#but by the moons she shall be spooky

[shadow-dragon-fr]

doodled this for a au I had but idk what i’m doing so here it is.

Basically in the au Darkstalker and Whiteout never actually hatch, their eggs reveal nothing buy dry shell.

Instead they are made into more or less the embodiments of the ice vs night thing.

Darkstalker represents the actual conflict. The mistrust, hate, and desire to kill. As those are more present he’s bigger and more powerful.

Whiteout meanwhile represents the hope that the two queendoms can get along. So is smaller and weaker and curls up on Dark’s shoulders.

It would go pretty similar to canon, Darkstalker is the reason the nightwings hide. The twins then hibernate. And when they wake up again they haunt the heck out of the school.

So not only does Moon have a semi-murderous (but weaken) ghost kinda helping her?? But Winter has the terrifying specter that is a icewing hybrid that’s encouraging him to do extremely un-icewing things. Like be friends with other tribes and not feeling guilty for existing.

[noxturnalnymph]

The Devil's Wife

Devil!Joel x Witch!OFC (7.1k) DARKAU! Joel Miller where he is the literal Devil, and the OFC is a witch named LUNA with moderate physical description. 

Summary: OFC is a witch who is a member of an elite coven who take their relationship with their Dark Lord quite seriously. This upper echelon of witches practice the darkest of magic and initiation to their circle involves a wedding ceremony that has them pledging their lives and bodies in unholy union to Lucifer himself. What happens when one of his brides (ofc) calls upon her betrothed for help one Halloween night? Will the Devil rise to save her? And what will be the cost of his rescue?

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. Satanic worship, witchcraft, SEX, satanic panic seduction, coercion, DubCon, monsters of the blood-drinking variety, talk of blood, violence, and death.

A/N: Entirely based on a dream I had last year but never got around to writing it. Is it Joel Miller, or is it just Pedro in a black suit? I don't know, who cares? Just enjoy it (or don't). Happy Halloween!!

The clouds part just as she steps out into the chilly October air, showcasing the sliver of the waning crescent moon hanging precariously in the sky. A breeze gusts down the alley, scraping leaves along the pavement and blowing her skirt tightly against her ankles. She pulls her maroon cloak over her head and forces herself against the wind, heading towards the warm glow of the sidewalk streetlamp.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you home, Luna?” a tender voice calls from behind her.

She turns towards the voice, her friend and fellow witch Jadis following her out of their coven’s late-night gathering. The shorter witch’s honey-colored eyes probe as she tucks her lower lip between her teeth. Her rich, dark skin blends completely with the alley but begins to look like melted chocolate as the orange glow of the street crosses her rounded face. Jadis draws her cloak tight around her middle, mumbling about the cold and the hour of the meeting’s conclusion.

“You live in the opposite direction than I do,” Luna says, forcing a smile on her cheeks against the numbing chill of the wind, whipping violently now that they’re out in the open.

“I just worry about you walking all that way alone-”

“It’s Halloween, my friend,” she interrupts. “The streets are full of revelers.”

“But it’s 3am!” her friend counters.

“Then the streets will be full of drunks,” she says, clapping her hands together and silencing any further refutation from her worrisome cohort. “I shall be perfectly fine, just as I always am.”

They part ways with a hug and the lone witch cinches her hood tighter, marching down the street against the wind with her head held high. She makes it to the edge of the cemetery, humming a tune in harmony with the whistling wind, before she starts to have regrets about her late-night walk. It’s not the temperature of the biting air, the tedious walk through the village to her little part of the woods, or the spookiness of the creeping fog rolling through the wrought-iron gate that runs alongside the stiff gravestones. It’s partly the snickering she keeps hearing popping up behind her - potentially drunk frat boys about to play games with the wrong witch, but mostly the wet shoe she’s currently plodding on - having just stepped ankle-deep into a freezing puddle formed between the broken sidewalk stones.

“Girl,” she hears them whisper for the tenth time. 

She looks ahead of her just in time to see a large dark figure curl around the tall brick column that marks the entrance gate of the cemetery. Great, she thinks, they got brave enough to come out and play. She stealthily moves her hand to her inner pocket, grabbing hold of a small vial of a special brew she concocted for situations such as this. She sees his pale painted face contort into a nefarious grin, the dim lights dotting the street glinting off his elongated canines. Another Twilight fan, she groans, rolling her eyes in the shadow of her cloak.

“Little red riding hood,” the fiend croons, stepping out onto the sidewalk. 

She hears the scraping footsteps of at least two of his friends closing in behind her.

“Sorry Sparkles, I’ve got a date with the big bad wolf,” she mutters, attempting to step around him.

His cold hand reaches out faster than she expected, grabbing onto her arm. Cursing, she tries to pull her arm free from his grip but hears his nails ripping against the fabric of her cloak. What kind of claws did this guy put on tonight? She thinks he must be sobering up from whatever party he skulked out of, because his hold remains firm and he yanks her back to face him. She hears the scuffling come to a halt behind her, as his companions resume their snickering laughter.

“Don’t be rude,” he draws each word out purposefully.

A thought occurs to her that bruising her arm with his grip might actually be what is considered rude, but she doesn’t bother to voice it. Mortals can be so irksome when they’ve imbibed enough alcohol to embolden their twisted desires and put action to troubling behaviors. Pulling it out of her cloak, she lifts her unrestrained arm high, the small vial clutched tight in her hand, and drops it to the ground swiftly.

It breaks open with a soft tinkle, dark smoke rising from the cobbled stones, obscuring her surroundings and sending her would-be attackers into a coughing fit. She feels his hold loosen as she slips her arm away, stepping aside and darting into the cemetery gate beyond, leaving them behind to suffer her spell. She manages to stifle the laugh that bubbles up inside her and slinks along the pathway in the ancient resting place, ducking under old tree boughs and over wet blades of overgrown grass.

A short while later she finds herself nearing the back edge of the cemetery, the western woods looming just beyond. She would have preferred to take the worn pathways into the forest - her forest - to trek back to her cozy cottage home, but those bothersome boys have changed her plans. No matter, this way will be faster, she’ll just have to deal with cleaning the mud off her shoes and clothes when she gets home. She reaches to unlatch the creaking gate at the back fence, its lock long since broken, when freezing cold fingers lace over her bare arm.

“Not so fast, little witch,” he hisses.

She gasps a breath that doesn’t fill her lungs. How did he escape the effects of her potion? The tall, pale-faced man stands before her once again. She looks down at his hand, ghostly white against her skin, darkened veins showing even in the low light, and long dirty nails sharpened to a dangerous point. It doesn’t really look like a costume now that she’s up close. She drags her eyes to his face, noting the dark hollows in his cheeks and under his eyes. His coal-black eyes. His dark red mouth twists into a smile once again and she is beginning to think his sharp incisors aren’t part of a costume either.

“Monster,” she spits. “Unhand me.”

She spins out of the way just as one of the others snaps his jaws next to her ear, missing his target. With her arm still ensnared she is unable to move very far, and collides into the chest of the third, a rotten scent wafting off him hitting her nostrils as she stumbles towards the ground. Out of the clutches of the creature once again, she scuttles back, cornering herself against an old sunken grave with a broken headstone.

She reaches her left hand out in front of her, palm facing them, momentarily halting their movements. The plain band on her fourth finger glints off the moonlight, catching her attention. It gives her an idea.

“You bloodsuckers don’t know who you’re messing with, do you?” she hums, cracking a sideways smile.

The two giggling figures skip around her in circles as the towering demon lowers his face to meet hers, a wet smirk curving his face into a twisted visage.

“Why don’t you enlighten us,” he replies.

“My husband is-” 

Her next words are replaced by a piercing shriek, as the fangs of one of the beasts connect with the left side of her neck. She feels his sharp teeth ripping through her delicate skin and the pain burns across her in a fiery wave. Before she can fight him off, the grinning ghoul in front of her grabs her arm yet again, the left one with the simple golden ring, sinking his greedy maw into her wrist. Sharp pain shoots up her arm and her lungs empty on a scream. She sucks in air to cry out again but a filthy hand is clamped over her mouth first, muting the wail she attempts when the third monster’s teeth pierce the flesh of her other arm just above her elbow.

She lies on her back on the ground, the pain searing through her quickly giving way to a numbness washing across her skin. With the cool soothing of the pain comes a stilling calm, altogether paralyzing her from fighting back or even wanting to. The grimy hand slides from her lips as her mouth fails to make any additional sounds. My husband, she mouths the words. Her eyes drift to her left hand, her wedding ring just beyond the monster’s head still reflecting light, even as blood drips from her wrist across her fingers. 

He’s going to kill you, she thinks, unable to even form words now.

The cemetery has turned dark and she slowly realizes that she must have closed her eyes. She can still hear the wind whipping through the trees, creaking branches and blowing dried leaves against the fence nearby. There are no other noises among the silent tombs other than the sloppy slurping noises of the three vampires who are draining her body. 

She sees a dim light in the distance, like a flickering candle. No, she thinks, it can’t be a candle because her eyes are closed. She watches the candle getting closer to her, or maybe she’s getting closer to it. The bright orange glow from the candle becomes clearer as it nears, until finally she sees it right in front of her.

It’s a solitary tapered black candle, gently burning as wax drips slowly along its side. It’s just like the candle she lit at her initiation ceremony, she thinks. The coven of witches she belongs to is elite and extremely difficult to join. Her aunt had extended the invite when she showed rare magical aptitude as a teenager. Only second daughters can join, as the condition of induction was to pledge your body, mind, and life in unholy matrimony to the Dark Lord Lucifer himself. She was honored to be chosen and after many years of apprenticeship, she lit the black candle on a full moon a little over a year ago. It was identical to the candle she is looking at now, the candle she lit at her wedding to the Devil.

The flame before her suddenly gutters and goes out, leaving her in complete darkness.

***

She feels it before she senses anything else, the warmth spreading across her face, radiating out from her lips. Her cheeks burn against the freezing wind and her hair, no longer bound by her cloak, tickles wispy tendrils across her forehead. Long moments pass as the warmth spreads and finally she opens her eyes, suddenly swallowing a scream. Except she can’t scream. There is a man pressing his lips to hers.

She is being kissed by a stranger. 

A man with deep espresso eyes meets her gaze, dark curly hair falling over his forehead. He pulls back from her, his facial hair tickling her lip as his mouth curls into a shy smile.

“Welcome back” his voice, thick as syrup, coats her consciousness.

“I-,” she starts, realizing that the warmth is now spreading down her chest, across her stomach, and flowing into her arms and legs. “Did I-”

“Die?” he finishes quietly. “Yeah.”

Her eyes widen, the sharp teeth of the creatures coming back to the forefront of her mind. She looks around frantically, suddenly worried they might return to rip into her flesh and drain her dry.

“They’re gone,” he answers the question she didn’t ask.

He rises up onto his feet, and she sees he’s dressed in all black. He wears pressed black trousers and shiny dress shoes that somehow don’t have a speck of mud on them. He tugs on his black suit jacket, straightening it, and presses his hand over his black shirt and tie, smoothing out invisible wrinkles. This man looks like he just came from a fancy gala, she thinks, not that he was just crouched over her lifeless form in a dirty cemetery.

He reaches his hands out to her and she surprisingly takes them without question, allowing him to help her to her shaky feet. Before she can protest he wraps an arm around her waist and although part of her wants to object she knows that she wouldn’t be able to remain standing if he hadn’t done so.

“Let me walk you home,” he says softly, guiding her to the back gate and basically carrying her along the neglected path into the woods.

She doesn’t speak, although her mind is racing a mile a minute. Did she really die? She remembers being attacked by the vampires and not being able to fight them off but she doesn’t remember what happened after that. She weakly raises her left hand up, inspecting her wrist and seeing nothing but unblemished skin absent of any marks including any dried blood that should be there, remembering how it ran in rivulets from the monster’s wet lips. She brings her fingers to her neck, brushing them over smooth skin there as well. It would seem that her bite wounds have somehow been healed and she has been cleaned of any and all evidence of her attack.

Who in the world is this man, she wonders. Maybe the vampires left and he luckily showed up just in time, perhaps reviving her somehow. He certainly doesn’t look like someone who just fought off three bloodsucking beasts and how could he anyways, without being attacked himself? It isn’t until they reach the clearing in the woods where her small cottage sits, a lantern on the porch giving off a warm glow, that she realizes she never told him where she lived.

She pulls away, feeling a bit stronger now, and wanting to distance herself from the seemingly kind but rather unusual man who has inexplicably returned her to her secluded abode. Wait, was that mouth-to-mouth or was he kissing her when she was dead? She gives him a sideways glance and plasters the most polite smile she can manage onto her face. Smoothing strands of her tousled hair away from her face, she turns to him and her eyes widen as the man in black reaches forward and plucks a leaf out of her hair. He drops it, letting the wind carry it away as he smiles sweetly at her, looking harmless as a lamb.

“Thank you for-,” 

“What is your name?” he interrupts.

“Oh-, I-, Luna,” she stammers, caught off guard by his inquiry.

“Luna,” he repeats, drawing her name out as he wraps his lips around the vowels.

“Yes, and thank you for-” she attempts again, trailing off as he slowly steps around her, continuing to walk towards her porch. “-for helping me, I guess,” she finishes, turning to follow him while wondering what she’s really thanking him for. Did he save her? “I don’t know how to repay you,” she speaks to his back as he climbs up the steps, “but I’m thankful for your assistance.”

“Do you live out here all alone?” he asks, ignoring the gratitude she’s attempting.

“That’s-,” none of your business, she thinks. She doesn’t want to be rude so instead she says, “this cottage has been in my family for generations.”

It’s not a lie. She is - in fact - the only member of her family living in the one-bedroom dwelling right now but it has been lived in by members of her family for over two hundred years.

“It’s not safe for a young girl to be out here alone in the woods,” he says, reaching for the handle and opening the door she knows she locked when she left the house earlier today with no resistance.

She wants to protest that she can take care of herself, which is her usual response when people say things like this, but given what has transpired tonight she bites her tongue. Instead she follows him as he enters her home without invitation, drawn into the main room. She watches as he closely inspects framed photos on the walls, touches the spines of old books on her bookshelf, and toggles the flue of her chimney as he passes the hearth.

She wants to ask him to leave. No, she wants to physically shoo him out of her home. Who does this man think he is and what right does he have to waltz into her home and parade around as if it were his own? She reaches towards the vial in her pocket only to bitterly recall having already used it tonight in her attempt to disable her attackers. 

She follows a way behind him, straightening what he’s poking out of alignment and trying to ignore her growing sense of unease. She looks up at the man in black to find him stopped and standing very close to her. She gasps in a sharp breath as he seems to examine her with a curious stare. A long moment of silence passes as a gentle smile builds on his face. She pushes past the knots forming in her stomach in an awkward attempt to match his gesture.

“You’re married?” he asks.

“What?” Her brows knit, surprised by the query.

“You were mumbling about a husband when I found you,” he explains, pointing to the golden ring on her finger as further evidence.

“Oh, I-,” and she pauses, unsure of how to proceed. 

She turns towards the fireplace, using the hand he motioned towards to push some dust around the thick wooden mantle. She curses herself. She should have said she lived here with her husband when he asked if she was alone but he’s already come to the conclusion she is the solitary occupant of the tiny cottage. But she is wearing a wedding ring and he apparently heard her talking about her husband in the cemetery. She can’t very well explain to this mortal man in black that she’s married to the Devil, he’ll come back with a pitchfork carrying mob. Best case scenario is she winds up in a psych hospital and worst case is that she becomes kindling.

Wait, how did he hear her talking about her husband, she thinks? She only remembers mentioning him to the vampires before the attack and then any words beyond that didn’t seem to leave her mind. 

She whips back around to find him standing even closer now and before she can react he grabs her left hand in his. She opens her mouth to scream but he lifts her hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss right over her wedding band. A warmth spreads across her hand and up her arm, jolting her body as images play across her mind.

***

Her body lay bloodless over the damp soil of someone else’s grave. Three greedy ghouls, licking crimson from their craws, eyes glistening with glee. The thrashing wind comes to an eerie still and the man in black materializes in the shadows of a nearby willow. He stalks silently but the creatures see him coming and let out a loud hiss, frantically fleeing at the mere sight of him. The man in black raises his hand, snapping his fingers, and white-hot flames instantly engulf each vampire. He stops to watch them burning, their tormented howls piercing the night, until they are nothing but shadows and ash carried away on the breeze. He moves to his knees at her side, touching the ring on her left hand reverently, before he leans down and places his lips over hers.

***

She takes in a deep breath, her lantern-lit cabin coming back into focus around her, the man in black still bowed slightly in front of her, lips against her hand. He raises his head and his rich brown eyes meet hers once more, only this time she knows exactly who she’s looking at.

“Hello, wife,” he smiles sweetly.

Her eyebrows climb up her forehead as she attempts to pull back her hand from his gentle grip, which tightens in response over her delicate fingers. She’s no longer a stranger to the true nature of the man in black who stands in front of her, having sacrificed her immortal soul to him in order to draw on his supernatural influence to fuel her dark magic. But to have him actually standing in her living room, the raw power radiating off him is enough to make her bones ache, and she finds herself stunned and a bit scared. She continues to try and wriggle out of his crushing grip until he stills her with his words.

“Aren’t you lonely out here all alone?” he questions, his lips still upturned into a saccharine grin.

“No I-, I prefer to be alone,” she stutters.

“Is that why you want me to leave even though I just got here?” his mouth turns to a frown.

“No!” She exclaims. “I don’t want you to leave, I just-”

“I did exactly what you wanted, didn’t I?” He lets go of her as he begins to circle her in the small space. “You wanted me to destroy those monsters who dared to lay a finger on you and I did. And then I fixed you up good as new. Well… almost” he winks at her as he tucks a loose strand of her messy hair behind her ear. 

“Yes, I was-,” she shakes her head, the nerves sending a hot wave up her neck to burn at her cheeks. “Thank you,” she stammers.

“You don’t have to thank me, wife,” he hums. “I always take care of what’s mine.”

“Yours…” she trails off.

“Yes,” he smiles. “You are.” He strokes his fingers against her cheek, so warm against her still-chilled skin. “You were saying something about repayment and I think I’d like to make a request.” His smile is sickly sweet once again, boring deep into her.

“Oh-,” she starts before he grabs both her hands in his, silencing her.

“I think I’d like another kiss.”

Another, she thinks, because their first kiss was when she was… deceased.

“Yes,” he continues as if reading her thoughts. “Our first kiss felt like ‘Snow White and the Prince who woke her from her slumber’. But our story isn’t a fairytale, is it my dear bride?”

“No,” she whispers tentatively.

“No,” he agrees. “Our story is one of dedication,” he places his large, warm hands on her shoulders. “Of adoration,” he continues, pushing down until she sinks to her knees. “Of worship,” she tilts her chin to look up at his dark gaze above her now. “And that deserves a very different kind of kiss, don’t you agree?”

She manages to nod her head slightly as he reaches to unbuckle his belt. Watching as he unzips his trousers and pulls himself out of his pants, she’s not surprised to see how well-endowed he is but is a bit shocked at how stiff he’s already become.

He cups his right hand around her neck, pushing his length towards her face with his other hand. She finds herself pursing her lips together in a kiss only to have him push past them into her empty mouth. Of course she knew what he wanted, not just a kiss, but she’s still feeling a bit disoriented. He makes tentative, shallow thrusts while her hands rest on the front of his thighs before she hears him muttering above her through clenched teeth.

“Come now, wife, I thought you were grateful.”

She reaches to grip him and puts some effort into her ministrations. It’s not that she’s inexperienced but it has been a while since she was with a man, since before her wedding ceremony certainly. When she pledged her body to the Dark Lord, she certainly wasn’t envisioning having to perform an act such as this. However, she figures the best course of action is to not just let him take what he wants, but to give him an unforgettable experience. It's in her best interest to show him how appreciative she really is of his rescue.

She pulls her head back, swirling her tongue over his tip, while pumping him firmly with one hand. When she hears him moan in response and grab her hair in his fist, she knows she’s on the right track. She flattens her tongue along her bottom teeth and lets him guide her head up and down, taking him deeper with each pass until she begins to make choked gagging noises.

He lets go and she pants, wiping away the drool that now streaks her chin and hears him chuckle above her at the sound of her gasping breaths. Before she can stop herself, she scratches her nails down his thighs, probably harder than she should have given the fact that he’s the Prince of Darkness. A hissing intake of breath is followed by a deep, rumbling laugh that seems to reverberate off the walls of the small cabin and vibrate deep in her chest, and then his hand is back in her hair in a rough, twisting tug.

He shoves himself past her lips in one go this time, hitting the back of her throat with a gurgle and this time she lets him use her mouth like a toy, grabbing at his ass and holding on tightly. This goes on for several agonizing minutes, him allowing her to gulp in much-needed air in between the rough, dominating ramming of his pelvis into her chin. Finally she hears him cry out just as he pulls away, immediately grabbing himself tightly at the base of his shaft and shaking his head.

“Oh, that was close,” he says breathlessly, laughing without humor. “That lovely mouth of yours is so decadent, wife, that I almost lost control.”

Good, she thinks, and she can’t stop the smug smile that creeps across her face.

“Proud of yourself my little witch?” He tilts her chin up to meet his eyes, brushing away escaped saliva from her cheek. “Let’s see what happens when you’re the one being so deliciously tormented.”

At this point she has no idea what to expect of him but grabbing her off the floor and throwing her over his shoulders was certainly not something she anticipated, so the surprised wail that escapes her lips is almost inaudible to human ears. She hears him chuckle yet again as they pass through the door concealed as a bookcase to carry her into her bedroom. The man in black walks through this home as if he owns it, she thinks, before she recalls herself bowing before a black altar and offering everything she possesses in service to him. 

Perhaps this house is more his than hers, she recognizes, as she hears him hum in agreement to a thought she didn’t speak out loud. Before she can question his possible reading of her thoughts she’s deposited onto her four-poster bed, with its velvet emerald curtains wrapped around walnut-hued spires, vines carved in swirls around them. Her vision focuses on the man in black before her only to realize that he’s no longer wearing a stitch of clothing. She opens her mouth to speak but her eyes catch on her own body, laid bare in front of him.

“How- ohhh,” her questioning is cut short when he dives forward, spreading her legs and latching his mouth to her core in one fluid movement. 

He drags his tongue up her seam and then closes his lips around her sensitive nub. He begins to pulse his tongue against her and she is unable to stop herself from immediately crying out in pleasure. She’s positive that he knows exactly what he’s doing when in under sixty seconds her back is already bowing off the bed, her nails digging into the sheets, her voice crying out in ecstasy.

He pulls back and gently places kisses on the insides of her thighs, she feels the warm huffing breath of his laughter blowing across her wetness. He gives her a short moment of reprieve before he slowly pushes a gloriously thick finger into her wet heat, moving to swirl his tongue across her overstimulated bundle of nerves. He lets her writhe and wiggle, attempting to move away only until the sensitivity fades and she finds herself grinding her center towards his face for more.

Somehow she has her wits about her enough to grab his hair this time, eliciting a hum of approval from him that she feels vibrate against her. She’s proud to see that she’s able to hold out a bit longer before her orgasm tips her over the edge, but her ego crumbles when instead of stopping he continues his ministrations to bring a third crashing wave of pleasure immediately after the second.

Delicious torment, indeed.

He pulls his face back again, glistening with her arousal and smiles a devilish grin, his pupils blown so wide that his eyes are nearly black. He roams up her body, placing kisses that feel more like bites than smooches, devouring with his eyes what his mouth can’t reach.

“Husband,” she keens, the desperation in her voice unfamiliar to her ears.

The responding growl that escapes his chest seems to shake not only the room but the entire forest around them, vibrating deep into the wood foundation. He grabs her ankles and spreads her legs obscenely wide, notching his thick head at her entrance and sliding it back and forth, coating himself in her wetness. He waits until she’s clawing at his chest, head thrown back and begging him in frenzied babbles, and only then does he finally push himself into the clutch of her.

“My magnificent mate, what an agreeable display of thankfulness you’ve given me today,” he proclaims, setting a fervent pace. “So welcoming to your dark angel, eagerly performing such valued wifely duties for him,” he continues to prattle, more for his sake than her own since all she can manage in response is frenzied moaning. “Perhaps I’ll have to keep a closer eye on you, my wanton little witch.”

He pushes on the back of her legs, driving her knees towards her chest and hitting inside her at a new angle that causes her to scream out in bliss. She wraps her own arms around her legs, holding them tight to her as he mutters words of encouragement and praise. She feels another orgasm building inside her, starting as a tingle at the base of her spine.

He leans forward and spans his large hand across her throat. “Whose pussy is this?” he asks, giving her no time to respond before he’s demanding more answers. “Who’s the only one who gets you down on your knees? Who is the only one who makes you come? Who do you belong to? Who? Who?”

She manages to scratch out a long wail of “you,” beneath the pressure of his hold before she starts to tremble and break apart, coming again in a seizing crest. In a half growl he demands she open her mouth and when she enthusiastically obeys he leans over her and spits, gripping tightly at her neck to feel her strained swallow. Only then does he let himself lose control, grabbing her hips with a bruising grip and pounding away half a dozen more times before he lets loose a roaring release, pumping his warm spend deep inside her.

***

She pads out of the shower, head and body wrapped in warm towels, and comes across her amorous husband perched on the edge of the bed once again dressed in his all-black ensemble. She sees him looking into the nightstand drawer he has opened and before he can reach his hand in to grab what she’s sure is something she’d be rather embarrassed to have to explain, she clears her throat. His hands still but he doesn’t appear surprised by her presence, likely having no qualms about being caught peeping through her unmentionables.

Wordlessly, he shoots her a glare, displaying ire that is no doubt driven by the trove of sex toys he’s just discovered stashed away in her bedside drawer. She shrugs and heads to her dresser, turning her back on him to pull out her pajamas and giving what she hopes is a flippant but playful reply. 

“Just because I’m married doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself when I’m alone.”

He says nothing in response but she hears a throaty rumble and notices the flames dance higher for a moment in response. She turns to find him behind her, although she didn’t hear him approach, so close now that she can feel the heat of his body radiating onto her skin. He pulls the towel loose from her hair and caresses the side of her face, tucking some loose strands behind her ear. She bumps backwards against the dresser but stills as he leans forward and places a gentle kiss onto her forehead.

“Are you leaving?” she asks, hating the disappointment she hears evident in her voice.

“I have things to attend to, but worry not darling wife, I will return to you,” he speaks against her forehead and she isn’t sure if the flip her stomach does is from excitement or fear of his promise. “Be careful out here in these woods alone, it’s just not safe,” he echoes his earlier sentiment and she nods her head silently in a placating gesture. 

She shuffles her slippered feet, seeing him to the door and watches him as he walks until his dark form reaches the edge of the glow of the lantern lights and he slips back into the shadows.

***

“I can’t believe it,” Jadis guffaws, having listened to Luna’s entire recalling of the events of Halloween night.

“I swear to you, every word is true,” she lies, having told her friend the truth of the evening almost a fortnight ago up until the moment the man in black pushed her to her knees. Something about how the night ended made the whole encounter feel even more unbelievable, so she twisted the truth a bit to tell a story of a grateful wife ending the night with a chaste kiss instead.

“No, I can’t believe you waited two weeks to tell me about it!” the small witch exclaims loudly, both of them erupting into a fit of laughter, the hysterics sending the small car wobbling in its lane. “Did you tell the coven elders about it?” she wonders, having finally gotten a hold on her laughter and the steering wheel.

“Oh, Gods no,” Luna deflects. “This sort of thing is probably so commonplace, I wouldn’t want anyone to think I’m bragging.”

But that was another lie. She knew damn well that if the Morning Star himself had ever appeared before any of the other witches in her coven that entire memoirs would have been written about it, let alone engaged in the manner of acts that he had with her. She felt heat passing across her cheeks as her mind flashed through memories of them together. As for telling the coven, she was never one to brag and she didn’t want to set off any jealousies. 

Technically they were all married to him, each and every one of a long line of witches having given themselves over to him and while it gave them deep and lasting power, he’d never bestowed any personal gifts upon any of them. In nearly two centuries of recorded history of their coven, he had never whispered sweet nothings on the wind, sprouted flowers in a garden on an anniversary, or intervened at all in any of their daily lives.

Even while she practices this internal rationalization with herself she knows that it is also a lie and that the real reason she's kept it secret is that his visit to her had made her feel special. It made her feel like she might really be the powerful witch she’d been told she was while growing up and that even their Dark Lord took unique notice of her. It made her feel cared for, perhaps a feeling intensified by her solitary lifestyle and etched into her mind by his repeated reminders of her being “all alone in the woods”.

She remembers the way his warmth spread across her as he placed his lips over hers and the mischief that danced in his eyes when he stood above her in her living room. A buzzing feeling spreads down her chest and settles deep in her belly as she recalls the way he coaxed pleasure from her over and over again, and his delightful threat to keep a closer eye on her plays on repeat in her mind.

Loud sirens sound behind them, knocking her from her reverie and startling Jadis into quickly pulling over on the side of the road. Two large fire trucks speed by them, blaring horns and flashing lights. Behind them follow several police cars and two smaller fire department trucks. Once the raucous cavalcade passes, Jadis pulls back onto the road and follows along the darkening route out of town.

A short drive later as the car meanders along the winding drive into the woods, the fading sunlight gives way to quite a spectacle ahead of them. The woods ahead seem to be glowing a magnificent orange while red and blue lights flash blindingly against the tree trunks. A heavy fog obscurs the view as bundled figures run from truck to truck, dragging hoses around and shouting muffled orders from behind helmets with face masks.

Not fog… smoke.

Her woods are on fire. Her cottage is on fire. She ignores Jadis’ protests and jumps from the passenger seat of the car before it has even stopped moving, vaulting herself towards her home. Before she can get close she feels large arms wrap around her middle, stopping her forward movement as two firemen approach her with their arms out, trying to calm her down. Eventually she settles and the man holding her, dressed head to toe in firefighter gear, releases his grip around her while keeping one hand gently on her shoulder.

When the blaze is finally extinguished she lets the fireman who has comforted her guide her around the smoldering perimeter of what was her centuries-old home. The inferno had burned hot and quick and she doesn’t recognize anything to be salvageable, save for the cast iron cauldron she sees sitting among the fallen hearthstones. She turns to him in the dark, his face completely hidden behind his mask, and sees only her own image reflected in his visor; trails of tears streak her soot-covered cheeks and strands of hair chaotically twist in the wind, matching the mood of the evening.

She feels more tears stinging at her eyes and lets the broad-shouldered fireman turn her away from the sight of the destruction, tugging her against his smoke-scented jacket and tapping a gentle hand on her back in sympathy. She feels herself break open and let go, sobbing deeply into this stranger’s shoulder for several minutes before she takes deep breaths and slowly collects herself.

A tall, tie-wearing fireman approaches her alongside a shorter man sporting a police uniform and a very thick mustache. She turns to them, sniffling and wiping her tears from her face.

“Is there anywhere we can take you, Miss?” the officer questions with a nasally voice.

“Do you want us to call anyone, your husband maybe?” the warm voice beside her asks.

“Oh, sorry ma’am, I didn’t see the ring,” the officer apologizes. 

“They think the fire may have originated from the nightstand in the bedroom, but the fire investigators are still working,” the tall man speaks in a deep soothing voice while she focuses on the glinting badge pinned to his chest that reads 'Fire Chief'.

“Can we take you back into town?” the officer continues. “Maybe there’s a hotel or somewhere your husband can meet up with you?”

She sniffles, the mention of her husband stinging at her wounded pride. The man in black had been attentive enough to bring her back from the dead but apparently not to stop her home from burning to the ground. Keep a closer eye, my ass, she thinks bitterly. She wants to be upset but a part of her tries to rationalize that she should still be grateful that he intervened at all on that violent Halloween eve. However, tonight’s events have the euphoric high of the last two weeks quickly wearing off, and she feels another jab of hurt that he hasn’t tried to contact her once since he left.

“I can drive you to your Aunt’s house,” a small voice speaks up behind her, and Luna emerges from the fog of her thoughts to realize that Jadis has been here the whole time.

Fresh tears spill down her cheeks as she nods a small thanks, taking her friend’s outstretched hand and letting herself be guided back towards the little car parked down the drive.

“Hey,” she hears a shy voice speak up. 

She turns around to see the familiar broad-shoulders of the fireman who has been her companion for hours. He takes large steps, coming to stand right in front of her in the drive and Jadis continues on to wait in the car, giving them privacy.

“Be careful, okay?” he pleads, and she opens her mouth to tell him she’ll be fine. “It’s not safe for a young girl to be out here alone in the woods,” he finishes, reaching a gloved hand forward to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

She freezes, watching her own eyes go wide in the reflection of his visor. She reaches a hand forward slowly, grabbing the bottom of the mask. When he makes no move to stop her, she flips it up, knocking his helmet off of his head in the process. She knows what she’s expecting to see under the mask, or rather who she is expecting to see. 

What she doesn’t expect is for the entire uniform to collapse in front of her very eyes, landing in a limp pile on the ground at her feet as if nothing but a spectre had inhabited it. With shaking hands she leans down and grabs a small white paper sticking out of the collar of the empty jacket. She flips it over in her trembling fingers, reading it several times. It’s a business card for Joel Miller, a familiar face smiling from a photo on one side of the card. The Devil’s in the Details, Inc., it says, and below that is written ‘Home Building & Realty��, along with a local address and phone number.

On the back of the card is a handwritten note:

I always take care of what’s mine. xx - your loving husband

[sailoryooons]

🧡🎃 my queen. i have been sent here by the guardians of the moons to slip a drabble request of spooky-weenie love. we can keep it rated pg 13, imply relationship/smut if you desire. however i shall be here — looking for the young lad taehyung, dressed up as prince charming at a heavily intoxicated halloween party. frantically searching for his partner, oc!cinderella, as he realizes the strap to one of her heels have broke and she is walking around barefoot without her shoes on (typical cinderella amirite?) and as the goodest of boyfies — he is just trying to take care of his girl. oh, and he discovers — after searching throughout the entire complex — that she has accidentally gone overboard after her last intense and competitive game of beer pong and oc has found solace in a bush outside the house 😂😅🥹 to where her tiara sits crooked on top of her drunken head and her prince charming comes to assist her with whatever else has gone wrong 🤪🧡

❀ Pairing: Taehyung x f. reader

❀ Summary: Taehyung loves being your prince charming, even if it means trying to find where you’ve wandered off to in the middle of a Halloween party without your shoes. 

❀ Word Count: 1,657

❀ Genre: Established relationship, Fluff, Drunken Silliness

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: Taehyung is a simp!!! Recreational drinking, reader is absolutely tanked but in a funny way, Taehyung is drunk but not as drunk, general descriptions of being drunk, one very sweet kiss, talks about toes djgdogidjgid, one sexual thought slipping through Taehyung’s brain

❀ Published: October 10, 2023

❀ A/N: THIS IS FOR MY QUEEN MAGGIE!!! MY BEAUTIFUL, WONDERFUL SAILOR MAGGIE! Everyone is just going to have to accept the bit about the toes and the running around barefoot in this because listen - we had a vision and I stuck with it and!!! Taehyung just loves her even if she’s ten-toe hogging it around a party with no zappatos on!! This was so fun and sweet to write and my god I need to write Taehyung more because I’m so down bad  for him rgoidjgodijgdoigj. THIS IS ONLY GRAMMARLY EDITED SFODIGJ PLEASE FORGIVE ME EVERYONE. 

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment, or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

| Masterlist | Ask | Haliween Requests |

When Taehyung sees the silver pair of heels kicked off outside of Jimin’s bathroom, he knows it’s over for you. He still can’t help but smile, bending down to scoop them up by the straps, dangling off of his fingers. 

Jimin’s house is full of creatures and goblins and ghouls and in Taehyung’s case, a prince. The itchy fabric of the Prince Charming costume is nearly insufferably where it rubs at his neck, the overcoat sweltering in the heated atmosphere of the Halloween party. 

Music thumps as Taehyung navigates out of the hall, swiveling his head as he goes. Fifteen minutes ago you had announced rather loudly - and with a wicked lean that nearly knocked over the beer pong table you’d been championing - that had to relieve yourself. Taehyung watched with a buzzed grin as you picked your way toward the hall, lifting the skirts of your Cinderella dress to avoid anyone tramping on it. 

Now, there’s no Cinderella dress in sight. 

Taehyung pops into the kitchen, hoping to find you drinking water. Only Yoongi hides in the kitchen, ripping off the cat ears Hoseok has stuck on his head. Taehyung spots the fridge and realizes that you might want water when he finds you. He needs water to find you, the room spinning a little and his mouth still awash with the aftertaste of the witches' brew Seokjin had plied him with. 

“Have you seen Cinderella anywhere?” Taehyung asks Yoongi.

Yoongi scowls as he wets his hands under the faucet and starts wiping at the cat nose on his face. 

“I think she went out in the backyard. Something about a pumpkin at midnight.” Taehyung snickers and shakes his head. “She was also missing shoes. And said something about pong champ.”

Taehyung holds up the items in question. “I think she might have crushed it a little too much at the pong table. She's running around barefoot”

“Well, it is Halloween. Maybe she’s in touch with the Hallow’s Eve or whatever Or your princess turned into a werewolf and is currently howling like a fiend.”

“Uh-huh. Good luck with your cat nose.”

“Good luck with your princess. Or werewolf.”  

Little does Yoongi know, Taehyung is always lucky with you. From the day that he bumped into you in a coffee shop, to the first date you went on, to years later, sharing an apartment above the coffee shop you love so dearly, Taehyung has been lucky every day. 

He grins thinking about it, opening up the back door and heading into the year. It’s a crispy night, cool air brushing against the sweat gathered at the back of his neck. He pauses for a moment to shrug out of the itchy, cornflower blue overcoat of his Prince Charming costume to reveal a white tee. 

Tying the coat around his waist, Taehyung surveys the yard. There’s no one outside that he can see, but the porch lights reflect all the way to the fence. Jogging down the steps, he glances up at the sky. It’s the perfect night, a thousand stars mapped across the world in perfect silence. 

It makes sense that you would come out here, he thinks. You love to look at the stars, but most of all, Taehyung knows you’d like to lie down somewhere and look at the skies after having something to drink. Knowing you, you’d have come out for fresh air after realizing how drunk you were in the bathroom, only to get distracted by the sky.

He loves that about you, though. Loves that he can somehow piece together the way your mind works, loves that the natural course of trajectory for you was through the kitchen and out into the yard with a flippant comment about a pumpkin. 

“Jagiya?” Taeyhung calls out, warm breath fogging in front of him.

“Pa-riiiiince!” 

Taehyung turns around to look at the garden. He raises his brows when he sees your legs sticking out from the mulch. He presses his hand to his mouth, trying to conceal his laughter and shock that you are crushing Jimin’s marigolds. 

He jogs over to you, finding you on your back with your hands tucked behind your head. You don’t seem to mind that you’re splat in the middle of flowers and dirt, your misty eyes fixated up on the sky with your mouth open in a dizzy smile. 

You look radiant. Bathed in moonlight, eyes wide and lost in the sky. Even if your crown is a little crooked and your dress is a little stained, Taehyung feels his heart rate speed up. You may be dressed as a princess for the night, but you look like a goddess. Ethereal. 

Taehyung feels a little dizzy. You reach for him and he complies, unable to say no to you as he sits and feels the marigolds crush under his ass. Your hands are warm and soft in his as you sigh in delight, thrilled to see him. 

“The stars are so wonderful,” you breathe. You turn your head. He notices the yellow petals stuck in your hair. Your face changes from wonder to something else. Adoration, he thinks. Taehyung’s stomach flips as you squeeze his hand. “Almost as beautiful as my Prince Charming.”

“My Cinderella is beautiful too.” He holds your shoes up. “Even if she is running around ten-toeing it, barefoot in the middle of the night.” 

You squeal, making grabby hands at the shoes. He lets you have them, laughing as you grab them and hold them to your chest, closing your eyes. Your head lulls to the side and he can see the sleepiness pulling at your edges. 

“You’re sloshed, huh?”

“Like a coke slushie from the movie, Your Princely-Highness-Lord.” 

He can’t fight his grin. “Have you had any water?”

“Champions don’t drink water.” He holds out the bottle of water to you anyway. You reach for it but miss several times before your greedy little fingers get a hold of it. As he lets it go, you loose  your grip and it hits you square in the face. “Motherfucker, the water is attacking the champion!”

Time to get you home.

“It’s after midnight, Princess Champion. We gotta hitch a ride on the pumpkin.”

“Get the cat to drive,” you mutter, not opening your eyes. “He was trying to wipe his nose off in the kitchen.”

Picking himself off the ground, Taehyung manages to get you up and dusted off. You sway in front of him, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes. He can see the desire boiling there, and though it makes the blood rush to his groin, he ignores it, knowing you both need bed. 

Kneeling down, Taehyung slips your shoes back on. He’s careful, lifting your feet by the ankle to delicately slide the straps up. You’re nearly asleep as he works, eyes fluttering as his touch skims along your cooling skin. It’s only then he realizes that your shoe is broken and that leaving it on your foot and having you walk is dangerous. 

Sighing, he takes them back off, intent to carry you to the Uber and up to your apartment. His fingers make you wake up a little, swinging your head down as you say, “Hey weirdo. I have a boyfriend - a prince, to be exact - and he wouldn’t appreciate you touching my toes. Those are his.”

Taehyung laughs and stands up. He looks down his nose at you. You have to tilt your head back to see him, breath coming out in sweet little puffs that smell like juice. “Oh,” you say as Taehyung lowers his mouth, nose brushing yours. “You’re my boyfriend. These are your toes.” 

“They are,” he agrees. He steals a sweet kiss from you. Your mouth is warm against his, lips softer than ever. A shiver ripples through him as you melt into his touch, content to put your weight on him and let him hold you up. He always will. “Let’s get those toes home and in a pair of Sailor Moon socks, hmm?”

“Yeeeees.” 

The Uber home is quiet. You immediately lean into Taehyung, smashing him against the door as you knock out. He smiles all the same, wrapping a warm arm around you. He kisses your head before leaning his forehead against the window, feeling the cool glass bring him all the way back to sober. 

Lights blur by outside. Orange and purples of Halloween, smears of costumes, and partygoers coming and going from their haunts for the evening. Once you’re at your apartment, he rouses you and lifts you up, carrying you up the stairs as you go. Your crown only falls off your head once, which he dutifully sets you on the ground to collect so you don’t loose - in your words - the honor of your kingdom. 

You sprint the rest of the way to your apartment then, tearing through the halls in your bear feet until you’re inside and on the bed panting, completely in disarray. 

Two glasses of water, pajamas, and Sailor Moon socks later, you’re crashed in the bed, snoring lightly. Taehyung grins at your form, opening the drawer of the dresser where he stores his pajamas. Seeing you in your shared bed in his shirt, hand reaching out looking for him is the perfect end to this night. 

Sliding into a t-shirt and sleep pants, he moves to close the drawer before he hesitates. At the bottom of the drawer is a black, velvet box. It’s perfectly square, and Taehyung smiles when he sees it, thinking about the way your eyes were starry and lost as you looked at the sky. He pulls a shirt over it - it only needs to be hidden for a few more days. 

Shutting the drawer he turns to look at you. His sleeping beauty, now. 

Biting his bottom lip, Taehyung laughs. It’s after midnight, but your spell on him isn’t broken. It never will be. And he cannot wait to slide the ring on your finger instead of sliding slippers on your feet.

[beaft]

october 13th

happy friday the thirteenth, everyone! and to celebrate, here's that poem you probably read at school that one time! today's spooky poem is "the highwayman", a delightfully melodramatic ballad by alfred noyes. there's an analysis of it here and a sung version by loreena mckennit here. and once you've listened to that you can watch this, if you're so inclined.

THE HIGHWAYMAN

Part I

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.  The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.  the road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,    And the highwayman came riding— Riding—riding— The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin, A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin. They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots were up to the thigh.    And he rode with a jewelled twinkle, His pistol butts a-twinkle, His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard. He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred. He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there    But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord’s daughter, Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked Where Tim the ostler listened. His face was white and peaked.    His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,    But he loved the landlord’s daughter, The landlord’s red-lipped daughter. Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—

“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize to-night, But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light; Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,    Then look for me by moonlight, Watch for me by moonlight, I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”

He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her hand, But she loosened her hair in the casement. His face burnt like a brand As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast; And he kissed its waves in the moonlight, (O, sweet black waves in the moonlight!) Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.

Part II He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon; And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon, When the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor, A red-coat troop came marching Marching—marching— King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door. They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead, But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed; Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side! There was death at every window; And hell at one dark window; For Bess could see, through the casement, the road that he would ride. They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest; They bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast! "Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say Look for me by moonlight; Watch for me by moonlight; I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way! She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good! She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood! They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years, Till, now, on the stroke of midnight, Cold, on the stroke of midnight, The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest! Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast, She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again; For the road lay bare in the moonlight; Blank and bare in the moonlight; And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain. Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear; Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear? Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill, The highwayman came riding, Riding, riding! The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up strait and still! Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night! Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light! Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath, Then her finger moved in the moonlight, Her musket shattered the moonlight, Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him - with her death. He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood! Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear How Bess, the landlord's daughter, The landlord's black-eyed daughter, Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there. Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky, With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high! Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat, When they shot him down on the highway, Down like a dog on the highway, And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.

And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees, When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, A highwayman comes riding Riding—riding— A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door. Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard, And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred; He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord's daughter, Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

—Alfred Noyes

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Unfinished - Part Two : Spirits Follow Everywhere I Go

A/N: Let's keep spooky season going a little longer, shall we? First of all, I want to shout out a huge thank you to everyone who had read the first part of this story. The response has been wonderful and I am especially thrilled to know that people are enjoying the historical element of this story - there's a lot more about Eliza, Cal and Henry coming! This part is decidedly darker than the first, so I will go ahead and warn you that if you're not into scary stories, this might not be the one for you. But if getting spooked is your jam, then grab a snack because things are about to get haunted up in this bitch.

READ PART ONE HERE

*Chapter title comes from Love Like Ghosts by Lord Huron*

Warnings: death, murder, haunting, mention of loss of parent - ** Death of Reader's mother & immediate aftermath ** grief, language because Xander's coping mechanism is to swear like a sailor (if you are at all unsure about the content of this chapter, please feel free to message me with any questions!)

Word Count: 5,239

Summary: Henry's murderous jealousy leaves him with quite a mess to deal with... and moving Cal's body ends up being the easy part.

Meanwhile, you and Marcus arrive back at Maplewood to comply with the investigation involving a murder victim and a mysterious painting.

Maplewood Manor - Midnight, October 30, 1868 

Henry Ashford’s limbs ached as he eased himself into bed that night. 

Cal was heavier than he looked lying in a heap on Eliza’s bedroom floor, and he had to be moved down three flights of stairs into the cellar. By the time he’d finished stashing the artist where he wouldn’t be found until he could be further dealt with and had trudged back upstairs to get himself cleaned up, Henry was bone tired. The adrenaline that flooded his system when he snuffed out two lives as thoughtlessly as candles had left as quickly as it came, and as soon as his head hit the pillow he felt consciousness slipping away. 

The fact that his dead wife was lying in a bed one room over didn’t seem to hinder his ability to find sleep. Peace, though, proved to be more elusive. 

It began around midnight. Silver blue light from the full October moon shone through the sheer white curtains and directly onto Henry’s sleeping form, waking him from the heavy slumber he’d fallen into. Groaning, he blinked against the intrusion and sat up. In the haze of his exhaustion he figured that he must have forgotten to pull the thick drapes closed before collapsing into bed, so he swung his legs over the side and stood to remedy that, hoping that once the room was dark he would be able to fall back to sleep. 

But as soon as the plush velvet drapes were pulled shut and he had turned away from the window, he heard the scrape of the curtain rings along the rod, and watched as a sliver of light splashed onto the bed, widening before his eyes. Henry froze, standing stiff and rigid as a statue, as the familiar shape of his wife’s silhouette joined his shadow on the wall in front of him. Wheeling around again, he saw only the window and the moon shining beyond it. Rattled, he reached shakily for the drapes to pull them closed once more. It must have been a trick of his mind and the moonlight, he assured himself. A side effect of the night he’d had, or a dream that lingered after his feet hit the floor. 

Eliza was dead. He’d seen to that himself, so she couldn’t be at his window, messing with the drapes. Taking a deep breath, Henry climbed back into bed. Again the heavy weight of fatigue sent him sinking into sleep, the room pitch black and silent around him. 

It didn’t stay that way. 

“Henry.”

A fierce gasp tore at Henry’s throat, hands wildly clawing at his neck as though trying to free it from a noose. He bolted upright, chest heaving and eyes bulging, the drapes and sheer curtains thrown open. Stark moonlight poured into the room, spilling over him and bringing an icy chill with it. Terror gripped his heart as he tried and failed to blink away the image before him. 

There in the center of the frame stood the shadowy figure of Eliza Ashford. She was faced away from him, staring out at the moonlit grounds of Maplewood Manor. Though her form did not appear solid - more wispy than a living human being - her presence felt more powerful than ever. And more angry. 

“E-Eliza?” His own voice sounded foreign to him, fear and confusion shrinking its normally robust tone. “How… You cannot be-” 

He scampered back into the pillows, knocking the base of his skull hard against the backboard in an involuntary effort to flee as Eliza slowly spun towards him. Only her eyes were visible, glowing an otherworldly whitish blue out of her otherwise blurred and featureless face. Her lack of a mouth didn’t stop her from speaking, though, her words reverberating inside Henry’s eardrums as her ghostly eyes pierced him straight through. 

“You thought it was so easy to be rid of me? Thought you could stamp me out? Stamp Cal out?” 

In a whoosh of frigid air the panes of glass shattered inward, and Eliza suddenly shifted so that her spectral eyes hovered only inches from Henry’s. He yelped and shook, wincing away from her as she tilted her head. 

“You thought that you could hide what you did?! Hide his body like animal bones?! Desecrate the only man I ever loved and walk free?!” 

“No.” Henry’s hands came to his ears and he shut his eyes as tight as he could. “No, no, no.” He repeated the word over and over, refusing to accept any of what was happening. “No! This… This is fantasy! You’re not here, Eliza. You’re dead! You’re dead!” 

Without opening his eyes, he burst from the bed and ran to the door, moving right through the shadowy shape of his wife and feeling the blood crystalize in his veins with the cold. Stumbling through the hall with his arms outstretched, he made his way to the room where her body lay. He ran to the window and pulled open the drapes to shed light on the space, and as he knew he would, found his wife to be still in her bed. Right where he had left her so that she would be found in the morning. 

Releasing a sigh, Henry slumped onto the cushioned bench under the window and stared at the corpse across from him. It was a small comfort to see that she was still there and that whatever he’d witnessed - or thought he’d witnessed - had just been a misfire of his imagination. It was a short lived relief when he considered what it might mean for his sanity. But even that worry didn’t have time to grow roots in his brain, because from the hall, an eerie silver glow moved toward where he sat. 

“You took me away from my children, Henry. How could I ever forgive you for that?!”

“No…” He whimpered. “No, please… Leave me…” He wasn’t sure who he was pleading with or how he would be able to move past this moment if it were to simply stop - because how on Earth could he explain what had happened without admitting to the illogical? Henry didn’t believe in ghosts. He didn’t believe in souls. So even if the haunting were to suddenly cease, he’d either have to change his mindset entirely, or concede that he had lost his mind. Neither sounded good to him, but both were preferable to the horror he felt watching Eliza’s shadowy specter follow him into the room where she died.  

Her eyes were still her only visible feature, and they bore into him as she hovered near the bed. “You cannot run from me, dear husband. Not from me, and not from what you’ve done to Cal! I will never leave you. I will never let you have peace. You will never be free from this night, Henry Ashford!” 

With another gust of air powerful enough to break the glass behind him, Eliza’s ghost slashed through the room in a cyclone of screaming rage. She flew directly at Henry, the man shouting out in terror before she turned and changed course for the last of Cal’s works.The unfinished portrait that still hung on an easel in the corner of the room radiated the same silver light as she was absorbed by the canvas, and then Henry was alone once more. 

The windows were back in pristine condition, as though they’d never shattered in a storm of shards. The curtains were closed, as they were before he had rushed in, and the candlestick on the bedside table sent a halo of warm orange light flickering across the floor. Henry crossed the room slowly, one trembling hand closing around the metal candle holder. Carrying it with him, he walked back to his bedroom and peeked inside, shining the light to see that his window had also been restored to its original state, the glass back in the panes and the drapes secured shut. 

But the return to normalcy did nothing to settle his fear or ease his racing pulse back to a place where he could once again find sleep. Instead he went down into the parlor and poured himself a brandy. Using the candle he took from Eliza’s room, he lit every candle he could find so that he would not be in the dark, and he sat awake with a drink in his hand until the housekeeper returned in the morning. 

She, of course, assumed that Henry had been in a state of shock due to the grief of Eliza’s untimely - but natural - death. The poor man, she thought, taking pity on him. She never could have known that his insomnia had been brought on by the curse that his murdered wife had put upon him, or by the visitation of her ghost. 

He had one trick up his sleeve, though, one thing to try in order to stop Eliza from torturing his nights. His wife had made it known how much she hated his obsession with postmortem photographs. She had stated on several occasions that her soul was not to be trapped on film, that when she died she wanted to do so as she lived - having never been photographed, only painted. So after the doctor had come and officially proclaimed her dead, but before the undertaker could remove her body for burial preparations, Henry took his camera to her room and loaded the photo plate. 

He wouldn’t know the outcome until later that night, when he developed the image in his darkroom. In the cellar. 

– – – 

Maplewood Manor - 10:30 pm, October 30, 2023 

Red and blue lights glared off the carved pumpkins that lined the porch steps as Marcus pulled into the Manor’s circular driveway. 

Everything about the way the age old house looked, surrounded by emergency vehicles and personnel, was wrong, and it sent a twisting sensation through your stomach. It reminds me of the night that- You felt the breath in your lungs grow stale at the sight of two EMTs rolling a covered stretcher through the front door and into a waiting van. It made your blood run cold. Shit.

It reminded you of the night that your mom died. 

It was December of your senior year, and you were home for winter break. Your house had looked wrong then, too, as you stared at it from your front lawn. You could remember the cold grass against the skin of your knees and the way the chilled air felt like frost on your tear stained cheeks. You couldn’t be inside until everyone had gone. It was easier to breathe outside, even if the temperature had dropped to just above freezing. And Marcus was there with you. He’d been staying with his grandparents who only lived twenty minutes from your place. When you called him in hysterics he got immediately into his car and came straight to you. You were outside already when he got there, on the ground in front of the house, and wordlessly, he joined you, putting his arms around you, holding you to his chest and speaking directly into your ear, telling you that he was right there, that he wasn’t going anywhere. 

In that moment, he was the only solid thing in your world. 

Either the scene in front of you reminded him of that night, too, or he saw it on your face that you were lost in that memory, because he cleared his throat and spoke your name. Blinking, you tore your focus from the closing van doors and turned to face him. His eyes locked with yours, and in them you found the same sense of comfort that you always had. “Hey.” He reached across the center console and gripped your hand where it rested in your lap. “You okay?” 

Your fingers linked with his and squeezed as you nodded. “Yeah.” You cleared your throat and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Yeah,” you said again. “Just… thinking about…” You trailed off with a shrug and brought your free hand up to swipe at your eye. 

Marcus sighed. “I know.” His thumb moved back and forth over your knuckle, and then he brought his other hand up to finish off the tear you’d missed. Fingertips skating over your cheek, he kept his hand on your face as he continued. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m gonna be right here with you.” 

Swallowing, you sniffed and nodded again. “I know.” He dropped his hand, watching as you fixed your makeup in the rearview mirror. You blew out a slow breath and turned to look at him again. “I know this isn’t how you want to spend your time off, so I’m sorry that-” 

“Stop.” He shook his head. “That’s the last thing on my mind right now, okay? I mean that. I’m here for you, and right now that means helping you through whatever this is.” 

You never took his friendship for granted, but an overwhelming wave of gratitude for him rose in your chest at that moment as you tried to imagine facing what awaited you inside the manor without Marcus by your side. Even without his FBI training, his presence alone would have bolstered your nerve as you answered questions and complied with the investigation. It was enough just to have him - your closest and oldest friend, someone who you trusted completely and who always made you feel safe. 

“Thank you, Marcus.” Your voice was quiet but you knew he heard you. 

His lips pulled up to one side as a small smile lightened his eyes. “Anytime.” 

With that, he withdrew his hand from yours and opened his door. You followed, walking around the front of the car to where Marcus stood waiting for you. Though you knew he wouldn’t stop you from taking his hand again, he didn’t offer it immediately, and you knew it was because he was giving you the chance to make a completely professional impression on the officers you were about to meet with. Instead, he walked side by side with you, arm dangling close enough for his sleeve to brush yours. 

Before you made it halfway up the walk, Xander rushed down the porch steps to you. “Thank fuck you’re here. This shit is weird and I am freaking the hell out!” There were deep, worried creases between his eyebrows, and he was taking big open mouthed gulps of air. 

“Hey. I’m sorry, X.” You put your hands on his arms the same way Marcus had done to you earlier at the diner, and demonstrated a slow, even breath in and out, trying to get the frazzled 20-something in front of you to do the same. He did, and you nodded. “You alright? Did you already talk to the police?” 

Xander blew out a breath and eyed Marcus before turning back to you. “Yeah. They cleared the building, made sure no one was still inside, and then they asked me a bunch of questions. I told them everything and they said I was okay to go for the night and that they’d call me if or when they had any more questions but I wanted to wait until you got here.” His eyes shifted back to Marcus. “Shit, did this bust up date night or something? I-” 

“Uh-” You cleared your throat, eyes going wide. “Um, no, we just - This is my friend Marcus. He came for the lecture tonight and he-” 

“I’m just here for moral support.” Marcus smiled warmly at the jittery kid. 

Xander nodded. “Well, good. Wish I had some of that.” Shaking his head, he closed his eyes. “No way I’m gonna be able to sleep tonight. Not after seeing…” He trailed off, blinking off into the dark distance beyond the house. 

Your heart ached sympathetically. You knew what it was like to be the one to find someone dead. It feels like the walls are collapsing. Holding your breath after your next question, you hoped the answer would be a no. “Xander, did…did you know who it was?” 

“No. I’d never seen ‘em. I mean not before…” He gestured to one of the second floor windows and released a sigh. “Far as I can tell he wasn’t a student.” That’s good, at least. This is gonna be hard enough for the kids to handle, at least it wasn’t one of them. Xander went on. “Cops found his I.D. on him. Turns out he was just some dude who came for the lecture, and-”

“Wait, what?” You tilted your head, eyes darting over to momentarily meet Marcus’. “They came for the lecture?” 

Xander nodded. “Yeah. Cops asked me for a list of everyone who bought tickets so they could cross check it I guess and he was on there. Some guy named Hank Elkins from right outside Philly.” He shrugged. “Why? You know him?” 

The name meant nothing to you personally, but you recalled it as one of the first to populate on your attendee list, meaning that Hank Elkins had been planning on coming to the event for months. A shiver ran through you at the thought that he had no idea that a night learning about incomplete artwork would ultimately be his last. “No, I don't know anyone by that name.” You wet your lips with the tip of your tongue. “Do they have any idea who did this?” 

“Nah, the security guard on duty didn’t have access to the camera playback so they had to wait for the director of campus security to get here and he just got here like two minutes before you. So they’re probably in there lookin’ at it now.” 

As he finished speaking, a uniformed officer exited the front door of the house and strode down the steps. “Mr. Paulson?” The officer addressed Xander, who answered with a ‘yeah’. “I’m here to escort you back to your apartment, make sure you get home safe.” He didn’t look much older than the college student, but you were still glad that Xander would have someone keeping him safe on the way back to the main area of campus. The young officer turned to you, greeting you by name. “The detective is inside, she’d like a few words with you.” He turned back to Xander. “We should get moving.” 

Xander nodded. “Yeah, alright, thanks.” He wrung his hands and looked at you. “Keep me posted, yeah? I… I wanna know what’s going on with this since… Since I-” 

Again you felt that twist of sympathy in your chest. Since you were the one who found him. “I will, X. Try to get some rest, okay?” 

He scoffed and shook his head. “Told you, no way in hell. But yeah.” 

You watched as Xander followed the officer assigned to him, and then turned to Marcus. “If it was someone who came for the event then… then maybe the killer was here for it, too. ”

Marcus nodded, concern written all over his face. “Maybe. Those security cameras are new, right? Didn’t you tell me the restoration committee put new ones in a few years ago?” Of course he remembered that. You confirmed that they were new within the last two years. “That’s good. Footage should be nice and clear. If the killer is on there we should be able to see their face and-” 

A woman’s voice speaking your name interrupted his sentence, and you looked up to see the detective Xander mentioned standing in the doorway. “I’m Detective Allison Sharpe. Thank you for coming back so fast.” 

You swallowed and glanced at Marcus before heading up to where the woman stood, your friend following you. “Of course. Anything I can do to help, I will.” 

“We appreciate that.” She looked at Marcus next. “And you, sir? Do you also work with the University?” 

“I don’t.” Marcus reached into his pocket and pulled out his badge to show the woman. “Agent Marcus Pike, FBI.” You watched Sharpe’s expression change slightly as she looked over Marcus’ credentials. “I’m with the art crimes division.” 

“Well now there’s a stroke of luck. Maybe you’ll be able to help us, Agent Pike.” The woman directed her focus back at you. “I’m sure your assistant, Xander, told you about the mystery painting?” 

“He did.” You narrowed your eyes. “Do you know where it came from?” 

Detective Sharpe raised one eyebrow and clicked her tongue. “We have no idea. But hopefully one of you two can shed some light on that. It appears to be quite old, but I’m no art expert.” 

You cleared your throat. “Can I… take a look?” 

“You can. But first I’ll need you to give your statement and take me through the evening from your memory. If you were here as well, Agent Pike, we’ll need you to do the same.” Sharpe gestured to the front door. “Officer Fromer is waiting in the dining room to take care of that. I need to get back inside to review the security cam footage, but as soon as you’re finished he’ll bring you into the other room where the artwork is.” She spread her hands wide. “Again, anything you can tell us about the piece, anything you can remember about the night, anything strange that happened, any weird questions your audience asked… it could all be helpful.” 

“Of course.” You nodded and followed her into the house. 

Though your brain was buzzing with adrenaline and your stomach churned with unease, both of those sensations were dimmed as you felt the warmth of Marcus’ hand on the small of your back. 

– – – 

After you answered all of the questions that the officers had for you, and gave your account of what happened that night from the time you arrived at Maplewood to the time when you and Marcus left, you were escorted into the parlor room, where your presentation had been.

Your eyes went immediately to the six easels that you had set up. All of the paintings that you brought with you were there, and all intact. None of them seemed damaged or meddled with in any way, and you let out a small sigh of relief at that. But then your eyes traveled to the seventh canvas. When they did, your mouth dropped open and you sucked in a gasp. 

I… I think I know that painting. 

It had been taken off of its frame and draped over a chair that someone had dragged up to the front of the room. From the upholstered backrest, a pair of eyes looked back at you, light and emotion already present in them despite the fact that the portrait was far from finished. The shape sketched out was that of a woman, her chin and cheekbones just barely hinted at, her hair only depicted as a brownish splotch to show where more detail was needed. But her eyes, clearly the feature that the artist deemed her most striking, were so complete and lifelike, it felt as though the featureless woman was looking straight through you. 

“Eliza Ashford.” You muttered the name that you’d read on countless documents throughout your time with the Maplewood Manor restoration society, certain beyond doubt that you were looking at her missing portrait. 

“What?” Marcus stepped up next to you, crossing his arms over his chest. “You recognize this?” 

You licked at your suddenly dry lips, gaze still fixed on the pair of painted eyes in front of you. “Yeah. Marcus, I think that’s…” Mid-sentence, you turned away and crossed the room to where a large portrait hung over the marble fireplace. The click of footsteps on the hard floor told you that Marcus was following close behind. “It is. Look.” 

Pointing up at the family of four that had called Maplewood home over a hundred years ago, you directed him to the woman shown standing beside her husband, their two children in front of them. 

“It’s Eliza Ashford. The Ashfords were the last family to own this place. Their family portrait has hung here for years. When the university took over the property they found this in the attic along with individual portraits of Henry Ashford and the two children, Josephine and Edwin.” You shook your head and turned to look at Marcus. “But there wasn’t one of Eliza. She died young, so everyone assumed that was the reason that she didn’t have her portrait done. But-” You lifted your eyes back to the family above the mantel and saw the same life and light in Eliza’s as you were struck with in the unfinished painting. It’s the same artist. It has to be. “But I think it just wasn’t finished in time.” 

Marcus frowned up at the family portrait. “Where was it then? If it wasn’t with the others in the attic?” 

You shrugged and let out a breath. “No one knows. No one even knew for sure it existed. There’s no record of the family paying to have it done, even though there are records for the other works that were commissioned around the same time.”

“You’re right. No one knows where the painting has been for the last 150 years-” Detective Sharpe’s voice startled you. You hadn’t heard the woman come into the room, and when she spoke you jumped. Marcus shifted closer to you, reassuring you with his presence. You relaxed slightly as Sharpe continued, but noticed that she looked shaken, and that left you nervous. She cleared her throat. “But we know how it got into the house tonight. Hank Elkins brought it in under his coat.” 

“Elkins?” Marcus questioned. “The victim? What was he doing with a piece of missing, unfinished artwork? Was he involved in the art world? A dealer, or collector?” 

Detective Sharpe nodded. “All valid questions, Agent Pike.” 

Something told you that whatever was about to come next was going to be shocking, but that didn’t stop you from asking anyway. “If you know that Elkins brought it with him, then you must have seen him with it on the security cameras.” Sharpe nodded again as your heart pounded. “Then… Did you see what happened to him after he displayed the painting?” 

Did you see how he ended up dead on the second floor? 

“Yes.” Detective Sharpe “But I still can’t… explain it.” Her tone sounded almost hollow, and you knew that couldn’t be good. 

“Would we be able to view the tape, Detective?” Marcus asked the question politely despite the fact that you knew that he could pull strings and make a few phone calls to grant him - and you - access to any part of this investigation that he wanted. 

“You can,” Sharpe replied after a pause. “But I’ll warn you it’s…” She wrinkled her nose. “Unsettling.” 

You swallowed and blew out a shaky breath. “Alright.” You looked at Marcus and chewed your lower lip. “Let’s take a look.” 

Sharpe nodded. “In here, please.” She gestured for you to follow her back to the dining room. 

Before you could cross the room, Marcus caught your wrist and gave you a slight tug to turn you to face him. “Hey, you sure about this? You don’t have to… If you don’t want to see that, I can watch and-” 

You brought your hand up to cover his where it wrapped around your wrist and gave him a tired smile. “It’s okay, Marcus. I need to… If I’m going to be any help with this, I need to know what happened.” 

He inhaled through his nose, chest rising and falling as he let the air back out. “Okay.” 

“Okay. Let’s do this.” 

Without hesitation, you walked across the room and into the dining room to view the footage. 

–  –  –

Twenty minutes later, you could barely breathe. Allison had told you that what you were about to see was impossible to explain, and she had been right. Even knowing that going in wasn’t enough to prepare you for what you saw happen to Hank Elkins in that bedroom upstairs. 

Cameras in the foyer had caught him come in. He’d even taken his seat and listened to your entire presentation. But after you had finished with your Q&A and you’d directed visitors into the next room for refreshments, Elkins had slipped past you to go back into the parlor to set up the canvas he’d smuggled in. After that, he was picked up by a different camera - the one in the back stairwell. That door had been locked, and you had given Xander the only key. But Elkins shockingly had a key in his pocket, and he used it to gain access to the second floor. Once he was upstairs he made his way into one of the bedrooms, and that was when things got really strange. 

He began talking to the walls. But not just rambling. He was gesturing wildly. Pleading, almost, making begging motions with his hands. And then the room went dark and a sound like a rush of wind ripped through, and when the lights flickered back on, Elkins had been flung across the room like a rag doll, head smashed against the wall so that he landed in a heap on the floor. 

“What the hell was that, Marcus?” Your voice was barely above a whisper as the two of you walked out into the night and made your way back to his car. Your hands and knees were shaking, and you felt hyper aware of every cricket and frog making sounds on the grounds of Maplewood. You turned to face him and saw the same terrified shock that you felt mirrored back at you. “What the hell happened to him in there?” 

He shook his head and opened the passenger side door for you. “I don’t know. But I know it wasn’t good.” His frown deepened. “You mind if I crash at your place tonight? I booked a hotel room, but-” 

“Jesus, Marcus, mind? After that? Please, like I’d let you leave me alone tonight. What’d you book a hotel room for anyway? You know you’re always welcome at my place.” But as soon as the words were out you wished you could take them back. He was always welcome at your place. But the last time he was in town, it wasn’t just your place, and your ex hadn’t been thrilled about the closeness of your relationship with Marcus. “Shit, I’m sorry. I know Bill wasn’t exactly great to you. But…” You shrugged. “Bill’s history. It’s my place again. And I want you there.” 

He stared at you for a few seconds, something unreadable in his eyes, even to you, even with as well as you knew him. It seemed almost melancholy, but then he blinked and his expression was back to even. “Well then that’s where I’ll be.” 

“Good.” You reached for his arm and gave him a light squeeze. “Let’s get the fuck out of here, I’m really spooked.” 

“Yeah.” He waited for you to get into the car and then closed your door. “Me too.” 

The numbers on the dashboard clock switched to midnight as Marcus turned the car around the circular drive and headed for the road. If either of you had been looking at the house, you might have seen the glow of a pair of eyes watching you from the second story bedroom window. But you didn’t. Instead, those eyes watched you go, and then they blinked into darkness. 

-- -- --

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tags: @something-tofightfor @littlemisspascal @mishasminion360 @nyctophiliiiiaaa @alraedesigns @practicalghost @tanzthompson @amb11@harriedandharassed @woodlandmouth @thescarletfang  @trickstersp8 @imtryingmybeskar @haylzcyon@wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns  @pedro-pedrito-pascalito @jedi-in-crocs @hannahkatharine @anoverwhelmingdin @chiyo13 @myloveistoolittle @spishsstuff @Noisynightmarepoetry

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They Did The Monster Mash 🎃 | TGM Halloween Imagine

Set in an AU where the characters of TGM are classical and mythology monsters/creatures

TGM Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: mad scientist!Bob Floyd x mad scientist!reader (romantic), Dagger Sqaud (platonic)

Content Warnings: fluff, light profanity | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 2.4K

Premise: it’s All Hallow’s Eve, a night where ghouls and monsters alike awaken from every inch of the globe. What better way to celebrate the spookiest night of the year than gathering all those lurking in the shadows to the party everyone wants to be.

Note: HAPPY HALLOWEEN! Here’s a fluffy, spooky little imagine for y’all as a treat 🎃

——————-

‘Twas the night before Halloween, and all through the cemetery. Not a creature was moaning, as they basked in solitary. The pumpkins were lit, with carved faces to stare. In hopes the monsters of the night, soon will be there.

“Bob!” Y/n shouted, frantically searching for her coat. It was a quarter till midnight on October the 30th. Soon it would be Halloween. And with a full moon high in the sky it was the perfect moment to test out their newest creation. “It is almost time! We must make haste!”

“I’m right here, darling,” her coat in his hand, Dr. Floyd dimmed the lights on his way into the lab. The woman exhaled in relief, kissing his cheek before placing the coat over her shoulders.

“What would I do without you, my love?”

Bob adjusted his goggles over his prescription glasses, chuckling, “Probably half as mad as you are now.”

Any other woman would be offended by the comment, but Y/n, the mad scientist she embraced herself to be, only giggled. The two had met during their doctoral program, falling in love and conducting research as a duo. Before long they were blacklisted for unethical experiments, moving underground to hide from society.

But what the world didn’t know, was they uncovered a world beneath their own. Where monsters heard in legends and fairytales roamed freely. Living amongst humans to the naked eye.

Since forming partnerships with fellow outcasts like themselves, the couple have traveled every Halloween to Transylvania, Romania. There the infamous vampire Pete Mitchell, descendent of Dracula himself, hosts an annual Halloween festival with monsters and ghouls alike.

The party always started around sunset on Halloween night. So the two had plenty of time before gearing up their transportation pod to zap them to Pete’s mansion. Y/n placed her own goggles on, brushing away her dyed jet black hair with white streaks, mischievous smirk painting her lips, “Shall we begin?”

“It was a one-eyed, one-horned, flyin’ purple people eater. (One-eyed, one-horned, flyin’ purple people eater). A one-eyed, one-horned, flyin’ purple people eater. Sure looks strange to me.” The party was in full swing when the couple arrived. Creatures in every corner, a werewolf howling in the distance, bats flying overhead. They were home.

“Doctors!” They spun around to find the monster of the mansion sporting a cheshire grin, fangs threatening to poke out. Lord Pete Mitchell, having recently fed by the bright color of his eyes and lack of under eye bags, wore a snazzy black pinstripe suit with a blood red tie. The handkerchief in his breast pocket, as well as the soles of his shoes, were the same color. “It is so wonderful to see you. I’m always amazed by your entrance every year. God forbid the governments of the world discover you’ve cracked the code of transportation.”

“Don’t forget time travel,” Y/n winked, causing Pete to laugh.

“Of course,” he flashes his pearly white teeth before frowning after peering around them, “Where is your--.” Y/n gently cuts him off.

“Oh at the lab. Ever since we created his bride he refuses to leave the basement” Pausing she gives a knowing look, “You know how young love is, my Lord.”

Pete makes an ‘ah’ sound, “Yes, yes, I understand. When you return, do let him know he is missed. And that I cannot wait to meet his bride next Halloween.” He winks, adjusting the cuffs on his sleeves, “Please make yourself at home. We’re still waiting on a few more before the festivities of the night fully begin. Until then, the bar is open--as always--and do let me know if you need any more necessities for your upcoming projects.”

“Thank you, Lord Mitchell. My wife and I appreciate your hospitality and generosity greatly.” Bob shook his gloved hand, still able to feel the cold dead skin that laid beneath it. The vampire made his departure, moving to greet other guests. Y/n weaved her arm through Bob’s open arm, letting him guide her to their group of friends they spotted in the distance by the bar.

“Well look at what the wolves dragged in.” Jake Seresin, an incubus famous in both the underground and real world, was the first to notice them. With his ability to seduce and mentally bend people to his will, Jake succeeded in becoming a high profile Hollywood actor. Making it accessible for him to feed on the blood of men and women alike. Unlike Pete, who was a vampire, Jake appeared human and only took the form of his demon counterpart when he hadn’t fed in a long time.

“Seresin,” Bob nodded, glaring when the blonde creature approached to take Y/n’s hand and kiss her knuckles. He had nothing to worry about of course. Y/n was immune to Jake’s charms, threatening to experiment on him the first time he attempted to swoon her.

That had him running with his (literal) tail between his legs.

“Careful, Jake,” Came a teasing feminine voice from the side, “I hear the mad scientists have been searching for Incubi blood on the black market.” Jake sent a glare in the direction of the voice, the couple following it to find Natasha perched on a bar stool, stroking her black cat seated in her lap.

A witch, with family dating back to the Salem Witch Trials, Natasha was the type of woman people couldn’t help but fear and desire. In the small village she lived deep in the forest surrounding, rumors of the witch swarmed with many believing her responsible for the curse on the town's most corrupt and wealthy families.

Well, to them they were rumors….

Y/n slipped past Bob, opening her arms to the woman, “Lovely to see you again on this Holiday, dear Natasha.” The hug was brief, Y/n making sure to offer a light pet to the cat, piercing her with its stare.

“As to you, Madam Floyd.”

“Tell me,” Y/n leaned closer, “Were you successful?” Natashe smirked at the question, whispering under her breath.

“We shall find out once the sun rises. But I can assure you the Supreme Court will think twice before bringing forth groundbreaking cases to overturn.”

“Marvelous,” the doctor awed. She moved along to say hello to their other friends. There was Javy, a werecoyote and Jake’s best friend. The full moon affects him like it does werewolves, but he’d already consumed his monthly dose of Wolfsbane to prevent the transformation from happening.

There was Mickey, a hellhound who served as a guard for the Underworld. Tasked with keeping the secret of the supernatural hidden. One can imagine the headaches Jake gives him with being a celebrity in the real world. When Mickey became his hellhound persona, cracks in his skin appeared like molten lava.

Reuben was present, and thankfully Y/n remembered to wear her iron jewelry. The tall, handsome fairy sipped on his usual cocktail. Like Jake he was the most ‘humanlike’ of the bunch where he could easily walk amongst mortals without causing suspicion. His golden eyes were a stand out, however, often covered by contacts. Of the group he had known Mickey the longest, the two meeting centuries prior during a war between fae and goblins.

“I’m not late am I?” came a booming sound from the main entrance, all heads turning. Jake instantly groaned, the others pleased to see the Alpha werewolf, Bradley Bradshaw, in the flesh with his typical Hawaiian shirt and jeans.

“You’re right on time,” Pete announced from the top of the steps, raising a glass of red liquid. Bradley gave a two finger salute, strutting over to the group and ordered his go to--a pitcher of beer.

“Greetings, fellow myths and legends,” he drank half of the pitcher in a single gulp, winking afterwards, “at least to the humans that is.”

“What took you so long, Bradshaw?” Jake twirled his pue cue, “too busy brushing your winter coat? Or did you have to get one last howl at the moon?”

Used to the jabs, Bradley rebutted with, “Jake, good to see you again as always. You’re looking a little pale though--Did you not have time to drain a virgin before coming? I’m sure Pete can find someone in the nearby town.” Reuben whistled under his breath, Javy letting out a fool blown laugh.

“C’mon you gotta admit that was good,” he nudged Jake, who was very much offended.

“Men,” Y/n muttered, Natasha clicking her glass against hers in agreement. “They’ll never change.”

After several minutes of small talk and drinks, Pete tapped his spoon against his glass. The action is loud enough for supernatural hearing to get everyone's attention. For the mad scientists, they saw the reactions of their friends and followed their direction.

At the top of the mansion's grand staircase, Pete stood beside his wife Penny. The beautiful siren, infamous in Greek mythology for luring shipwrecked men to their death, was stunning in her black gown. Along her arms and neck, rimming her hairline were seafoam green scales, reflecting under the dim gaze of the lights.

“Good evening, everyone,” he began, “Thank you all for coming tonight. You’ve traveled from near and far, let my wife and I be the first to say Happy Halloween!” cheers broke among the crowd. Well really they were howls, moans, and chaotic laughter. “It truly is the best night of the year. And what better way to kick it off than to toast.” Penny was handed a glass of her own red liquid. To the human eye it’d be believed as wine. But to those witnessing below, they were well aware of what its contents contained.

Speaking of those in attendance, they all grabbed their own drinks and brews. Pete lifted his first, “Let us toast to the one time of year we get to leave the shadows. Where the world looks at us as more than creatures of night. They dress up as us,” chuckles echoed, “they consume everything in relation to us. They walk their streets oblivious to the fact we roam behind their shoulders.” Pete pauses, sending a sweet gaze to Penny. “To All Hallow’s Eve!”

“To All Hallow’s Eve!!’ glasses raised, everyone cheersing before downing whatever was left in their goblets. Bradley finished his first pitcher of beer, the bartender sliding down the next one. Natasha poured something out of her flask into her goblet. Leave it to the Witch to travel with her own brew.

“Alright,” Bradley raised the pitcher, “Let’s get this party started!” As if on cue the DJ, who happened to be a mummy, started to play the Halloween classics. Lights flashed on every corner, the dance floor glowing a spooky fluorescent green. Dry ice from the massive cauldron flooded the area.

Ghosts bogeyed during the Ghostbusters theme. Zombies got down and dirty to Michael Jackson’s Thriller. The children had a blast with ‘This is Halloween’ and ‘Time Warp’. Later on Nat and Y/n let loose to Rockwells ‘Somebody’s Watching Me’.

Bob kept his eyes on his wife during that one. Lowkey thinking about ending the party early.

Poker was played amongst the men. Pete even joined alongside two Harpys, Beau and Solomon. During this Y/n and Natasha conversed with Penny. They spoke of Y/n’s experiments, Natasha’s feud with the village she resides by, and Penny’s travels back to Greece earlier that year.

“Oh it was fascinating,” Penny boasted, finishing off her third glass of ‘wine’. “Still as beautiful as I remember, although it still takes time getting used to the fact they now call Anthemoessa ‘Cape Pelorum.’”

“Did you visit the Parthenon?”

“I tried,” the Siren scoffed lightly at the memory, “at night of course when no one was around, but I couldn’t get past the damn door. I’m not surprised though,” she rolled her eyes, “Athena never liked us.”

As Midnight approached the crowd began to gather on the dance floor. Of course the night could not end without playing the couple’s favorite. Once the DJ announced it was time for the grand event, Bob took Y/n’s hand, “May I have this dance, wife?”

“Why of course, husband,” she smirked. “This is our song after all.”

The others had already made way, forming their own little circle and grabbing partners of their own. There was a reason this particular song was favored over the rest. Starting from the very first verse.

“I was working in the lab, late one night. When my eyes beheld an eerie sight. For my monster from his slab, began to rise. And suddenly to my surprise.”

“He did the mash,” the moves Y/n and Bob started to do a twist, similar to Vince and Mia in the iconic dance scene of Pulp Fiction. “He did the monster mash.”

“The monster mash, it was a graveyard smash.” Natasha shimmied with Mickey. “He did the mash, it caught on in a flash.” Penny was spun by Pete. “He did the mash. He did the monster mash.”

A stunning succubus had managed to pull Jake under her spell. How fitting.

“From my laboratory in the castle east. (Wa-ooh) To the master bedroom where the vampires feat. (wa-wa-ooh) The ghouls all came from their humble abodes. (Wa-ooh) To get a jolt from my electrodes.”

Bob pulled Y/n to him, dancing chest to chest, “They did the mash, they did the monster mash.” Javy, Bradley, and Reuben were having a dance battle in the middle of the circle. “The monster mash, it was a graveyard smash. They did the mash, it caught on in a flash.” Y/n giggled, letting Bob twirl her in a circle, “They did the mash, they did the monster mash.”

It was a total spooky vibe. Monsters doing the Mash. Each time Dracula was mentioned everyone pointed to Pete, who rolled his eyes. He did, however, do the Transylvania Twist during its name drop, causing them all to hype him up.

The sun would rise at dawn, they’d all go back to living in the shadows. Back to a place where they were the villains of every story. Subjected to demise by the hero. No longer idolized and embedding fear in everyone who dared think of them. Once the sun rose, another Halloween had come and gone.

But until then, creatures of the night thrived in the darkness to the graveyard smash.

………

[ilgattoblu]

Headcanon time!! I put it in the wenclair tag because it's a good place.

Lets talk about Thing's devastating betrayal in episode 4, shall we. I was so shocked like THING HOW COULD YOU!? You know Tyler is a dick, you even flip him off when you guys met.

But then i thought he had to have ulterior motive like what if Enid and Thing made a bet.

Maybe it happened in one of their tutorial sections, Enid be like, I bet Xavier is going to invites Wednesday to the dance because he has a big crush and Thing, knowing her sadistic teenager, knew that it would never happened, especially now that Wednesday started to suspected him. So he signed, Enid u dumb she'll go with Tyler, already forming the horrible idea to inviting him to the dance for her. Enid, knowing her spooky and smart and beautif- roommate/friend, knew that she wasn't interessed in the normie at all, or comes to think of it, in Xavier either. But she was bored and she accepted the bet, putting her best nail polish as a win.

We all knew how it went, but, after all the fake blood debacle, Enid confronted Thing, covered in red paint and just finished a painfully awkward make out session with Ajax (why is she doing this again?), accusing him of cheating, because come on Wednesday and Tyler?! Thing sighed fervently that Xavier wasn't better either and he tecnically won, so hand the nail polish sister!

The two started fighting and didn't even realized that Wednesday was back, covered in paint and mud. They stopped only when she told them to shut the fuck up, with her low and menacing voice, which made them both froze.

They were dead, they knew that, Edin wished she could really fucking felt something when she kissed someone, at least once in her life, before death tooks her in her cold embrace, but her roommate/friend just told her that Eugene is in the hospital.

Tl:dr: Thing is really vain and really loves the silver moon nail polish.

Also Thing and Enid friendship give me life

[pyxisastronautica]

Guilt

Life in the Ninth was pretty laidback, all things considered. It lacked the hurriedness present in the bigger cities like the First or the Third, the boiling tension of the more exploited cities like the Eleventh or Twelfth, and had less of a reputation of seedy political intrigue compared to the likes of the Fifth or the Eighth. Orek had proven to be the perfect place to start over for four robots in hiding.

Or at least, to pretend that they had. 

Golf, Hotel, Kilo, and November sat around a table where a holographic projection emanated from one of November’s eyes. For the past decade it had been Hotel’s turn, but after settling down in Hades they had decided to start a new campaign and shelf the old one for now, and it was agreed that it was her turn to take the reins. 

On the table was a snowy town, and three figures wandering through it- a shaggy minotaur with a battleaxe at their side and a shield on their back, a hooded gnome strapped with daggers, and a wood elf with a wooden staff. The low and eerie sound of wind whipping through was played as November’s voice layered over it.

“It’s much quieter since the last time you’ve passed through here. Ebrathor, Meedelwurtz, you notice that there’s only a few people around, and all of them are behind their doors. The lights aren’t on.”

“Mmmm, that’s a little spooky. What’s the phase of the moon again?” Golf asked, idly rotating around the hologram of a druid with his finger, which November allowed. 

“Waning crescent- tomorrow will be a new moon.”

“Tomorrow?” Kilo asked, drumming their fingers, “Are they like? Getting a headstart then? Do we see any smoke around?”

“Looking up at the sky a bit, you do indeed see a column of smoke rising from what looks to be the town square.”

“Aw fuck, we were supposed to meet Hippo Wizard again, weren’t we? We should probably make sure it’s not her over there.”

“Lady Wisteria Bellington,” November corrected, “But yes, she was still, as far as you know, waiting at the Hoary Boar for you to come back with that crystal.”

“Sooo, maybe we check there first then?” Hotel offered, bouncing the minotaur figure in their hand to imply talking, “She doesn’t strike me as the kind of lady who’s easy to catch- wizards are notoriously slippery and hippo wizards have GOT to be even doubly so.”

“Tch, Blondie, we can’t chicken out this time, as much as I wanna,” replied Kilo as “Meedelwurtz”. As they folded their arms, so did their character. “If she IS there we gotta bail her out somehow, or we risked our necks for like. A little bit of cool loot and a lot of no extra party member. Plus we need the gold anyway and a bunch of people gawking at a flame is a great opportunity. Just saying.”

“Uggggggh fiiiiine. But if you get caught, we don’t know you. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Shall we away then?” Golf asked, miming tapping a staff on the ground.

“As the Lady would say, ‘Indubitably’,” Kilo replied.

After a moment of further agreement and planning, November readied the next scene, but before it could render a knock on the door cut her short and the projection disappeared altogether.

“Nose goes,” November blurted out.

“But we don’t have-” Kilo started to object before realizing that their compatriots were tapping the nose of their synthetic skins, “Oh, right. Damn.” Letting out a sigh for pure exaggeration, Kilo stood up. “Alright, but the rest of you should check on the food.”

“On it,” Golf said, already on his way into the small kitchen of the two bedroom apartment the four of them shared.

Hotel and November, meanwhile, scrambled to pull out several taped-together sheets of computer paper meticulously illustrated upon with pen, which depicted a copy of the map they had just been using, as well as a handful of painted clay figures.

“Heya Cedes, you’re early! Chicken’s still got thirty minutes to go I hope you don’t-” Kilo shouted as they opened the door to familiar faces, but not the ones they were expecting, “...mind.”

“Sorry Kelv, are we ah…interrupting something?” Asked one of two pretty and only slightly overdressed people standing in front of them- in particular, a svelte dark-haired fellow. 

“Does it matter? Get in here, then.”

Romeo strode past Kilo with Tango in tow, the former pulling out a chair for the latter in a gentlemanly fashion before taking a seat himself. Tango, for their part, immediately started to pick up and examine the pieces on the board with fascination, as if recording their analysis of them.

“So. You’re…back a lot sooner than we thought you’d be, Ro-Ro,” November noted. 

“Got a job for us I venture to guess?” Hotel added.

Romeo quirked an eyebrow at the two of them, opting to reply in messages instead.

R: You’ve gotten rather comfortable with speaking aloud, darling. Have your worries about surveillance been assuaged finally, or are you just getting a little too cozy here while you’re- how did you put it? “On vacation”?

November put her hands on her hips and pouted.

N: This is way more suspicious in a way, if you think about it! And…a little Column A, a little Column B. Besides, you don’t seem too worried about it, showing your face up right at our doorstep.

T: We’ve been careful about the security cameras, I assure you. As far as anyone who cares is concerned, we were never here. And as for everyone who doesn’t, this is nothing more than a social call from a couple friends. Great work on the minis by the way. Golf’s doing? 

N: Kilo’s, actually. Golf did help with the pine trees, though.

T: Really? I took you more for a collector of the arts than an artist yourself, Kilo.

K: What can I say? Sometimes you gotta make the trinkets you wanna see in the world.

Golf walked in and sat down at last, hunched over the table with his head in his hands.

G: They’re Siberian Pines, by the way. It seemed the most fitting for the environs of the setting.

T: Oh? Do you think you’d be able to tell me how they differ from other pines perhaps?

G: I mean, yeah, but…

Golf could have told them in quite a bit of detail, truthfully. They weren’t very good attractive bonsai plants compared to their neighbors, the stone pines, among other differences. But something about dragging out the conversation felt tortuous.

As if sensing their discomfort, Romeo cut the conversation short.

R: …We’ll need about 120 bricks, darling.

K: For what? Another skyscraper?

R: Do you care?

K: …I mean. We care a little.

N: And we’re nosy. You know that. We’d ask anyway.

R: Fair enough. Yes, it’s for another demolition, no, it’s not a skyscraper. She wants them to seal off her current location. She’ll be able to handle it as long as she doesn’t have to deal with reinforcements.

H: Like how she intended to seal off the rest of Hades, I assume?

R: A little less permanent than that, I hope. But yes, for a time they’ll all go dark as far as we’re concerned.

H: How long of a time are we talking here, though? If the collapse she wants destabilizes the entire tunnel it’ll be years before they can dig them out. Two cities- arguably some of the most important cities- just gone like that? It’ll be pandemonium. I know we've been pretty hunky dorey with setting you guys up but I do think that we should maybe have uh. Some. Some standards.

R: The tunnels were built in segments, supposedly, to prevent that kind of failure. Obviously, it’s never been tested though. It’ll probably be a solid month or two, though. Equally obviously, the incentive to dig them out will be very, very high.

Of course, I’m sure that if those efforts go poorly and a mass famine appears to be looming, TCCAI will step in. That is what you expected to begin with, isn’t it?

Anyway, about this Cedes…?

N: Hey. Hey. Fuck you.

I know it’s easy to forget because we just wanted to pretend to have a normal life for a little bit, but we are still robots, same as you. We can’t just fucking give the okay on shit we’re not convinced is a good idea for like, the survival of this civilization. I’d love to be able to blindly trust my captain again but like. People did die in that last blast. It could’ve been city-to-city war right then and there if it weren’t for your lot’s meddling- the only reason we were able to agree to it to begin with.

That doesn’t automatically buy you our trust now. 

H: Does Yuma even actually know what she’s doing with those? I mean. She clearly knows how to use them, but. Has she had Delta and Sierra scan the tunnel to give any credence to their hypothesis? The architecture here might be impressive, but that doesn’t make its builders infallible. I mean, not to be that person, but they were human after all.

T: D ‘n S are still tied up in Taros, I’m afraid. I don’t like this much either, but she doesn’t exactly have many strategic options out there, as I understand it.

R: Say we were to supply you with the equipment and an opportunity to conduct your own assessment? Would you all be willing to take a field trip?

The logisticians looked between each other, as they often did, as if embroiled in some unspoken debate.

G: I mean we won’t start racking up time off for another couple of months, so like…

T: Oh come on. Dears, at least make up your mind as to whether or not you prioritize the wellbeing of the humans here or yourselves. Whether Yuma’s revolution works or Echo sweeps in to gather up the wreckage of it, anything will be better for the people here in the long run than what we’re currently seeing. I know being here may have sheltered you a bit from the cruelties that humans inflict upon one another for the sake of upholding their wealth, but

November chucked a fake pine tree at Tango’s head before they could finish the sentence. They caught it before it could hit them, naturally, but the sentiment remained and it had done its job of taking the robot in front of them off guard.

“You don’t know a damn thing about us,” November hissed, her voice turning softly staticky.

There was another knock at the door. November, who was already standing, elected to be the one to get it this time.

“Ceeeeedeeeees! Hiiiii girl!” she said upon opening the door- to a correct guess this time. Mostly correct at least. Her twelve year old son was standing next to her, fidgeting with something in his pocket. “And Xander? What’s up dude! Come on in, food’s done.”

The table cleared quickly and bowls of seasoned rice and vegetables with chicken were set down. Simple, but filling. Romeo tilted his head at it for a split second, before craning his head over towards the kitchen for and noticing the piles of bowls where Golf had filled and emptied bowls of food back and forth to make the dishes look dirty. 

“Oh, before we eat- Xan, go ahead and show Kelv.”

“I…can wait till afterwards.” 

Kilo tilted their head and grinned. “Awww sorry, man, but your mom ratted you out and now I gotta know. Gonna be SO nosy about it until then, like. What are you holdin’ out on me, you know?”

“But it’s not even that good.”

“So? You still did something and you’re my friend so obviously I’m not gonna harsh on you for it. Now show! C’mon I wanna seeeeee.”

Xander pulled a clay figure out of his pocket. It looked sort of like a purple horse with a yellow belly and red eyes and a long tail that curled on the ground. The artist’s intent was given away, though, by the stiff and uneven attachments on the back of the creature- wings, or something like them.

“I wanted to make one of those creatures you talk about in your games- the dragons. And I really like your figurines so I wanted to try making them too. I can’t…make it look as good as yours do though. It’s really frustrating because like, I know how it’s supposed to look in my head but I just…”

Kilo held out their hand, and received, reluctantly, the figurine. They immediately held it up to the light, inspecting it with wonder as if it were an ancient golden coin.

“Dude, what are you talking about? This is great!” 

“...It literally isn’t though. You don’t have to lie about it.”

“I’m not! Like. Okay, it could definitely use a second pass, but this is your first time making one of these right? Most people using modeling clay would start with like. Blocks. Plates. Balls. Stuff like that you know? This was really ambitious.”

“But I had to restart like, three times before I could even get it this good.”

“So??? That just means you’re stubborn enough to get better at something, which is way more important than any mistake you made building this. You might hate me for this but I really wanna keep this, Xan, if you’ll let me. I think you could make some really cool stuff if you keep at it and this’ll let me see how far you came. Also like. You made something for me. I wanna cry, dude, you’re gonna make me look bad.”

“Kelv, c’mon…”

“Alright, alright. But like. For real, can I use this in my games? Do you have a backstory for this guy already or…?”

“Uhhh, yeah, um. You said dragons usually had fancy names so I named him Morachillanir. He’s like. A good dragon, but not like the regular good dragons. He fights evil dragons, has lightning breath, and knows a lot of magic spells.”

“Dope. Actually,” Kilo turned to look over at November, who was trying to suppress the goofy smile on her face over the whole exchange, “Nova, do you think you could work him in as a guest character?”

“Oh. Yeah, just like, give me ten minutes. Do you wanna sit in on us play for a bit? We decided to get a little time in before you showed up, kinda figured your mom would be in and out like usual.”

Xander looked up at his mother, who looked at her phone for a moment before sighing and shrugging. 

“Well I mean if you’re offering, it could be fun. I kinda wanna catch up with you in a bit though, Nova, if that’s okay.”

“Oh for sure, for sure.”

The impromptu addition of a dragon was, it was agreed upon, going to create a split timeline in their session. But that was of little import. There could be a blue dragon with a color mutation and a love of hunting white dragons, for the sake of seeing someone smile as their character was acted out with full description. 

Afterwards, Golf and Kilo stuck around the table to talk to Xander while the remaining robots gathered in November’s and Golf’s room. November sat down on her bed, patting the space next to her to beckon Cedes, while Hotel, Romeo, and Tango sat down on Golf’s bed.

“I’m…guessing this is about Brune?” November ventured to start.

Cedes nodded. “She got her new legs today. Non-motorized. They were a pretty good price all things considered, low down payment- hazard pay covered it all. The interest is a little steep, but we’ll make it as long as she can keep her job. They’re…determined to try, even though they can’t afford PT. I can tell they’re in pain, but. She’s determined to put on a brave face.”

“I’m…really sorry. If there’s anything we can do to help-”

“You’ve been covering my groceries- and others too, sometimes, don’t think word doesn’t get around- and helping Xan with his homework when I bring him over. That’s way more than enough. Plus, you know,” Cedes fixed an intense, almost pleading look at Hotel, “Even though you couldn’t save her legs, you did save her life, Herak. She’s been wondering why you won't answer her texts.”

Hotel cover their face with their hands. “It should have been all of them. I should have told her to wait in cover.”

“It’s not your fault, it’s fuckin’ Petrin’s. Nobody blames you for that, least of all her.”

Romeo cleared his throat awkwardly. “Dear lady, may I ask what happened to them?”

“Ah, yeah, I. I know we did introductions earlier but, Nova said you just got back in contact after some time, yeah? I’m afraid it’s not a complicated case, Detective: almost two months back now, our boss was negligent in getting a crane fixed and it resulted in it raining a ton of rebar it had been lifting.”

“The guy who was supposed to make sure it was up to code was a full hour and three minutes late,” November added, “and our skinflint, hardass boss who never lets a single soul clock in seconds without giving someone hell didn’t say a damn thing to him about it. I don’t even know what the point of that is, you’d think all that money saved just gets spent on bribing inspectors anyway.”

“You’d think, but as infrequent as inspections are, I guess I can see how it’d save an obol or two in the long run,” Hotel growled, “as long as nothing goes wrong. Which it did.”

“But the blame gets passed onto the crane operator instead,” Cedes elaborated, “I can’t believe Miko’s the one that got fired for that shit. A lot of people are getting fed up. That’s…why I’m here, actually.” Cedes bunched up her hands into a clenched grip on her pants as she willed herself to continue, now staring down Romeo and Tango in particular. “Novvy, Noe, I’m sorry but I know that you’re lying to me about your friends here. You two- I know what you are.”

Tango blinked several times. Romeo looked away, acting like a kicked puppy.

“...Do you now?” Tango asked at last, sounding more flabbergasted than threatening.

“Brune tells me everything. She’s one of the people who helped you move those charges, and you match her description of Nova’s associates. Two weeks later, the big corp in Taros falls, its headquarters collapsed- but the surrounding blocks are fine from how it looks in the papers, as much as they could be in the situation. Not the same kind of blast pattern you’d see from mining explosives. You two are the contacts for the labor movement, I know you are. And I want in.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Hotel interjected before either Romeo or Tango could respond, “Ced-”

“No.”

“Ced-” 

“Listen to me. I know what you’re gonna say, but I want you to at least listen to me first. My grandfather’s from Taros, okay? He risked his life trying to escape. I still have extended family there that I’ve never met. My mom worked at this same damn company Brune does and after forty years of giving her life she gets cut off the minute she literally, literally can’t stand anymore because of how hard it was on her body.  My son is going to grow up and learn that if the world knocks you down nobody is going to help pick you back up. And it’s my fault she even took this job to begin with. I can’t live with all of this weighing me down, I can’t. And I’m not the only one that feels this way. Other people in the company- other people in Orek- have the same stories. I have to do something about it.”

“Cedes…” Nova put a hand on her shoulder, “I know this has been a shit few months, but. At least you still have a wife and a kid. If you get caught, you are going to lose everything and everyone. And I don’t just mean they’ll be taken from you- you’re going to die, and so will they.”

“We’ll die slow of hunger anyway if something isn’t done to fix this. Brune’s health…it’s fragile right now. And I don’t make enough to help her if something goes wrong because of her injuries and put food on the table.”

“You don’t need to worry about that. We’ve got you, Ced, we’ve always had your back about that,” Hotel told her, standing up only to sit a little awkwardly on the other side of her on the edge of the bed.

“I know. I know, and it means the world to me, but you lot are putting yourselves in danger. What if you get caught because I didn’t do something? What then? I could give up Xander to my in-laws, maybe. I haven’t spoken to them in a while- they…definitely blame me for her taking the job instead of taking that scholarship to get into Manus, but I think they’d understand. But Brune? She’s doomed if nothing changes. We both are.” Cedes took another deep breath and steeled herself.

“So. What do I have to do to get in on this?”

Romeo pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. He looked guilty still as he looked at Cedes, but swallowed it as he proceeded. He didn’t have his dear Juliet’s iron will and grace, but he would do what he needed to regardless.

“...I’d like to first ask if you knew we were coming.”

“I didn’t. This is pure luck, actually. I was going to have a talk with Nova and Noel about this anyway, maybe ask to get into contact with you. This definitely saved some time, at least.”

“Okay, followup question: how many of Brune’s coworkers are in your corner about this? As in, how many do you think would be willing to organize?”

“Everyone in her crew, certainly. She got drinks with people in other crews sometimes, too. Maybe I’ll ask her about which ones.”

“That…will be good enough for now. I’m sure you’ll hear more from Nov and Noe first, but we’ll be in touch from here on. I can’t promise you immediate retribution for what’s been done, but I can tell you that your contributions will make a difference, and that if what you say about Orek is true, that difference could be what ensures a better future for this city in the end.”

After a little more casual chatter, Cedes and Xander left, the latter taking with him a few sheets of note paper that Kilo and he had started brainstorming new ideas for models on.

As the door clicked closed, Romeo’s shoulders dropped as he walked over to the blinds covering the view to the patio, peeking out through them for a moment before turning his head to the side.

“Tomatoes and carrots aren’t known to make good bonsais, are they, Golf?”

Golf folded his arms. “Guess not.”

Romeo sighed before turning around. “I…suppose I owe you all an apology. You’re always so flippant and unbothered by everything. You never even mentioned her before now.”

“We never wanted any of them to get swept up in this. Not…not so soon. And not because of us, certainly. But it’s bad for all of us if Yuma gets herself caught or totalled. But it’s not like we don’t care- we can’t avoid caring any better than you can.”

Tango put an arm around Hotel, who seemed to be fairly miserable about the whole exchange still.

“I know we’re not Juliet, but. You can talk to us, even so. If you want, that is. None of us are doing this on our own.”

The four of them looked between each other.

“You know, T, we really were excited to get these stupid jobs,” Hotel started, “Maybe we had some grander purpose out in space, but we knew we were never going to see the fruits of all of that pointless planning. Even less so once we knew TCCAI was taking over in the future. Here, even though we’re not doing much, we can see the direct impact we have on humans’ lives. Call it illogical, but that counts for something to us.”

“And like. What do you all even want from us, anyway?” November asked, “We’re not genius inventors or decisive leaders or even especially useful lunatics. All of our jobs could have been done by models that weren’t even sentient- I’m a clock for stars’ sake- it feels like the only reason we exist is because we’re part of a boxed set.”

Romeo frowned deeply. “You…You know none of us ever thought of you like that, though, right? You doing your jobs made ours easier, gave us the room to focus on our own purpose. If anything, we…sort of took you for being people who were slacking at important work we needed you for. I…suppose I never really stopped to interrogate why you were like that, and just assumed boredom. I’m sorry, darlings.”

“And,” Tango added, “whether you meant to or not, you have been changing things here. The people here must have a deep sense of community with you and each other to be willing to support the requests we’ve made of you, and you of them. That in itself is a valuable thing and more than I honestly expected.”

“Yeah, well,” Kilo shrugged, “We like it here. We like helping people, helping this neighborhood, even if it’s just in mundane, achievable ways. Of course we do. Feels good, you know? Hell, it’s not even like we hated helping you guys, it just felt shitty feeling useless. And being bored- not gonna lie, that was definitely part of it. How the rest of you could keep it together with fuckall else to do I’ll never know.”

“As you’ve learned, the world’s full of little things to do. Like karaoke nights. I miss those, don’t you?”

“Sure do…” November sighed, before walking up next to Romeo and elbowing him in the chassis, “Speaking of old hobbies, do you have any gossip for us?”

Romeo touched the back of his hand to his forehead dramatically. “Oh thank goodness, I was starting to fear your time here was making you all less incorrigible.” But a sly smile appeared on his face as he continued, “I might, though.”

The division’s eyes lit up- November’s especially. “Come on, then,” she egged on, “spill!”

“Well. I might have heard from a Capital B Birdie that our new Captain has a new crush.”

“Whaaat? No way, does that mean the previous one is over already?”

“I doubt it. Someone as historically repressed as our dear Engineer probably has room inside their core for a third one yet, I’d wager.”

“Well who’s the new one, then?”

“Some mercenary in their employ. I haven’t met him yet, but he sounds like the strong, silent type from what I hear.”

“Poor thing must be awfully patient to be bossed around by E all day.”

“Perhaps. But then, who’s to say that’s not a sign of possible reciprocation…?” Tango shrugged, then leaned forward, “How about you four? Surely someone must’ve caught your eye in these parts, no?”

Hotel shook their head and grumbled, “This undercover shit is poison for one’s love life. Also it’s gonna kinda suck if we bring someone home and end up having to go back to space again.”

“On that front I must sadly concur,” Romeo agreed, holding his head in his hands, “It is such a shame, though. Everywhere around us are such lovely, beautiful people. Oh but to take a warm hand in mine, to achieve closeness with our predecessors.”

“Can’t doing anything for you there, I’m afraid,” Golf said, but held up a hand for a high five, “but hey. Next best thing?”

Romeo smirked and returned the high five.

“Indeed it is.”

[heinous-desiree]

UNO REVERSE

WHAT WOULD YOUR PCS DRESS UP AS FOR HALLOWEEN?

HALLOWEEN- Jas:

She has missed one Halloween celebration (was too busy working to realize where was any celebration) and went as a witch in another. This year? She's going in a belly dancer outfit, feeling sexy and fun. She got the idea from Aladdin, she originally was gonna get the outfit in teal to be Jasmine but preferred the outfit Jasmine was in when Jafar held her captive more. Maybe she'll seduce her way to victory this Halloween~ Her favorite part of Halloween is being able to wear whatever she wants and seeing how happy the kids at the orphanage get. Hunter:

He has his vampire jacket on. Now offer your neck so he can take a quick bite outta you, he's thirsty. He really picked this cause this was the sexiest male costume he found. He is not gonna be a skeleton or scarecrow when he can be the mysterious, dark, desired monster of the night. He'll suck on your neck and then your dic- He's here for a fun night... All types of fun.

Celeste:

OUR SISTER SHALL BE CHASTE THIS SPOOKY SEASONNNN. PRAISEEEE THE LORDDDD. They said she can be anything she wanted to be, she literally went shopping with the intention of finding what could be a costume and saw the nun outfit. She loves the church and she's actually trying to celebrate this Halloween! Why not mix two good things together? Sure, people are baffled by her outfit choice. Some people from school saw her look a bit done of her, but SHE'S having a great night! She gets to spend time with her friend Robin, the kids are laughing, she's in a good mood and- Oh god, Kylar and Whitney-

Maeve:

Maeve saw how short the dress was and was all for it. He's a cute little witch! He needs as much candy as you can give for his next potion! You'll be generous with your sweets, won't you? Out of all my PCs, he is the one with the biggest sweet tooth. He loves candy and wants to get the sugar high of his life. He also loves when strangers compliment his outfit, it makes him feel warm and fuzzy. Cause he is so small, he tends to get mistaken as younger than he is, which makes people sweeter and more willing to give him EXTRA candy. He is gonna milk his appearance for all it's worth! If my PCs can dress without the costume limitations of the game?

Jas would want to try something new every year so she might go through all types of dancer outfits she can get her hands on, then do sexy cat girl, succubus, etc. She will wear anything that catches her eye.

Hunter would dress up as a werewolf. He already has the ears and tail! He just needs some sexy aesthetically ripped clothes and he's good to go. He thinks werewolves are hot and should get allllll the love. No, he doesn't think that out of bias. Now rub his stomach. ... Lower... Lower... Lowe- Oh. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Celeste would either dress up as biblical figures or historical ones. She would roleplay them too and make it EDUCATIONAL to everyone around her. Someone, please force her into a silly dumb costume so she can just have fun.

Maeve would freaking COSPLAY if given the chance. Krul Tepes from Owari no Seraph, Moka Akashiya from Rosario to Vampire, Yui from Angel Beats, Chibiusa from Sailor Moon, Yuno Gasai from Mirai Nikki, Zero Two from Darling in the FranXX- Just pink anime girls all the way. He is a weeb and he is gonna show it!

[animaginaryartblog]

[Image ID: a sketchy, partly colored five panel comic.

The first panel recreates a cutscene from Sonic frontiers. Sonic has been fully cybercorrupted and stands limply. Beside him, Amy, Knuckles, and Tails look up at the sky. Glitching text boxes transcribe the spooky sky voice's words: "Since time immemorial I have languished here. The locks are broken."

The second panel is the same group shot, but from an above angle. Sonic still stands limply; Amy looks up at the sky with grim determination, while Knuckles scowls angrily and Tails looks thoughtful. "Now I shall tear down the wall between dimensions," continues the sky voice, as Tails mutters, "dimensions?" "And-" The sky voice cuts off as a vortex of fire appears in the background.

The third panel is a zoomed out above angle. Knuckles, Tails, Amy, Sonic, as well as Eggman and Sage floating off to the side with the Eggmobile, are all tiny stick figures. The sky voice says, "...is that a cat?"

The fourth panel is a close up of Dr. Eggman's face as he cries with alarm, "She's got a gun!"

In the final panel, Blaze the Cat holds a gun in her outstretched hand, her figure cast in dramatic shadow as her fangs are bared in fury. Behind her, sound effects reads "BLAM BLAM". /end ID]

how Sonic Frontiers should've ended. look, you can't just mention "the wall between dimensions" and expect me to not think of Blaze the Cat, resident extradimensional princess who I'm sure would love a chance to fight The Moon. bring her back SEGA. you cowards.

based on this:

which I only found because of theminiyuna's incredible Rise of the TMNT version: https://theminiyunart.tumblr.com/post/704521093785976832/miniyunart-happy-holidays

[honeys-clangen]

FNAFClan - Moon Twelve

(season: Greenleaf)

Freddy Quickbear stands above the clan and proclaims that Bearpaw shall now be known as Bearfoot, honoring their enterprise. Freddy gifts him a black bowtie, to make his graduation official, and Bearfoot wells up with pride. So much so, that he spends the entire rest of the day beaming with it. 

Manglepaw’s penchant for getting into, and even starting, trouble has almost made Freddy Quickbear hold back on making her a warrior. However, Freddy can tell that Manglepaw has been trying really hard lately to make up for it, and it would feel cruel to make him wait any longer. So, Freddy Quickbear names them Mangledfox in honor of their energy. Foxthrift is proud to give them their cardinal feathers.

(note: yeah I wanted to give an assigned accessory to the Foxies so I chose the cardinal feathers. So they both have that now. 

As Shadowpaw touches noses with Witheredbear, they hope they’ll get to do something that will really impress the clan on their first day. Maybe they could catch a big, fat rabbit? Or chase off a dog! That’ll show the clan they’re the best apprentice anyone’s ever seen!

Almost immediately after Balloonpaw touches noses with Endotail, they start babbling on, asking and prodding about when they’ll go out and explore the territory. Or hunt. Or fight. Seemingly, Balloonpaw’s torrent of words is endless. 

Jaypaw touches noses with Endopaws, who seems just as nervous as her. She looks at them with shining eyes, and they suddenly feel a burst of confidence. They can do this. She’ll be the best warrior anyone has ever seen, and Endopaws will be the best mentor, too!

Gildedpaw, shocking the clan, walks up to Freddy Quickbear with blank, expressionless eyes and tells him bluntly that he will be working alongside Marionettefang. The healer steps up from the crowd and says that, even though this is a surprise to her, she won’t refuse to train a cat with such promise. Freddy decides he will allow it, and as Gildedpaw touches noses with Marionettefang, he doesnt quite smile, but does seem pleased. 

Chickenjaw’s dislocated joint has popped back into place and is feeling much better. Though, shes embarrassed to find Shinyrabbit and Bearfoot teasing her and Chickenfoot about their penchant for leg injuries. Shadowbunny comments that is must be a Cbica thing. Chickenfoot takes it in stride, chuckling from her spot beside Bunnysong. Chickenjaw, however, does not feel the same. 

Patrols:

One - Marionettefang waits until they're out of camp to reveal to Gildedpaw that they're hunting for catmint. A 'helpful' group of 'helpers' can be just a little, well, unhelpful. Catmint is just a little too exciting for most of their clanmates to keep their heads around, but she wants to take advantage of the greenleaf season. Marionettefang and Gildedpaw are able to bring a whole bunch of the herb back to camp.

Two - Endopaws takes Jaypaw out to see a herd of Bison that had been reported in FNAFClan territory. Jaypaw is over the moon, and when they get back to camp, she won't stop rambling about them. She thinks she'll have the sound of those thundering hoofsteps in her mind forever.

Three - It's a dry morning, Endotail has Balloonpaw practice tunnel navigation in a long abandoned badger sett. Balloonpaw thinks its definitely easier than the burrows rabbits make, and its got the added bonus of masking all the times he walked face first into a wall.

Two cats were found, and both joined the clan.

Aaand..

Two spooky phantom cats! what will they do

[ghoulsister1]

🎃SpookTober 31 Days Prompts🎃:

Day 23: Vampires🩸

Dracula (2006) X Female!Reader. Some suggestive spicy content. AU: Modern Vampire. TW: Blood. Blood Drinking. Some violence with biting. Fluff. Vampires in love with each other. Vampire couple goals. Spooky season. SpookTober Prompt: Vampires🩸

●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●

☆●~Dinner For Two~●☆

You and Dracula go for a night out on a full moon autumn night, indulge in a little fancy masquerade party, meet some folks and grab a bite or two. Just two vampires, living it up and getting spooky together.

October 23rd, 2023.

7:00pm.

The sun had set a while now and the dark was creeping in, slowly and steadily. A crescent moon was promised tonight and the air grew cold with that crisp autumn chill.

You smiled as you adjusted your skirt for the 100th time, running your hands over the soft material as you smoothed out some creases. You looked in the mirror, seeing your reflection fading away slowly. You were hungry but tonight you'll solve that problem, alongside your husband, the vampire Dracula himself. Your dark King of the night and you, his dark Queen.

You took up a brush and combed your hair a little more before the door opened, your husband Dracula walking in and a smirk gracing his plush lips at the sight of you, making you smile in a flirty yet mischievous way.

"My, you look absolutely ravishing dear" Remarked Dracula who walks up behind you, placing one hand on your waist and bringing one hand around to tilt your chin up to him, pressing your back close to his chest in the process.

"My darling husband, you look handsome as ever. A real treat, all for me" You Smile as you grasp his hand and press a tender kiss to it, making Dracula smirk in the process.

"Are you ready for tonight?" Asked Dracula, leaning his head closer to your ear, his soft breath tickling you and making you giggle.

"Of course love. Let me grab my jacket and let's go" You Replied and turning around, you two shared in a quick but passionate kiss before breaking to grab your jacket and him to grab his hoodie.

And with that, you two headed out the door and into the night and into the awaiting city.

The two of didn't need to wander too far for a bit of fun. Turns out, there was a fancy masquerade party going on and anyone who had a mask was allowed in. Deciding to swipe two masks from a stall, you both headed inside to a grand Hotel where there was a large and luxurious ballroom where there was quite the crowd. Perfect for scouting a quick bite or two.

"The crowd is perfect cover my dear, along with our clever disguises" You Giggled as you put a sinister voice which made Dracula chuckle. You placed on your mask and Dracula did the same and you both slipped into the crowd, hoping to scout out a potential blood bag.

15 mins into the masquerade party and you both found someone. A young woman, a little drunk but not completely wasted and she was a beauty. With long, auburn hair that housed the scent of tangerine, sunshine and cinnamon all mixed into one that made Dracula's eyes darken instantly and yours too. Looking at each other, you both smirked.

"Shall we, dear?" Asked Dracula in a low, sultry voice.

"Yes darling" You Agreed without hesitation. You both approached the lady and switched on the charm, hoping to draw her in and lure her away to a secluded spot to feed on her. Up close to her now, you both could smell that sweet and savoury blood coursing through her veins, the alcohol in her system adding a special warmth to it. You licked your lips, thinking about sinking your aching fangs into her soon.

"Why hello young lady, quite a party it is!" Remarked Dracula smiling. The young lady giggled and stepped closer to you two, obviously tipsy.

"It's a bitchin' party!!" The young lady screamed joyfully. You laughed along with her, lulling into your grasp.

"It is, me and my party were wondering if you'd like to join us tonight" You Suggested in a sweet tone as she gave you a big grin with glazed eyes, wrapping her arms around both you and Dracula with a giggle.

"Oh sure! I love....*hic* meeting new people! Let's rock this fucking house down!" The young lady cheered with a laughter and you both laughed along with her. The two of you offered her some more drink, which proved helpful in making her a little more, compliant. More easier to lure away from prying eyes.

"Shall we go somewhere more, private?" You Suggested in a sultry voice. The woman looked between you and Dracula, eyes wide.

"You mean......with you two.....alone?" Slurred the woman. You and Dracula chuckled together. Dracula tilted the woman's chin to face him and he gave her a delicious smirk that made you almost feral with want.

"Why of course. Only that is, if you want to" Smirked Dracula, giving her a lick across her neck that made her gasp. You then took the opportunity to gently grab her neck and turn her face towards yours, giving her a devilish smile that made her heart flutter.

"We won't bite, we want to have fun tonight and you, look like lots of fun" You Remarked and give her kiss to her lips that made her give a whimper of need as she looked from you to Dracula.

"So, do you want to have some fun?" Asked Dracula. The young lady moaned and gave you both a flirty smile.

"I fucking do" The young lady smiled drunkenly.

You both had lured outside to large grounds of the hotel and into a secluded grove of trees that offered the perfect cover.

Once there, the young lady grabbed Dracula and began kissing him. Dracula of course obliged and as he did, he opened his eyes to see you quietly approach from behind her, fangs out and ready. Dracula broke the kiss and looked at the woman with a dark smirk.

"Let us begin" Smirked Dracula and as the lady turned around, you attacked. Grabbing her and pushing her to the ground and sinking your fangs into her wrist, using your other hand to cover mouth and silence her screams. Dracula crept down and with his fangs, plunged them deep into her neck. And you both drank from her as she slowly grew more and more quiet.

You both drank until she was drained and when you both were finished, your mouths were stained crimson.

"That was a fine drink darling!" You Gasped with joy and pleasure, feeling the warmth of the blood spread through you. You licked your lips as Dracula came close and with his lips stained red, you both shared a deep, passionate kiss. Tongues battling for dominance as well as chasing the taste of blood, making you moan with delight as Dracula deepened the kiss with a lustful growl that made you shiver.

When kiss broke, you both gasped and stared into each other's eyes.

"How was that, my sweet?" Asked Dracula with a smirk. You stared at him, pupils blown up and eyes wide.

"Exhilarating!" You Gasped and you both shared a dark and lustful smirk together before heading away.

"Shall we head to find some entertainment?" Suggested Dracula and you eagerly nodded, linking your arm with his and together you both headed off further into the city, the gas lamps all glowing.

A group of kids ran by, all excited for Halloween to come and you couldn't help but chuckle at the sight. Dracula chuckled along with you as you leaned closer to him as you two continued to walk along the street.

You two stopped in at a local pub, the warmth inside inviting you two in to sit down and share a little drink together. Despite being vampires, you both could eat and drink human food too, a luxury some vampires don't always have.

"What a lively atmosphere tonight" You Remarked with a smile as you looked to see quite a crowd, most sitting by the large stone fireplace where a burning fire blazed away, sharing in some old tales and stories.

"It is, quite a lively crowd of patrons tonight. Shall we order my dear?" Asked Dracula.

"Yes, we shall" You Agreed.

You ordered a delightful strawberry daiquiri and for Dracula, a glass of red wine. You both sat and sipped at your drinks, sometimes engaging in small conversation and sometimes just sitting and enjoying the comfortable ambience around you both.

You felt Dracula's eyes on you and you looked at him.

"What?" You Asked, giggling.

"Just admiring how beautiful you are" Answered Dracula smirking as he saw you blush and smile warmly at him.

"Always with a way with words" You Remarked smiling. Dracula softly chuckled and reached across the table, lacing his fingers with yours.

"I will always have words to praise you with, forever for eternity" Dracula Spoke softly.

"And I, will always love you forever and ever, through centuries and decades" You Replied softly. The two of you leaned in and shared a kiss.

You spent a while out and about, eventually having one last partaking in blood before returning home.

"What a delightful evening that was my darling! We must do again sometime!" You Smiled and Dracula wrapped his arms around you, holding you close.

"We will my dear, I must say I too had a most memorable evening tonight and it was made even better with you by my side" Remarked Dracula as he pressed a tantalising kiss to your sweet spot on your neck, sending an electrifying buzz through you and making you shiver deliciously.

"Ah! But the night still lingers on and though I've had my fill of the rich crimson nectar, alas I'm hungry for something else" You Replied and turned to face your undead lover.

"And what, may I ask, would that be?" Asked Dracula in a smooth, seductive tone that made you quiver.

"You. In our bed, together" You Whispered lustfully. Dracula's eyes darkened and in a blur of movement, had swept you up into his arms.

"Then let us not dwell any longer my love" Dracula Remarked lustfully with a growl.

You two made your way upstairs to the bedroom, where you two indulged in a pleasurable embrace as the night waned on until morning came and you both were asleep in each other's arms, undead hearts both full of love.

●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●

[fableandfandoms]

👻 Spooky Costume Party - Cedian 👻

The moon hung high in the night sky, casting a silvery glow over Enchancia as the palace prepared for its annual Spooky Costume Party. The halls were adorned with glowing jack-o'-lanterns, cobwebs, and cheerful ghosts that danced along the walls. Laughter and excitement filled the air as guests from all over the kingdom gathered to celebrate Halloween. Cedric the Great was in his chamber, staring at the assortment of costumes laid out before him. He had promised Princess Vivian that they would attend the party together, but he hadn’t anticipated how challenging it would be to choose the perfect outfit. He wanted to look impressive but also playful—something that reflected his fun side while still being magical.

“Cedric!” Vivian called, her voice echoing from the hallway. “Are you ready yet?”

“Almost!” Cedric replied, quickly adjusting his cape. He had settled on a classic wizard outfit, complete with a pointed hat and shimmering stars that sparkled as he moved. He twirled his wand playfully, feeling a rush of confidence. “What do you think?”

As Vivian entered the room, Cedric’s heart skipped a beat. She was dressed as a charming witch, her elegant black dress flowing gracefully with every step. A black hat perched atop her head, adorned with a sparkling silver band. Her smile was radiant, and she carried a tiny broomstick, completing the look perfectly.

“Cedric, you look amazing!” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “I love your costume!”

“Thank you! And you look enchanting, Vivian,” Cedric replied, feeling his cheeks warm at her compliment. “Shall we?”

Hand in hand, they made their way to the grand ballroom, where the festivities were already in full swing. Colorful lights twinkled overhead, and a variety of costumes surrounded them—knights, fairies, and even a few playful monsters filled the room. The atmosphere buzzed with laughter and lively music, creating a sense of enchantment that made Cedric’s heart race.

“Let’s dance!” Vivian said, tugging on his hand, pulling him toward the dance floor. The music played a lively tune, and the energy of the crowd was infectious.

Cedric followed her lead, his earlier nerves melting away as they twirled and spun together. He found himself laughing and enjoying the moment, feeling lighter than he had in ages. As they danced, they exchanged playful banter, each step bringing them closer together.

After a few rounds on the dance floor, they decided to take a break. “Let’s get some treats!” Vivian suggested, leading Cedric toward a table laden with delicious Halloween-themed snacks—pumpkin cookies, caramel apples, and colorful candies.

As they indulged in their sweet treats, Vivian’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “You know, I heard there’s a haunted corner of the palace. Want to check it out?”

Cedric raised an eyebrow, pretending to consider it. “Haunted? I’m a powerful wizard, you know. What would I be afraid of?”

“Exactly! Let’s go show those ghosts who’s boss!” she replied, her laughter ringing through the air as she took his hand again.

They made their way through the party, excitement bubbling in their chests as they navigated the maze of revelers. Finally, they found themselves in a dimly lit corner of the palace, where shadows danced eerily along the walls.

“Is it really haunted?” Cedric asked, his bravado wavering slightly as he peered into the darkness.

Vivian giggled, stepping closer to him. “Just a little! But I bet it’s just for fun.”

As they ventured deeper, a gust of wind swept through the corridor, sending chills down Cedric’s spine. Suddenly, a ghostly figure floated before them, its eyes glowing eerily. “Who dares to enter my domain?” the ghost intoned dramatically, swaying as if caught in a breeze.

Cedric’s heart raced, but he quickly remembered the spells he had practiced. “We mean no harm! We’re just here for some Halloween fun!” he said, trying to sound brave.

Vivian squeezed his hand, and the ghost paused, a mischievous grin spreading across its ethereal face. “Well, if you’re here for fun, let’s see if you can handle a little challenge!”

The ghost conjured a series of riddles, each one more challenging than the last. Cedric and Vivian worked together, their minds racing as they solved each riddle, laughter bubbling between them as they shared ideas and playful banter.

Finally, after solving the last riddle, the ghost clapped its hands in delight. “You’ve proven yourselves worthy! Enjoy the rest of your Halloween night!” With that, it vanished into a swirl of sparkles, leaving them standing in the dimly lit corner, still buzzing with excitement.

“See? Not so scary after all!” Vivian grinned, her eyes bright with excitement. “That was so much fun!”

Cedric chuckled, relief washing over him. “You were right. It was more exciting than I thought.”

As they emerged back into the lively atmosphere of the party, Cedric felt a surge of happiness. The evening had been filled with laughter, surprises, and a little bit of magic—just the way he liked it.

“Thank you for making this Halloween special, Vivian,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes. “I can’t imagine having done this with anyone else.”

Vivian beamed back at him, her cheeks slightly pink. “Me neither, Cedric. You make everything more fun!”

As the night continued, they danced, shared stories, and savored the sweet taste of candy. Cedric realized that the true magic of Halloween wasn’t in the costumes or the treats, but in the laughter and the memories they created together.

With every moment, Cedric knew that the bond they shared was the most enchanting spell of all.

[me-uglypretty]

letters to your lover 

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x F!Reader

Summary: Letters to a dear friend, promises made with part of each other to safe-keep, and the bloody secrets only known to two.

Warning: 18+ (G), au, kinda cult-ish wanda and reader, blood, killing, dead bodies, violence, mention of knife, brief mention of smut | 5200 Words

| spooky week '22 masterlist | Notify | Navigation |

Dear Wanda,

After receiving the devastating news of your husband’s passing, I had shared my grief to the pastor and prayers to the almighty, our lord and saviour. We are nothing but the common people with voices hoping for better days, the God above must’ve listened.

My reasons for this lengthy letter to you; a promise that I shall visit soon and offer a shoulder for your head to rest. A promise that you may leave your sorrow for me to hold as we sit and drink your favourable tea. I hope you still favour your Sokovian tea cold.

Wanda, I know how your love for him was great and he was a kind man. Those time together would be treasured.

However, this letter has excited me for my visit to your dear home of Sokovia.

And— I saw the moon tonight. She was thriving in the night sky. Glowing so beautifully and I felt her touch my skin. I hope the sun was bright enough for you.

Wanda…I am so happy to see you again.

- Your dearest, sunshine.

February—1866

The morning mist engulf your body with chills, winter’s tease leaves a huff of translucent cloud of smoke from your mouth. Nothing transforming had occurred in Sokovia since your stay, approximately five years ago. Leaving your childhood home was your utmost conclusion. By the reasons of which leaves you in a puddle of tears.

While those memories fade into the past, your body felt lighter as you walk down your treasured town. The once horrid scene at Uncle Tony’s Bakery doesn’t gnaw at your heart anymore nor does the reminder of a kiss that spew sickness from your previous night’s dinner.

He wasn’t the one, you had assured yourself at first. Vision was simply a puppet. The flawless textbook of a man that her family glorified. His family lived a glorious life; helpers was scattered around his mansion, gold lining on porcelain plates and cutleries, clothes pressed neatly, and his parents were pronounced dead after a hideous case of the flu.

Sadly enough, Vision survived. Among the various estates that was now threaded with his name, he didn’t leave Sokovia or travelled the world. It wasn’t his town nor was it yours.

But you knew it better.

When you last saw her in immaculate condition, however, you didn’t expect for your feet to lead you back to her house. Not the highest building in town, but her decaying home once housed her parents and her twin brother. A memorable landmark for a quarter of your childhood when first met with hers.

Taking attentive steps in direction of the timeworn wooden door, your fingers twirls the lock of hair seized by a scarlet ribbon. You often held on to the last precious part of her, the silky bronzed strands that dejectedly doesn’t smell like her anymore. But the touch rattles your insides. Wanda’s hair still holds her essence in your possession.

Your free hand slides across tattered wood, a hallow sound of knocks emits and the distance sound of steps inside. Deep breaths, and the door unlocks to reveal her.

“Wanda…” you gasped, flinging your body into hers and the recognizable arms around your body solidifies your mind from worries. “I miss you, my moon…” and you hear her murmurs of response, the tender fingers bruising your heart when she touches your skin.

Wanda laughs, parting from your body slightly as to see your face and her hands grasps your face. Her lips quivers and eyes glossy, “I got your letters, all of them.”

Her voice loops around your throat and you couldn’t utter a word after, only nodding your head as her forehead leans against yours. When eyes shut close, rejoice flushes in different shades behind your eyelids and her body flush with yours, influences your mind as she easily steers you into her home.

To watch her, feels as though seeing a well composed orchestra. The strings from instruments far too expensive for you to own, but enough to pilot your heart’s desire and she is that; assembling music in clear air, emerald eyes twinkling as she speaks and pleasantly reaching for your hands, how candle light flickers at every instance of her silvery voice, and your heart plummeting from her mere gaze.

“I don’t have anything, but you are all that I know,” Wanda confessed, round cheeks glistering from fallen tears. “You can’t leave me anymore,” she pleaded as she clutches to your hands.

Undoubtedly, your hands lift her hands to your mouth and press a tender kiss on her skin. The poised of your words and action was plenty for her heart to understand. Wanda doesn’t worry and neither do you, not when your hand guides her forward.

“They would never come between us,” you promised.

Wanda gleefully hauls your body into hers, and when lips meet—your felt the earth rumble beneath your feet, clouds shifting in the sky, the colours around seems so evolve as her tongue traces your bottom lip, and she invites herself into your mouth. It will always be perfect, with her, with you.

Dear Wanda,

I’m sadden by my sudden departure.

But I hope you understand my reasons for leaving our dear town. It wasn’t easy for me to finally accept my family’s proposal to live in the new city. Please tell me how you feel, Wanda.

I heard you wedded him. Does he treat you like your romance novels? Please let me know. I will talk to him if he doesn’t treat you as that, a beautiful princess. You had always dreamed of a fairy tale love.

My afternoons are dull here. So are my mornings and nights. Nothing excites me anymore. I miss our daily tea and cakes. Do you still bake? I miss the taste of your irreplaceable food. I would cheerfully author a book to explain my love for your scrumptious food and your kind heart. Wanda, my dear friend, your heart is immense with kindness, of magnificent love, and you are always so helpful.

I must end this letter here as father request my attendance. Everyone misses you. But I miss you the most. Never dare forget that.

I hope we meet soon.

- Your dearest, sunshine.

December—1844

The twins celebrated their birthday last month. A wonderous bread was feasted at dawn. Wealth wasn’t threaded with their names to allow them more. Wanda doesn’t summon her brother after their family’s petite celebration as Pietro was happily chatting with his friends after the split of bread between their four family members. The Maximoff were everything kind, but not filthy rich as compared to their children’s close friend, Vision.

Wanda doesn’t dwell in their underprivileged life either. The unmeasurable love blessed within her family was enough. She doesn’t allow the show of expensive dresses to ache her heart as the others seems to believe objects were more treasurable. Additionally, her friends or just one, partakes a significant piece of her livelihood.

Few houses down, opposite Miss Agatha’s store, a modest home for a family and where her timid friend lives. You were different, awfully quiet, traceable where you step, and certain when surrounded in your element. Wanda liked you from the first greetings between families, and how you were gracious as you waved at her. A generous offer for your last candy was the ultimate seal to a marvellous friendship.

But there was always a horrid cloud hovering over your frame when Vision stepped into her sight and at once, you bid farewell. Excuses that fell upon her wasn’t your truth.

And she knew better.

At age eleven, Wanda was exceptionally smatter than most. Regardless of their interpretation on a woman’s intelligence. That was when she discovered you were the same. Equally observant, tendencies of mischief if kept out of peering eyes, and a want for knowledge. Adventure was there too.

“I’m going for a walk!” Wanda yelled, trying to peer into the window of your house. “I know your parents aren’t home.”

She was correct when the wooden door screeched open. You stand behind, folding your arms over the nightgown that swallows your body. It was a passed down gown from cousins. The silence nudges her forward as she steps into your house and you closed the door, quietly following her.

“You have been avoiding me, sunshine” Wanda pointed her forefinger accusingly at you. “Please explain, what did I do wrong…” she breathed out, her accent fluttering at every word as a wave of tears washes over her cheeks and you dived to wipe her tears.

“No, no, don’t cry,” you pleaded as she wheezed, and you instantly embrace her. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I’m sorry, please don’t cry. I can’t see you in sadness.”

There was a distinguish shift on innocent friendship after that night. A thread of forever in tender hands as young hands grasp a seamstress’ scissor, owned by Wanda’s mother, and wordlessly borrowed. Round eyes watch as the silver blade wedge between lengthy hair, the clink sounded sacred in young ears and a smile spread upon your face as she ties the lock of her hair with a scarlet ribbon.

“A part of me will always be with you,” Wanda presses the lock of hair on your palm. “Promise me, it will always be us?” her hands trembles in yours and you nodded your head.

“Always us,” you promised, smiling widely as she presses her forehead on yours.

The messily knotted yellow ribbon secures your lock of hair. Part of you with her, part of her with you, and the rest wouldn’t know the extent of devotion between two friends.

Dear Wanda,

I found someone. I know, you must laugh at my abrupt confession. But please read before you burn this letter. I know how you must be upset to know this.

He promised me an enormous wedding if I was to say yes. I don’t know what to do. Oh Wanda, I hope you were here to help me. You always knew what was right.

But you are married and occupied with your wife duties. I wish our friendship was still lively as it was when we were young. Has it really been two years since we last met? I miss you dearly, my Wanda.

Remember when we ran away from home? Remember how it felt as we dash past the large trees and hear squirrels in the far edges of the forest? Remember the lake that we bath for one night? Remember how the stars were like crystals in the sky?

I don’t think I could ever feel as happy without you. I miss you, Wanda.

Why was faith so cruel to us— but I hope you are happy with your new life. I am trying with my dull life.

Should I say yes to him? Will that solve my aching heart? Wanda, please tell me what to do. I wish you were here to hold me and tell me. Letters would never fill the empty space in my heart for you.

I must end my letter here. I am sure you don’t wish to read a letter drenched in my tears. Wanda, I miss you. I long to see you again.

- Your dearest, sunshine.

January—1861

A bird chirps by your window at dawn, other flutters their feathery wings around the balcony till your shadow reveal from behind grey curtains. They linger for a moment before passing to another space, and you stay there, pondering their next visits. A wish pooling at your throat to fly away freely as them than stay in a secluded life.

The looming year closes in sorrowfully, your body clutching onto nothing, but the dusty cloth used by many before you. Sounds of young women ushering the others, grumbles here and there, while you remain as solemn as any other portrait painted of a woman.

She would had loved this, you thought when you first stepped into New York City. Exploring the streets, grumbles of dusky clouds from developing industries, frequent stops to greet horses leading their carriages, and her silvery voice persuading you to release the ropes that pulled them according to a human’s pleasure.

And you would had listened, like a student wishing to please their teacher. Happiness clouding your eyes as you near her request, willing to harm yourself for her own glow to cast over you.

But she wasn’t there with you.

While you last saw her before your departure—an abrupt decision made by your father and obediently followed by your mother, neither allowing you the opportunity to speak your stand—and that was exactly a year ago, much had changed, but not your memories of her.

Walking in your assigned room hasn’t felt like home. The single bed held by rusty frame, clothes still neatly tucked in your russet coloured luggage bag, the wallpaper peeling painfully slow, leaks that platters exactly at the hour your eyes seek for rest, and the ambience so strange in your hands, trying to familiarize with a changed life.

Breathing the air of a bottomless pit, you trudge down the hallway as any other day, following the distinct sound of children mumbling. By mind’s work, your hand reach for the precious part of your belongings, the pad of your finger traces the seams of a scarlet ribbon then feeling the silky strands of bronzed hair. A calming essence immerse in your chest, and you feel as if, her body glides by your side. Ensuring you away from worries.

You often find yourself flourishing in daydreams from the innocent view of children. Tumbling down your own path, a child or two, perhaps twins. While wealthy parents’ requests for nannies to nurture their offspring, you wish to care for your own and see their life ahead, weaving little hearts in heaps of affection.

“My dear, you look ravishing today.”

The subtility of your hand grasping a pencil, brittle wood scratches your palm. A scorch of fire ignites in your chest. His voice so malicious in your ears, rotting the sounds of her that echoes freely in your mind. Interruptions of your fantasy were surely the least of your problem, if close to her.

“Mr Wilson,” you greeted forcefully, mustering an attempt of a friendly smile. A proper young woman, the kind your family adores as your persona sewn their mouth shut from questioning your future. “Where is your lovely son?” and said question, garnered a thunderous laughter.

“By your concern, it seems that you wish to mother my beautiful son,” he offhandedly presumed, taking a step forward and closer into your space.

To watch him, flowering your route with promises of wealth, and endless bliss—hasn’t graze your heart the way she does, like how you felt utterly consumed by freedom when your body was perched against hers, and you could breathe into her sweet scent. You could stare into an empty space, as if a theatre was showing their most famed play, and fantasise days with her, so clear enough to notice the speckles of dust drifting in air freely.

Wanda, her liveliness blooms in your chest, and when her firm lips press on your hand, it was unlike any gentleman’s attempt of politeness. When she twirls you around, giggles warming your chest, bare feet following a muddy trail into the hidden forest. Admiring the moon’s glow on her face, how the sun’s glimmer makes her eyes vivid as thought the forest were veiled around her pupils, and when stars scattered in the night sky as her head rest on your shoulder or her finger pointing at puffy clouds, designating each of them to an animal.

And she was there with you, hands clasping warmly together. Your dear Wanda, her smile was always so bright, and you wonder from time to time; was she the one to morph the earth’s light with her own magical glint, a smile worth more than crystal like stars in the sky.

“No,” you sternly denied. “I am promised to someone else,” and the hush words of hers, only hers.

The sheer poised of your words, his face inching with unwarranted irritation for your constant denial, and her laughter emits in your head. What a man, she would had mocked as your body stumbles into hers, bones and skin adjacent together, and the muffled sound of a hopeless man.

She was there, you were there, and there was immerse trust. Promises layered with sacred strands kept with you and her, fingers enclosing around the other, trickles of red where devotion meet, and whispers that tickles your cheek warm.

A woman so far, and yet, she holds you so close.

Dear Wanda,

This will be my last letter to you, at least till the war settles in the earth’s core. I am sorry for starting this in such a sorrowful way. But I cannot lie for my sake or pretend to feel that I am okay with this.

My hope is wearing thin for us to meet. I think faith has decided the most horrid of future for us— but you are happy. My dear friend, you have found happiness.

And Vision treats you well as he promised me, and I am simply…alive. I am happy for you, I promise.

Wanda, I promise to live as happy. Though, I would never find peace here. The city is congested with people. All finding new land to brood their family. Sometimes, I wish I was like them too. Don’t you wish that for me?

I know you would agree. Our seeds of dream were planted in moist ground, just waiting for the precise time to mature and bloom with flowers. I think I missed the moment it did. I think I missed many moments with you.

I miss you dearly, my only friend.

I hope I am not late….for everything.

If this letter does reach you; don’t forget to kiss the sun for me.

— Your dearest, sunshine

December—1862

The war, an unavoidable human fault. Where treasured landmarks met their blows, and Wanda grief of those who had blessed her days. Father, mother, brother, various friends and family, faced the greys of life while she lived on. How she profoundly wishes to hear Pietro’s laughter as her mother scolds him and her father ushers her into the house with a promise of her favourite dessert. The Maximoff was humble, grateful and happy, even when melancholy fell remorseful on them. Her family could never compare to that love of her husband, Vision.

Wanda obediently abide to her husband’s wish of relocating to America. He doesn’t reveal more than adorning her shoulder with an expensive shawl, forging grief at her lost as he swiftly guided her from her family’s grave, and she instantly carried herself. A sturdy married woman who prosper fortunately by her husband’s side.

It takes them days or weeks to arrive, she hasn’t counted the days in fear of accumulating the time away from a land she knew. Away from her family.

Vision was different when he guided her through a crowd of brash people, his hold on her arms were harsh as compared to those firm hands always persistence to ensure she was comfortable. A mansion hails her sight when he finally releases his hold on her. Where she stood still, without him clutching onto her like she was his sole treasure.

However, there was a dreadful spark hanging between them, awaiting a blaze to ruin what happiness she came to know from him. Where Vision speaks of visiting another state more than once a week. His family’s business was at the verge of worldwide success. Excuses fell from his mouth, accompanied by expensive gift and she offered her best wishes for him.

But she wasn’t a senseless woman.

By the third week of the month, Wanda had gathered enough knowledge of her husband’s constant office visits. His absent permitted her little walks down the street, observing those cowering by their husband’s scowl, and young woman happily chattering away, their hands free from commitment under the oath of a wife.

She thought of you too; kind-hearted, passionate, loving, and sweet. Her own gleam of sunshine. The first friend to grace her space, and how her heart gnaws for you, to hold you close and feel the warmth of your skin next to hers, how your teasing smile would ignite an everlasting bliss within her chest.

As the memories of you spread her solemn state, something in her mind nudges her head forward than retrieving back to her quite house. Soft edges irises seemingly stare ahead, a glint restored in pupils widening by the seconds that pass. Her heart throbs achingly when she first met the sight of you—so flawless and perfect. Multitude of people passes through, some cursing under their breath and bumping into her shoulder, but you were there, steps away from her.

“Sunshine,” Wanda whispered, her hand hovers over her mouth while the other press on her lower neckline. A noticeable lump rest there of a promise made at eleven. “My sunshine,” she cried, tears flow freely down her cheeks and clings onto the coldness of the morning air.

On the other end, you felt something. As if there was a warm hand enclosing firmly on your wrist, your heart seems to halt, and you held onto your breath, twisting your body to follow the pleas ahead. And you see her there, a sight that swells your heart, eyes burning of unshed tears.

“My dear Wanda?” you gasped, and your body jerks forward.

A momentous change in a tedious life, where you take the first step forward then the next was hers. Each step fuels hearts with desire, flashing with sweet memories and the bitterness that clogs throbbing hearts. The thread of forever tying together as you reach her, and she smiles, the kind that makes your knees weak.

“A part of me left with you,” Wanda confessed, her hand reach for yours so eagerly and you let her. “It was always us, wasn’t it?” her hand trembles in yours, grasping so tight and you felt the outlines of her bones against yours.

“Always us,” you breathed out, lips curling with a wide smile and it felt different. “I miss you so much,” and you couldn’t stop the various confession that fell from your mouth when she embraces your body.

The messily knotted ribbons around two locks of hair meeting the other again. Parts of her and you were lost, till you were together after years apart. A devotion between two friends that never flatter. Where your cheeks flushed warmly, her fingers press on your skin as she traces the years missed of your skin on hers, the subtle look in her eyes urging you to leave your promised day ahead and follow her. The answer met when your lips press firmly on her cheek and you felt her hand pulling you to the opposite direction.

Daylight fades into the night’s luminosity, as her soft voice compels you into her trance and she so helplessly held onto you, fingers crawling on skin and the once quiet house, gleams scandalously. Best friend, a festering promise when reach their ears, because you knew her truth as she knows you, every inch of your skin to the edges of your thoughts.

The ominous thoughts whirling mindlessly, where pastors blubbered to their dear god, where she reaches for your hand and kiss you bare, and the subtle draw of breath before reality befall upon those saved souls. Wanda’s hand messily drawing lines on brittle ground tainted in crimson. Excuses for her first time while yours were precise, the loops always round and edges sharp, and she loved that about you. So perfect, so soft, so nice, so everything that she needed.

First, second, third, and more, the loads of self-fulfilment that flushes her cheeks as she sees your eyes wide. An old book sprawled on your lap while her fingers kneads your shoulder, soft lips moulding into the deep of your neck, then lips meet hungrily and your mouth parting to allow her tongue to taste your words.

“My moon,” you blew your words into the air, breathing unreservedly.

The sun and the moon. The friends and the lovers. The forbidden fruits that was devoured by two. The life that was made—after she had you, at ease and free.

“I miss you,” Wanda panted, spreading your thighs apart as her mouth latches to your throbbing heat. And you hear her promises, I love you, I love you, I love you…

Dear Wanda,

I dreamed of tea and your cakes today. My mouth is watering as I write this. The taste of sweetness is a narrow reminder in my mouth, invading my tongue and tainting it for anything— that dare try to taste the same way.

My hands tremble achingly in rival to my limited options. No, I could never break our promise. Remember, I am your sunshine. I will never forget. You cannot dare forget me either. Best friends, remember?

But I do crave more of sweet and sour. The pull of my teeth on harsh candy. My eyes tearing as I taste the first pleasurable bite then another, and another, and that my greediness will drown me happily. My skin warm as I immerse my body in pure bliss.

But it’s different here. The sweetness doesn’t linger at the roof of my mouth. I spat out the foul taste when mouth first touch. But I needed to feel somewhere close to home. I am a fool, I know. But I am only listening to you, my dear Wanda. I will never disobey the promises made.

You must know by now that defeat is bitter sometimes, or sweet as a forbidden fruit. God bless us, the pastor often said, and I agree too. God blessed us.

And you were wrong, Wanda!

A wife and yet, I had proven you wrong. The juice of berries takes a day to completely drain while you said two! Perhaps, I made a mess without you guiding me. But I would like to assume I did good by my own.

How is life in your glorious mansion? Did Vision tell you about the city’s rise in businesses? The world’s truly changing. I wish for you to see this too.

I miss you, my dear Wanda.

I must hurry now. I hope this letter find its way to you.

— Your dearest, sunshine

February—1863

Life changed irrevocably, curling at your throat with laughter, and glossy eyes so apparent beneath amber light. Life is tender. Favouring your notion than the voices outside your humble paradise. And Wanda was undoubtedly wrong, but how heaven like was her laughter as her eyes trails along the way you prove her wrong, and how hellish it was when the horrid cries echoes down the stairwell.

The stumbles of bodies on her marital bed and those foul-smelling ones beneath where fools lie. Her tongue warm in your mouth and spiteful when hearing their devious screams. Her fingers trace the curves of your body, following every hitch of breath, and so hungrily she plummets into you, savouring you as though the holy bread—or whatever that was proposed as the god’s offering. You never cared for their religious fascination nor does she. They were the real evils in aspects of influence, and influence was only appealing when shared between two.

The dearest of them all, her husband noted. It was simply a sweet gesture on his side after coming home to behold his wife and her best friend huddled together, trying to learn embroidery. The odour of another woman’s perfume on him and you were abundantly grateful. He was awful at keeping his affairs a secret. It sickens you to know that she hid the truth from you.

But you were her sunshine.

While you expected her to completely condition herself over his mistakes, however, you didn’t expect for her bare breasts to press nonchalantly on your back or her hand to clamp around your breast while the other trails the cold iron on your skin. Wanda solidifies your mind from seething in anger, and gifts you the knife in your hand.

The first spill of unwarranted dew was blessed by your moon’s kiss on your blissful cheek of her sun’s shine. Her hand grasps yours, fluttering away about a book she found and that was the first of innocent hearts finding purpose unlike the kind forced onto them. That same excitement flourishes in your chest, tainted so beautifully, and quite as you were when she first saw you.

Your hand pushes the wooden door of his office, a creek itches your ears and worse when he groans with annoyance. Finally, you smiled, and he lifts his head to meet your taunting gaze.

“Vision,” you greeted him, the knife hidden behind as you prance teasingly into his room and Wanda follows behind you quietly. “I think we have an important, very grave matter to speak of! But…I am jaded with your sophisticated words, ugh, so many useless words. Wanda, my moon, how did you survive?”

Wanda laughs, her arms folding around your waist and her chin resting on your shoulder. “I simply fantasise for a day like today, my sunshine.”

Her voice dreamy in your ears and wonderous when you knife plunge into his chest, like a stake into the heart. Vision was foolish and unaware. He couldn’t safe himself than scream helplessly of infidelity and betrayal, while his blood splatter on your face and your tongue licks the corner of your mouth. A frown on your face as she shakes her head. Wanda whispers of something sweeter than his bitter blood. You listened, extracting your knife from his body after the numerous stabs left.

Wanda takes the knife from your hand then strokes his face with the same bloody blade. Her lips quivers, forging sadness at his lifeless body before laughter echoes in his room. You watch her intently. The leading actor of a profound theatre play, her emerald eyes like the forest green shimmering under white light, and she speaks her script so efficiently as the knife that passes through his throat.

“You are marvellous,” you confessed, gaze solely focus on her. “You are perfect.”

Everything was perfect. His head dangling by his golden hair like a useless ornament between her fingers. Her kiss muddled on your lips as she speaks of forever, and your knees weak. You watch her build an altar for the recent offering. A god, a priest, a leader, a woman who you would happily kneel and abide by her every word.

And she smiles so sweetly, like a kid being offered candy. How you love the taste of her in your mouth and when droplets of her blood smear on your lips, and yours on hers, an addition she promised upon life itself.

Together, Wanda wouldn’t have to worry about you, and you wouldn’t have to dream about finally seeing her. Because she will always stay by your side as you will stay by hers. A promise made at eleven, and forever.

[cap-sweet-and-salty-sadness]

Masterlist of my spooky/horror fics 👻

*All fandoms included*

Marvel Cinematic Universe

Stucky - Steve/Bucky

From the Pain I Have Been Frozen Into (I Beg to Be Free)

“You’re awake,” the man smiles, approaches to perch himself on the chair beside the bed. “Do you remember me?” "You’re the one who saved me.” “I am. It’s a miracle I’ve found you.” -- On the run from Hydra, James gets in a car accident during a snowstorm. He's saved by a gentle and caring man who lives in a cabin in the middle of the woods. Why does he instantly trusts him, and why does he keep dreaming of a door in the basement that isn't there?

Thou Shall Call Forth Sothoth

“Ma, I know you’re a witch,” Bucky told his mother a few nights later, under the comfort of the wood cracking in the fireplace and the slow, calm lull outside, the half-moon barely shining through the thick clouds over the neighbour’s house. His mother laughed, took his hand. “I’m not a witch, you silly boy. I’m a priestess.” Bucky frowned. He wasn’t a regular church-goer, but he knew there was no such thing as Catholic priestesses. “Priestess of what?” She fetched the same leather-bound book he found before, all those years ago. “Let me show you.”

Sounds Echo the Absurd

17th century. Steve Rogers goes to the New World with a group of Europeens in the hopes of a new, better life. They settle on the edge of a forest, in what would become Massachusetts. He quickly finds his place as a carpenter, and he may or may not have been staring at the Barnes' son a few too many times. But as months pass, spirits and demons from the forest start to emerge. Steve can feel their eyes on him, can hear them skitter in his house at night. What if leaving offerings for them come to not be enough anymore? What if they want more?

Stony - Steve/Tony

the finger down your spine

The man, with his large brown eyes and beautiful features and small smirk, had a dangerous edge to him. No, not a man, a vampire. His long hair was loose, and he wore a perfectly fit three-piece suit. He was stunning, and it was almost irrelevant to mention that Steve was, indeed, stunned. The stranger’s smile only grew as he dragged his gaze down Steve’s body and brought it back to his flustered face. “Well, aren’t you lovely, lonely soldier.”

Winteriron - Tony/Bucky

crawl inside 

Tony wakes up three years after being part of the rescue team for the USG Icarus, the most notorious planet-cracker classed spaceship, and from which he’s the only survivor. He doesn’t remember what happened during that time, or understand why he’s kept in a straightjacket on the Sprawl, the station on Saturn’s biggest moon. What Tony knows is that the Church of Hydra, responsible for the first necromorph outbreak, is redoing the same thing, and that he’s once again stuck in the middle of it. (Dead Space AU)

Red Dead Redemption 2

Morston - Arthur/John

I buried you in the snow

He'd seen all sorts of things during his travels: unexplained flying objects in the middle of the night, robots murdering their masters, a human-made monster, a serial killer convinced he was a vampire, ghosts haunting the swamps and Roanoke Ridge, and the list went on. An encounter with a werewolf wasn’t too far fetched in the greater scheme of things. When he woke up the next day, he wondered if he hadn't just dreamed the whole thing, but the pair of jeans discarded on the floor was still damp and there was a messy drawing of the beast in his journal, along with the simple description: "I saved a werewolf from drowning. He owns me a lasso."

The Witcher

Geraskier - Geralt/Jaskier

The Reanimator of Rosemerrow

“This inn has an interesting reputation. Its owners are usually quick to resale it.” “Because of her decaying state? She just needs some remodel, soon she’ll be back up and about.” He stepped sideway to pat the half-destroyed wall and take a deep breath, away from Geralt’s unfair attractiveness. “Partially, but there’s also been paranormal rumours. Apparitions, misplaced objects, footsteps.” “And you believe in them? I always assumed you were the skeptical cartesian type.” Geralt wasn’t facing him, but he heard him chuckle darkly. “There are things you can’t escape from.” “Indeed,” Jaskier breathed out, thinking of what’d he seen when he was alone in the inn, the heavy presences and the few cases of being touched by a being that he had the unfortunate ability to see. “I’m, uh, familiar with unusual events.” – In 1819, Jaskier accidentally buys an old abandoned inn in the middle of nowhere, England. Haunted, as if this mountain of dust and debris wasn’t already enough of a problem. At least he has a handsome carpenter to help him renovate it.

Sleepy Hollow

Geralt hummed and nuzzled the crook of Jaskier’s neck without thinking. It was foreign to him, being held this gently. Only Ciri gave him hugs nowadays, but this one felt different. Geralt felt understood, precious. “What happened, with the Horseman? How did he hurt you?” “Freed himself and stabbed me when I was about to throw him back through the portal.” He frowned. A wound like this wouldn’t have killed him, but Doctor Lancaster had been right when he said even his metabolism wasn’t this fast. “You used your chaos to save me.” “I did.” “Why?” Jaskier gently cupped the back of his head, his thumb stroking the shell of his ear. “Though I cannot cure the world, I would make you live healthy and happy in it.”

Dragon Age

Cullrian - Cullen/Dorian

You run my life right outta my soul

That was the danger of infiltrating enemies’ sects, and why Cullen preferred to suck information out of lower ranks; easier to make them talk, easier to get rid of. AKA the Vampire The Masquerade AU nobody asked for.

splinters of my soul

“I only see glimpses and pieces. I know the color of your underwear too.” “It’s not necessary.” “Green with a red design, it was a gift from… Mia.” He hid his smirk in his mug, having an image of Cullen in the mirror this morning wearing nothing but that underwear. A wonderful sight. “Cassandra forgot to mention your-“ “Charms? Good looks?” “I was about to say elocution, but that too.” --- Dorian is a medium and psychic owning a small shop in Montreal, Canada. He's content with his life until the Police requests his help for a missing boy and he meets Commander Rutherford.

Ghost in the Cell

Dorian is invited to investigate an haunted prison with a paranormal investigator crew, and he brings Cullen along for some ghost adventures.

Blood Red Setting Sun

This wasn’t Dorian anymore, not the Dorian who would make fun of Felix when he’d become flustered and tongue-tied when trying to talk to a girl, who introduced him to the delicacies of wine and with whom he discussed for hours about books no one else took interest into. He couldn’t believe it, to use such radical mean for such a pitiful reason. Halward Pavus didn't use blood magic on his son, he turned him Tranquil.

[emperor-palpaminty]

Assassin’s Creed Syndicate but make it ✨ slightly spooky ✨ interpret that how you will! 😉 👻

Look this is the second AC syndicate request i have gotten and I've been replaying it so I HAVE TO-

Also Rye's art is v pretty! If you like traditional watercolor go check her out!

Also this is more than slightly spooky. Hope you like, uhhhhh yikes

The night was dark, but assassins thrived in the dark. Evie, ever the believer in all things ghosts and things that went bump in the night, rested, perched, atop the roof of the chapel. The modest cemetery was restless, with a constant flocking of birds and mice and creatures, wandering about the usually quiet area.

But on Hallow's Eve...

"Psst."

Evie jumped slightly and whipped around, dagger dropping into her hand. Her brother raised his hands, springing back. "Okay! Okay. Evie. It's me. Jacob."

"I'll kill you for real if you do that again!" She spun the knife and dropped it back into the sheath.

Jacob held up his hands, a small grin emerging on his face. "Aw. Is Ickle Evie-kins frightened of ghosties?"

Evie glowered and turned to the graveyard again, which had fallen oddly silent. The grey hues were getting darker with the clouds masking the moon, and even the owls had hushed themselves. "Mister Green mentioned that bodies are walking." She managed. The words bit her throat and she felt her brother squat next to her. "Graves- fresh ones- empty within the night."

"Oh. Walking corpses." Jacob plunked down, a leg dangling off the roof. "My favorite."

Evie inhaled heavily and stared over the graveyard. Under the dirt was rows of corpses, all sleeping firever- waiting for judgement day or whatever afterlife met them at the end. "Not walking, just... Leaving. Gone. Unearthed."

Her brother's laugh was taunting as he spoke. "Ooh. Ya know, I think you've been reading one two many books-"

"Jacob."

Her brother raised his hands in a fake surrender, chuckling. Evie turned back to the graveyard, eyes skimming the scene again. The trees groaned with the wind- Evie thought of the dead raising. Climbing from their graves in their finest garments, dust and the stench of death still clinging to them as they stumbled from their eternal beds, lumbering towards the gate, groaning and trying to churn out words as if their tongues had not decayed long ago.

Evie shuddered. Perhaps she had been reading too many books.

Her brother exhaled into his hands, rubbing his gloved fingers together. "Logically, I understand it does not make sense. But you must admit, it is rather strange that everything suggests that the graves are being dug up."

"Lots of reasons for that." Jacob said.

Silence hung from the moon and starkly between them, and Evie slowly looked at her brother. "Why would you dig up a grave."

"Donno. Seems fun."

"Fun?"

Jacob shrugged again, the grin only vaugely visible due to Evie's sharp vision. "Yes, seems fun. Should I ever consider a change in profession, I shall have to consider grave robbing."

Evie rolled her eyes and crouched down again, pausing as she heard a creaking. "Jacob." She whispered.

Her brother understood. His remarks hushed and he crouched down atop the little chapel, watching as flames flickered on the torches entering the graveyard. Evie swallowed her relief as the resurrection men paused at each grave, a shovel thrown over each shoulder, examining the grass growth, finding graves that were fresh.

"It seems we have our answer, dear sister." Jacob whispered, smiling. "No dead raising, after all."

Evie nodded, watching the men shove the dirt aside. "Just stealing corpses."

"Freddy said." Jacob replied, and only shrugged as the men struggled, raising the body from the grave, pressing it into their wheelbarrow. He nudged Evie, arms crossed, the grin alight on his face as Evie snorted. "Dead men tell no tales, and the dead don't walk in Londo-"

Two arms reached up from the cart, arms that should have been very still, and yanked the now screaming graverobber down, a gargling emerging as the corpse bit into very living and very warm flesh.