was the kind of silly story kids make up to scare each other. They told you that long ago, way before your grandparents owned the farm, Tomura lived there with his family. When he became an adult, he wanted to leave the farm and move to the city. But his abusive father wouldn’t accept that, and as punishment, Tomura was tied to the stake like a living scarecrow and left in the cornfield. It was just supposed to be an unpleasant afternoon, but something went wrong, and Tomura died out there. 

For some reason, his corpse was left tied to the stake, and exactly one year later, on Halloween night, Tomura came back to life and slaughtered his entire family in his madness. 

But that’s not the part that bothered you. No, you were crying over the cruelty of his father, the sadness Tomura must have felt. As a child, you ran to the scarecrow and hugged his feet, sobbing out apologies for what had been done to him. Around that time your grandparents told you to stop playing with the scarecrow, apparently worried that you were growing too attached to the thing. Come to think of it, that was the last summer you spent with them. 

There was another part to the story the kids told you, a part that did actually frighten you, but you can’t remember what it was. As you gaze up at the scarecrow, you wonder if that memory will return while you’re here. 

When you were here last, you could barely reach his feet, but now you’re tall enough to reach his waist. You step closer to him, feeling oddly shy before giggling to yourself. He’s just a scarecrow. It was just a dumb story. You find yourself wrapping your arms around him, giving him the hug you couldn’t quite manage before. 

Looking up into those red “eyes”, you smile at him. “I don’t know if you remember me,” you say, feeling a little foolish for talking to him but also feeling the need to say this, “but I came here a lot when I was little. I played here, talking to you and pretending we were friends. I know you couldn’t talk back, but I always felt like you heard me. Thanks for that. You made my childhood a little less lonely.” 

You release his straw body and back away. “I’m sorry it’s been so long since I came to see you. I’ll be here tonight and a little while tomorrow. I’ll come say goodbye before I leave.”

Blushing slightly at your own silliness, you walk back into the cornfield, toward the house. You feel a little better now that you’ve gotten that off your chest. You knew he couldn’t actually hear you. He was an inanimate object after all. But you said those words for yourself, not him. 

You feel your phone vibrate in your pocket just a few feet into the corn. You check it to see that you have two bars of signal out here. You make sure there are no important messages or missed calls, no contact from your grandparents, before going back to the house. 

The sun is setting as you step onto the porch, and you take a moment to appreciate the view of the lovely pink sky over the farm before going inside. 

Over the next hour, you make yourself comfortable. You shower and change into comfy little knit shorts and tank top, what you use as pajamas, and help yourself to some snacks in the kitchen before curling up in front of their surprisingly impressive tv to watch a movie. Being Halloween night, most channels are having horror movie marathons, so you settle on part eight of a random horror franchise. It’s a movie you saw when you were a teenager, but you’ve forgotten most of the “plot” by now. 

Only twenty minutes into the film, you hear a knocking at the front door. Your first thought is that it’s your grandparents, but then you quickly remind yourself that they wouldn’t knock on their own door. So who could it be? Trick or treaters? Possible, but this house is practically in the middle of nowhere. Maybe your grandparents are known for giving out great candy? If so, these kids are going to be disappointed. 

You grab the Little Debbie cake and small bag of chips you’d laid out for yourself and head to the door. When you open it, no one is there. You sit the snacks on a nearby table and step out onto the porch. 

“Hello?” you ask, rubbing your bare arms with your hands. You didn’t realize the nights were so chilly here in the fall. The porch light is glowing bright yellow above your head, and you get the distinct impression that someone is looking at you, watching you. It suddenly feels like you’re under a spotlight as you gaze out over the inky black darkness of the farm, only broken up by a couple of lights situated near the tool shed and the garage. 

Mildly creeped out, you hurry back inside, making sure to lock the door. 

You return to the movie, having apparently not missed much. As the minutes pass by, you begin to relax again, figuring you were probably just mistaken when you thought you heard the knocking. This is an old house that you’re not overly familiar with. Of course it’s going to make creepy sounds occasionally. 

Just as your eyes begin to slide closed, drowsiness overtaking you, the knocking comes again. This time louder, more frantic. You practically jump off the couch in alarm. You stand there for a moment, listening, your heart beating wildly. This is not your imagination. This is definitely not just the sounds of an old house settling. This is literal banging! And it won’t stop. 

You mind races. Could this be trick or treaters? Doubtful. The banging certainly doesn’t sound like it’s coming from children. A Halloween prank then? Perhaps some local teens spotted your car in the driveway and decided to have a little fun with you? 

As the banging intensifies, you can’t help considering the darker possibilities. Maybe someone had planned to break into your grandparents’ house while they were away and now you’re just an unexpected obstacle they would have to deal with. Or maybe it’s a serial killer on the prowl? Or hell, maybe the house is fucking haunted. 

You slowly step closer to the door, and when you’re just a few feet away, you scream out, “What do you want?”

The banging immediately stops. You stare at the door, disappointed that it’s an old wooden type that has no peephole or windows. You don’t hear a response. You don’t hear anything. No voices, no footsteps walking off the creaky wooden porch. So are they still there? Just waiting on the other side of the door? 

“I have a gun!” you shout. “If you try to come inside, I’ll blow your fucking brains out! I don’t care who you are!”

You listen for any sort of reaction, but hear nothing. You creep closer to the door, trying to hear footsteps, hoping to hear them leaving. Just as you get close enough to press your ear to the door, something on the other side bangs against it loudly, making the wood tremble on the hinges. You scream and leap back. 

That’s it. You’re not putting up with this any longer! You run over to the landline phone in the kitchen and pick it up to call the police, but to your horror, there’s no dial tone. You check two more phones in the house, but get the same results. Did the person outside cut the phone line? Or had your grandparents been off traveling for so long that they didn’t bother paying their phone bill? Either way, you’re fucked. 

You check your cell phone just in case, hoping for a miracle, but there’s no service. 

Suddenly you remember something, more of that story the kids told you all those years ago. Something happens every year on Halloween night, that’s what they said. But what was it? You try to force yourself to remember the rest, but you just can’t. Anyway, it was just a dumb kids’ story. You have more important things to deal with, like the banging on the front door that just won’t stop. 

All you want to do is run to your car and drive away from here, but you’re too scared to go outside. Also, you’re parked close to the front porch, which is exactly where the threat is. 

“Go away!” you scream through the door. “I called the police! They’ll be here any minute!”

The banging suddenly stops again. Did your bluff work? You creep closer to the door again, cautiously. Then you hear it, the sound of footsteps! The porch floorboards creak and groan as someone makes their way across it, slowly and steadily. Then it sounds like they’re going down the steps. 

You run to the living room and try to peep out the window without being seen, but you only catch a quick glimpse of a shadow going around the corner of the house, toward the back. 

Is the back door locked? You never checked it after you got here, but surely your grandparents left it locked. Then again, this was exactly the sort of place where people would feel safe leaving their doors unlocked. 

You make a mad dash for the back door, running through the living room, kitchen, and laundry room to find the brown wooden door. 

It’s unlocked! 

Just as you reach for it, there’s a sudden banging on the wood, making you jump back in terror. You’re too late! You back away from the door, waiting for it to open and reveal some dangerous figure ready to kill you. 

But it doesn’t open. The knob never even turns. Are they not even going to check to see if it’s locked? The banging stops then, and is replaced by another sound. Scraping. Like metal on wood. Like a blade scratching the door. 

What the hell is going on?! If they’re not coming in, are they actually just trying to terrify you? Is it a Halloween prank after all? Or is it a killer who just wants to toy with you for a while first? The fact that they’re still here after your bluffs about the gun and the police suggests they aren’t just pranksters. 

But… something else occurs to you. If they’re back here, then they’re not on the front porch. Which means you could possibly make it to your car! There’s a risk involved. If there’s more than one person out there, one of them could be waiting to ambush you. Or the person could run around to the front before you make it to your car. But the risk of  staying put is even greater. Whoever is out there could come in at any moment. Even if the back door was locked, there were several windows that could easily be broken and climbed through. 

With no time to give it any more thought, you make a split decision. You dash through the kitchen, grabbing a knife from the wooden knife block on the counter as you go, then to the living room where you grab your keys and your phone. You cram the phone into your bra, having no pockets in the tiny, thin pajama shorts you’re wearing, then you unlock the front door and fling it open. 

Thankfully, there’s no one on the other side, and no one on the porch when you step outside. With the coast clear, you run straight for your car and throw yourself into the driver’s seat. You stick the keys in the ignition, still clutching the knife in one trembling hand. You turn the key, and you hear the engine begin to start, and then… nothing. It dies. You turn the key again, but the car still won’t start. You try several more times, growing more panicked and frantic with each attempt. Screaming in frustration and slapping the steering wheel, you accidentally cut your own hand with the knife. 

“Shit!” You wipe the blood off on your white tank top and jump out of the car, popping the hood at the same time. You know nothing about cars, but you feel like you should check anyway. When you look under the hood, you feel your stomach drop to your feet. 

The engine is completely demolished. It looks like someone took a large blunt object and just… wrecked it. Destroyed it. You close the hood and look toward the house. Do you have time to make it back inside and lock the front door? What if the person outside the back door finally tried to open it and is now hiding in the house? 

While you’re still debating with yourself on what to do, you see movement coming from the side of the house. Someone is coming! You want to see who it is, but you don’t want to be discovered out here. You had the good sense to shut the front door, so it might take them a while to realize you’re no longer in there. 

You dart into the cornfield, using it as cover. You try to look through the stalks, but you can’t see the person clearly. You can only make out what looks like a red shirt, and some sort of long, shiny weapon. 

Suddenly you remember that your phone got a couple bars of service earlier today when you were close to the end of the field, near Tomura. Deciding this is your best shot at getting help, you run through the corn as fast as you can. 

It takes several minutes for you to reach the end of the field, and you’ve already got your phone out, checking for bars, staring at the brightly lit screen in the darkness. When you reach Tomura, you’re focused on your phone, but there’s still no service. When you finally glance up, you realize something is wrong. You step back and tilt your phone up, using its light to see. 

The stake is empty. Tomura, the scarecrow, is gone. 

The confusion is so strong that it briefly overrides your fear. Did someone steal him? For what purpose? 

And then, like puzzle pieces fitting together, you remember the rest of the story those kids told you so long ago. 

“Every year, on Halloween night, Tomura comes back to life. He climbs down from his stake and stalks the farm, killing everyone he finds!”

You stare at the empty stake, trying to convince yourself that it was just a story, that someone is pulling a very elaborate prank on you. But somehow, in that moment, you know the truth. You sense it. Tomura had been outside those doors. Tomura had destroyed your car. And Tomura was going to kill you. 

The vibration of your phone startles you, causing you to yelp in fear. You look at the screen one bar! Praying it’s enough, you quickly begin dialing 911, but the bar disappears before you can finish. 

“No!” you hiss at your phone, trying to walk around to different spots to get more service. 

You’re so focused on the phone again that you bump into something in the darkness. You freeze, swallowing and slowly turning the phone’s screen around to illuminate what your body is currently pressed against. 

A red and black flannel shirt. You scream and jump back, realizing that Tomura is right in front of you, narrowly avoiding the blade of an enormous reef hook that he’s swinging at you. In the chaos and the dark, you don’t see his face clearly, but you know it’s him. He swings the reef hook again, then a third time, each time barely missing you as you shriek and dodge. 

“Please stop, Tomura!” you cry, still holding the knife in your hand but unable to get close enough to use it. 

He freezes mid swing, the weapon held high above his head. The shiny metal blade seems to quiver for a moment as you scramble to back away, but then he swings it down. You try to jerk out of the way, but it swipes your shoulder, severing the strap of your tank top and leaving a thin, bloody slice in your skin. You cry out in pain and clutch the wound. It’s not very deep, but it hurts, and blood is leaking out around your fingers. 

Again, Tomura seems to freeze in place. This time you manage to run back into the cornfield, turning off your phone so the light doesn’t give you away. You run and run, not even sure which direction you’re going in. Are you going back to the house? Or somewhere else? Where even is the nearest neighbor? 

When you finally break free of the corn, you find yourself in front of the old barn. It hadn’t been used in years even when you used to visit as a child, so you’d often played in it. You remember being scolded for climbing into the hayloft. With precious few options, you decide to try hiding inside it. 

The barn smells a bit musty, but not too bad otherwise. Your grandparents were sticklers for maintenance, even on old buildings they no longer used. You find a corner, behind some hay stacks, and hide there, trying to be as silent as possible. 

If the story those kids told you is true, and it’s certainly looking that way at this point, then Tomura only has Halloween night to roam about. So when morning comes, he’ll have to return to the stake. You look at your phone. It’s not quite ten yet! You don’t know if you’ll be able to evade Tomura until sunrise. 

Sitting here hiding, you finally have a moment to think about what’s happening. Tomura is alive. He’s a scarecrow, but he’s alive! But his body didn’t feel like straw when you bumped into him in the cornfield just now. It felt more solid than that. Almost like a real human body. 

Regardless, he is trying to kill you, and that thought pains you even more than it scares you. Why is he doing this? You’ve always felt a connection to him, an affection for him. Did he hate you all along? Or does he simply kill whoever he sees on Halloween night, no matter who they are? Maybe he doesn’t even recognize you. Maybe he doesn’t even have an actual consciousness, but is just a killing machine. Every possibility seems sadder than the last. 

Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear the door to the barn swing open. You clamp your hand over your mouth to muffle your breathing, and try to sink closer to the ground, to blend in with the darkness and the hay. 

You hear footsteps walking through the barn, stacks of hay being tossed aside. He’s searching for you! This is a bad idea. You need to get out of the barn, try to get to another house, maybe even flag someone down on the road. Before he gets any closer, you jump out of your hiding spot and run toward the back door of the barn. He sees you, of course, and you hear the footsteps running behind you. But you’re close to the door. You can make it! You can disappear into the cornfield again and-

It’s locked. Just as you reach the back door of the barn, you realize it’s locked up with a chain and padlock. You let out a frustrated whine and turn around just as the reef hook swings toward you. Ducking to avoid it, you run to the side, where you find a ladder to the hayloft. You know climbing up there is a terrible idea, that you’ll just be trapped up there, but at the moment, it’s the only path open to you. Maybe you’ll get lucky and be able to push him off the edge. 

So you climb, and you feel a strangely warm hand grab at your bare thigh. That’s definitely not straw! You jerk away, shaking off his grip as you climb further up, finally reaching the hayloft and then backing away from the ladder, watching him climb up after you, his weapon’s handle stuck in the waistband of his jeans. 

Once he’s up here with you, he walks slowly toward you, and when he steps into a beam of moonlight shining in through a small window in the barn, you finally see his face. 

Oh. He’s not a scarecrow at all. Not anymore. Standing before you is a totally alive human man. Young, early twenties you’d guess, with long silver hair that looks almost blue in the moonlight. He’s pale, with a few small but noticeable scars on his face, and striking red eyes that are staring at you as he gets closer. 

He’s beautiful. He’s everything you imagined all those years ago, when you dreamed of him being a “real boy”. 

You back away, almost in a daze, and end up tripping on some hay and falling to the floor. You manage to get to your knees, but by this point he’s reached you, looming over you with his weapon gripped in both hands. You’re a mess at this point. There’s blood all over your tank top, cuts on your hand and your shoulder that are still bleeding, one strap of your top sliced through and hanging low, almost exposing your breast, your shorts ripped. 

You look up at him, knowing there’s no escape, deciding to at least die seeing your precious Tomura alive and real. He lifts the reef hook over his head, still staring down at you, and all you can say is one word. 

“Tomura…”

He falters. The reef hook trembles in his grip. “Why are you here?!” he screams, his voice strained, his face twisting in pain. “Why would you come here, tonight of all nights?! Any other day… any other night… and I would have been so happy to see you…”

“What are you talking about?” you ask, totally confused. 

He growls in frustration, the weapon still shaking in his hands. You get to your feet. The knife from the kitchen is still in your hand. Right now, you could stab him. You’re close enough. But that’s not what you want to do. Instead, you do the one thing you’ve always wanted to do, since you were a little girl. 

You hug him. 

The weapon slips from his hands and lands with a dull thud on the hay strewn floor as you hear him make a faint gasping sound. 

“Please talk to me, Tomura,” you say. “I can finally hear your voice. So please just tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s Halloween night!” he yells, his arms dropping to his sides, not touching you. “Don’t you know? It’s the one night a year my body is restored! And I… I can’t control myself… all I can feel is rage and hate and… I just want to kill, to destroy… that’s the only way I can feel alive!”

He stops for a moment, and you can hear him breathing, feel his heart beating in his chest. He truly is alive! 

“Every year, your grandparents leave the farm on Halloween,” he says, his voice a bit calmer now. “I haven’t killed anyone in years, and all this bloodlust I feel has been building and building… and then you show up. You! The one person I never wanted to hurt!”

You look up at him. “You recognize me?” 

“Of course I do! For years you were the only person who talked to me! I knew you the moment you came to see me today in the field, even if you’re grown up now.”

His red eyes seem to sweep down over your figure, and you feel heat in your face. “Wait… does that mean you’re conscious when you’re a scarecrow?”

“Yeah. I’m aware of everything that goes on around me.”

Now you’re really embarrassed. All that time you were talking to him, he really was listening! But you can’t dwell on it for long. He pushes you away from him suddenly. 

“You need to run. Get off the property. Or get inside the main house. I’m not allowed to go inside it.”

You shake your head. “No, Tomura, I don’t want to leave you out here. I dreamed of you being real, being alive, all my life. I want to stay with you!”

His beautiful face looks anguished. “I don’t know how long I can keep myself from attacking you! Every inch of my body is screaming to hurt you, to do anything to feel alive!”

You step closer to him again. You thought you felt something when you hugged him before, but you want to be sure. You press yourself against him, and sure enough, you can feel that he’s hard, his erection straining against his pants. You reach down one hand and lightly rub over it. His breath hitches as his eyes widen. 

“Maybe there’s another way you can feel alive,” you tell him. 

A faint blush spreads over his face. “Is that… something you want?” 

You nod. “Do you want it too?”

Without a word, he suddenly kisses you, finally wrapping his arms around you for the first time as his lips press to yours. You breathe out a sigh against his mouth, content to be held by him. 

Then his hands are moving over you, a bit clumsily, tugging at your tank top, trying to pull it up. You laugh as you pull back from him. “Have you ever done this before? I mean, before you…”

“Before I died?” he asks, looking a little shy. “Yeah, a few times. It’s been about a hundred years though.”

You slip your tank top off and unhook your bra, letting it fall to the floor while he stares with wide eyes. “It’s okay,” you say as you wrap your arms around his neck, “I’m sure it’ll all come back to you.”

He smiles then, his warm hands sliding down your bare back, stopping to squeeze your ass through your shorts. You kiss him again, this time more deeply, your tongue in his mouth, and then your hands fly to the buttons of his flannel shirt, undoing them as quickly as you can. When he lets you pull his shirt off his shoulders, your eyes rake over his toned body appreciatively. In life, he was a farm boy, and it shows. 

His fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts and panties, pulling them both down in one go. You step out of them, then unbutton his jeans. Before you can slide them down his hips, he’s pushing you gently down into the hay, on your back, and climbing on top of you. 

You’d been chilly before, but now your whole body feels hot as his half-clothed body grinds against yours, his mouth warm on your neck. One of his hands is gripping your thigh, pulling it up beside him and making it easier for him to position himself between your legs. 

His mouth moves down from your neck to your chest, his lips enclosing over one nipple, his tongue darting out to flick it. You moan, your hands in his soft hair. When he slides one hand down to stroke the wet, hot flesh between your thighs, your back arches automatically, your body smashing against his. 

You can’t wait any longer. You shove his pants down to his knees, not entirely surprised that he’s not wearing underwear. He was a scarecrow until a few hours ago after all. Even though you know he’s a living breathing human right now, you’re still relieved to see that he has all his parts and they’re in working order. 

He begins kissing you again, and when his hand brushes over your shoulder, it grazes your wound, making you wince. He draws back, looking at the cut. “I’m sorry,” he says, sounding hurt, “I was so confused. I wanted to kill you, but at the same time I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. So I held back, and I hesitated.”

“I’m glad you did,” you say, raising up to kiss him again. “You could’ve taken my head off if you hadn’t held back.”

“I could never…” he murmurs, moving himself against you, rubbing his warm body across your form. You open your legs, giving him easy access, closing your eyes with a moan. 

“Tomura… I want you inside me…”

His breathing gets faster, more ragged, as he gets into position, then he gently pushes inside you, slowly filling you up. His mouth finds yours as he slides all the way in, and then begins thrusting into you, carefully at first before picking up speed. When you respond with moans and cries of his name, your arms tight around his neck, he begins thrusting more deeply, more roughly, using your reactions to judge how you want him to move. 

He fucks you so well, his body must have remembered exactly how it was done. He’s good, good enough to make you tremble in his arms, clutching him with all your strength as you cum on his cock. 

You wrap your legs around him just to steady yourself as he fucks you through your orgasm, and he kisses you, groaning into your mouth as he cums deeply inside you. 

The next few hours are precious to you, because you know he’ll go back to being a scarecrow when morning comes. You feel like Cinderella enjoying her last few minutes at the ball. 

The two of you sit in the hayloft together, you snuggled up in his flannel shirt, and talk. He tells you about his life before, what really happened to him and his family. His father really had strung him up in the field as punishment, and Tomura really had returned to life one year later and killed his whole family. Aside from his older sister, who had married and moved away from the farm before his death. He seems happy that she was spared, and regretful about killing his mother and grandparents, even though the rage was at its strongest that year. 

He doesn’t know why he comes back to life every year, what sort of magic or curse restores his body and drives him to kill. But the biggest surprise is that your grandparents know about him. 

“They’re nice. I like them,” he says. “They’re a little scared of me, I think. They tend to stay away from me even when it’s not Halloween. But they put new clothes on me when mine get worn out and they even throw a tarp on me when it’s raining real hard.”

The fact that your grandparents take care of a cursed scarecrow makes you smile. But then a thought occurs to you. “Has anyone tried to destroy you?”

He laughs. It’s the first time you’ve heard it but you like the sound of it. “Some have tried over the years,” he says, “but even when someone burned me up in a fire, a few hours later I was back on my stake like nothing happened.”

Happy to know he’s indestructible, you lean your head on his shoulder as the last bit of time you have together slips by. When the sky begins to lighten outside, the two of you walk into the cornfield and to his stake, hand in hand. When you reach it, you pull off his shirt and help him put it back on before he climbs onto the stake and holds his arms up to the wooden frame.

For a moment, you just watch, but then you climb up onto the stake with him and give him one more kiss. “I’ll come back to see you, I promise,” you tell him. 

“I’ll be waiting,” he says back, and then his head droops as rays of sunshine spread across the farm. In an instant, he’s no longer flesh and blood but made of straw. You hug his now thin body before climbing down from the stake. 

****************

It’s Halloween night, one year later, when you park your new car close to your grandparents’ farm house. They’re gone, of course, and despite their misgivings about you being there on Halloween night, they ultimately agreed to let you stay there. 

You’ve been back to the farm several times over this past year just to visit Tomura and talk to him. But today is special. In just a couple of hours, he would come to life and be able to speak to you, touch you, hold you. 

You walk through the field until you reach Tomura. Knowing now that he can hear and see you, a smile spreads over your lips. 

“I’m back, Tomura. I’m really excited about tonight. You are too, right?” you ask, standing at a perfect distance for him to see the cute outfit you wore just for him. You reach down and take hold of the hem of your flowy skirt, then slide the fabric up your thighs, revealing your black lace panties. 

You know it must be your imagination, but you could swear his red stone “eyes” are shining. You laugh and drop your skirt back down. “Just a little preview of what’s waiting for you in the barn tonight,” you say, giving him a sensuous smile before walking back into the field. As you disappear into the corn, you call out, “Happy Halloween, Tomura!”

[laundrybiscuits]

(#50 please if you're still doing the spotify meme, and if not: hi!)

And I will not become / A thorn in my own side / And I will not return / To where I once was / Well I can break through the earth / Come up soft and wild

“That flight was absolute murder,” Nancy sighs, barging through their front door without so much as a by-your-leave.

She looks good. She’s wearing something casually fashionable, the kind of thing Eddie doesn’t even know the name of; it looks expensive, but knowing Nancy, it probably isn’t. She’s just got a knack for making just about everything look classy as hell.

“Hey, Wheeler,” says Eddie. “Can I get you a drink? An alibi, maybe?”

Nancy shakes her hair out of her face and laughs, reaching out to squeeze Eddie’s waist with one arm while she tries to wrangle her suitcase with the other. Eddie hugs her back and helps her lift the suitcase over the threshold. 

“Jeez, this thing weighs a ton. How’d you get it up the stairs by yourself?” he huffs. 

“I wasn’t by myself,” says Nancy. 

“Oh, did you bring the new boyfriend? Do we get to meet this one?”

Steve appears in the doorway, hauling another massive suitcase with a plastic bag hanging from his elbow. “Not exactly,” he says. “Ran into Nancy on the way home from the store—got back just in time to see her going head-to-head with the elevator.”

“Shit,” Eddie sighs. “I thought you told her it doesn’t work, last week when she called?”

“Oh, come on,” says Nancy, flopping down on the couch with a groan. “It’s been a long flight and I forgot, sue me.”

Steve reaches out to squeeze her shoulder. “Long flight, huh? Let me fix you a drink, and Eddie can help put your bags away.”

“Oh, can I? Generous of you, Harrington,” Eddie grumbles, but he’s already pushing some junk around to make room in the hall closet. “Wheeler, I’m putting your stuff in here, so you’re not gonna be tripping over it in the living room.”

“Thanks, Eddie,” says Nancy. “And, um. For your information, the new boyfriend and I actually split up.”

“Sorry to hear that,” says Steve, coming back in with a glass in one hand and two beers dangling from the other. He passes the glass to Nancy, who smiles up at him; Eddie snags one of the beers and takes a slow sip. 

Nancy’s talking to Steve about the split, sitting up and becoming more animated as she gets into it. Her hair’s been flat-ironed down to a sleek, silky finish and she looks incongruously glamorous in their living room; Eddie can picture her just like this on some talk show couch, describing her thrilling memoirs or something like that. 

She’s always been a pretty girl, but New York’s turned her into something else. Eddie’d bet none of her fancy city friends can even smell the cornfields on her. She still looks like the Nancy Wheeler he’d known all those years ago, but she’s a version of herself that’s been polished to a bright shine. More certain of herself; happier. Strong but delicate in a way that Eddie will never be, not in a million years. 

The light of stars was in her bright eyes, Eddie thinks wryly, and goes to join them on the couch.

—

“I wonder if Nancy thinks we look the same,” Eddie says around a mouthful of toothpaste. 

Steve nudges him over to spit in the sink and glances up. “Like…that thing where people start to look like their dogs? Is this about me growing out my hair a little? Because I told you, it’s not gonna look anything like yours—”

“No, asshole,” says Eddie, sticking an elbow into his side to shut him up and also to reclaim the sink. “I didn’t mean the same as each other. But you should cut your hair. And wait, did you make me a dog in that analogy? Never mind. I just meant, I wonder if Nancy thinks we look like the same people we were a few years ago.”

“Are we…not the same people we were a few years ago?” Steve sighs. “No, okay, I get what you’re saying. Like how Nancy looks different now.”

“Exactly, yeah.” Eddie rinses out his mouth and leans against the counter as Steve does the same, casting a glance back out to where Nancy’s lightly snoring on the pull-out mattress in the living room. 

“I mean…she’s got a New York look, right? Maybe we have a Chicago look. We’ve been here longer than she’s been there. We’re, like, city people now.”

“Okay, first, stop telling people we live in the city, we live in a freaking suburb of Chicago and you know that. Second…it’s not the same, is it? I don’t think Nancy Wheeler would think it’s the same.”

Steve shrugs. “Sure, yeah. Sounds like she’s got a pretty exciting life out there. Except for the boyfriend. Jeez, that sounds like a mess.”

“Heartbreaker Nancy Wheeler strikes again,” says Eddie, taking aim with an imaginary sniper rifle. “Watch out, boys.”

“It’s—” Steve frowns, glancing away. “I know we haven’t—talked about stuff, or anything. But you know I don’t…you know I’m not gonna get back together with Nancy, right?”

Eddie looks at him then in the yellow light of their bathroom, and it turns out he does know, after all.

“Yeah,” he says, and takes Steve’s hand. Squeezes it once, like a promise. “Like she’d have you with that unkempt mane of yours, anyway.”

“Shut up, I’m not cutting it,” says Steve, but he doesn’t let go either.

Send me a number between 1-100 and I'll write a ficlet based on the corresponding song from my Spotify Wrapped! It will definitely be gay and may possibly be musical theater

[nataywrites]

Hello, reader. It's been a few days! Life has been busy, but I am ashamed I used that as an excuse not to write. The idea is a daily writing habit, after all. Today, I would like to talk about what I found out yesterday. It is personal, and I will be including a few details that may make some uncomfortable.

Yesterday, I packed myself in the car, drove around the block, and picked up my mother at the corner. Apparently, she was on her way to our abode in order to save time. It was an overcast morning full of birdsong. She put her cane in the back and climbed carefully into the front passenger seat, pulling her legs in slowly. After she buckled her seatbelt, I found directions to the Medical College of Wisconsin, Milwaukee, and began to drive. We live about an hour and a half away and we filled that time with pleasant conversation, reggae music playing quietly in the background.

The roads led us past cornfields and forest that gave way to suburbia, the buildings progressively getting bigger as we got closer to our destination. For two ladies from a rural town, the traffic was a bit scary and the roads confusing. We were, however, on time. I dropped Mom off at the door and parked in the large parking structure attached to the hospital. This was only our second time there, and I thought my doctor was in the gastroenterology department. She was in an entirely different wing!

We followed the signs for the Cancer Center. That wing of the building overlooks a pond that rests just across the road. There were geese rummaging through the grass, heedless of the cars that occasionally rumbled past. The water reflected the damp towel clouds above.

After checking in and the usual formalities, we were escorted into an exam room with two chairs, an exam table, and a low-droning machine with a monitor in the corner. The nurse checked my weight and vitals and handed me an enema in a box. I had never done this before, but I dutifully took the bottle with me to the bathroom and did the deed. Walking back to the room, Mom smiled up at me encouragingly and squeezed my hand. I sat next to her and waited; waiting usually involves a lot of crossing and uncrossing my legs so that I can cross them the other way, slouching and then sitting up straight, bouncing my leg, resting my elbows on my knees so my hands can prop up my chin, finger wiggling, and a lot of sighs that imply more contemplation than impatience. If there is one thing my mother taught me especially well, it is the art of patience. Luckily, we didn't have to wait long.

Due to my lateness, the doctor was ready for us not long after I came back from the bathroom. She and her assistant instructed me to pull my pants down past my knees and lay on the exam table, knees tucked up to my chest. She put on gloves and probed my rectum with a scope. She was looking for tumors, but, thankfully, all she found were polyps. She found a lot of them, all different sizes and pink, like the inside of a cheek. (You might remark that this is, sort of, the inside of a cheek, and you would be right.)

If you are wondering why I needed a rectal exam, (I am certain you are) I have Familial Adenomatous Polyposis (FAP), which is a hereditary disorder that occurs from a change or deletion of the fifth chromosome. It means that I may develop hundreds to thousands of adenomatous polyps, a kind of polyp that can become cancerous. I am also at a slightly higher risk of other cancers, such as thyroid or stomach cancers.

When the doctor was done with my exam, she helped me up and allowed me time to put myself together before beckoning me into the consultation room across the hall. When we were all seated, she explained what needed to happen to reduce my chances of cancer. My whole colon will need to be removed, and the small intestine will be fashioned into a reservoir called a J-Pouch, which will function similarly to my rectum. Since my colonoscopy isn't until next month, we are waiting until the results come in before we discuss things further. If everything goes as planned, I can have my colon removed as soon as the middle of October.

If you are wondering what I think of it all, then I will just say that I intend to rely on the wisdom of my surgeon. Logically, I know what must be done. Emotionally, my mind has not caught up yet, and it may be some days before I finally see an emotional reaction. I looked at myself in the mirror and imagined myself with a stoma bag and a scar, yet it all seems too surreal to fully put into picture. All I can hope for is that I can rely on my family and friends during all of this because I am scared. I can't feel it yet, but I am.

Thank you for reading this really long and detailed ramble. I hope your day is as beautiful as you are.

Love,

Natay

[1thekdonna]

Cheap Flights From Kentucky

“Howdy there, y’all! If you’re fixin’ to catch a flight from the great state of Kentucky, then you’ve come to the right place. We’re here to give y’all the lowdown on them flights takin’ off from the Bluegrass State. Buckle up and get ready for a ride through the skies, Kentucky style!

Now, we all know Kentucky is famous for its bourbon, bluegrass music, and those finger-lickin’ good fried chickens. But did y’all know that it’s also a hub for travelin’ folks? Yep, you heard that right. We got airports spread out like seeds in a cornfield, ready to whisk you away to your destination.

First off, there’s Louisville International Airport, standin’ proud like a derby winner. This here airport serves as a gateway for travelers lookin’ to explore the wonders beyond the state lines. Whether you’re headin’ to the Big Apple or that sunny Florida beach, Louisville’s got flights to get you there faster than a racehorse.

Now, don’t be forgettin’ about Blue Grass Airport in Lexington. It might be smaller, but it’s got that cozy feelin’ of a front porch swing. From here, you can hop on flights to various cities across the country. Think of it as your ticket to adventure, without all the fuss and bother.

And let’s not overlook Cincinnati/Northern Kentucky International Airport. Yep, I know it’s got “Cincinnati” in its name, but a good chunk of it’s sittin’ right on Kentucky soil. It’s like a neighbor who’s always throwin’ a good ol’ fashioned hoedown — flights comin’ and goin’ to places near and far.

Now, when it comes to pickin’ flights, y’all got options aplenty. Whether you’re lookin’ for a direct flight or don’t mind a layover like a pit stop at a roadside diner, you’ll find what you need. And don’t y’all worry ‘bout gettin’ peckish — airports ‘round here are known for servin’ up some local flavors. So grab a bite of that hot brown sandwich or a sip of that Kentucky bourbon while you wait.

So there you have it, folks — flights from Kentucky are your ticket to adventure, served with a side of Southern hospitality. Whether you’re headin’ out for business or pleasure, just remember to tip your hat and enjoy the journey. Safe travels now!”

[ran196242]

Alt. outfits for my RodeOmens boys.

[popitdontdropitwrites]

"Mx. Sinister" Engineer/Medic - Chapter 14

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13,

CW: Obsession/Obsessive behaviour

Joseph silenced his shrieks of terror as strong, oversized hands took his, lightly pulling him along. He swallowed nervously, unable to believe his luck as they walked towards the house. It had seemed so far away before, like a lighthouse on a distant shore. His eyes wandered to the cornfields, imagining the gentle scrape of leaves against his skin as he ran through them. The engineer stopped by the front door and stomped the dirt from his shoes. Joseph did the same out of faux politeness.

The Texan opened the door for him with a giddy smile. “Come in, sweetheart.” He welcomed him inside with a pat on the back.

What immediately struck Joseph was the rustic, humble décor. Most of the furniture appeared to have been lovingly handmade, as it lacked the uniformity of store-bought products. However, they were beautiful in that regard. Dell’s handiwork was not at all shabby, especially when it came to the centrepiece. The dining table wore a deep, colourful blue streak of resin across its surface, as if a flowing river had parted the wood. A record spun in the corner, with traditional country music softly playing from the machine.

The Texan had set out two plates with bottles of beer to accompany them. In the centre was a stocky candle, with a flickering, dancing flame.

“What do ya think?” Dell asked, hungry for approval. “It’s not too er… old fashioned for ya, is it?”

“It’s beautiful.” He said, meaning it this time. It had an archaic sort of charm, as if he were stepping into a modest farmhouse of long ago. “Perhaps it is far too soon for me to say it, but I don’t mind the thought of staying here…” He said, examining a painting of a wheat field just by the fireplace.

Even without looking at Dell, he could feel his excitement at the prospect. “Here, Joseph, ya should sit down and dig in before it gets cold.” The shorter man pulled his chair out for him.

He took his seat in the same manner one out for dinner with royalty would. He was gently pushed in, like a doll at a tea party being carefully posed. Dell took his seat and popped the cap off his beer with his prosthesis and soon did the same for Joseph.

“I would’ve bought some wine or somethin’ for this abrupt lil’ date but I had to make do.” Dell rubbed at his neck awkwardly.

The Texan’s choice of words sickened him but he smiled it off regardless. “Ah, beer is just as good.” He took a swig, figuring that a drink would help him to relax.

“Don’t drink too many, eh? I’d hate for ya to enjoy yourself.” Dell winked.

Joseph chuckled out of obligation. “Please, I will have as many as I want.” He took a sip for show.

“Yessir.” The Texan added.

A bout of silence followed, with only the strum of a guitar and raspy vocals filling it. He picked at his food and to his surprise, enjoyed the majority of it. The steak was just right, with a delightful side of mash potato and vegetables.

He thought to learn more about the man in front of him while he had the chance. “So… you live alone?”

“I thought it would’ve been plain to see that I’m lonelier than a hen without a flock.” Dell said, subconsciously raising a hand to show off his ringless fingers.

“Forget a flock,” He dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “Maybe what you need is a rooster.” He added, finishing off his steak.

He picked up on the hint immediately. “A real pretty one, I reckon.” He said, meeting his eyes with a smirk.

Flirting with Dell destroyed part of his soul, but he pushed on, despite the fact it felt like he was stepping on glass with each and every word. “You flatter me.” He said coyly.

“C’mon, don’t be like that, pumpkin.” He leant in, coming dangerously close. “You’re gorgeous.”

The pinkness on his cheeks would make one think that he was blushing from the man’s flattery. In actuality, it was the fiery pit of anger in his belly warming his cheeks. “You’re not so bad yourself.” He teased, wishing with everything he had that he was speaking to someone else, no, anyone else.

“Bless your heart for complimentin’ this ugly mug.” Dell gestured towards himself.

“Don’t say that!” Joseph piped up with enthusiasm. “You have a very charming face.” He struggled to find a suitable word to assign to the other man’s deceptively harmless features.

Dell averted his gaze, clearly affected by his words. “You know exactly what to say to a fella like myself.”

He finished the last of his supper and placed his cutlery parallel to each other as a polite gesture. “How about I compliment you a little more, hm?” He said, noting how Dell perked up at the idea. “You, my friend, are a fantastic cook. This was wonderful. Thank you.”

“Darn it, Joseph, if ya keep at this I’ll be as red as a gosh-darn beet.”

“You already are, I’m afraid.” He said as he stood up and collected the plates.

“Honey, ya don’t need to clean up. I’ve got it.” The smaller man tried to intervene but was too short to take the plates from him.

“It’s the least I can do.” Joseph strode over to the kitchen – which happened to be connected to the dining area – and placed the dirty plates in the sink to be washed. He turned on the faucet, feeling the water warm under his hands. He turned to Dell, making it clear that he still wanted to talk. “Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask, what exactly do you do for work? What could you possibly need all of those qualifications for?”

“I’m an inventor.” Dell grinned. “I was workin’ full time not long ago but… yeah.” His smile faded a little. “I dunno why I even bothered, really. At the time I just felt like I should even though all my patents keep me real comfy. All the fuss wasn’t worth it in the end.”

“What happened?” The way Dell inelegantly danced around the details made him want to know more.

The Texan’s mechanical hand unfurled, with the fingers splaying out like petals of a flower. His silver eyes locked on it, considering his question. His gaze intensified as if he were about to spill it all but instead, he simply shook his head. “Naw, sorry, sugarplum. It’s a story for another time.”

The music died down and record spun with a repetitive crackle. It spun and spun for what seemed like an eternity until the smaller man’s eyes examined him for an uncomfortable amount of time. Needing an escape, Joseph began washing up. He scrubbed the plates in the soapy sink, washed them off, and left them out to dry alongside the cutlery. Once finished, he let out a yawn and made a show out it by stretching out, ensuring it would catch the other man’s attention.

“Mm, I’m rather tired after that.” He said, reclining in his chair.

“Ah, I get it, you’ve had a busy day.” Dell said. “Nothin’ makes ya tired quite like a full belly.” Dell stood up. “Come on then, let’s get ya to bed.” He outstretched his hand. “It’s only a lil’ walk back.” He said.

“Dell,” He sulked. “Can’t I stay in your bed tonight?” He pleaded, taking his hand.

“I’m sorry, sugar. I can’t let ya. For all I know, ya might—”

“—Please?” He begged with his eyes and his voice. “It’s so cold out there.” Yes, he was being dramatic, but in the early hours of the morning, he had to cover himself head to toe in several blankets. “And I think I might just start to miss you if I were to go back into that cramped, miserable room.” He whimpered, leaning in close to the other man.

“Joseph, I’d love to but…” He trailed off, his resolve faltering for just a moment. “I really would. I think it’d be lovely, but I can’t.” He said it again, more firmly this time.

Joseph wouldn’t allow himself to go back to square one after making so much progress. He couldn’t just give up on his fight for freedom when he had already done so much. He needed to do something drastic. He simply had to. Joseph made up his mind. He braced himself, shoving down the rapidly growing, swirling pool of repulsion inside of him. He crushed all protest in his head, silenced all dissent, and quietened every single thought. He focused on the action, no matter how sick it made him feel. This was the price he had to pay.

Joseph closed the gap between himself and Dell. The scent of oil, musk and metal filled his very soul, his heart quickening as he surrendered his dignity to the devil himself and allowed him to keep it forever. The subtlest bump of flesh against flesh made his heart sink so deep that he felt it would never return. He felt a gasp against his lips as he kissed his captor and held him close, pretending to crave more.

To his horror, Dell began to kiss him back.

Next Chapter

[fruitcube]

re: ur loona post about the Why Not aesthetic (agree btw), do u have any specific ideas of the fashion/vibes that you would've liked to see for that visual concept?

lol sorry for answering this so late but i got into a brain zone where i wanted to reimagine/revise the all of the visual elements of the era and i was too lazy to format the post soooo

the video is kind of all over the place honestly so i would wanna cut it down but keep these vibes ⬇️

why not is first and foremost about a party (midnight festival) so i would make it like a crazy night out with the neon/flashy/shiny elements and the dancing on the moon and also add full group choreo shots bc why didnt they have that?? and the party literally turns the world upside down -> the hurricane -> the ransacked grocery stores and time reversal

if you wanted to keep the car motif then i think it should involve the girls driving or actually riding in the cars (ie girl front) and be more like joyriding to go with the party thing

this might be a total stretch but maybe they were going with the western styling thing to match with some of the desert landscapes and i think to do it better it should have stronger american mid/west vibes like i think the kim lip pic above is kind of giving cornfield alien abduction and the west also works super well with joyriding and tornadoes

okay so for the actual styling i think concept 3 had it the best like its a festival the clothes should be fun and campy and flashy, but the execution of this concept was a little 😐. i think yeojins fit was the best so i added it in and the confetti pic was on theme too

what i would have liked to see is bright colors, shiny materials, variety in the fits of the clothing (loose/tight/different shapes), chunky shoes, over accessorizing, stuff with inspiration from 2000s rave wear, decora, fruits mag, glitter cowboy (a bunch of people did this in like 2019) and zimzalabim styling comes to mind

[catatonicatnap]

The Chosen Call

I wrote this for a short story contest a little while back. Thought I should pad out my writing tag here on Tumblr a bit more. Might add more of my work here later, depending on how this one does.

---

When she found the sword in the forest, half-buried in the dirt and overgrown with wild flowers and moss and all sorts of unassuming detritus, she knew what it was immediately.

The hilt was in pristine condition. The blade was well-oiled and sharper than her mother’s favorite paring knife. Even as her entire body screamed for her to run away, she couldn’t help but inch closer— helplessly admiring the crossguard, which was fashioned in the shape of bronze wings. Each feather unique, each feather flawless. Immaculate. Uncanny. Something that did not, and never would, belong in the forest outside a farmhouse. Something meant for greatness.

Against her better judgment, she didn’t run from the sword. Instead she knelt, and carefully brushed away the dirt in order to dig it out.

There was no reason for weaponry, let alone weaponry this well-crafted, to be there. There were no wars in living memory. No great treasure laid to rest. There was only one reason for a sword to be there, and this she knew in her bones.

This sword, this sword that sang under her fingers, was no soldier’s lost toy. This sword was destiny. This was the blade of a Chosen One.

It came unstuck easily— she barely had to tug. After all, it never was stuck— only waiting.

It was the most natural thing in the world for the handle to fit in her hand. It was the most natural thing in the world to hold the sword aloft, and for it to catch the afternoon sunlight filtering through the treeline and shine like a dying star. It was pure nature for it to be by her side— for it was hers now, was it not? This was the blade of a Chosen One, and it had chosen her.

She held that sword in front of her the way a hero would, and she knew she was going to die.

The sword isn’t in the forest anymore. It’s in a box she made out of taping two others together, originally sitting wedged under the loose floorboard in her treehouse, but now next to her on its roof, still singing. Before this, she’d shoved it under the straw in the stable. And before that, it was under her bed, and before that she’d dumped it in the cornfield in that patch of weeds by the scarecrow. Still before that she’d tried burying it again with a shovel before finding herself digging it up at two in the morning to see the sword still gleaming with that empyreal luster. She’s since learned: It likes being close to her, as it is now. From the way the light glints off of the pommel, she swears it’s winking at her.

She can’t bring herself to close the box.

Chosen Ones are supposed to be selfless and smart and brave. But she usually takes the last cookie for herself, and can’t do fractions to save her life (not that they will), and even now, after two weeks, can’t muster the courage to leave home. Out of all the people this sword could have chosen, she thinks she’s probably one of the worst.

But it was either her or one of her little brothers, who play in that forest every day. Her or her mother, who gathers mushrooms in the same spot the sword once was. Her or some other reckless child with too many stories in their head and not enough caution to remember how they end. Because even if this story kills her— and it will, perhaps at the beginning when she’s not fast enough, or at the end when every person she couldn’t save haunts her to her last breath— at least she knows what has chosen her, and has chosen it right back. At least she sort of chose this.

Even if she has to find someone else to do her chores, and even if she has to take a week’s worth of rations because that’s just how long the journey to the next town over is, and even if she has to take one of her father’s beloved horses just to make sure she gets there before she dies of thirst.

Even if she has to say goodbye.

That thought makes her shudder enough to rip her eyes from the sword and shut the box firmly.

Someday, the sword will fulfill its duty, and she will answer the chosen call. Someday.

But… maybe just one day more. To plan, she tells herself. One more day.

The Chosen One replaces the lid on the box, shoves it into that tree knot the jays used to nest in, and goes home.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Welcome To Backwater ch.6 (spicyhoney)

Summary: There are some strange happenings in this little town, is Stretch about to get some answers or only more questions?

~~*~~

Read Chapter Six ‘It’s All Academic’ on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

The store was still a good block away by the time Stretch’s legs decided they’d had enough of doing all the heavy lifting today and would he mind finding a place for them to park his ass for a while, thank you ever so much.

His youthful escorts started drifting off right around the time he got into town proper and his sneakers hit sidewalk. Probably outsiders weren’t as interesting without the possibility of imminent disaster and the kiddos started back to their abandoned bikes and hopscotch squares, leaving him to stagger on.

By then, the wobble that had infected his knees before he even got out of the cornfield was working its way up to a full-out gelatin jiggle and his mouth was filled with the taste of the sweat that ran down his skull, bittersweet salt heavy on his tongue. The sun overhead was bearing down on him, the heat scalding through his t-shirt and shorts right down to his bones.

He wasn’t gonna make it to the store, Stretch realized with dismay, and flopping down on the sidewalk would be about as comfortable as hopping into a greasy skeleton-sized frying pan. Ending the afternoon charbroiled was somehow even less appealing than going back for s second visit with Edgar Allen and Stretch gave his surroundings a slightly desperate look.

The library. He hadn’t been inside yet, but it was right there, not ten unsteady steps away. A small ‘open’ card was in the front window and it was sure to have air conditioning, plus a place to sit and tally up what remained of his scattered wits.

Stretch gathered up the last of his waning endurance and headed for the door. It opened easily, no cowbell here to mark his entrance, and the blissfully cool rush of crisp air against his sweating skull the moment he opened the door confirmed all his hopes and dreams. He managed to close the door behind him and then staggered back a step to lean against the solid wood. Hopefully, no one else was heading in to swap out their latest reads for something new because he needed about five good minutes before he was prepared to even try moving.

Now that he was out of the heat, his mind was clearing a little and he was able to give the library a good look around. It took a minute longer for his vision to adjust; compared to the bright sunshine, this room was like stepping into a shadow, dim and mysterious the way libraries should be, even ones that weren’t in weird little towns.

Huh. It was bigger than it looked on the outside, big shocker there, another little surprise of Backwater’s to add to his growing list. Only one room, sure, smelling musky despite the air conditioning, but the bookshelves were tall, towering even over his head and Stretch was on no one’s short end of the scale. The walls were lined with those shelves, and more stood independently, every one of them heavy with all kinds of books.

There were also a couple of small wooden tables and for the first time, Stretch noticed he wasn’t alone. Someone was sitting at one of the tables with his back to the door and unless there was yet another skeleton Monster hanging around town that Red hadn’t bothered to introduce, it had to be his brother. Couldn’t be sure, of course, all Stretch could see was his back, but he was willing to lay down a bet on even odds.

He’d left off the jacket this time, a wise choice in Stretch’s opinion given the ever-rising thermometer outside. Instead, he was wearing a thin black t-shirt and without the bulk of the leather jacket, his shoulders were narrower, putting him at only a little broader than Stretch’s generally scrawny condition. A crimson scarf was neatly wound around his neck, adding a splash of bright color not only to him, but to the shadowy room.

His spine was poker stiff, only his neck bent as he perused whatever book was in front of him, and his voice was that same rich chocolate tinged with battery acid from their first meeting as he spoke without turning around.

"Choosing to broaden your horizons with reading instead of wasting all your time at the movies, my, what will my brother…say…" the skeleton trailed off as he turned his head enough to glance at him. His head whipped around to give Stretch the full force of his startled gaze. The chair screeched on the floor as he shoved it back, climbing abruptly to his feet, his sockets narrowing as he looked Stretch over. It was not a sudden outbreak of overwhelming lust in that crimson gaze, more’s the pity, but stark concern as he asked sharply, "Are you all right?"

"yeah?” Stretch said uncertainly, and why was the world so unfair that he sounded like a croaking frog with developing case of laryngitis in comparison to that roughly silk voice? Worse, he still didn’t actually know if he was okay, might be better not to fully commit to an answer. Considering he was still covered in dirt and cornsilk, and felt like his bones might actually melt into a mess on the floorboards, he probably looked even worse than he sounded.

Red’s brother didn’t seem to buy it, either. He leaned over to rummage through an open backpack by the table leg, pulling out a bottle of water. Those heavy boots were surprisingly quiet on the wooden floor as he stalked over and thrust the water bottle into Stretch’s hands. He drank it gratefully, the cool water soothing on his parched tongue, only to nearly choke on a drenched yelp as wincingly brisk hands started dusting him off.

The other skeleton plucked free a straggly leaf that was clinging unknowingly to Stretch’s sleeve and held it up like an accusation, stating flatly, "You went in the corn field.”

Wow, this guy managed to fit a whole lot of disapproval into one sentence. He must’ve taken lessons at the same place as Blue. Probably aced the class.

“yeah,” Stretch admitted. He left off that the kids tried to stop him from going, always better to plead ignorance while you still could. “kinda got lost."

The other skeleton made a sound that was an honest to bits harrumph. He gave up on Stretch’s clothes, to be honest they hadn’t been in top form before he went into the corn field, and instead, holy shit, started poking at his actual bones.

Already the whole incident seemed more like a bad dream than reality, and now he was falling back into another dream, only this one was of a wet variety. It was really hard (heh) to stay traumatize with a guy this gorgeous unhesitatingly feeling him up. He was probably looking for injuries like a good Samaritan and an outside source needed to firmly (heh heh) tell Stretch’s bones that, because they sure weren’t listening to Stretch on the matter.

Hands skimmed down his ribs, sharp-tipped fingers cautious as they slid lower, ghosting over his shorts and the femurs beneath them. He crouched down to reach Stretch’s dirty sneakers, gently gliding over the delicate bones of his ankles and leaving behind a heat that was nothing like the sun’s.

Stretch took another long swig of cold water, nearly as desperate as his first but for entirely different reasons, and tried not to think of the skull that was currently level with his fly. Okay, he didn’t exactly want this to stop but he really, really, needed it to. He hoped the guy chalked up the renewed croak in his voice to lingering trauma. "um, thanks, but i’m okay. this scarecrow guy helped me."

“Ah, did Edgar Allen help you back out?” the guy said approvingly. “Good.”

Stretch tried not to look disappointed as he stood back up, seeming to decide there was no permanent damage from his unexpected ‘field trip’. At this point, any lingering aftereffects weren’t from the corn, and he took a shaky breath, sternly advising everything below the waist that systems were not at go, launch not in progress, abort, abort.

A distraction was in order.

Okay, so, no one in this town was at all surprised by the sentient scarecrow. Stretch didn’t pretend that he knew everything about the surface world, okay, this was his first time out of Ebott, but he was pretty sure that if this were the worldwide norm, he’d’ve heard about this once or twice; on the news, TMZ, twitter, something.

“edgar allen, right. um…soooooo, what is he?” Stretch asked.

That got him an impressively scornful look. “He’s a scarecrow.”

Yeah, okay, that was true, but Stretch wasn’t about to pretend that the scarecrow part of Edgar Allen was the debated issue right now. “scarecrows aren’t supposed to move. not on their own, anyway, and they really aren’t supposed to be able to offer opinions on the corn.”

“No?” The other skeleton waved a negligent hand as he turned away, heading to his chair as he tossed over his shoulder, “What should he be able to offer his opinion on, Paris fashions?” He settled into his chair, bending back over his book. “I’d appreciate it if you don’t tell him your personal theories on his condition, he doesn’t need that kind of negativity right now.”

“wha—of course i won’t, why would i…?” For a moment, Stretch felt absurdly guilty for his preconceived notions on scarecrows, then he shook it off because seriously? He went to the table and pulled out another chair, turning it around to straddle the battered seat. The other guy didn’t even look at him, right, right, he was a dick, how quickly a little unintentional petting made Stretch forget.

“is he a monster?” Stretch asked. That would sort of make sense, not that Stretch knew any Monsters who’d willingly sit in a field all day long. Then again, he guessed it depended on the hourly rate and what kind of signal you could get on your phone.

The other skeleton licked the tip of his finger before turning a page and it was seriously embarrassing how that little flick of crimson tongue threatened to make Stretch forget all his questions again. But what he said snapped Stretch back out of it. “Not at all. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“okay. hang on right there.” Stretch set his water bottle down and propped an elbow on the table. He rested his face in one hand, pressing a knuckle between his eye sockets where a headache was starting to form. “what does that even mean? what the fuck is up with this place?”

“There is nothing up with this place,” the other guy said, testily. Whether that was from Stretch’s questions or the fact that he was interrupting his reading was up for grabs. “This is normal here and if you’re having difficulty with it, then the problem is yours, not the town’s.”

“i don’t have a problem with it, i never said it was a problem…!” Stretch blew out a frustrated sigh, “look, i’m just trying to understand!”

The other skeleton still didn’t look up, his crimson eye lights focused on the page in front of him. His mouth curved into a smile that was almost bitter and a stern reminder of who he was because in that moment he looked very reminiscent of Red. “Understanding Backwater is a fool’s errand and I suggest you get used to not.” His eye lights flicked up briefly. “If you recall, I tried to get you to leave. You’re the one who wanted to stay.”

“i…yeah. i did. i still do,” Stretch said, defiantly, “wanting to understand doesn’t mean i want to leave, you know.” He left off the ‘asshole’; if this guy didn’t already know he was one, Stretch wasn’t gonna waste his time trying to tell him “edgar allen really helped me out, i was losing my shit out in that field.”

“That’s his job,” the guy said. See, that right there, that was an extra piece to the puzzle Stretch was struggling to make. Helping people out of the cornfield was Edgar Allen’s job as a sentient scarecrow, good to know, even if one of the townies might’ve wanted to bring it up before Stretch took a stroll through the stalks.

“his job. okay, i get that, but not in a paycheck sort of way, right?” No answer and Stretch hesitated, drumming his fingers on the table as he considered, “wonder if he gets bored out there, hanging out all day long in the corn. think he'd like a magazine or something? maybe a farmer's almanac?” Not like it could hurt to add a scarecrow to his friends list, but how could he get it to him, leave it right inside the field and give him a shout? Maybe the corn would give him a heads up, it sure seemed chatty when it wanted to be and—

He abruptly realized that the other skeleton was staring at him, but not in a scornful way this time. It was a little softer somehow, those sharp eye lights assessing.

“what?” Stretch asked, a little defensively.

A beat of silence, then, “He's usually sleeping if no one is in the field,” the skeleton said, finally, “But that's very thoughtful of you.”

“never hurts to repay a favor. how do you know so much about edgar allen, anyway? do all the locals know or are you special?” Stretch gave the room another quick glance; there were two other tables with their own chairs, the faded floral pattern on the cushions barely visible in the dimness. Tucked into one corner was an old-fashioned card catalogue and next to it was an ancient computer, the monitor showing only bright white text against a black screen and a blinking cursor. Only one table had any books on it, the one Daddy Long Legs here was using, and that was it. They really were alone in here and now that Stretch thought of it, that was kind of weird, wasn’t it? Should be at least one other person here, unless— “are you the librarian?”

“No,” the skeleton scoffed, “There is no librarian. And as to what I know, I simply pay attention. Simple observation can be very informative.”

“it hasn’t helped me out much yet.” Stretch leaned forward a little, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “you know, i still haven’t heard your name.”

“That would be because I haven't said it." But the skeleton gave him a faint smile and it was miles different than those past sardonic ones, soft and secretive. It shouldn’t have been fascinating, watching those sharp teeth curve warmly. "But if you ask, I may give it to you."

"for keepsies and everything?" Stretch teased, ignoring his slight breathlessness, seriously, he was not this hard up, he really must’ve gotten too much sun. "okay, how can i resist. what's your name?"

Crimson eye lights met his, a brief flicker, then back to the book. "You can call me Edge."

Stretch ignored the fluttering trill of delight in his soul, it was a name, for fuck’s sake, not an invitation. "edge,” he repeated, curling his tongue around that single, stark syllable. “that's some careful phrasing there, edge."

"Yes. It is,” the guy, Edge, agreed. “Nonetheless, that is what you can call me."

“edge,” Stretch said again, just to say it, “i like that."

Just in case Stretch got any ideas that he might not be a complete dick, Edge made sure to say as dry as glass of desert sand, “Wonderful, I've been waiting with bated breath for your reassurance. And if you want to know more about Edgar Allen, I’d suggest talking to his creator. You have a few weeks left, the scarecrow will be around until harvest time.”

Stretch frowned in confusion; what the hell did that mean? “what happens after harvest time?”

“He ceases to exist,” Edge said, matter of fact, “like all the scarecrows before him.” Yeah, because everyone knew that, right, who didn’t, that was probably kindergarten shit around here.

Only Stretch obviously hadn’t been around for that class. Stretch lurched backwards, accidently knocking over the water bottle and almost tipping over his chair as he blurted out, “what? he dies??”

Edge caught the bottle before it could roll onto the floor, setting it back upright. “He’d have to be properly alive to die. As I said, if you’d like to know more, ask his creator.”

“who, the wicked witch at the end of the woods? no thanks,” Stretch shook his head, which was still reeling from the knowledge that the guy who’d save him this afternoon was going to go kaput before Halloween. It wasn’t enough time, not at all, he hadn’t even figured out how to get him a magazine, how to properly thank him. Just another incident of ‘not fair’ to add to his lifetime, “i already had my children of the corn adventure, i’m not interested in adding any red riding hood to my agenda. doesn’t really go with my work schedule.”

Edge only arched a browbone, “On the contrary, his creator is my roommate.”

Wow, this guy really did like dropping puzzle pieces into Stretch’s lap, didn’t he, if only he’d do other lap-related—stop it, he told himself, then aloud, “oh, so you do live someplace. your bro wouldn’t tell me where.”

“A remarkable astute choice on his part.”

“i mean, you're already living rent-free in my head." Shit, shit, Stretch knew he didn’t mean to say that, but apparently his mind hadn’t sent the memo down to his mouth yet that Red’s sexy brother was off-limits, caution tape engaged.

"I…what?" Edge only looked confused and yeah, okay, dipping his toe into the flirting pond was only gonna give him wet feet. Tempting as a fling might be, Red was against it and Stretch didn’t really blame him. Just because Edge was single didn’t mean he wanted a starring role in Stretch’s shitty Hallmark movie and a fling was all it could be, a quick little rebound fuck, and his boss/landlord’s little brother was not the right choice for it, nope, nope, nope.

But, oh, honey, those hips—

“never mind,” Stretch said hurriedly, “what are you reading, anyway.”

“I’m doing research.” Dismissively, a pretty big clue that Edge was done with this particular chat. Stretch’s knees were doing a lot better, it was probably time to head out back to the store and surely Red could put him in touch with Edge’s roommate if he was really curious about Edgar Allen. He should go, should, but.

Stretch didn’t want to leave yet. Stupidly, he really wanted this guy’s tally mark on Doris’s side of the friendship list. Red was over there now, Edgar Allen was hovering in neutral territory, and Mitch was still firmly on the other side of the page, and hey, if a fling was off the table, friends might still be up for grabs, right?

“yeah?” Stretch craned his neck, squinting at the page, “maybe i could help.”

“I sincerely doubt it.”

Stretch ignored that, “come on, i know how to research.” Stretch grabbed one of the books from the stack and flipped through, pausing to frown down at the page. “uh. what language is this?” He wasn’t even entirely sure it was a language.

Edge almost ripped the book from his hands, snarling out, “What it is, is from the restricted section and none of your business!”

Stung, Stretch looked around the library. It was literally one room, not so much as an extra door in sight, not even a restroom. “restricted section? where? do you keep them locked up on the roof?”

Edge took a long, deep breath in through his nasal cavity, then ground out through gritted teeth, “Do you mind? I’d like to get on with it. I do not need your help, I don’t need anything from you!”

“sorry, sorry,” Stretch mumbled, cringing inwardly. He just had to push it, didn’t he, every fucking time, Blue always tried to tell him that slow and easy was the way to go, but, no, couldn’t do that, now could he? Stupid, so stupid, always, and Stretch slid clumsily off the chair to his feet and headed for the door. Even then he couldn’t help adding, “see you around.”

Guess he could add this guy’s name beneath Mitch’s in the ‘hates me’ column.

He wasn’t two steps away when a soft, “Wait,” stopped him.

Stretch turned back around, hardly daring to let the hope well in his soul. Edge was sitting sideways in his chair and he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his skull, fingers clattering against the smooth bone, “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”

“it’s fine,” Stretch said hurriedly, “i’m the outsider here, right?”

“Yes.” Edge said, a simple agreement. “But that’s no excuse. You’re very fond of questions, perhaps you’d care to answer mine. Tell me, why are you here?”

Stretch hesitated, then shrugged. Not like Red didn’t already know. “broke up with my boyfriend. it…kinda sucked, and i wanted to get out of my hometown for a while.” The memory was enough to finish cooling off any of his overheated jets and almost absently he rubbed his sternum, right over the faint, lingering ache where his soul sat.

Edge frowned, his sockets narrowing in irritation, "If you’re not going to tell the truth, then you can just say you don’t want to talk about it."

Huh?

“hold up, what?” Stretch asked, bewildered. Like he needed any other confusion today.

“That’s not why you’re here,” Edge said decisively, with enough arrogant confidence to grate over Stretch’s already raw nerves.

“uh, yeah, it is,” Stretch said, his own irritation rising, why did he want to be friends with this guy again? “i think i’d know better than anyone.” He ignored the taste rising at the back of his throat, faint bitterness that refused to be swallowed away, and yeah, okay, maybe, it wasn’t the entire reason, but like Edge’s name, you took what you could get.

“Then you don’t know yourself as well as you believe.” Edge stood up then and walked over the shelves and Stretch followed him, more to watch the sway of his hips than to see check out the local dewy decimal layout. Hey, if he was going to deal with the asshole outbursts, he should at least get to enjoy the view.

Edge barely had to search before he pulled one off the shelf and held it out. “You should check out a book. As I said, there’s no librarian, it’s all based on trust. Write the catalogue number on the record and have it back in two weeks.”

Stretch looked at the book Edge was holding out. It was a thick, hardback novel, heavy enough to use for self-defense or maybe against alien invaders with a lethal allergy to paper cuts. “nah, i think i’ll stick to the movies.”

“Read this book,” Edge said and there was a certain urgency in his voice, in the way he held the book.

Stretch sighed inwardly and took it. This guy was hot as hell, yeah, like the town, and just as peculiar. He turned the book over and read from the spine, ‘An Informal History of Backwater.’ He looked back up. “what, is the formal history too posh for me?”

“Just read it,” Edge said, impatiently.

“yeah, okay, i can do that,” Stretch sighed. It had to be better than nightly ‘Wheel of Fortune.’ Then, because he was an idiot and always liked a chance to prove it, he said, “so, if you think i need to talk to your roomie about edgar allen, does that mean you’re inviting me over to your place?”

“No, it means you need to do your own research and find them,” Edge smiled then, suddenly, wide and bright, “But if you happen to find your way down the path, I may feed you when you get there, Riding Hood.”

Stretch stared helplessly at that smile. All his irritation melted away as he tried not to see the way it changed Edge’s entire face, suffusing those sharp angles with softened warmth.

He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, and it wasn’t exactly the kind of dinner invitation any normal person might’ve hoped for, but then, Stretch was starting to learn that if he wanted normal, he should’ve stayed on the bus.

“okay, then,” Stretch said, trying for something at least slightly above inane, “i’ll, uh, start looking for grandma’s house.”

“You do that.” With that, Edge went back over to the table, sitting back down in front of his book, and Stretch knew he was dismissed.

Okay, well, not exactly a friend yet, but he was still adding this one to the tentative win column. First, read the book and then he’d start on the new puzzle of finding out where Edge and his roommate lived. He wasn't as good at puzzles as his brother, sure, but Stretch was pretty sure he could manage that.

He did hope the whole Riding Hood gig was a joke, though. Stretch wasn’t really interested in meeting the big bad wolf right about now.

tbc

[itsbenedict]

Two-Faced Jewel: Session 3

A half-elf conwoman (and the moth tasked with keeping her out of trouble) travel the Jewel in search of, uh, whatever a fashionable accessory is pointing them at. [Campaign log]

Saelhen and Looseleaf, having acquired a band of allies to keep them safe on their entirely bogus quest to fulfill "Lady Noeru's" succession rite on behalf of the college, set out on Suika Highway towards the jungles of Thunderbrush. On the road, they face two extremely deadly combat encounters.

After checking in on the writhing hellpit they opened in Yoshimimoto Plaza (it's under control, they threw some nets over it), the party heads out onto the highway. Customs by the overland roads couldn't give less of a damn what they're bringing out of the city, so there's no scrutiny and they're well on their way.

A good thirty miles or so into the grassland, and the party has to make a perception check. Looseleaf is the one to nail it- her antennae pick up on a suspicious rustling in the tall grass by the side of the road. And even those with slightly worse rolls notice...

There's a green dragon circling lazily in the sky above them. This is bad, because dragons are... well, chromatic dragons like this green one are malevolent and extremely deadly giant monsters, is the main reason, but the other reason is that dragons are... cursed, is what the common understanding is.

To speak with a dragon is to be condemned to some sort of great misfortune, brought about by your own hand. You know the Simurgh from Worm? Listen to its song for too long, and you become sort of a sleeper agent of self-destructive carnage? It's like a diet version of that. Whatever path your conversation with the dragon puts you on, it's invariably bad for you, somehow. The metallic dragons, who're ostensibly "good", will still ruin your life in some way just by talking to you, even if your immolation does some good for the world on the way out. Nobody wants to talk to a dragon.

Luckily, they don't have to- this one seems content to circle way up in the sky, not saying a word to them. Instead, they just get attacked by a direwolf and several horrible monsters.

The whole party botches their Arcana rolls to determine what the heck these things are.

Benedict I. (GM): None of you have any idea what these things are. They're small, roughly humanoid, and... they look sort of like they're made of mud and tangled grass. They're wielding knives, some multiple knives to a hand, and they look vaguely ethereal, not quite real- possibly animated by something. The dire wolf is, of course, charging you- and the other monsters are following suit. They screech and hiss with obvious hostile intent. Roll initiative!

The party dismounts from their giraffes, since they're not trained for combat and the party isn't trained in mounted combat.

Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Ruffians," she mutters, with the approximate tone a non-elf might use to say "fuckers."

The party's two new melee combatants take up position in the front, while Vayen... stands behind the giraffes, doing nothing. The direwolf lunges, closes in, and... misses entirely, as Oyobi dodges gracefully out of the way. Razzafrazzin' elves...

Then it's Orluthe's turn, and he...

Benedict I. (GM): Orluthe looks around nervously- not at the wolves, but at the party. "Don't... tell anyone about this," he says, and pulls something from his pack. It's a warball helmet. Custom-forged. Looseleaf: Uh. Okay? Is what Looseleaf thinks, in response to this. Benedict I. (GM): I... don't think either of you two would have the context to know what this means, but Oyobi's jaw is on the floor. Looseleaf:Didn't realize that playing warball was apparently something to be ashamed of! Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Your weird secret is safe with me," whispers Saelhen, in the bushes. Benedict I. (GM): Orluthe dons the helmet, and as he does so, he seems to grow larger. There's a shift in his stance, and you hear a growl from beneath the helmet. He howls- and Zero, you're in control of his combat actions here. So what's he do?

Hm.

Orluthe(?) goes ahead and attacks with his halberd, and- being a paladin- opts to SMITE. He impales the thing and burns its wound with divine magic for more than half its health- and then Oyobi's turn comes up and she slices the thing open with her longsword. The party's choice of allies specialized in melee fight seems to be paying off!

Of course, now the other monsters get to take their turn, being unfortunately still alive. One charges at Orluthe and whiffs, but the other... uses some sort of crude slingshot, and hurls some sort of crackling ball of energy at Looseleaf.

Benedict I. (GM): Being hit by this thing suddenly makes you seize up. You remember... Looseleaf, tell me about a time you wanted some physical object very very badly, but didn't get it. Something it hurt you to not have. Looseleaf: Once, when Looseleaf was young, there was a traveling caravan that brought into town a collection of what looked like books for sale. Looseleaf being herself, she of course wanted to buy some of them- but nobody in town would let her go near the vendor! Something about 'inappropriate for young childrens' eyes' and 'mature content warnings'. To this day she's still more than a bit resentful of that, and also she has no idea that the traveling caravan vendor was actually selling basically porn mags. Her memories are interspliced with imaginary counterfactual ideas of what might have been in those books, which are almost certainly not at all what the books actually contained. Benedict I. (GM):You remember that incident, vividly. All that emotional pain, compressed into a single instant of agonizing desire. It leaves you momentarily short of breath, and you take three psychic damage.

Looseleaf attempts to retaliate, but scores, um... a critical failure.

Luckily, that's the last thing these monsters have go right for them- the next few turns are a barrage of successful attacks and AoOs from the party's heavy hitters. Orluthe cuts one in half, provoking a disturbingly human-sounding ghostly wail as it dies. Saelhen throws a dagger from her hiding place in the grass, and...

Benedict I. (GM): Nice! The second dagger takes off this thing's head. It hits the ground with a squelch, and there's another human cry of agony. farnham: "HAH," goes what must be a very large and triumphant and majestic bird in the brush.

As soon as the combat is over, Orluthe returns to normal, and the dragon circling overhead... just flies away, apparently losing interest. Wonder what that's about.

Looseleaf attempts to Soul Read the corpses to learn more about why they were attacked, but unfortunately... the wolf corpse doesn't remember anything unusual that stood out to the spirits of its decaying body parts, and the spirits of the mud and grass left behind by the other monsters only recall being uprooted from the ground and forced to attack people- the spirits animating them seem to be gone.

They are able to figure out what those things were, though- they were Greed Echoes- some sort of evil spirits that echo strong emotions they encountered, and form homunculus bodies with which to act on those emotions. Greed Echoes like these were probably leftover from highwaymen and bandits who've attacked travelers on this road before- playing out their ugliest intentions.

It's weird, though- these are the grasslands, not the mountains. Monsters like these tend to come up out from below mountains, so it's not too common to see so many of them this far from where they spawn.

-

Moving on, the party reaches a point where the wild grasses suddenly stop, replaced by a uniform tall green grass- corn, apparently. Cornfields mean farmers, and farmers mean civilization.

Saelhen du Fishercrown: "How delightfully rustic." Benedict I. (GM): It's not much longer before you see buildings down the road- it looks like the center of a farming village. There's a sign, as you enter the town- "WELCOME TO CORN". Saelhen du Fishercrown: "...how rustic."

They roll into town and notice not much of interest- it's a pretty standard farming village, with a Temple of Diamode (the hypertraditionalist family-values goddess Orluthe claims to be a cleric of), an inn (apparently very busy, with a lot of people going between it and the temple), and a branch of the Deathseekers' Guild (the adventurers' guild, which is very up-front about how dangerous it is to fight monsters as a career).

Orluthe looks a little nervous around the temple, so they head first to the inn. They enter, and they're immediately met with a riot of colors. The inn is packed with halflings in fancy outfits. Not like, rich people fancy, but down-home farmer fancy. Lots of flower patterns and the like. There's a band playing music in the back, and a bunch of halflings dancing while others chug whiskey and hoot and holler. The human innkeeper is struggling to keep up with all the mugs that need washing.

Discounts are in the cards, though- the bearded guy with the whiskey steins is happy to see out-of-towners joining the celebrations- a very proud father, he is, as his son Merrick was just married. This is the wedding reception, and in his mind, the more the merrier.

He puts forth something of a challenge: his son claims that city folk can't dance, see, and he, a dissenting opinion, wants to demonstrate otherwise. So, if the party can defeat his son and daughter-in-law in a dance-off... he'll pay for the night's stay!

How does a dance-fight work? Exactly the same as a normal combat, except the hit points are made up and the actual stats don't matter. You substitute your performance modifier on your rolls! Maybe you have a battleaxe, so you roll to attack with your battleaxe, and what that really means is you're doing a wild swinging dance move that really wows the crowd.

Enemies, meanwhile, know different "dance styles", inspired by CR-appropriate monsters I picked out of the monster manual to non-literally fight in a nonlethal dance battle. The happy couple are a pair of Duergar warriors, squaring off against the party's two squishies.

(3:06)

The combat is- well, there's not much to it, just a bunch of back-and-forth attack rolls, ultimately decided by clever use of flanking and attacks of opportunity. Looseleaf tries her best, but her Performance modifier isn't nearly as high as Saelhen's, as she's not the daughter of Kanzentokai's Dance Emperor. She does do a cool thing where she leaps into the air and does a wing-assisted pirouette thing, but all that accomplishes is taking her out of the fight for a bit- and concentrating fire on Saelhen.

Their rolls are pretty bad for a while, but things turn around once they outmaneuver their foes and pull off some attacks of opportunity.

Benedict I. (GM): So, you two- describe your combo dance move that totally floors these two. With musical accompaniment, s'il vous plait Looseleaf: okay you know how in ballet there's a move that's, like, one dancer picks up the other dancer and hoists them in the air turns out that move is a lot more effective if the lifting dancer literally has wings. Saelhen du Fishercrown: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QRoWiTcO7dk Saelhen gladly lifts Looseleaf, and for good measure gives her a little acrobatic toss and flips her in midair, catching her on the drop. Looseleaf: just to add insult to injury, looseleaf uses a whole conjunction of her fancy-schmancy special effects spells- minor illusion to create the effect of golden butterflies flapping around themselves, druidcraft alongside her wingbeat to scatter a bunch of her seeds and have them bloom into flower instantly Saelhen du Fishercrown: She's breathing heavily but... actually enjoying herself, despite the obvious competitive streak motivating all this. Looseleaf: it's a lot of visual spectacle on top of the move itself, and that's what puts the icing on the cake. Benedict I. (GM): There's raucous applause from the audience, and Aridrey is beginning to flag. She laughs, and- it's all she can do to keep up with Merrick, who's himself starting to have trouble keeping up.

(Meaning, while she's still his dance partner, she's "out", and no longer a battlefield presence.) Merrick, wifeless, tries to counterattack, and...

...makes the mistake of trying to copy their moves.

Benedict I. (GM): He hoists Aridrey above his head, and tries to spin her around the same way, and... they've been dancing all day, they're tired, and this is their first real attempt to improvise. "Wh- Merrick, wait-" Saelhen du Fishercrown: MERRICK I'M SO SORRY Benedict I. (GM): And she collapses on top of him, to laughter from everyone, particularly his dad. Saelhen du Fishercrown: (saelhen stifles giggles extremely well because a noble lady would never)

The battle seems more or less over, but Merrick is determined to see this through- breaking into a furious solo jig that puts the floor in grave danger of scuffing. None of his efforts land attacks, though- ultimately, Saelhen finishes the fight by delivering the ultimate humiliation- successfully copying his moves, a storm of fancy footwork. When the dust clears, the jig... is up.

Benedict I. (GM): His father laughs. "What'd I tell you, son? Don't get a big head, aye?" He slaps five gold pieces down on the counter. "Get 'em some rooms, Jonnem!" Merrick... he's been thoroughly humiliated, and doesn't take Saelhen's hand at first. Then Aridrey comes over and pulls him to his feet. "C'mon, honey. Grace, right?" Merrick vibrates for a moment, then lets out a sigh. He goes to shake your hand. "...Ffffffffine dancing," he says. Looseleaf: "That was a lot of fun!" Looseleaf is vibrating like crazy. Just hopping all over the place, like she hasn't quite gotten the dance bug out of her system yet.

Saelhen du Fishercrown: ("For what it's worth, man," she whispers, letting her gracious victor's smile collapse into a slightly shit-eating kind of grin. "That could've gone either way.") Benedict I. (GM): Meanwhile, Oyobi and Orluthe... I was going to say the outcome of their match would match yours, and I guess I'll stick to that, but Orluthe does not know how to dance, and Oyobi is drunk as hell. Orluthe may not know how to dance, but he knows how to hold on for dear life, and keep Oyobi vaguely upright as she flails around wildly. It's probably for the best that Saelhen's attention was elsewhere, because she would not have been able to keep a straight face at Oyobi's scandalous dance moves. Whatever's going on over there, the crowd is loving it- so all together, that's another 400 XP divided four ways.

With that victory, the party gets to stay the night for free. The next morning, they report the Greed Echo encounter and the dragon to the local Deathseekers' Guild (getting 10gp for their trouble, and turning a profit on this pit stop.) And with that... it's back on the road to Thunderbrush, next time!

[chartedrights]

Thoughts on diner food/ diners but only like. real diners. Not Denny’s. Like the ones in the middle of nowhere and it always feels like 7 pm. what r your thoughts.

I think the liminality of a space made for people to pause in rather than stop at, for people who have never been in this place before and who will never be there again, for people who have driven this route a thousand times, and people who have never driven it at all, is the liminality of a space which is constructed, over and over again, anew, by everyone who stops there. Like the ghosts of experience, everybody who steps into a diner leaves an imprint behind, and even an empty diner feels crowded with the love and frustration and misery left there over its long long lifespan.

I think the roadside diner in between Bakersfield and Arizona felt like a place where the lights had never been turned on and the staff were constantly about to clock out, and that their pie crust had not been cooked long enough and had been refrigerated too long after. I think that the smell of gasoline and the puddles in the parking lot and the cows standing regardless of the cars, flicking flies with their perfect paintbrush tails, will live in my mind forever with the pink light of the desert sun and the sound of my mother’s laughter.

I think the diner I used to pass every day after school felt like a long wait for a meal that maybe wouldn’t have been worth it, if it wasn’t worth it, and I never went back even though I can still taste the powdered sugar on my nose from the pancakes I ate there, too late in the morning for breakfast and much too early for lunch. I have never seen it lit at night past eight, too old-fashioned for the deeper darkness and too expensive for the students’ schedules and the neighborhood insomniacs who dream of hash browns.

I think the diner that took us half an hour to find in DC was too small, not crowded enough for the taste of beignet French toast and the smell of chicory coffee on the day before my grandmother’s funeral. It’s one of the best breakfasts I’ve ever had, during one of the worst times of my life, and sometimes I dream about a flight I’ll never take to a place that probably doesn’t exist anymore so I can see if it still tastes good. In my mind I can’t see the name of the diner, but I can see the shadow of the morning sun hitting the front window like fist and burning white sunlight over the first few booths and tables before drenching the rest in grey-black. The floor was black and white checkered, and my back was warm where it faced the door, the sun, the rest of the city.

I think that if you go to a city and there’s a diner you should try to visit it, because they are all the same in the way that all hugs are the same- they’re all individual, each of them with its own flaws and merits, but they will welcome you, and you will feel at home, and you will look at the floor and feel the light like a physical thing, and you will eat like you have never heard of calories, and you will come away like a crow from a cornfield, every scarecrow a landmark instead of a warning sign. The neon signs that blaze through the night like pink-edged coals will call you to safety, lighthouses to shore, and the taste of homemade diner pie will never be the same but it will live in you forever.

[sugar-petals]

:: BTS As Your Vampire Boyfriends

warnings ⚠️ smut, blood mentions, fangs kink

♡ Includes places they gravitate towards and countries they lived in, with their current residence in italics. Imagined in a world where a vampire bite will not convert a human, but rather, where species coexist without interference.

↳ NOTE › fuck yeah, bangtan vamps! some bits are juicier, some fluffier, some funny, some heart-wrenching or romantic. you’re in for a surprise 🤓 enjoy!

⌈ Jimin ⌋ ➝ Urban Vampire. 20 years old. USA, Italy, Sweden. Dresses like your typical haute couture vanguard, complete with bow ties and fishnets. Always has the latest pop culture news from SNS to chat about. Majors in? You guessed it, fashion design. Frequents high-rise apartments of his talkative New Yorker friends, wears huge square shades to fend off sunlight whenever he can. But also just because. The new boutique around the corner? Jimin was the first one to buy that 307$ gleaming Versace choker when it opened. In gold. He might have gotten the $520 guilty pleasure loafers as well. Yes, he does own more shoes than you do. 90 pairs to be exact, it needs a separate closet. He will try on several a night even when you don’t go out and just kiss watching a movie. What on earth is the reason behind all that? It’s to look good for your human eyes only. After all, he can’t see himself in the mirror. If he’s bound to outlive you by fate, he says, at least you’ll get to see him at his very best for the time being. He condenses several of his future lives into the limited one with you. A dazzling outfit can be that diversion and solace. Changing it often makes him feel like living faster, even if he’s headed for immortality. You decided to get a couple wrist tattoo on that last September. Carpe Diem, seize the day.

So there’s a lot to do together. Bucket list after bucket list. But there’s still a routine. Jimin loves destroying his friends at Friday night bowling yet can’t help but let you win every time. No matter how much you provoke him, the guy will aim at the gutters. You actually met at bowling back then. Eleven months ago, at your bff’s b-day party where he was introduced to you as Park, inofficial Prince of Manhattan with a love for sweet blood, orgies, and fiery ladies. The orgies part turned out to be a rumor, but he does say you have sweet blood. Even if it’s bad etiquette among vampires and he knows how much of a vice it is, Jimin loves to subtly show off in front of werewolves and witchers with popular ig accounts about how affluent his vampire family is at underground runway shows. Or sometimes, even fancy dinners where he orders dish after dish for the two of you. His friends suspect it’s all to compensate for how small his canines are since Jimin dearly wishes they were pointier. You’ve assured him that it’s not just better for your neck but also oral sex in general. He’s devilishly good at that. A born lover. Small canines are cute and fashionable anyways, all other talk is bogus. Having a vampire boyfriend remains a special feat and wild ride. But it’s definitely worth it.

⌈ Yoongi ⌋ ➝ Metro Vampire. 27 years old. Japan, Nigeria, South Korea. Dressed in all black, hoodies and stretchy jeans galore. Studied dental sciences in Lagos and has quite some polished teeth himself, but hardly puts them to use nowadays because he’s been getting more Zen about it. Instead, he can’t live without the internet. It distracts him from any urges and thinking about the future, and teaches his inquisitive mind about everything he needs to know about navigating the wide human world beyond the subway. He travels from station to station in Sapporo with a ticket for eternity and the security of less sunlight, always in search for the best Wi-Fi to text you. Even after two years of dating, Yoongi is still fangs over heels in love. And, needless to say, fascinated by the antics of humankind. When you are preoccupied with work at a restaurant in the afternoon, he jobs as a casual broker with contacts to the griffin elites that run the financial market of mystical creatures. 

He frequently jokes that metro vampires are in fact metrosexual. Sometimes visits casinos to kill some time and watch people out of curiosity. His magical ability has caused several power downs in nearby flat complexes — strangely, never the one he is in — but its purpose and origin remain unknown. He’s consulted a supposedly wise street demon about it once but only got a long burp as an answer. Rude. So he travels on and on with the tube. He’s not as much on the go as it always seems, however. Yoongi spends a lot of his time gaming and lounging in your basement. Pretty much naked even if you don’t have sweaty sex at 3 AM. Although, when is it not 3 AM. You’ve developed a little late-night routine there. You bring him coffee, chat, make out, he buzzes you off with your favorite vibrator, you give him slow blowjobs that he records on his phone with shaky hands. Sometimes, with rimming involved, and more action later that night. Yoongi needs to eat pussy to stay on track, otherwise, he falls apart. He’s longing to kiss your breasts all the time and you hold hands when it gets steamy. No biting, he controls himself since he took too much one time. Because he hates planes, Yoongi once crossed the Atlantic in a cargo ship’s high cube not having blood for weeks. After compelling him to suck your whole body off cause dammit I’ve missed your lips, too, vamp guy, you were iron deficient for a month. Yoongi, forever apologetic, has made it a habit to buy you vitamin juice ever since, and orders his blood online.

⌈ Jungkook ⌋ ➝ Forest Vampire. 261 years old. Canada, Bolivia, Ukraine. Dressed in a large flaxen coat and heavy boots. Owns a distant log cabin between scenic, dense firs in the Rocky Mountains. Where most of his day is all about chopping and stacking firewood to take his laser focus off blood cravings and not so random boners. He daydreams of you moaning in just about every hot position possible. Sometimes pleasuring yourself or grinding on his cock. And your fucking scent. It’s what really makes him hard. And tremendously flustered. He could be 261 million years old, it would still catch him off guard to suddenly remember the smell of your sweat and hair. The first time experiencing it, Jungkook shortly blacked out and salivated on the ground for 15 minutes. Human pheromones are just about every forest vampire’s favorite addiction. Out of all BTS members, he is the most sensitive to light or artificial noise and instinct-reliant, so he tries to be cautious. Regardless, always hoping that you fill his mind with your red-hot image. This guy is so whipped — at this point, he can sell a portion of the wood he chops daily and still heat the oven for weeks with the rest.

Nature has everything he desires. Silence, vastness. It’s peaceful. A lot of animals roam the area. It calms his fantasies to some degree. He’s spent many decades in the Amazon rainforest, it’s no surprise. He likes to watch deer and talks to the occasional satyr past midnight. Doesn’t own a lot of money, but knows how to prepare a hearty meal for you when you visit him. That’s what makes JK feel like a million dollars. And once the plate is empty: Time for carnal sex. He can fuck for two hours, one even on a bad day. When he drinks from you, the sheer neck stimulation through sucks alone can make you approach orgasm. With a little help from his fingers on your clit, boy is he gonna blow your mind. This shit will teleport you into alien dimensions. He won’t aim for anything less. Whatever his saliva does, it infuses you with serotonin for two, three days after, and your friends back home know with one glance: Cabin guy did it again. You’ll both be lightheaded and covered in hickeys by the end of your encounters if the weather is particularly indoorsy and you don’t go fishing. He wishes he’d never have to come to a city because of the bustling streets and lack of forest fairies that soothe his mind. But sometimes, buying new clothes is due. You go to a comparatively manageable shopping mall after rush hour where you can’t keep your hands off each other in the dressing rooms. Life with JK won’t ever bore you, that’s guaranteed. The cherry on top: He wields an unregistered type of magic that can manipulate all kinds of water streams — he’s created a little creak beside his cabin and named it after you.  

⌈ Seokjin ⌋ ➝ Cottage Vampire. 311 years old. Switzerland, Morocco, and Mongolia. Dresses all cozy with big sweaters and trench coats. Jin sells self-grown fruit and vegetables at the market downtown on Saturdays and Sundays. With vivid gestures and plenty of small talk topics up his sleeve, he befriends just about any stranger with two minutes spare time to talk about cheese, chocolate, and the notoriously high prices. Jin is among the most popular stall owners because of the many discounts he grants literally anybody. The Swiss way of very neat, organized, and especially neutral living appeals to Jin who has seen far too many messy wars go down since he was turned into a vampire. You didn’t believe it at first: By a British royal named Hamish back in 1708, inheriting him a magical ability to learn languages particularly fast so his Swiss German is perfected to a T. Jin is an utmost textbook rural sweetheart of the village. He takes care of the cottage with you like clockwork. Watering the herbs, painting walls here and there, cleaning the kitchen, always saying hi to the neighbors. Drinking tea on the terrace, with some cheesecake and cream on the fork, watching the cornfields sway in the wind is the good life. Simple, but meaningful.

There are a lot of lively and busy little blackbirds around the house joining you to pick up some crumbs, and Jin turns on the radio to play old-fashioned folk music of whatever Alp orchestra was recorded thirty years ago. The cake is gone all too soon, and the sun sets. You’re happy. Jin is a loyal and moral vampire who has adopted a vegetarian diet ten years ago and didn’t look back once. No cheating! Even if the market sells a lot of tasty ham and sausages. He’s sworn off that. After 311 years, even vampires start to think about their diet. A lot of fellow vamps in the area think he’s one strange guy, but Jin won’t bother. He gets all of his blood from a nearby hospital for a hefty price because he doesn’t want to drink from you all the time no matter how much you ask him. Sex is a better pastime. Chocolate lover Kim got a big dick and decades worth of time developing how to use it. Jin, when he does nibble at you, also has a very pleasant bite that doesn’t leave marks or just about any kind of bruise. He doesn’t want to tell you his secret because apparently, an old and rather nit-picky basilisk told him. Somewhere in a dusty attic of a Marrakesh craft store selling lamps and the most splendid of perfumes, 170 years ago. If he spills the beans, the special trick is dissolved. So... hush. Some things are better left top secret when it comes to basilisk magic.

⌈ Taehyung ⌋ ➝ Museum Vampire. 750 years old. Paris, London, and Sydney. Always dons crisp vintage tuxedos in the muted, heavily tailored style of the 1920s. He’s gotten attached to that era. Unsurprisingly, museum vampires are truly nostalgic creatures. Perhaps, also a bit melancholic at one point. Immortality is a two-edged sword. So, Taehyung clings to everything that endures the times. Statues, rustic vases, coin collections, preserved tunics, temple relics, especially fossils of all kind. His favorite place to roam at night is the museum shop or department for Greek, Etruscan, and Roman Antiquities. And indeed, it is the Louvre, what other museum could it be. Taehyung has mastered a convenient invisibility spell at the whooping age of 142 by chance after sneaking around the graveyard of Montmartre, trying to blend in with some friendly ghosts who taught him a trick or two. So the CCTV and guards don’t pick up on him unless he manipulates objects displayed in the exhibitions. 

Which he feels tempted to. But Taehyung prefers to meet you in a snug alley café at dawn. The one where they don’t serve garlic-heavy dishes. You’ve already seen so much of the museum together in the course of a 4-year relationship. And he can’t possibly dick you down in the gallery of Dutch and Italian masters no matter how horny either of you is, mind you. You’d get anemic fast if you’d be sucking and fucking all the time anyways, and Taehyung really isn’t down to take a lot of blood from you. A little, as you always call it, prick’n’lick is what he usually goes for when you have time to meet in your flat. And maybe a deep, warm creampie to top it off because he knows that his semen does some stuff to you that only vampire magic can cause. You’ll be giddy and talk complete nonsense about Dadaism, Kahlo, and Kandinsky for three hours. Pregnant you can’t get since human with human, vampire with vampire is how the math goes. But extremely high, apparently. So, prick’n’lick. Your favorite activity. Talk about oral fixation: Vampire Tae has a strong obsession with strawberry ice cream. And... caressing your body, seriously. He is into some major VDA (Vampiric Displays of Affection). Believes that in your past life, you were the grand dame Mona Lisa herself. And a flapper. He writes poems about that and keeps them in a huge diary in the cellar of the Louvre. Some bittersweet, some sensual, some full of adoration. You treasure your time with him, always. 

⌈ Hoseok ⌋ ➝ Castle Vampire. 1827 years old. UK (Scotland), Greece, China. Dresses exactly the way you think a dapper castle vamp is suited up. Ruffles, tight pants, gloves, large hats with feathers, tons of Italian lace, even slightly heeled shoes with pointed toes. Has been alive when Sparta was still a thing, saw what went down in the uproar of the actual French Revolution in passing, met Marilyn Monroe, almost got on the Titanic as a passenger, but has enjoyed the Rennaissance the most so far so there’s that. He lived in forts, churches, and even a small barn for some parts of his life until deciding to buy himself a fucking hilltop palace where you can live together. Because lavish castles are, ultimately, what appeals to Hoseok the most, and there is definitely enough space for all of your interests ... and sex toys. Anyway. How did all of that begin. So: The two of you met at a medieval exhibit in Perth where they displayed armors and pieces of weaving. Fell for each other, bonded over a kaleidoscope of shared interests, history knowledge in particular. Hoseok enjoys conversations about mythology, he loves that. And binging a lot of shows on Netflix. Gotta bridge the old and the new. Not that he doesn’t own a giant home theatre with perfect sound system. Maybe he just wants to cuddle up with you in bed and sob when another character dies together so the entire castle staff will hear. No worries though, they’re used to it.

Netflix aside: Aristocracy makes him feel at home. The sunshine regularly hosts interspecies balls with flamboyant masquerade themes so everyone can show up how they’re comfortable. That concerns particularly the slightly introverted elves and shapeshifters from downtown. The last huge ball went under the motto ‘The Glamor of Old Hollywood’ and you dressed up as Rita Hayworth and Fred Astaire, dancing all night and plundering the buffet. Hell of a good time. National holidays are holy to vampire Hoseok and basically equal date night. Given his high sex drive, there can’t be enough special occasions either way. To ride his thighs, his face, mark each other down forever until the pants are a little too tight at the damn front. The guy gets shaky knees at the smallest sight of a delicious pulsing vein no matter his century-long chance to accustom himself with human necks, so you agreed to go by a schedule — #SuckingSaturdays only — and you wear thick scarves. Which fits the moody UK weather anyways. The Scots really dig Hoseok in case you’ve been wondering. You can bet Hoseok is the star of Scottish twitter. 

⌈ Namjoon ⌋ ➝ Mountain Vampire. 3008 years old. Nepal, Kenya, Peru. You tease him about wearing a long, strangely-always-white cloak and staff because it gives him the semblance of a beardless twen Gandalf. He smokes a pipe, too, but not in your presence anyways. Whatever is in there... seems to elevate him. Literally. Namjoon can levitate. There’s no other way he could use in order to visit you in the first place. A beautiful, abandoned pagoda seated on top of a snowy crest is his makeshift home, inaccessible to everyone but him. Only a secluded place like this is suitable for his ancient kind. To meet you in a warmer and more human-friendly environment, he will elegantly descend from his premises to get together with you in the town located at the base of the mountain. As many nights as possible. Always with a self-made present. Like freshly assembled tea leaves or a little talisman he carved from a piece of wood. Found on one of his long evening walks. He knows what eternity feels like best, that your life is but a glimpse compared to his, so every moment will count. He’ll make it right, no worries. It’s Kim Namjoon, taking care of things. You can always rely on him.

On all levels, he never ceases to surprise. Vampire Joon has surpassed the principles of ingestion, sleep, and a sense of temperature. Hell, even finances. He simply breathes and exists — and most importantly: reads for hours — without any external efforts. Even the Middle Ages didn’t leave a single wrinkle on his face. And he is still the best experienced person to share a bed with. No sexual technique is foreign to him, and post-sex spooning conversations are immensely entertaining. Namjoon has a lot of philosophical thoughts on human-vampire relations and met countless historical figures. He’s also befriended the Yeti at one point, resulting in quite a few hilarious narrations that he will retell on request every time you meet. And he makes them funnier every night. Because Namjoon thinks your laugh is prettier than every sunrise and sunset he’s seen around the world combined, on his every voyage. The most interesting part is: He doesn’t drink any blood even if he has fairly sharp fangs that you often catch yourself staring at for minutes. He still seems more invested in making you cum. With sweet words, brainteasers, and wisdoms spoken into your ears quietly. He’s a walking riddle himself. As expected, who are we kidding. Namjoon, no matter the fleeting centuries he has seen, is a gem and all yours for a lot of nights to come. 

◇ castle: Château de la Mothe-Chandeniers (South-East France, 13th century)

[reverseblackholeofwords]

WE’RE GETTING YANCY??? AND ILLINOIS???? AND CAPTAIN MAGNUM???? DREAMS REALLY DO COME TRUE!!!! Maybe we can recruit Yancy for our mischief....

The meeting the next day is tense. All the Ipliers are present aside from the Jims who never attend meetings because of their Jim religion, which Dark thinks they just made up to get out of attending, but he doesn’t question it because they usually have very little to add anyway. Everyone takes their places around the table, even Host despite the Doctor’s protests. And they wait.

Wilford is, as always, fashionably late, and when he parades himself in the door, everyone is craning their necks to see behind him. Will props his elbow on the door and gives a flourish with his hand that conjures a pathetic explosion of confetti above his head. “Everyone put your hands together for... the three newest Iplier Egos!”

He hits the button on a boom box that has appeared from absolutely nowhere, and dramatic music begins to play. “From the rolling cornfields of the state that bears his name, the grand explorer and booby trap--ha, trap--dodger... Illinois Janes!”

The explorer ducks into the room looking a little befuddled. He’s obviously not used to all eyes being on him, but he waves the attention off with a practiced grace. “Hello, hello, the name’s Illinois. Please, everyone settle down.” Of course, the room is mostly silent. So he just calmly files over to the far wall as he was told and folds his hands in front of him.

Wilford pokes out his lip at everyone’s lackluster response to his first guest and decides to amp up the music a few notches while making the lighting more dramatic as he casts a spotlight at the door. “Up next, the big daddy, the pirate that shakes the whole world with one big stumpy step, Captain Magnum!”

It takes the Captain a grand total of ten minutes and fifty-three seconds--Google was counting--to squeeze his ginormous frame through the door to the Board Room. When he finally pops into the room like a cork from a bottle of rum, he nearly crushes Dr. Iplier who yelps and throws himself onto the floor to get out of the way of the bumbling pirate.

“Ooh, ahoy!” The captain surveys the Egos like they’re a crew fresh off the docks and narrows his eyes. “Bunch o’ land-lubbers, I see. Well, don’t worry. In no time at all I’ll have ya shipshape and Bristol fashion, ready to tame the high seas!”

Dark pinches the bridge of his nose. “Mark Edward Fischbach, if I ever get my hands on you, I swear...”

“Yes, yes, you can go stand over there now,” Wilford shoos the pirate gently to the other side of the room. Every water glass on the table shakes like something out of Jurassic Park as the giant makes his way to stand beside Illinois who has taken on a calm air of indifference.

Wilford blows his hair out of his eyes in annoyance and makes a final flourish. “And last, but certainly not least! The jitterbugging jailbird who stole our hearts! The man, the myth, the legend...” Wilford blinks and sticks his head back out the door, whispering, “Excuse me, what was your name again? Hey! Get back here!”

There are weird cartoonish action noises that echo from the hallway before Wilford drags Yancy inside while the striped man screams, “Take me back to jail! I wanna go back to jail! Youse guys is insane!”

Wilford spins Yancy around, dips him, and then spins him once more until he twirls all the way to stand beside the other two. Then the pink man brushes his hair back, folds his arms, and fixes them all with a stare. “Well? Applaud!”

The Egos around the table all give a slow, confused applause while Captain Magnum takes a bow, Illinois brushes it off, and Yancy grumbles angrily to himself.

Dark stands at his end of the table as Wilford swiftly cuts the music. “Welcome, gentlemen. It’s truly... nice to make your acquaintance. I’m sure that you might be a little confused, but allow me to explain...”

“Sorry, um, where’s the treasure?” Magnum rubs his hands together greedily and grins. “I was told there would be a great treasure?” He looks around. “And... I’m not seeing anything particularly shiny, so...”

Dark shoots a glare towards Wilford who smiles and shrugs. He takes a deep breath through the nose. “I’m sorry, Captain, there is no treasure, but I believe...”

“Oh, then I’ll be rejoining me crew.” Magnum begins to stomp from the room. “Thanks for the invite! Certainly appreciated meeting you fine gents!” And just as quickly as he came, he went. Which is to say it took him another ten minutes and fifty-three seconds to get back out the door, but by this time, no one was going to try to stop him.

Dark looks back towards the other two and raises an eyebrow. “Let me guess.” He gestures to Yancy. “You want to go back to jail.” Yancy nods emphatically, and Dark points to Illinois, “and you...”

“Work alone,” the two of them say in unison. Dark nods. “Yes. Of course.” He begins to rub his forehead and groans. “Alright, never mind. This was obviously a mistake.”

“Well, uh, I don’t wanna disappoint nobody,” Yancy admits nervously. “That is to say, I could give it like a trial run?” He glances around. “That is, if none of youse guys mind that I, uh, killed my parental figures and all.”

Dark sighs. “Show of hands, who in here has killed someone before?” Nearly all the Ipliers raise their hands. Wilford raises both of his. Dark gestures around. “Believe me, you’re among friends.”

Yancy’s face lights up. “Wow, youse guys is actually kinda cool!”

Dark raises an eyebrow at Illinois. “And you? How about a brief trial period?”

Illinois shrugs, and Red raises his hand. “We happen to have a particularly interesting specimen of crystal you might be interested in studying if you promise not to get your disgusting human germs on it.”

Illi’s eyes light up. “Oh, well, you didn’t say you had rocks! Of course, I’ll stay for that.” Then he immediately snaps back to cool, calm, and collected. “Not that it matters to me.”

Wilford throws his hands in the air. “Yay! Two out of three!”

“Give them all a tour. I suppose we can do all proper introductions later...” Dark drops into his seat and massages his temples. “Become a dark side, they said, it’ll be fun they said. Never said I’d end up the babysitter.”

Will pats Dark on the back. “That’s why you’ve got me here, Darkipoo!” Then he gathers together his touring party and sets off to show the newbies around Ego Inc. while Dark fishes around in his void for some migraine medicine.

It’s going to be a long, interesting day.

[cyberneticlagomorph]

// Take the opportunity to write a short ramble/drabble about something you want to write about. 👈🏼

I have... so many drabbles in my drafts..

I would love to finish one someday

Here's a drabble from early October that I never finished

--------------------------------

It's warm today, 80 degrees and sunny. The occasional cotton puff cloud scuds across the sun and dims the world for a few moments.

You peer up at it from behind dark shades, the rattle of your truck unsettling your stomach nearly as much as the apprehension slithering it's way up your spine.

Father Ward sits in the passenger seat beside you, clutching a crucifix to his chest, head bowed in prayer.

He insisted on coming with after you asked him to bless your tools for the upcoming ordeal... it's the least you can do to give the man some peace of mind.

The roads this far out of the city are damn near deserted, home to empty eyed cattle grazing in silence, and a vast sea of ripe crops yet to be harvested.

You feel watched.

Not by the cows, not by the crops, or the bifurcated crows that stubbornly sit on the dusty earth before the rusty behemoth of your pickup.

The field feels hungry.

That's what your client said when he called you late last night, and now you understand what he meant.

The wind rustles the rows and you catch a glimpse of something standing between the stalks, but the corn straightens up again and you lose sight of it.

You shudder and Father Ward looks up from his prayers in concern.

"We're here." You say, a little more cheerfully than the situation really calls for, and pull into the makeshift parking lot at the mouth of the farm.

An archway made of hay bales and pumpkins looms high over a dirt path leading farther inwards; it's covered in signs advertising hayrides, apple picking, a petting zoo and fresh cider.

You mutter something about 'kitschy bullshit', and get out of the truck. Father Ward, John... his first name is John, follows you at a distance. He's got a limp, from an earlier incident, years before you met him. He doesn't like to talk about it.

You slow your pace and let the priest catch up, he thanks you with a nod and you continue on your way.

The farm might have been beautiful once, one of those places you see in commercials and hallmark movies, but now it's just deserted and eerie.

A man in stereotypical farmer dress sits on a hay bale in front of an old fashioned red barn, his head in his hands. He's weeping maybe, or praying, you can't tell, but his distress is palpable.

You take a step towards him and get hit with the smell blood, thick and fresh. A smeared trail of it runs from the barn and into a nearby cornfield, the stalks completely undisturbed. You can hear John start up his prayers again, frantic this time. Crucifix gripped white knuckle.

This is gonna be a long ass day... you can feel it deep in whatever bones you have left, the ones that don't ache 24/7, at least.

Best to get this over with before it gets too dark to see what you're doing.

You clear your throat and startle the man who you assume to be your client, "Excuse me, sir? You called about an issue with your corn fields?"

He looks up at you in confusion, "I-- you're not what I expected w--" a pause, "But you can help me, right?"

You nod and offer a smile, "It's what I'm here for, the priest is my buddy John, he'll be helping me out today."

John extends a hand to shake, and your client hesitantly stands to take it.

"Cory, Cory Simmons, uh-- thank you for coming." He looks exhausted, unsteady, like he hasn't slept in days.

You nod again, peeling off your shades and shoving them into a pocket, "Right, you said that there was something in your field? Are you sure it isn't a coyote or some really cruel kids looking for some spooky satanic fun?"

John gives you a Look that you ignore.

Mr. Simmons' eyebrows knit together in confusion. But before you can answer him, something dark and feathery catches your eye.

You watch a flock of mutated and misshapen crows circle overhead,  as silent as the grave, their wings casting squirming shadows upon the ground. John can see them too.

No time for speculation then.

"I'll get the salt, John, you stay here and... keep Mister Simmons calm." You trot back to the parking lot and feel John's eyes burning holes in your back the entire way.

"Please don't leave me alone with him..." you hear the priest hiss helplessly as you quickly hop out of earshot.

You'll apologize to him later, promise.

The cooler full of salt is carefully rubbed on your hands, your shotgun, and whatever else you think you'll need. John's already blessed the vast majority but it's not gonna hurt to be a little redundant.

The rest of the salt forms a protective circle around John and your confused client.

"Whatever you do, do not break this circle, got it?" All trace of politeness and gentleness is gone from your voice, leaving only cold professionalism.

You wrap your hands in green cloth, and pause as the scents of rosemary and sage wash over you. "These herbs ward off demons and evil spirits," you explain to Mr Simmons, "and so does salt."

The farmer stammers, "What the hell do you think is going on here?? Demons? Satanists? Evil spirits?" His voice is shrill, and afraid, eyes bloodshot from stress and fear, "Tell me what's happening to my farm!"

You look up from your spot on the ground, one boot off and the other halfway there. Your jacket is tossed haphazardly into the now empty cooler along with your shades.

"Your field is possessed by a feral harvest god, aka an Agridivus," a pause as you remove the other boot and toss it into the cooler with its mate,"They feed on the flesh of mortal creatures in order to make plants ripen faster and harvests better, they also drive people insane from sheer proximity which is why you haven't slept in at least a week... you've got divinity burn, and if you hadn't called me you'd be dick deep in some Children of the Corn level cultist bullshit within the next few days." you stand and dust yourself off as the farmer tries to take an angry step forward, but John throws his arm up in front of the guy to keep him from breaking the circle.

You nod at the shotgun next to John's feet and heft a near identical one, "That's full of rock salt, use it if anything gets too close."

Simmons snaps the gun up immediately and cocks it, aiming it at your face.

You don't flinch, your eyes locking with his, "You've only got one shot, make it count."

Simmons trembles, but eventually takes his finger off the trigger and lowers his weapon.

John looks like he might puke, or pass out, or both. You watch him wipe sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his robes. He starts to pray and the salt starts to glow.

Your skin sizzles uncomfortably, and you know that that circle will hold so long as Father Ward is in it.

You disappear into the cornfield without a word.

The crows have not stopped circling, their formation now a cyclone of feathers and malice. You can feel their eyes on you.

Beneath your feet, the ground is soft and rich, weeds already springing from the bloody trail of viscera left by the Agridivus' last meal.

You follow it in a more or less straight line, and the world seems to hold its breath.

The farther in you go, the worse things get. Bones sprout from the ground, still clotted with half rotting meat, somehow already choked with plants.

It stinks here, manure, chemical fertilizer, and putrefaction mingling together into a vicious miasma.

Judging by all the bodies, this field has been possessed for much longer than you originally thought... and that explains how raggedy and depressing the rest of the farm is.

You come to a clearing in the center of the field, in it is a rough wooden cross that might have held a scarecrow once, but now there's... nothing. Not even some sun bleached skeleton strung up in a renaissance mockery.

The ground is soft, clean earth, no trace of gore to be found.

The silence is heavier here.

Every breeze a cacophony.

The faint rustling of cornstalks sounds different, sounds wrong... for just a second, and you whirl around just in time to see a dark blur rapidly disappearing further into the fields.

You swear between clenched teeth and bolt after it, ears flat to your head, gun held close to your chest.

The Agridivus is fast, and it knows this field. It knows every leaf, stalk, root, and row like it's a part of itself.

Because the field IS part of itself.

It has home count advantage, but you aren't going to let that stop you.

Round and round and round you go, where you stop, only your prey knows.

There, a glint out of the corner of your eye. You have only half a heartbeat to duck as wickedly sharp claws whizz dangerously close to your face, slicing a thin line across your cheek. The wound immediately starts to itch and burn, blisters forming around the edges.

Iron.

You hiss in pain, teeth bared. Overhead the crows scream in human voices, the tongues of those swallowed by this cursed field. The scent of blood tickles your nose, and even though it's yours, your mouth waters and you know that the beast you're hunting feels the same way.

You snap your teeth at nothing, eyes flicking across the rows, ears swiveling like radar dishes. You're exposed, there's nowhere to hide, nowhere to run, nothing to do but fight.

The cornstalks bend around the beast like waves around a boat, only to stand up straight as if it were never there. You can follow its trail if you try.

[doctorslippery]

Something bad is happening in Kansas. A strange meteor fell from the sky and the government has sent you to sort it out. A yellow brick highway leads between cornfields towards a distant green glow on the horizon.

This is a depth mechanic. Take a step into the zone by rolling d6 on each table and adding 2 for each step you've already taken. Keep going until you destroy the Super-Wizard. Or you could put it on a grid and treat it as a squarecrawl, it's up to you.

LANDMARK

Big white cross on the top of a hill. Crows circling overhead. Grants a blessing to anyone who's willing to kneel before it and commit their soul to Jesus Christ.

Gas station. Wizened old man with shotgun behind the counter. He'll sell you snacks and potions if you can convince him you're not a thief or a jayhawker.

Old-fashioned wooden grain elevator. The inside smells of sweet corn. Mutilated, rat-chewed bodies hang by necks from rafters. SLAVER written on walls in blood.

Row of oil derricks. Guarded by a creaky, rust-riddled mechanical man. The slightest disturbance to the pumps will cause an explosive gusher that spews crude oil everywhere.

Abandoned farmhouse. Haunted by spooky ghosts. In barn, covered by tarpaulin, strange machine of coiled glass that can project people into the Phantom Zone.

Corn maze. Grows new walls to trap sinners. Scarecrow men lurk in the corn. Farm princess trapped in the longhorn minotaur's central lair - only her kiss can slay the beast.

Wagon train. Pilgrims terrified of "Injuns", have circled their wagons to protect against surprise attack. On their way to ask the Super-Wizard to help them get to Oregon.

Cheap motel. Clan of desperate bank robbers hiding out in room one through four. Innocent travelling salesman in room five. Pimpled teen on counter reading comic books.

Revival meeting. Big white tent. Preacher baptising converts in a tin tub and inducting them into the Army of Gilead. Wants you to join and won't take no for an answer.

Baseball field. Overgrown. Mechanical men play ball, their rusty joints squeaking, in front of the empty stands. Score a home run off the batter and he'll spit out a prize.

Railway station. Glum hobos dwell in forgotton freight train, its wheels rusted to the track. Manic mechanical station-master insists on taking your ticket.

Sculpture garden. Grotesque scrap-metal caricatures of celebrities and politicians. Owner has declared himself the Kansas antipope and wears a tinfoil mitre.

Applebee's. In every way a fully-functioning, completely regular Applebee's. No trick whatsoever. Try the shrimp 'n' parmesan sirloin or the double-glazed baby-back ribs.

Bible museum. Sleepy tame dinosaurs inhabit a life-size model of the Temple of Solomon. Friendly pastor explains how God created them to show that evolution is a lie.

Saloon bar. Piano stops as you walk in. Whiskey-sodden desperadoes slump against the bar. Football plays on TV in the corner. High-stakes poker game going on upstairs.

Wal-Mart. Libertarian management policies have led to a civil war raging between the aisles, with every department ruthlessly competing for your business.

Meatpacking plant. Blood-smeared mechanical men herd screaming cows across the factory floor, slaughter them and extract their organs for use in Super-Wizardry.

Clockwork factory. Mechanical men labouring tirelessly to produce more of their own. Interlopers have their brains chopped out and used in grotesque experiments.

The Perfect City of the Super-Wizard. Lobotomised suburbanites with gleaming, drool-slick smiles shuffle between rows of identical green houses, watched by mechanical police.

The Atomic Fortress of the Super-Wizard. Citadel of green crystal, home to a legion of mechanical men. Grew from a seed in a crashed alien spaceship.

ENCOUNTER

Looming grey tornado, slowly rolling towards you. Cows and houses orbiting around it. Psychic baby with giant brain levitating serenely in the eye.

Jayhawkers from the Army of Gilead. Men in red trousers and floppy hats, armed with rifles and broadswords, hunting down pagans and industralists in the name of Free Kansas.

Satanist serial killer with mask made of human skin and swastikas carved down his arms, armed with an iron sickle, preparing to chop you up. Surprisingly stealthy for such a big guy.

Phalanx of mechanical men, armed with axes, out looking for human brains to extract and return to the Atomic Fortress so the Super-Wizard can make more of them.

Cynical teen genius with a laser gun. Perfectly bald. Cannot be restrained from denying the existence of God. Obsessively tinkers with every machine they can find.

Longhorn minotaur. Hideously overmuscled from bovine growth hormone. Twelve-foot hornspan makes doors difficult. Wants to bring you back to the corn maze and eat you.

Pack of masked harlequins with blood-stained teeth and wheels for hands and feet. Act like rabid wolves. Scarily quick on flat ground, but have difficulty turning.

Red-haired boy reporter looking for the story of a lifetime. Excitable. Prone to ludicrous bad luck but is never actually seriously hurt. Constantly needs rescuing though.

Stone-faced war preacher and band of jayhawkers looking for recruits for a military raid on the Atomic Fortress, intending to abolish the Wizard and all his sinful works.

Woman in aviator goggles and diaphanous white robes. Claims to be the rainbow's daughter, fallen out of the sky. Can only eat the purest dewdrops and is therefore slowly starving.

Shaggy-haired sasquatch in a battered top hat, wielding an enchanted magnet that compels people to love him. Depressed. Seeking someone more deserving to give the magnet to.

Robotic flesh-eating worm with the head of Hillary Clinton. Wants to take your guns, raise your taxes, drink the blood of aborted children and convert Kansas to Islamic communism.

Flock of yellow-fanged baboons with vulture wings, in comical blue jackets. Vicious, but crave discipline. Looking for a witch to govern them and keep their mischievous impulses in check.

Giant hungry tiger. Wants to kill and eat some big fat babies, but can't, because she's born again in Jesus Christ and very active in the pro-life movement. Won't stop talking about it.

Barber-surgeon with tuberculosis and a huge bushy moustache, looking for tooth-pulling work. Expert gunfighter but won't admit it, since he keeps getting challenged to duels.

Obese purple leech-mouthed parasite man that drains energy by touch, getting fatter and stronger as it goes. Leaves behind a trail of smouldering skeletons. Scared of eggs.

Four-faced brass helicopter heads kept in air by impractical Da Vinci corkscrews. Loudly announce their intention to devour you. Easily distracted by philosophical riddles.

Reverse-talking bizarro clones of the PCs with chalky white skin and inverted systems of morality. Want to do exactly the opposite of whatever the PCs want to do.

The Green Guardian. Secret weapon of the Super-Wizard. Muscled adonis in acrobat's tights with magnificent emerald beard and moustache. Impossibly strong, naive, refuses to kill.

The Super-Wizard. Toymaker in a checked waistcoat with pockets full of marvels. Pretends to grant wishes with holograms. Planning to conquer the world with mechanical men.

[alj4890]

Halloween Prompt

(Thomas x Amanda) (Maxwel x Nadia) with the prompt of visiting a haunted house  as requested by Anonymous.

(Thomas Hunt x oc*Amanda) (Maxwell Beaumont x Nadia Park) taken from And Then I Met You storyline.

A/N Sorry Nonnie! Been sitting in my drafts folder while being sick. Finally added the ending just in time for Halloween. 

@lxaah11​ @alleksa16​ @penguininapinktuxedo​ @blackcoffee85​ @stopforamoment​ @hopefulmoonobject​   @krsnlove​   @annekebbphotography​ @gibbles82​  @cora-nova​ @bella-ca​  @hopelessromantic1352​ . @sunflowergirl05​ @desiree-0816​ @greywitchyshots​ @lilyofchoices​ @emceesynonymroll​ @dr-nancy-house​ @aworldoffandoms​ @ab1901​ @pixieferry​ @lolablackwrites​ @flyawayboo​ @i-bloody-love-drake-walker​ . @trappedinfandoms​

Masterlist

Don't Let Go

"I think this will be our first Halloween not spent in Cordonia." Maxwell remarked while carving a pumpkin.

Amanda looked up from hers and thought back. "I think you're right."

"Damien's mom has invited Nadia and me to some kind of costume party. Apparently it is a pretty big deal in the Nazario household." Maxwell dropped some pumpkin guts into the trashcan set between them.

"When are Kai and Damien flying in?" She asked.

"A few days before the party." Maxwell glanced up at her. "What are you and Thomas planning to do for Halloween?"

Amanda shrugged her shoulders. "We haven't really discussed it. Most likely stay in. Thomas doesn't strike me as a Halloween enthusiast."

"Huh." Maxwell's brow puckered a moment before devoting his attention to his pumpkin.

Amanda paused. "Huh what?"

"Nothing. I thought I remembered reading somewhere that he loved haunted mazes and houses." Maxwell explained. He looked up at Amanda freezing. The terror flickered in her eyes. "You haven't told him yet, have you?"

She audibly swallowed. "No and I don't intend to ever tell him."

"Amanda, he loves you. He won't think less of you simply because you--"

"Don't say it!" She hissed, shame flooding over her. "I don't want to talk about it."

"But, you--"

"No!" She bitterly interrupted again. "In a few days this blasted holiday will be over and I can relax. Let's just enjoy everything else autumn."

Maxwell's lips parted as if he were about to argue some more then relented when Thomas joined them outside.

He leaned down and kissed Amanda's cheek before sitting next to her. "How's the carving going?"

"Good." Amanda smiled and turned hers around. The scene of a cornfield on a moonlit night was starting to come through. "These patterns Nadia drew up are perfect. I can hardly carve a triangle straight much less anything this intricate on my own."

Maxwell whipped his around, revealing a haunted graveyard. "My wife is literally the best artist on the planet."

"Aww!" Nadia came running up. She kissed Maxwell and plopped down beside him. "Thanks sweetie."

"How are the party decorations going, blossom?" He asked after another kiss.

"Good. Damien and Kai have decided to join us tomorrow to finish decorating. Mrs. Nazario has gone Halloween crazy with all her ideas. I can hardly keep up with her." Nadia studied Maxwell's work and smiled with approval. "I could use a breather from party planning. How about we do something tonight?"

"About that, I have a surprise for us." Thomas announced.

"You do?" Amanda asked, smiling at the excitement on their friends' faces.

He held up a large envelope. "Our plans are in here."

"May I?" Nadia asked, her smile growing with each second.

He handed it over to her when he noticed Amanda's hands were covered in pumpkin.

Nadia ripped the paper and pulled out four lanyards. Her eyes widened. "Universal Studios Halloween Horror Nights!"

Amanda stared in disbelief. Thomas chuckled at her and Maxwell's shock. "We will have the VIP treatment tonight so we can enjoy all ten houses or mazes as they call them."

"That's awesome!" Maxwell exclaimed a little louder than usual in an attempt to divert attention from Amanda's silence. "I've always wanted to go after watching all those videos on YouTube."

Nadia squeezed his arm in a hug. "You will protect me right?"

He grinned. "I dare a ghoul to get near you."

Thomas gently rubbed Amanda's leg. "Are you surprised?"

She nodded. "Very." She cleared her throat and forced a bright smile. "It should be...something."

He chuckled and pressed another kiss to her lips. "Make sure you all wear something comfortable to walk in. I've got a few things I need to finish up before we leave."

Nadia jumped up and told them she was going to take a much needed nap if she was going to scream the night away. Once both spouses were gone the two best friends fell into silence.

Amanda's head hit the table with a thud. "Why? Why did he decide on not only one haunted house but ten?!"

Maxwell quickly wiped his hands on a towel before touching her shoulder. "You have to tell him. There is no way you can get through this by pretending. It's not just ten houses. There are also multiple scare zones you walk through to get to each one."

Amanda's head shot up. "Kill me. I will write a letter exonerating you from the crime. Choose your favorite weapon." She gestured to the different knives between them.

Maxwell rolled his eyes. "Why won't you tell him?"

"Because it is a ridiculous phobia!" She argued. "I know none of it is real. I've known it since childhood. I should be able to come face to face with a mask and not have it happen!"

Maxwell rubbed his hands over his face. "The last time you tried to prove that you no longer had the fear, you nearly passed out from hyperventilating on us and that was a single encounter! You are going to have numerous ones tonight."

Amanda wiped her hands off and shoved away from the table. "I am not revealing it to Thomas. You saw how happy he was. I am not ruining this for him. I don't want to take something he loves away."

Maxwell groaned and dropped his head back dramatically. "Why do you have to be so stubborn? You know you are more important to Thomas than a billion haunted houses. He's going to be upset if you purposely make yourself miserable for him."

"I can't tell him." She mumbled. "Just help me keep it secret. Please." She lifted her eyes to his understanding blue and gave the look he had never been able to refuse.

He covered his face. "Not the eyes!"

She bit back a smile when he promised her. He picked up the garbage can and followed her back into the house. "I don't know how we will keep this a secret, but I will try."

_____________

Amanda could already feel her phobia trying to rear its ugly head as they walked through the entrance. Fog machines had been working overtime to give the place an eerie sense of foreboding. Screams, chainsaw sounds, and growls filled the air.

She had a plan in place. Keep looking down and hold onto Thomas as if he was a lifeline. She could make it through a few hours. She had to. There was no way she was going to allow this phobia that had not only caused her to give up trick or treating at the age of eight to even to this day being unable to walk among costumes cause her to ruin this night.

Thomas smiled softly at her. He thought it was sweet how demonstrative in her affection she was being tonight. Her arms were wrapped around his waist and she had her head pressed against him.

Amanda had lost feeling in her fingers already from gripping his belt loops so tightly. She hoped he still had feeling below the waist because she might need him to carry her limp from fainting body out of here.

Then the creatures came out of the fog.

"It's the first scare zone." Maxwell announced, mostly for Amanda's benefit.

She audibly swallowed and tried to look away. Thomas tugged her toward one of the scare actors. "Extradionary. Look at the amount of detail the makeup artist put into this. He truly looks like a drowned sailor returning to the surface."

The creature leaned down toward Amanda's face and stared into her eyes. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't speak. It finally moved off when she did not respond in any fashion.

Maxwell elbowed her to get her breathing before she passed out. She gasped and mouthed her thanks to him.

Nadia squealed when another drowned sailor came up with a gleaming hook covered in blood. He chased her and Maxwell for a few feet.

"Please. Please. Please." Amanda barely pleaded. "Don't come up to--" she buried her face in Thomas's side and kept her eyes closed.

He chuckled while watching the gait of the actor. "He even moves like one would think a long lost drowned, decaying victim would. They have truly outdone themselves this year with the training."

"Yes, they have." Amanda's voice cracked.

Maxwell and Nadia came back and discussed with Thomas what they should see and do.

"We could get something to eat first." Maxwell held the brochure up to a dim light. "They have mini pumpkin doughnuts, babe."

Nadia's eyes lit with interest. "Definitely after we do a few of the houses."

_____________

Thomas draped his arm around Amanda's shoulders when she tightened her grip on him. They were slowly approaching the first stop for the night. She closed her eyes and moved behind him. She had never been as grateful as she was right now that he was a good bit taller than her. He blocked what they were approaching, she then only had to worry about the sides and back.

He gripped her clammy hands and moved her in front of him. "I don't want to lose you." He whispered in her ear. He softly kissed her neck as they crossed the threshold.

Her eyes flew open. There was no one in front of her. She could see everything. Her heart began to race while her breathing became more labored. She knew something somewhere was going to jump out at her. She studied the atmosphere and managed to ask a question.

"Is...is this a hospital?"

"Looks authentic, doesn't it? Nothing to make one more fearful than being misdiagnosed with insanity." Thomas replied.

"It's a psychiatric hospital?!" Her throat was closing up. She was going to have crazy mask wielding people coming at her.

Thomas jumped with her first blood curdling scream when a deranged orderly appeared out of a dark corridor. He had no idea she could scream like that. There were sound effect technicians that would metaphorically kill to capture that type of horror.

If she had not been nudged forward, she was certain she would have fallen to the ground. When the third jump scare happened with a woman in a straitjacket, Amanda moved quickly behind Thomas. She closed her eyes and pressed her face into his back. Her hands clutched the other as they met around his front.

"Are you alright?" Thomas asked, his voice laced with concern.

"Just keep walking." She managed to say while her breaths became louder. She knew by the flashing lights and screams that something truly horrific was occuring. After what felt like an eternity, she opened her eyes and immediately let out a curse word she never used. They had reached the hospital's morgue where body bags wiggled on bloody slabs.

Thomas whipped his head around in surprise when he heard the word she practically yelled out. They had to maneuver through the tables to exit. One of the bodies sat up and reached for Amanda. Her terrified scream caused the scare actor to pause in surprise.

Amanda began to breathe a little easier when they stepped outside. She assumed it was over. There was one final scare by a doctor covered in blood popping out of the bushes.

She stumbled in shock and fell backwards, hitting Maxwell on the way down.

Thomas quickly knelt down by her. "Are you hurt?" He gently cupped her face, trying to see what if anything was causing her pain.

She debated for a few seconds lying and saying she was in a great deal of pain. He would insist on taking her home and she would be free of this date night. Amanda looked into his eyes and shook her head. "I'm fine." She stood up and brushed her bottom. "Maxwell helped break my fall."

"What else are best friends for?" He teased.

Thomas frowned some when he noticed her keeping her eyes downcast. She quickly edged around the mental patients wandering about. He caught up to her and took her hand. The grip she placed on it caused him to wince.

They were soon walking through a Killer Klowns from Outer Space scare zone. Creepy, distorted clowns ran about, causing screams and laughter.

"I hate clowns." Nadia muttered hiding her face against Maxwell's shoulder. She clutched him tight and let out a few yelps when one scare actor continued to try and get screams out of her.

Amanda closed her eyes as her breathing became more labored. She tried to ignore the noise and chaos. She let go of Thomas's hand to link her arm with his.

He observed her silently while a puzzling frown formed. By the fourth house, he knew something was definitely wrong.

"I say after we do this next one, we get us a treat." Nadia announced. "Pumpkin doughnuts and those waffles from Stranger Things are calling to me."

This house went as the others had. Thomas tried to keep Amanda in front of him so that she wouldn't miss anything and he could hold her. Within minutes of walking, she would duck behind him and keep her face against his back.

Once free and at the half way point of the night, Amanda sagged against Thomas.

"You two go on ahead." He said to Maxwell and Nadia. "There is a set piece I want a closer look at. Amanda and I will catch up to you in a few minutes."

Once the couple disappeared in the fog, Thomas pulled his wife to a deserted spot in the shadows.

She looked up at him and tried to smile. "What was it you wanted to see?"

"I wanted a private moment with you. What is wrong?" He asked.

"Nothing." She quickly replied. "Why?"

"You have barely spoken two words together. You either stare at the ground or have your eyes closed." His frown became fierce. "So I ask again, what is wrong?"

"Nothing." She repeated. She had to get him to stop questioning her and move them out of this area. They were currently in a Walking Dead scare zone. The last thing she needed popping out with her trapped between a building and her husband was a zombie. She could hardly look directly at them on tv. How would she be if she came face to face with one?

"Amanda--" Thomas began.

She let out a breathless scream at what was lumbering behind him. Her breath caught and she started coughing to try and breathe.

Thomas looked over his shoulder before patting her back.

Blackness ebbed around her vision as she struggled against the mental block that was causing her to think her throat was closing up. She sucked in air and coughed out gasps.

Thomas became alarmed listening to her. "Amanda!" He grabbed her before she hit the ground. Her eyes were wide in terror at the number of zombies coming out of the fog around them.

"Let's go." She pulled on his shirt and tried to make her dead legs move. "Please."

Thomas walked her quickly out of the scare zone. They bumped into Nadia and Maxwell, loaded down with sweets.

"We got you the chocolate Stranger Things shake." Nadia pressed it into Amanda's trembling hands. "Look at the little Mind Flayer. How cute is he?"

"Thank you." She quickly looked away from Thomas and took a sip. "It's good."

"Pumpkin doughnut?" Maxwell held the bag out to the couple.

"Amanda," Thomas gently began again. "What is--"

"Yes, please." She quickly stuck her hand and pulled a warm miniature doughnut out. She took a bite and sighed. "These are fantastic."

Maxwell looked down into the bag and cocked an eyebrow. "They must be haunted because there are only two of the dozen left."

Nadia held out the stack of waffles to him. "You know my weaknesses are sweets and you."

Maxwell pressed a kiss to her lips that were coated in cinnamon and sugar. "Good save."

She laughed and offered to get more doughnuts. She glanced at the other couple and stilled. "What's wrong?"

"That is what I am attempting to find out!" Thomas exclaimed. His eyes zeroed in on the silent communication going on between Amanda and Maxwell.

"Maxwell," Thomas said in a deadly serious tone. "Perhaps you can shed some light on this."

Maxwell' blue eyes grew large and he took a cautious step back. His pleading glance collided with Amanda's. She dropped her head in her hands.

"Fine!" She exclaimed. "I suffer with a type of Masklophobia."

"With what?" Thomas asked. He gently brushed her hair over her shoulder before tipping her face up.

"It is a phobia of Halloween masks, costumes, and mascots." She explained. "When I am around them my heart races and my breathing is affected. Panic attacks and sometimes fainting occur." She shamefully covered her face again. "I know it is ridiculous! None of this is real! I've always known it wasn't. A few years ago I made Maxwell paint his face and put a mask on in front of me hoping seeing the steps would break this idiotic mindset. And I still panicked and passed out."

Thomas wrapped his arms around her. "Why didn't you tell me? I would have never made you come to this."

"Thank you! That's what I told her and begged her to do." Maxwell exclaimed.

"I didn't want to ruin it for you, for any of you." Amanda looked at the three of them. "I will be fine if I can keep my eyes closed."

"I'm not going to make you finish the last houses." Thomas looked into her eyes and sighed at the tears building. "You and I can find a restaurant to sit in while Maxwell and Nadia go on. Then--"

"No!" Amanda shook her head and swiped at the stray tears. "I want you to enjoy them. You love this and--"

"And I would rather spend the evening with you." He interrupted while caressing her cheek.

Nadia audibly sighed. "That is so sweet."

Thomas ignored her commentary. "Come on. We--"

"Are going to finish the houses!" Amanda stood up. "Just hold onto me and don't let go. As long as my eyes are closed and you have me, I think I will be fine." She slipped her hand in his warm grasp and lifted pleading eyes to his. "Please. Let me do this for you."

Thomas tried to look away. Maxwell leaned over and shook his head. "Might as well give in, Thomas. Amanda has always been too stubborn."

Thomas ran a hand down his jaw. "The moment you feel your panic rise you tell me so we can get out. Is that clear?"

Amanda's tense shoulders eased and she nodded. "I will."

He grunted in reluctant approval and wrapped his arm around her. "Let's see what is around the corner."

As they approached the next house, she moved behind him and closed her eyes.

Nadia stood behind her and gently patted her shoulder. "Don't worry. Maxwell and I are right behind you. I dare anyone to try anything."

Amanda reached behind her and squeezed Nadia's hand. "Thank you. You don't know what that means to me."

Nadia beamed and stuck close to her, making Maxwell grin at her protective spirit coming out. He slipped his arms around his wife and kissed her when she looked up at him. She smiled and focused on the monsters starting to pop up.

They managed to finish everything with little to no trouble. Amanda continued to keep her eyes closed with each place and focused on slowly breathing in and out. Her face buried within either Thomas's back or side helped keep her calm or as calm as one could be knowing your worst fears were parading around you.

They made it home and talked about all they had seen. Amanda listened quietly to the excited chatter and laughter. Maxwell and Nadia parted from them and went to the newly built guesthouse out back.

Thomas locked the backdoor and then came up behind Amanda as she finished the dishes. She paused when his lips touched her neck. Each lingering kiss made her skin tingle.

"Promise me that you won't keep something like that secret from me again." He whispered in her ear. "Do you think I wouldn't understand?

She sighed and turned in his arms. "It wasn't that. I didn't want to disappoint you or keep you from enjoying something you clearly enjoy."

"I'm never disappointed with you." He pressed a kiss to her lips.

Her eyebrow lifted in frustrated doubt. "Yes, because everyone wants to walk with their spouse plastered against them."

His lips curved. "I might have come up with the idea of going just for that very reason. As much as I hated discovering that I had planned the worst night possible for you, it was nice to discover that you turned to me to keep you safe."

She shook her head with a laugh. "Did you truly enjoy yourself tonight?"

Thomas nodded before taking her hands. "I did and I promise not to make you do this again." He lifted her hands to his lips.

"Thank you." She captured his lips in a tender kiss. Her lips lifted in a teasing smile against his. "Would you like to watch a scary movie?

"Haven't you been tormented enough for one night?" He asked.

"I could press close against you each time I get scared." She nipped at his earlobe. "And not being to watch the scenes with the masked killer would most likely cause me to entertain myself in other ways."

He stilled for a moment. "I will go find us a horror moive."