#child skeleton face paint

[onlyhereforthestories]

What's Spooky Season Without Jump Scares (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

Happy Halloween guys! I hope you enjoy this little fic, I'm sad spooky season is over for another year. Next up for me is Chica 👀 stay tuned.

Alexia was used to the calm, steady version of you. The one that only spoke when necessary, who focused intensely on training and barely cracked a smile, except for when you were alone together or with your families. You were always a little softer then. So, when the calendar flipped to October, she wasn’t expecting the sudden shift. It wasn’t like it was your first Halloween season together, no you had been together for 3 years now, but this was the first one in your now shared apartment. Something that had you buzzing with excitement for what the month might bring.

The apartment was still mostly quiet, but a new energy had settled in, you were planning something.

Alexia was chopping vegetables for dinner, humming a tune under her breath, completely unaware of the fact that you had been sneaking around the apartment, plotting your first Halloween scare. You moved silently, pulling a black hoodie over your head, the hood obscuring your face. You’d painted your face hastily with white and black makeup, mimicking the look of a ghostly skeleton, but the effect was more comedic than terrifying.

As Alexia diced the carrots, you crept up behind her. You didn’t say a word at first, just let the eerie silence do the work for you. Then, in your deepest, most unnatural voice, you whispered, “Alexiaaaa...”

Her shoulders stiffened, and for a split second, you saw her pause. Then she turned, knife still in hand, her eyes wide and alert.

You stood there, hands raised in a mock zombie pose, and shouted, “BOO!”

She flinched, but the startled look in her eyes quickly melted into annoyance. “¡Joder! What the hell are you doing?” she exclaimed, her face flushed with surprise, though there was the tiniest hint of a smile playing at her lips.

You dropped the act, giggling like a child, completely unlike your usual self. “Come on, admit it. I got you!”

She stared at you, shaking her head with mock disapproval and rolling her eyes as she spoke. “You're ridiculous. And I could have hurt you, I have a knife in my hand idiota.”

You stepped closer, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. “Ridiculously good at jump scaring, you mean.”

Alexia gave a long drown out sigh, but you could see the amusement in her eyes. “I don’t know how I’m going to survive the rest of October with you.”

“Oh, I’ve got plenty more planned,” you teased, winking at her. “Just you wait.”

---

It was a crisp autumn morning, and the Barcelona girls were gathered on the training pitch, doing their usual warm-ups. You and Alexia had arrived together, but everyone was focused on their stretches and drills. What they didn’t know was that you had a new prank up your sleeve, and Alexia, although playing innocent, was completely aware.

You had spent the night before gathering the perfect prank materials: fake spiders, a small wireless speaker, and a creepy mask that you knew would send a few hearts racing.

As the team gathered for tactical drills, you casually slipped the speaker into one of the benches near where Patri and Mapi were chatting, adjusting their socks and discussing their latest match. You gave Alexia a sly nod as she jogged by, and she gave you a quick wink, pretending not to know what was coming.

You crouched behind one of the equipment carts, pressing play on your phone. From the speaker came a low, eerie growl followed by a ghostly moan.

Mapi immediately looked up, frowning. “Did you hear that?”

Patri turned her head, puzzled. “What the…?”

Suddenly, you popped out from behind the cart, wearing the creepy mask, a grotesque, zombie-like face. You lunged toward them with a guttural scream, arms flailing wildly.

Patri yelped, practically jumping out of her boots, while Mapi’s eyes widened in shock. “¡Dios mío!” Mapi shouted, stumbling backward and tripping over her own feet.

The rest of the team erupted into laughter, even Alexia couldn’t hold back, bending over as she chuckled at her teammates’ reactions.

Patri’s face flushed with a mixture of fear and embarrassment. “¡No tienes vergüenza! I’m going to kill you!”

You laughed, pulling the mask off and shaking your head. “It’s Halloween! Lighten up!”

Mapi, still catching her breath, pointed at you accusingly. “You’re going to pay for that one.”

Just as the girls were recovering, you reached into your pocket and threw a handful of fake spiders at them, causing a fresh wave of screams. Even Pina, who was nearby, shrieked as one of the rubber spiders landed on her shoulder.

Alexia jogged over, still laughing. “I think you’re going to get banned from training at this rate.”

You grinned at her. “Oh, come on. You have to admit, it’s kind of fun.”

Alexia shook her head, but her smile gave her away. “Alright, alright. But if you scare me again...”

You raised an eyebrow. “If?”

Alexia shot you a playful glare. “*When* you scare me again, I’m getting revenge.”

---

As October marched on, your love for Halloween grew more intense. Decorations appeared in every corner of your shared apartment. There were fake cobwebs draped over the shelves, plastic skeletons hanging from the bathroom door, and pumpkins placed strategically on the window ledges. Alexia, though amused by your enthusiasm, was also slightly wary. Every room had become a potential jump-scare zone.

One night, after a long day of training and some light teasing from the girls, Alexia entered the apartment, her guard up. She flipped on the lights and scanned the hallway, expecting you to pop out from behind the door at any moment. You had been home for about an hour due to her having a captains meeting after training. But there was nothing. Just an eerie silence and the usual orange glow from the Halloween lights. Maybe you were finally giving her a break after the almost daily small jump scares she had been having this month.

She walked toward the bedroom, her body slowly relaxing as she reached for the door handle. Suddenly, the door creaked open just a crack, on its own.

Alexia froze. “You’re not getting me this time.”

The hallway light flickered for a split second, and that’s when she saw it, a dark figure standing just inside the door, its eyes glowing red.

“¡Por el amor de Dios!” she shouted, stumbling back as you emerged from the shadows, your glowing-eyed ghoul costume in full effect.

You burst into laughter, the fake eyes you’d attached to your mask bouncing slightly as you doubled over. “I can’t believe I actually got you again!”

Alexia glared at you, though a smile was fighting to break through. “I thought you were done with the scares.”

You shrugged, removing the mask and setting it down on the table. “Halloween’s not over yet.”

She sighed dramatically. “One more. One more scare, and I’m hiding your costumes.”

You smirked, leaning in closer. “You love it.”

Alexia’s eyes softened, and she pulled you into a hug, your body warm against hers. “Maybe just a little.”

---

Halloween finally arrived, and the apartment looked like something straight out of a haunted house. You had decorated every inch of the place, from flickering candles to eerie sound effects playing on a loop. Alexia, though initially resistant, had gradually started to enjoy the spooky atmosphere. She even helped carve the pumpkin that sat proudly on the kitchen counter, though she complained the entire time about how messy it was.

That night, the two of you settled in on the couch, surrounded by snacks and the soft glow of your spooky décor. The jump scares had eased up, well mostly. You promised to go easy on her tonight, she had suffered through pretty much a whole month of your antics.  

As you cuddled under a blanket, Alexia leaned back against you, her fingers tracing absent patterns on your arm.

“You know,” she said softly, “I wasn’t sure I was going to survive your Halloween obsession this month.”

You chuckled, squeezing her a little tighter. “I know I went a little overboard.”

“A little?” she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Okay, maybe a lot.” You leaned down to press a kiss to her temple. “But you survived. And look at you now, I have you enjoying Halloween like a pro.”

Alexia smiled, her eyes glancing around the decorated room. “I guess I did. Maybe next year, we can make it even bigger.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Bigger?”

Alexia’s smile turned wicked. “Oh, yeah. But next year, *I’m* planning the scares.”

You laughed, but there was a flicker of nervousness in your voice. “I think I’ve created a monster.”

She just grinned, settling back into your arms as the Halloween movie played in the background. Whatever the future held, you knew that this spooky tradition was now something the two of you would share, year after year. The girls better watch out next spooky season that was for sure.

[xoxovanillq]

PUMPKIN

Pairing- Luke Castellan x reader

Warnings- R wears a dress, suggestive comments, allusion to smut, underage drinking mentions

“Stop squirming!” You whine, momentarily pausing your action. You’re straddling Luke’s lap, attempting to do his skeleton face makeup. He kept squirming whenever the cold face paint touched his warm, tanned skin.

“Okay, well, it’s cold!” He responds, sounding like a child.

“That’s how it’s gonna be, I did it and I’m fine.” Luke rolls his eyes, and you kiss his nose in response. You resumed your initial task, painting a black, upside down heart on his nose. Then you begin to smoke out the eyeliner framing his downturned features. You giggle a bit as you finish, taking in how gorgeous he was, even like his.

“Like what you see?” He teases lowly, rubbing his hands up and down your hips.

“Mhm, you look so handsome like this.” You tease back, hands resting on his toned shoulders.

“Am I not always handsome?”

“Well- you’re just *extra* handsome today!” You respond, to which he laughs a bit and then kisses your head.

“Let’s get changed.” He says softly, and you get up from his lap. On your bunk lies a pair of black slacks, a white button up, and a red tie for him. Next to it there’s an old-looking black dress for you.

“Here.” You say you hand him the shirt, watching him struggle to wrestle his camp shirt off without destroying your hard work. “This why I told you to take your shirt off before we started.” You grumble, walking over to help ease the shirt over his head. You then slip the button-up on, doing it up for him.

“Are you gonna paint my hands white?” He asks as he tugs on the black slacks.

“No, need your fingers free just in case.” You tease suggestively, pulling on one of the many layers of your dress. He rolls his eyes and then drifts over to help you slide the dress on.

“How many layers is this?” He mumbles, hands resting on your hips again.

“Ummmm, 4, hoop skirt, petticoat, corset, dress.” You recite, counting each article of dress on your fingers.

“Jesus, pumpkin.” He murmurs, picking up his tie and situating it on his neck. You swat at his hands as he begins to tie it. “What…?” He questions with a light chuckle.

“Leave it undone, it looks hotter that way.” He rolls his eyes and laughs lightly as you undo the top two buttons of his shirt. You then grab the white face paint and dab some of it on his chest. “Perfect!” You say cheerfully.

“Perfect.” He responds, pulling you close and kissing the top of your head. “Ready to get going, pumpkin?” He asks, rubbing your back soothingly.

“Mhm.” You hum, looking in your full length mirror, taking in the sight of you two all done up as skeletons.

You arrived to the party, nestled deep in the forest surrounding the camp.  A bonfire sat in the middle, with pumpkin carving set up and a table with a various assortment of alcohol, drinks, and snacks. The two of you settled on one of the logs by the bonfire, a red solo cup filled with liquor in each of your hands. Luke’s free arm wrapped around your shoulder, and your head tilted to rest on his.

“Do you wanna hang here and then go do pumpkin carving or something?” He asks softly, brushing the stray strands of hair from your face.

“Can we dance?” You turn to face him, wide doe eyes staring up at him.

“How could I ever say no to that face?” He teases softly, helping you up and drifting towards the speaker.

Season of the Witch played as the two of you moved together. Luke couldn’t help but think about how lucky he was to have you, and how much he loved you.

“Are you having fun?” He asks softly.

“Mhm, I’m getting a bit sleepy though.” You murmur in reply, rating your head on his shoulder.

“One more song?” He asks, to which you nod slowly.

The two of you danced for another couple minutes before heading back to your cabin, hand in hand, giggling a bit as you were both tipsy.

Let’s just say your costumes weren’t the only things dealing with a bone that night.

[skepticalkoi-catastrophe]

𝕊𝕜𝕦𝕝𝕝 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝔹𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕤

Pairing: Sung Jinwoo x Reader

Genre: Mutual Friendship, Hinted Mutual Crush, College Au

⚠️Warnings⚠️: None

Word count: 769

𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 [10:45 PM] - "Should I be worried that you know how to replicate fake blood this well? I probably should be, right?" Jinwoo jokes as he enters your dorm room.

You decided to be a killer playboy bunny for the Halloween party tonight. The five-kitchen ingredient mixture drips from your neck as only moments ago you finished your makeup.

"If you want to get bloody tonight, I've got enough to share." You chuckle, placing the bowl of red liquid on your desk. "Where's your costume?"

Originally, it was supposed to be you and your best friend. She got hit with a bad stomach virus the night before and was still in recovery.

He offered to be your plus one once you gave him the news. It's somewhat of a favor he owed you from before. He's dressed in a black cotton button-down, partially unbuttoned, with matching black jeans. Black high-top Chuck Taylor's on his feet.

"My package got delayed, so no Ghostface mask. You're my plan B."

"Plan B?"

He takes a seat at your desk, crossing his arms as he leans back into your chair. "You've got any ideas?"

You squint, trying to picture a look at him. Something that would take no time at all.

"A Skeleton." You snap your fingers, having an 'aha' moment.

His mouth curled into a smile as he nodded, lifting his shoulder in a half shrug. Digging through your makeup bag, whatever wasn't in there was strewn about.

Your posters, tapestries, and post-it notes with reminders and daily affirmations on them catch his attention. Everything had a similar color palette, from your sheets to your laundry basket to your rug beside your bed. It made him wish he'd stop by more often.

"Do you want me to paint your neck and chest too?" You asked, sizing him up as you organized your brushes and body paints.

Your question hangs in the air. He hasn't had his face painted since he was a child. Tonight was the one night he could be truly himself. Carefree and stupid like every other twentysomething. Based on your makeup alone, he knows he's in good, capable hands.

Jinwoo scoots forward in your chair.

"Yeah, go all out. Make me a skeleton."

You smirk, standing between his legs. Raking your fingers through his hair, you attach two larger hair clips. His exposed forhead meets a cooling sensation from your primer. Its slushy to then tacky consistency threw him off.

You trace a black outline around his eye sockets, whispering for him to close his eyes. He does so, allowing you to deepen the shadows. Drawing on his nasal cavities and each tooth across his upper and lower lip, you're deathly close. Your thumb smudges away any mistakes, much to his confusion. He almost thought you were doing it on purpose. Almost.

Down his neck, your thin brush goes as he twitches a tad. "Are you ticklish?" You take a go at him. There was no reply. He merely blinks and scoffs.

You keep going, carving out each spinel vertebrae. From the cervical to the thoracic vertebra, brushstrokes flowed into his ribcage. His toned chest surprises but doesn’t shock you. Guess all that excessive training paid off.

"Tell me, what made you take this route this year?" A cheeky grin plastered across his face. "Never would've thought you were one for the classics."

"Classic easy access, you mean?" You joke, applying the white body paint next. It fills in the shaped skull of his face like an X-ray. Your brush strokes earn another twitch out of him.

"Jin, quit moving, or you're gonna look like shit." You huff, sucking your teeth.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I can't help it. It feels weird."

His mischievous glint in his eyes trails up and down your neck and exposed chest.

"I guess I'm playing guard dog tonight, too? All things considered?"

"If you're looking for an excuse to kick some guy's ass for looking at me too hard, be my guest. You don't need my permission."

You straightened your stance, making sure every marking was symmetrical. Up went your thumb. It splits his face into two halves. Closing your right eye, your tongue sticks out from between your lips.

He leans his head to the left, taking your thumb in his larger hand and pulling you forward.

"Whaddaya doing?"

"Admiring my work, you're one hell of a canvas." You thread a hand through his hair, removing the hair clips. His bangs flow back where they were.

Jinwoo rises from your chair. His hand never lets go of yours, nor does he break his gaze.

"Paint me again sometime, yeah?"

If you enjoyed it, please comment, like, and reblog!

Divider created by @cafekitsune

A/N - HAPPY HALLOWEEN 🎃

[chelseeebe]

trick or treat

18+. mdni. no smut but my blog is 18+.

day six of spooky week and reader bravely offers to take the party trick or treating, finding an unlikely guest along the way

a/n: six days of consistent posting has actually made me lose brain cells.. i don’t like this as much as i wanted to but i’m sticking to my guns and posting anyway. i’m not sure if tomorrow’s will make it up in time but i’m going to try my absolute hardest <3

☾⋆⁺₊🎃´₊⁺~

knuckles wrap against the grand wooden door, hoping to god it was dustin that answered and not steve. 

you can hear a barrage of footsteps on the other side, rushing down the hall to get to you first. the door swings open, dustin and his makeshift skeleton costume sit on the other side, a harsh scowl when he realises it’s you and not his friends. 

“what’re you doing here?” crossing his arms over his chest. 

“i’m coming with you, joyce ask-“

“-you don’t need to babysit us,” throwing a temper tantrum at the mere suggestion of you joining them on their journey around hawkins. 

“well, joyce says otherwise,” crossing your arms over your chest, you meant business. “jonathan’s busy and she wants someone to watch out for will so you’re just gonna have to deal with it,” sticking your tongue out for good measure. 

dustin huffs, nostrils glaring as he stomps back into steve’s living room. 

the older boy was helping him get ready, terribly painting a skull onto his grinning face. a faint argument rises from behind the door, scuffed footsteps fighting to reach the door before you had the opportunity to look in. 

“-we don’t need a babysitter at all! let alone two!” dustin screeches, throwing his pillowcase on the ground as he reaches the door, steve appearing behind. 

“two?” you question, looking down at the abandoned treat bag and then back up to a sheepish looking steve. 

“well.. i mean, you can’t take them all around hawkins on your own, i was just.. offering to join you,” his hand rubbing the back of his neck, ignoring dustin’s scowl to focus on your face. 

“oh,” attempting to hide your blush, passing it off as if it were just the chilly october air, “yeah.. sure, i could use some help,” stuffing your hands into your pockets, concealing your squeal of excitement. 

“great! great.. yeah, let me get my jacket and we can go,” rushing off inside while dustin sulks like a petulant child.

“you two are gross,” he remarks snidely, turning up his nose at the two of you.

it's a chilly evening in hawkins, your coat not doing enough against the wild wind. much colder than usual for this time of year which makes you a tad unsettled. after everything that had happened last year, a sudden drop in temperature didn’t seem like something you should ignore. 

steve walks beside you, humming to some pop tune as his eyes stay trained on the boys and which houses they were at. 

“so you’re going? to new york?" he starts,  keeping two strides behind the boys at all times, dustin would surely suffer a mental breakdown if you dared got any closer. 

“yeah,” you nod, stuffing your hands into your pockets, “there’s a really good opportunity for me up there,” a twinge of something in your chest, unwilling to come off as braggy at all.

“that’s cool..” steve whistles, looking anywhere but at you, “i’ll miss you- i mean, we’ll all miss you,” clearing his throat in a pitiful attempt to hide what he really meant. 

“i’ll miss you too steve,” smiling softly over at his flushing cheeks, “you can come visit i’m sure,” shrugging indiscriminately. 

your all-consuming crush on steve was no secret to those around you, you’d been longing after him since freshmen year. hanging on his every word even during the multitude of girlfriends and hookups, desperate for his attention to one day fall unto you. 

though now you’re actually friends, like, real friends, you find yourself hoping that he doesn’t look at you, praying he doesn’t notice your sorry eyes or your longing smile. afraid that he’d find you utterly pathetic and tell you harshly that you and him would just never ever come to be. 

“but hawkins won’t be the same without you,” his feet crushing the dried auburn leaves, “who’s gonna help me take care of these guys?” chuckling softly, the cold air billowing from his lips. 

“you’re just gonna have to find a new babysitting partner,” shrugging softly though your heart sinks a little. 

steve’s mouth opens to reply but is abruptly interrupted by the gaggle of kids storming up the sidewalk to you. in a cleverly thought out formation, dustin at the front, mike all the way in the back. 

“we were thinking,” dustin starts, a tooth-achingly sweet grin plastered on his face, “and we think that you two shouldn’t have to spend your entire evening following us around, so,” looking around at his friends, “we’re happy to offer you half of all of our candy if you just leave us alone,” grinning as if he had offered the deal of the century. 

steve looks perplexed, sharing a questioning glance with you before turning his attention back to the eager boys in front, “what makes you think we want your shitty candy?” 

dustin’s smile drops, nose scrunching with such visceral anger, “look steve, we know you’d rather be off making out with each other or whatever, so why don’t we just cut the shit? you guys go home, we can take care of ourselves.” 

he puts his hand up to make a point, sputtering noises that don’t exactly make a coherent sentence, “that’s not- what the hell, dustin? mrs. byers asked us to watch you it’s not-“

“we’ll be okay! my mom just worries,” a bright-eyed will steps forward, offering his two cents. 

steve exhales, looking to you once more before shrugging. you were the one she’d asked anyway, not him.  

“what if something bad happens? like.. like last year?” you query, looking solely at will now. 

“it won’t,” solemnly shaking his head, “i’m better now, i promise.” 

your lips pout, contemplating whether the little shits could be trusted. joyce would never be mad at you, wise to her son and his friends tricks. 

“okay..” nodding slowly, “but i’m taking you up on that candy offer, and i want the good stuff.. not smarties or mints or whatever shit you think you can trick me with,” a harsh glare to the clan of boys. 

mike goes to protest until lucas’ elbow meets his ribs, a chorus of thankyou’s echo out before they sprint away, tripping over themselves to get as far away from you as possible. 

“i didn’t think you’d say yes,” steve remarks, a humorous tone to his voice. 

“what can i say? they drive a hard bargain,” suddenly regretting letting them run amok around the hawkins streets, “do you think i should’ve said no?” 

“oh no, definitely not,” falling into laughter, “i don’t think they would’ve let you say no anyway.” 

you scoff, looking around at the busy street, “you’re right.. i’m gonna uh.. head home then, since we’re not needed anymore,” attempting to hide your disappointment at not getting to walk around with him all night. 

“you wouldn’t wanna.. watch a movie or something, would you?” steve interjects before you can walk away, “my parents are out of town so my house is empty and i’ve got popcorn,” sweetening up his deal. 

your heart thuds a little too hard, unsure of whether you’d still be alive after a movie alone with steve, on his couch. but you nod anyway, continuing back in the direction you’d came from. 

his house is sterile, it honestly reminds you of something from a showroom, not meant to be lived in but just admired. kind of like steve, when you think about too much. 

you weren’t going to be together, he was a prize, someone you’d lust after but never truly get. 

the opening sequence to friday the 13th pulls you from your sour thoughts, sitting just inches away from him and his meticulously styled hair, the consolation of freckles and moles you’d connected a thousand times in your head. 

he doesn’t look real, a figment of your imagination except his chest is rising and falling in time with yours and he keeps shifting in his seat. 

“so when do you leave?” startling you from your haze, pulling your attention to him. 

“uh.. june, i’m going up early to get settled.” 

“oh, cool,” inhaling sharply, a long, drawn-out exhale immediately after, “i still got a few months left with you then,” offering a grimacing smile as his words register in his brain, “obviously i mean that we all do.” 

“i knew what you meant,” convincing yourself that he had just misspoke and that the obvious undertones to everything he had said this evening weren’t actually there. 

“actually i don’t think you do,” steve sighs, no longer the suave sweet talker he once was, now just some old guy that drive kids to and from their dnd meetings. 

“oh?” you remark, sitting back in shock. 

he leans forward, over the overflowing bowl of popcorn, “i’m trying to hit on you, i’ve been trying all night,” allowing a glimpse of his former playboy interior to resurface, his eyes trailing from yours to your lips. 

you stare back with what only you can assume is a puzzled expression as steve moves back once again, “sorry- i’m not very good at this anymore, i-i thought you were interested but obviously- shit,” slapping his palm to his face, hiding in sheer despair. 

“no! nonono steve i am,” sputtering rather quickly, “i’m sorry, i’m just.. shocked. i didn’t know you felt like that too, y’know?” amazed that both of you could single handedly fumble this. 

“‘course i do,” shrinking into a bashful shadow of himself, “thought that was pretty obvious,” fiddling with his fingers, too shy for someone who had just admitted to having feelings for you. 

“not to me,” slightly offended that you had apparently been the last to know. 

he exhales, a sigh of relief, “fuck, i thought i’d read that totally wrong then.”

you stop, furrowing your brow, “what? you knew i liked you?” 

“i mean, kinda yeah.”

“did dustin tell you?”

“he-,” steve sighs, doing a terrible job of hiding his smile, “i might have told him how sad i was that you were leaving and he just told me that you might feel the same way too,” holding his hands up with all intentions of owning up, “he just wanted to help me out, i think,” a quiet sadness in his voice. 

any other time you’d strangle the little blabber mouth but only this time you can’t be too mad, without him, the two of you would’ve never had the guts to just say it. 

“now i’ve been dyin’ to kiss you for too long now so if you’ll forgive me,” leaning in once more, carefully cupping your chin in his palm and so gently kissing your lips that it almost feels like air. 

your eyes fluttering shut as the sparks fizzle behind your eyelids, the butterflies in your stomach flap so hard you’re almost nauseous.   

years and years of hopeless pining had lead to this, a syrupy sweet kiss on his couch as the guttural screams of alice hardy play on the background.

it’s all you’ve ever dreamed of and more, steve suddenly so real and malleable in your grasp.

[anonymousewrites]

A Good Day for Death Dia de los Muertos Special 2024

Wednesday Addams x Demigod! Reader

Dia de los Muertos Special

Mouse Note: I hope I did this justice!

            “And done,” said Enid, looking at her work. She was pleased with herself. “What do you think, Wednesday?”

            Wednesday looked into the mirror next to them. She inspected the blank and white paint that created a skeletal structure across her face. She nodded. “Disturbing.”

            “I’m glad you like it,” said Enid. She knew that was a compliment. She had made sure to only use black and white for Wednesday since she was allergic to color, but her own makeup had swirls of pink and blue around the eyes and cheeks. “(Y/N) will like it, too.”

            Wednesday remained carefully silent at Enid’s comment (she was of the opinion it wasn’t obvious she liked (Y/N) while Enid saw through her completely).

            “Do you have your gift for them?” asked Enid.

            Wednesday looked at her evenly. “Yes.”

            “Ooh, what is it?” said Enid.

            “You will see when they open it,” said Wednesday.

            “That makes me think it’s like a skull or something,” said Enid. She shivered while Wednesday grilled like a mad scientist at the idea. “And I know their birthday is on Dia de los Muertos, but let’s not make it all about death, okay?”

            “Why not?” (Y/N) smiled as they stepped into the room. “I don’t mind. I am the child of Thanatos. And I celebrate death. Our family can still return to us, after all.” In the room behind them, the candles of the ofrenda flickered as if agreeing with them. The faint light highlighted their own makeup. They had the skull shape on their face, of course, but they also had gold and silver dusting their eyes and small black flowers on their cheeks.

            “My family often raises one another from the dead,” said Wednesday, nodding.

         ��  “How does an Addams die?” said Enid, frowning.

            “They decide to rest for a bit,” said Wednesday vaguely.

            (Y/N) chuckled, and Wednesday was pleased with herself for evoking the sound.

            “You guys look good,” said (Y/N). “Our makeup all fits us.”

            “We’re here to embrace your traditions,” said Enid, smiling.

            “I’ve always wanted to be a skeleton,” said Wednesday.

            “And now’s your chance!” said (Y/N) cheerfully. “Come on out. The food is all ready.”

            “Food!” said Enid excitedly.

            “First we should put some on the ofrenda,” said Wednesday.

            “Right,” said (Y/N). “I have a basket prepared.”

            Together, the three took food and placed it on the ofrenda. Marigolds, skulls, and skeleton figurines already sat around the pictures of (Y/N)’s family. They smiled as they gazed at the flickering candles. Gently, they lifted an incense stick and lit it. Putting it down again, they let the smoke curl up around them.

            “There,” they said. They could feel the energy of the room changing, and, though they couldn’t see any of their ancestors, their demigod nature let them feel their slight presence all the same.

            “It’s so beautiful,” said Enid. “It really makes it all so beautiful.”

            “Death doesn’t have to be an end,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            “It is merely another state,” said Wednesday.

            Together, the three friends stood and stared at the ofrenda until the sound of music draw their attention. Enid brightened.

            “Is that—”

            “New Orleans Dia de los Muertos parade,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            “Quick, open my present so I can go and watch!” said Enid excitedly. She grabbed her wrapped gift and shoved it into (Y/N)’s hands.

            (Y/N) smiled and undid the wrapping. They grinned. “I love them, Enid!” It was more jewelry in silver and gold, all with scythes and skulls and other motifs of death (that (Y/N) loved wearing).

            “I knew you would,” said Enid proudly. “Now, Wednesday, give your gift to (Y/N). I’m going to watch the parade.” She ran to the balcony of (Y/N)’s mother’s New Orlean’s home and eagerly looked out as the parade approached. (She was both excited for the parade and eager to give (Y/N) and Wednesday a moment together).

            “Here,” said Wednesday. She held out a black-wrapped box. The bow had small, multicolored skulls.

            “I thought you were allergic to color?” said (Y/N) teasingly.

            “Enid insisted I embrace Dia de los Muertos for your birthday,” said Wednesday. “And skulls are acceptable.”

            (Y/N) smiled. “Thank you, Wednesday.”

            “You haven’t opened the gift,” said Wednesday.

            “I know. But I know I’ll like it,” said (Y/N). They grinned widely, and Wednesday felt the now-familiar sickness of care course through her as she was the softness of their gaze (she was growing to enjoy the poison, truthfully). “I’ll like anything you give me.”

            Wednesday considered whether her heart skipping a beat meant she was dying. That would be interesting, especially on Dia de los Muertos. Instead of dying, though, she just watched (Y/N) unwrap the gift and lift out a book. It was black leather with smooth, empty pages. However, on the cover was the carved name (Y/N).

            “Your poetry deserves a proper book,” said Wednesday. “It’s far too good for a spiral notebook.”

            (Y/N) smiled. “Thank you, Wednesday. I love it.”

            Wednesday deathly cold skin felt just a bit warmer beneath her makeup as they spoke. “Of course.”

            “Do you want to watch the parade with me?” said (Y/N). They knew Enid was there, but the “with me” slipped from their lips unbidden.

            “Yes,” said Wednesday.

            Together, they walked to the balcony. Enid was watching the dancers and floats go by with a giant grin, and she risked a glance at (Y/N) and Wednesday as they leaned against the railing. She smiled to herself as they stood side-by-side.

            “I’m going to grab some food, be right back,” said Enid, walking inside for a second. (Hey, she needed to let them be alone to adjust and have a nice moment.”

            (Y/N) and Wednesday looked at the dancers go by in a swirl of bright colors, black, and white. The city was alive even as it celebrated death. In a way, it mirrored Wednesday and (Y/N). Both connected to death and mystery yet both more alive than others, not drifting through life.

            Hesitantly, (Y/N)’s hand slid across the railing towards Wednesday’s. It brushed against her hand, their pinkies touching. Wednesday glanced down as (Y/N) pulled back slightly, not wanting to cross any boundaries. Looking back at the parade, Wednesday moved her hand over. Her pinky curled around (Y/N)’s.

            (Y/N) smiled to themself, and Wednesday glanced over. She liked that sight. (Y/N) glanced at Wednesday, and, upon seeing her already looking at them, they smiled slightly. They thought Wednesday looked beautiful in the face paint and lantern light.

            “Thank you for celebrating with me, Wednesday,” said (Y/N).

            “You are…pleasant company,” said Wednesday.

            (Y/N) smiled, and Wednesday smiled ever-so-slightly. An Addams and the child of death stood side-by-side as the spirits of the dead and living danced in lively music around them. And their hearts thrummed to life just a bit more.

Taglist:

@strawberriesareprettycool

@im-making-an-effort

@champagnewitnocham

@simpcreator

@ksunoosworld

@dot-and-co

@genderfluid-anime-goth

@itsyapeepkiri

@daza1s-w1fe

@tired-writing-reader

@mary-jinx

@ognenniyvolk

@under-kitty

@colezb

@simp4natasha

@emily-roberts

@left-and-right-up-and-down

@star583

@rainbow-love4ever

@nemtodd-barnes1923

@likefirenrain

@ziro-the-null-god

@youralphawolf72

@mjoiner1136

@alexkolax

@kitkatlover015

@snowy-violet

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

For the Sanses, the skeleton's niece/nephew gives them a drawing of their family. Everyone is very detailed and recognizable. ... Except them. They're like a potato with two eyes. Reaction?

Undertale Sans - He can't stop laughing. He expected something like that, but that's even funnier now that he's holding it in his hands. The kid is confused and a bit offended their uncle finds their drawing so amusing, but that just sends Sans off his chair because their face is hilarious. He guesses he deserves that though. He's a couch potato. He's far from offended and he's even framing it in his living room like it's the most expensive painting ever.

Underswap Sans - He GASPS. He was excited to receive a gift from his niece/nephew but now he is just so offended. You didn't even draw some blue on him. Make an effort? How did you manage to draw Asgore with his beard and everything, and not him? And why is he a potato and not Alphys?! That's not fair! Alphys deserves to be a potato too! She's the same height he is! Honey can't stop screaming in laughter as Blue argues with the confused 3-years old who doesn't understand what's wrong???

Underfell Sans - He forces a smile as Edge is giving him a death stare behind the kid. Ah... Yes... Very good drawing... Very... Artsy and stuff. Very colorful. That's totally him and not an ugly potato with two eyes. How did you picture him so well? He's exaggerating all of his praises, eyes in eyes with Edge. He's so going to keep the drawing... Except he has too. As the kid leaves, all happy, Edge tells him that if he finds the drawing in the trash when they leave, he's dead. Great.

Horrortale Sans - He's not sure what he's looking at honestly, but his niece/nephew seems very happy about this so he plays along. He's certainly not going to hurt their feeling and he's just happy they draw something for him. Actually, he's even a little emotional about that. That's like their first drawing and it makes him both happy and sad for some reason.

Swapfell Sans - ... What's that? You call that a drawing? Nox takes a deep breath. Rus begs him not to, but that's too late. Nox starts to criticize the drawing, and everything in the drawing, and shows the kid ways to improve their work by drawing over their drawing. The kid bursts into tears after two minutes and runs into Rus' arms, heartbroken. Then the brothers start arguing again. What? Do you want that kid to live in a world of lies? Thank Toriel there's at least someone to show them the truth in this family!

Fellswap Gold Sans - "COFFEE, WITH ALL RESPECTS, IS THIS REALLY YOUR CHILD? YOU'RE AN ARTIST, RIGHT? YOU SHOULD HAVE A DNA TEST. I THINK YOUR GENE BROKE IN THE PROCESS OR SOMETHING. MAYBE YOUR S/O FOUND THEM IN THE DUMP AND DIDN'T TELL YOU." S/O growls angrily, then lunges at him to strangle him. Wine is offended. He's just telling the truth though! That drawing is bad!

[raythebestboiever]

As what do the Toman members dress up for Halloween?

(but I'm uncreative)

Takemichi: mickey mouse. Hina is minnie mouse (it was her idea) they tried making it look scary with fake blood stains but it didn't work that well

Mikey: a werewolf. don't ask why but I'm feeling it

Draken: didn't have an idea, asked Mitsuya if he could sew a surprise costume for him and this mf somehow managed to make a cool dragon costume... Draken is a Dragon

Mitsuya: something very fancy like a pirate. but really fancy. might just call it ouji

Baji: a vampire. This guy doesn't even need to dress up HE IS A VAMPIRE

kazutora: mikeys exact words were: "yk kazu your hair looks like bananas. you should go as a minion" everybody shit their pants laughing and convinced kazutora to go as a minion. he wasn't very happy with that idea

pah: a ghost. but not boring with just a bed sheet or smth, he was CREATIVE with it. (idk how tho cuz I'm not creative) it looked very cool tho

chifuyu: a vampire as well. didn't know what to do and baji just said "then match with me" and now they're both vampires

hakkai: also a pirate but more pirate like than mitsuya. he has a hook and an eye patch

peh: idk what he is but he ripped his t shirt and drew blood stains on it and his face with red color. looks very cool

smiley and angry: since smiley likes manga and stuff angry convinced him to go as Itachi and Sasuke. smiley may have refused at first but later gave in cuz it was too cool to say no

mucho: is no fun, didn't dress up at all. thinks halloween is not worth it

sanzu: a zombie. made his scars look like they are open with his makeup skills and painted his face green. looks so realistic a child cried when it saw him

Kokonoi: grim reaper. even bought a scythe and spend a little bit to much money on his costume

inui: first didn't want to go at all but koko insisted he would come along and dress up as a skeleton. Inuis costume is really low effort but it looks good

[supercap2319]

The Hook & The Flame

Harry Hook x Male Reader

After Dizzy styled Y/N's hair with blue and red dye in the sink, modeling the colors after his dads Hades and Chernabog, she painted his fingernails light blue with skeleton designs. At last, Dizzy spun his chair around so Y/N could see the finished product. He got out of his chair as he peered into the broken fragments of the mirror on the wall.

The top of his hair was colored blue to look like flames, matching his dad's own literal fire of blue hair. The sides were red as blood like Chernabog's eyes, but mixed in with his own natural hair color. Before he wasn't sure if he was his parents' kid anymore, but now there was no denying that he was a villain through and through.

Dizzy smiled at him. Admiring her work as she eagerly awaited his comment on whether or not she did a good job.

Y/N looks at his reflection and winks. "Hey, there I am."

"Voilà!" Dizzy cried in excitement. She threw her hands out to emphasize how excited she was.

"Voilà." Y/N reached into his pocket, pulling out a couple of dollars for her.

She looks at the money in disbelief as she looks at Y/N, astonishment on her face. "For me?"

Y/N nods. "Yeah, you earned it."

Dizzy takes the money and giggles in excitement as she walks towards the cash register. Her sense of accomplishment and peace didn't last very long. A swashbuckling young man named Harry Hook, son of Captain Hook, entered the salon. He held a glinting silver hook in his left hand. Harry wore a black hat, a long leather red coat, black pants, and a grayish wife beater underneath the red coat. He made other pirates shiver in their timber's, with a handsome face and beautiful blue eyes that were just as blue as the ocean. That made him both dangerous and beautiful at the same time.

"Fork it ower ye runt." Dizzy froze as Harry grinned down at her, hand outstretched for the money. The young girl begrudgingly handed over the money she had just earned to the Scottish sounding pirate.

Harry looks down at the old car hood that acts as a desk for the cash register as he taps it with his hook. "And the rest of it." He demands. Harry had yet to notice Y/N, too busy robbing Dizzy Tremaine of all the salon's money.

Dizzy goes and opens up the cash register as Harry puts her money that he took in between his lips and teeth, holding it tight as she gives him everything inside. "Hmm… Thank you." Harry turned to leave.

"Give that money back, Hook." Y/N said.

Harry stopped, whirled around and grinned when he saw Y/N. "Well, well, well, what a nice surprise."

"Hi, Harry." Y/N told him. "Still running errands for Uma like a good dog, or does she actually let you off your leash and let you keep what you steal?"

Harry strolled towards him, flashing a dangerous smile and waved his hook around. "Just wait until Uma hears you're back. She is never going to give you back your territory." He looks Y/N up and down, licking his lips like a hungry cat. The pervert.

"Oh, well, that's okay. Because I will be taking it back. Preferably from her cold dead fishy bitch fingers." Y/N grins.

Harry grins too as his hook brushes against Y/N's collar bone. "You know, I cuid hurt ye." He promised in a whisper as he continued to tease Y/N with his silver hook. The son of Hades and Chernabog grabbed his wrist and spit out the gum he had been chewing and stuck it on the tip of Harry's hook. "Not without her permission I'll bet." Harry chuckled as he placed the tip of the hook to his lips and opened up his mouth as he stuck the piece of gum inside.

"You know that I prefer princes now to dirty pirates, right?"

"Ahh, yes. You and Prince Beasty."

"I am going to need Dizzy's money back."

Harry gets closer to him and smiles down at him. "Why dinnae ye come ane get it?"

It was an unspoken challenge. To see if Y/N was still a child of the Isle or if Auradon had changed him in more ways than one. He got close to Harry. So close, that he could see the blues of his eyes shiny like the sun reflecting on the water in the morning. "If you insist."

He pulled Harry down by his coat and connected their lips together. It wasn't a sweet kiss like with Ben. He tasted like chocolate chip cookies and innocence. Harry was different. He was salty and just a bit of seaweed slime. It was familiar territory between them. Two Isles boys who were more about lust and fucking than love and passion.

Harry pulled back and grinned. "A knew ye still found me hot."

He held out his hand for Harry. "Pay up."

The pirate looked at his outstretched hand and smiled once again. "Now A have tae pay for yer services?" He hands him the money. "Best thin A iver spend."

"Go on. Go fetch."

Harry chuckled, walked towards the door and knocked the knick knacks off the register and bowed to Y/N. "Until next time, Duckling." Y/N handed Dizzy back her money as she sighed.

"Great, more sweeping."

[best-nun-tournament]

Round 3, Match 1

The Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus (The Locked Tomb) vs Mercedes von Martritz (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)

Harrow is a nun of the Ninth House. She's been described as a space goth necromancer fantasy sci-fi bone nun.

Mercedes von Martritz is a nun of the Church of Saint Seiros at Garreg Mach Monastery.

The Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus

She’s great. She has so many fucking problems. She’s been running the goth space convent since she was 10. She’s puppeting her dead parents around. She doesn’t like tastes. She is extremely passionate about bones. She’s locked in a twisted bond of love and violence and devotion and sacrifice with her childhood best enemy. She lobotomized herself to preserve the best enemy’s soul. She’s been in love with the corpse of the Devil all her life. She goes around in bone jewelry and skull face paint. She’s a sad wet cat who was born in a cardboard box all alone, etc. She chopped another woman’s arm off and regrew a skeleton arm, in a sexual way. She has awkward little fireside chats with God where he makes millennia-old meme references at her and she does not drink the proffered tea. She saw God make a your mom joke and it “destroyed some cavern of her reverence”. She’s even gay. She’s everything.

Mercedes von Martritz

Mercedes was born to the fallen House Martritz and bore a minor Crest of Lamine, a special type of blood that gave it's bearer enhanced abilities. Her father died shortly afterwards and Mercedes' mother remarried into House Bartels, giving birth to Emile von Bartels, who also had a minor Crest of Lamine. Mercie's stepfather was uncaring and only married for his new wife's crest which led to said wife's departure from House Bartels. She ran away with only her eldest child to the Kingdom, where Mercedes would really start her own life as a student of Fhirdiad's Royal School of Sorcery. There, she befriended Annette Fantine Dominic and both girls would later attend Garreg Mach Monastery together. Mercedes is a kind soul with a soft voice and the ability to speak her mind. She's the eldest student attending the Officer's Accademy and takes it upon herself to be a shoulder of support for her classmates, no matter their origin. When the timeskip hits, Mercie returns in a nun's garb and expresses reinforced belief in the Church, even in the route where you fight against the Archbishop. I find her extremely fascinating due to her sub-plot with her brother, Emile. Mercedes held deep regret for leaving her brother behind in House Bartels despite not knowing that he had chosen to stay behind to protect her and her mother. Emile later returns as The Death Knight, a general under the Flame Emperor's command and his story with his sister changes depending on the player's route. Should the player oppose the Flame Emperor, Emile and Mercie can reunite briefly, with The Death Knight granting Mercedes a relic that can only be operated by their Crest before dying in her arms in a later battle, happy to be with his family once again. In the event that the player does side with the Flame Emperor, The Death Knight becomes playable alongside his sister, revealing thatthe years spent in House Bartels changed him, giving rise to two distinct personalities: Jeritza von Hyrm and The Death Knight. Jeritza had been a teacher at Garreg Mach, serving as a spy to the Flame Emperor while The Death Knight quelled his bloodlust under the Flame Emperor's orders. In this route, Mercedes reaches out to both Jeritza and The Death Knight as their elder sister and the exchanges they have are some of my favorites in Fire Emblem history. Also Mercie is bisexual and both M!player and F!player can marry her in the end, regardless of route. Love her for that

[monsterfloofs]

Found this blog through the cute emoji challenge you do! So here’s mine!

🐺🌹🖤

Hi Anon! This story… oh man this story has been a long time coming. I have kept this note in my inbox for oh gosh… two years apparently??? I wanted to make sure that this story got made for you. Unfortunately, this request sent just as my motivation for the monster emoji maker stories left me! ;O;;; ) I do apologize for the wait. On the bright side, this… ended up being quite the story, I put a lot of love and work into this, and I really hope you enjoy it!

🥀 Briar Wolfe 🥀

Edrick (Wolf Monster) x Anonymous Reader (sfw)

Trigger Warning : Angst and light violence!

Once a thriving palace, now no more

A curse rotting on its forgotten shore.

With vines of roses, a prick of dread,

its valiant hero has lost its head.

One good heart yet remains on this stage,

the last of royalty in a thorny cage.

Between the gnarled thicket of thorns and roses lay the skeleton of a broken castle. Where there had once been music and light, now empty, the joy constricted out of its lungs by brambles that grow thicker everyday. The tall spires are a ghoulish color of oxidized bronze, the rusted greenish blue that slowly creeps into every crevice, every nook. Soon the tall sentry towers will be swallowed by thorns and roses as well. At one time, perhaps this would paint a prettier picture in the mind's eye, of somewhere lonely and enticing. Yet living here, amongst the flowers and thorns, there is no joy. The curse that settled here, has not only spread wings over the land, but also has curled itself tightly into the heart of man. A living breathing, misery.

There are nicks and notches on the columns in the throne room, scrawling across the wood until whoever scrawled them could reach no higher. The tracking of days, months, and years that have gone by. Other things are sprawled across the floor. Pots, pans, flint, firewood, books dull with age and a small bejeweled dagger. It was strange to look around and see home, yet also realize it was a ghost of what had been. I shook out the map in my hands, staring at the places in the castle that had been drawn and the red marks I had made later as I ran out of possible exits, until lastly. . . was the courtyard.

The courtyard could lead to a potential escape, with food dwindling and supplies running out, it was one of the easier exits to take, except for one problem.

I blink, glancing up as a forlorn howl makes me shudder.

Yes. One problem, one very big problem.

I rose to my feet cautiously and tiptoed to one of the broken windows. My heart squeezed in my chest as I took a deep breath. The shambling form appeared by the broken fountain outside, his nose up in the air and snuffling, looking for prey. His eyesight is long gone, with thorns overgrown around his face, the spiders web of vines across him giving him an additional severity to the armor he wore. A tattered cloak dragging behind him as he began to limp his way through the courtyard.

“Edrick.” I whispered in a short breath. Gods, everytime I looked upon him my heart convulsed with pain. Edrick with the amber eyes and fluffy ears I used to play with when we were just children. I, a spoiled child and he, whose father before him was a knight. Edrick, who followed in his fathers footsteps, bathed in golden light on the day he kneeled before the throne to be knighted. Edrick whose tail would wag with joy, even though it caused him to be embarrassed.

Edrick, now this shambled rabid beast who snapped and snarled. Who pounced on those too weak to fight back. A perversion to everything he once stood for.

I mourned the loss of my friend for as long as the curse has been on this land. While I had made many sacrifices to survive now, I could never bring myself to face Edrick. Too many memories. The realization that I had to choose my own survival over a loved one, made my heart feel as though it had begun to rot inside my chest.

I told myself again and again, a tome from the wizards dreamhold might be able to aid me to break this curse, and save Edrick from his fate. Yet the tower was on the other side of the courtyard, and the loop of problems came back full circle. From what I had observed, Edrick was blind from the crowny vines across his face, and used his nose to make up for this lack of sight. While that perhaps might give me the smallest glimmers of hope, his sense of smell was more acute than a human’s could ever be. Back from that onslaught of memories I watch him now, sniffing- lumbering back and forth while he makes a slow but steady zig zag towards the window.

I cautiously stepped back, folding up the map and putting it into my satchel. I stayed quiet as I tip toe back to my belongings, I retrieve the dagger from its place on the floor. I reclaim the flint and not much else. If I took too many things it would only slow me down, but once I arrived at the other side, I would have to scout for new resources.

Dear sweet Edrick, I hope you forgive me.

I crept along the throne room, watching Edrick shamble alongside me, his mouth open and panting, his chest heaving greedily. I pulled old clothes from the satchel, gave one last glance to the figure outside before slamming the back of the dagger into the window. Edricks ears shot up, and he gave a scream of triumph as I threw my old clothes out the broken window. Hearing the cloth being shredded apart, I ran for the door. Pushed my back into the sturdy wood, arms strained, it opened stubbornly and I sprinted out onto the cobbled path. I heard another scream soon enough, this one enraged and bloodthirsty. I jumped the fountain and stumbled as I heard the loud snap of teeth from behind. Just a breath of air away from me, I felt that great head lunge and miss, tears spilled from my eyes as I continued to run.

With a strength I didn’t know I possessed had overtaken me, and the snapping jaws were gone as the door to the tower closed with a deep shudder.

I slid onto the floor, in a heap, shoulders jerked as the throb of my heartbreak squeezed, pulsated from my throat. I gasped, and clutched my throat with two hands, an attempt to stifle the sounds that threatened to break free. I rocked slowly back and forth, teeth clenched, another hum of pain and heartbreak skittered from me.

I want Edrick back, my sweet Edrick, the man I had wanted to marry.

It took me a while to calm myself down, I breathed deep garbled breaths that made my lungs ache with the effort.

I will find a way to fix this. I have to.

My legs shook but I rose to my feet, I replaced my dagger into my satchel, numb fingers fumbling in striking the flint. My hands shook as I made attempt after attempt, then finally, a spark of fire ignited one of torches on the wall. With a dim orange light the darkness around me receded ever so slightly, I could make out the foggy steps that spiraled around the core of the stone tower.

“May the Goddess light my path.” I whisper softly, letting my flint drop into my satchel as I take the torch with both hands, and carefully ease it from its place upon the wall.

If I could make it to the top. I may be able to find something that could help. But what if there is no cure? As far as I could remember, this new life had foggily overtaken the other, hazy halcyon days now a phantom of my old life. The curse began and Chivall, the royal advisor to the king, had immediately set about trying to procure a solution. He had been locked away for days within the tower. As the thorns slowly choked life from the palace. As fights began to break out, as the palace grounds became an awful chess board, the tower remained a silent sentinel. He can't still be alive can he? Perhaps if Chivall is no longer here, at the very least, his studies still may be. I can't believe whatever entity is plaguing the Kingdom wouldn't destroy his work. I can't give up hope now. I am one step closer to a solution. One step closer.

The slow ascend with my whirling thoughts left my legs shaky, and my breathing shallow. I stood facing the door, pausing to reclaim by breath before my fingers and palm slid flat against the dark wood. I braced my arms and slowly pushed it open. A slow high wheeze as it swung on unused hinges.

The room was deserted, there were signs of a struggle with overturned papers and chairs. Many of the wizards' curiosities were left unscathed gathering dust. Except for the beautiful glass bird who had been one of his favorite curios. It sat broken in a corner, one wing still somewhat intact. The feathers fanned open as if it had been knocked out of the air from mid flight. The room held a heaviness swathed in the air, with a sour smell that pressed uncomfortably against the back of the throat. There were dark brown stains on the floor, someone had been forcibly dragged from the tower. Though where they had gone was not known. I step over the dried blood, with my gaze swiveling around the room. It was not ransacked, many things were left as it was when it had been while occupied. So perhaps, there was still a small glimmer of hope to be had.

I light a few of the other torches within the room, before settling the one in my hand into a metal wall sconce and replacing the unlit torch onto a table stacked with books. I turned over the scattered pages to reveal they are blank, then I began to pull open drawers, reaching an arms deep into the cabinets with fingers splayed searching for hidden panels.

Perhaps they had been taken before they could find a solution. Perhaps there is no solution to be had.

I shook the stray thought away and continued the search. Bending over to take a look at the undersides of drawers, precariously perched on a chair as I pull books from a high shelf. I kept my ears tuned into my surroundings, listening for any sounds that would give me cause to beat a hurried retreat.

I resolve my search to stand in the middle of the room, empty handed. "There's nothing here." I let myself whisper those words, the words that leaden my chest and make my breath struggle to escape. I close my eyes, squeezing them tightly as I feel the world fragment and go dark around me.

And even if there was something to be found. Would I even be able to identify it?

There is a soft coo of a dove that causes me to start at the sound, eyes flying open. I look up to the rafters and see nothing. It is silent for a beat before I hear new sounds, a scraping across the floor, that has my hand flying to my satchel. My eyes land on the glass bird as it attempts to move, its large opalescent eyes staring up at me.

The bird is enchanted, I never knew.

I grab a cloth to pad my hands and carefully attempt to right the creature, it's one wing brokenly trying to tuck itself against the bird's body. Warbling weakly as it nestles into my hands. Poor creature. It's master is gone and without them it will surely lose what magick it has left.

"I am sorry I cannot help you," I whisper softly to the bird. "I have no magick to aid you."

The glassy feathers lift up in a comfortable way and their eyes slowly close, settling down into a comfortable nap. Then, before my eyes, the area within the glass turns a rainbow of prismatic colors before the bird's form starts to melt in my hands. Changing and contorting, reshaping itself to become a broken wizard's staff, with the opalescent eyes becoming a round orb of shifting color that resides at the very top.

My heart starts beating faster, hands trembling as I hold this new found object. An object that may very well change the tides of the castle's predicament. If only I knew how to utilize it. I feel more and more perplexed watching the staff with anticipation to see if any new revelations come with its new form. Yet the staff remains silent, its unearthly presence making my hand tingle with strange energy.

I have never held any kind of magickal implement before. I had been curious about magick truly, but was not allowed to study such things. Magick was for those who could wield it, and those who did not have the gift would never dare to try. My plan was short sighted at best, but now I could truly feel the scope of its foolishness. I was far out of my depth yet, it was the only option I could think of to be a potential balm.

"I. . . do not know how to utilize your gift." I chose to speak earnestly, talking to the staff as if it were a close companion. "I know not of these things, but I know your old master was a wise and loving creature. One who had been trying to break this curse, please. . ." I pause hesitating, "Dear staff, lend me your wisdom so that I may finish what he started."

There is a whoosh of wind that scatters papers into a vortex. The wall sconces fire turning blue and flaring up towards the ceiling. Standing in the eye of the storm I grip the staff with both hands, eyes as round as saucers as the room rights itself. Papers settle back into neat piles, chairs right itself with invisible hands, the table flipping back onto its feet. I gawk at the room, the room I remember, with its perfectly precarious stack of books and curios shining and dusted. A trick? A jump in time? Or simply magick doing what it does best. I had no answers. Yet I ran to the wizards desk as I saw papers in a neat stack, one hand spreading them across the table.

Diagrams I could not read, but clever letters that talked about the possibility to enchant an item to be used to severe the rampant magick from its host. It's a dark and powerful kind of spell. Chivall had written in their looping writing. Not only can said curse breaker be used to cut curses and sever spells, it can be used in various other terrible ways. It can steal the magick from others by cutting off the hand of a fellow magickian. It is a last resort, and I am hesitant to bring such an object into being. Only if I know that I can destroy it once its grisly task is over do I even dare to consider this. If it fell into the hands of someone who has naught a thought for anyone but themselves, I shudder to think what kind of monster would be created then.

My eyebrows furrow. Letting those words sink in. Dangerous and a solution not to be taken lightly, but I did not see any other way. "Can this be made still?" I asked the staff. I looked back to read and reread the passage. It cuts curses and severs spells. Such wording sounds like a blade. I hesitantly reach for my satchel and free the dagger from it's confines. Placing it upon the table. "Will this do?"

There is a spark of light from the staff once more, a brightness that makes me twist my head away and close my eyes. The lines of ink upon the paper turning gold and shimmering. As the light fades my eyes flicker to the dagger. The golden blade is now a brilliant molten red, heat radiating off of it in waves. As it dulls back to its original coloration the staff seems to crumble within my hand. Ribbons of white prismatic color flaking off as it coils in upon itself. The magick object shifts yet again, until it is a small white opalescent pendant that softly falls into my palm. I take a deep uneasy breath.

Fingers slowly curl around the gem, pressing my forehead against my fingers. “Thank you for your gift.” I murmur softly, for a moment the world is at a stand still. I stare from the necklace to the golden dagger on the table. I bow my head and respectfully let the silver chain drop around my shoulders, the white opalescent gem glinting a fiery blue as it rests against my collar bone. It still feels strange, a thrum that makes my skin prickle as my thumb worries against the stone. Then, with a hesitant touch, I hesitantly tap the blade of the dagger. It is cool to the touch, despite being molten red only moments ago. Fingers sliding cautiously around its handle before their grip tightens and my knuckles bulge.

The tower room is left behind, pristine and silent. Looking down to the stairs below, from where I stand, it is like a gaping maw with crooked teeth leading me back down, down, down.

What if I fail? Or worse yet, what if I have to kill him? I can see my hands, my hands, my hands. My hands and the hilt of the dagger gleaming. The blade plunged into his chest. The strangled gasping of breath. Gods what if I have to kill him. Could I live with myself? Could I bare to live with myself if I did? I don't know, I don't know. He wants to kill me. He attacked me, chased me. He doesn't know me anymore. Is that true? Or course it is. If he loved me, like before he would have stopped. Why does he not remember me? Why does he not remember? I don’t understand. I just don’t. Could I live with myself if [ I open the door. ] I had to kill him? Perhaps I could then take the blade and end my own existence as well. Then at the very least perhaps we could find each other once more. Gods, I can't bear to think about that. I can't think about that. Stop it! Stop it! You can't do this to yourself! But the blade gleams wickedly and blood pools onto the ground. My knees are soaked, my face is splattered. His hand reaches for me. Stop it. His hand reaches for me before it falls. Stop it. It falls to the ground and stills. Stop it. There is nothing I can do. There is nothing I can do. All I can do is watch. I won't let that happen. How can you stop it? I won't let that happen, I won't, I won't, I won't let that happen. How can you stop it?

I move as if within a dream, stepping back into the light of the outside world. The courtyard is grey. An abysmal, haunting grey, where phantoms of the past hour chasing each other in my mind. Yet, there are no signs of life here. There is no bird song, no sounds other than my footsteps clicking on stone. I do not hear Edrick, and my senses are strung so tightly they are at risk of fraying. I hold the dagger to my breast with both hands. Both hands clench so tightly that they prickle and ache. The only thing grounding myself to this moment, this space of time, the ache. I look left and then right, pivoting on my heel in a slow circle. No sign. There is no sign of him, and no sign of where he would have gone. I start moving slowly, my heart beating in my throat. My eyes locked on the stone edge of what I could see. I turned the corner and I see his looming shape lumbering like a bear towards me. Chest panting, mouth open, excited.

"Edrick," I rasp past the lump in my throat, watching his lip peel back and show those rows of teeth. I swallow hard, as my whole body shakes with nerves. "Plea-Please Edrick. Come to your senses, I don't want to fight you, I-I love you."

It was absolute mockery, the sneer of that wide split mouth. Then he lunged, without reply. My chest rising and falling quaking all over. I unsheath the dagger and plead to whatever Goddess is watching that my hand strikes true. I turn tail and run, hoping that the fountain will be enough of an obstacle that it will buy me more time. Then the world goes sideways. The ground rushing up to meet me. I have just enough time to turn, to twist onto my back as Edrick's maw sunk savagely into my leg. Vision blurring at the edges there is a high dull scream, a sound in my throat that I barely recognize as it sounds so far away. Seeing pops of color behind my eyes. I slip the dagger between the vines that crown his eyes and pull. The vines snapping in the blades wake.

Edrick reels backwards, jaw slack as he immediately lets go of me. His big furry hands fly to his face, which in my hazy vision I catch a glimpse of red where his eyes should be. All along his form, the vines begin to shrivel and grey, the deep saturated blood colored roses crumple and wither into blacked husks. Edrick stumbles, teetering on the brink before he collapses to the ground. My hand shakes so much that my fingers cannot keep a hold of my blade. I begin to crawl towards him on hands and knees, blade dropped and forgotten. "Edrick?" My throat is so tight that I can barely manage to make the words escape me.

"My. . . love?" His voice is ragged, and hasn't been used in a very long time. "My eyes, what has happened to my eyes?" A shudder runs through him, and his face lifts out of his hands, nose scenting the air. I freeze in place, blinking back tears.

"Why do I smell blood?"

I make a strangled sound, and Edrick unsteadily gets to his feet, nose twitching, fluffy eyebrows drawn together. "Is. . . are you hurt? Who has done this to you?"

That being the turning point in which I cry. I finally, finally can let myself cry. The fear, the pain, the relief, a torrent of emotions I can no longer push back for the sake of survival. Edricks hands outstretched as he slowly makes his way back towards me. One steady foot patting its way across the tile before he takes a step. He moves wearily, and unsure, one searching step after another, he finds the rim of the fountain, using it to feel his way to me. I look at his face, his eyes, and cry even harder. Desperately grabbing his hand and holding it tightly.

"What has happened?" Edrick whispers, his own voice tight and unsure. He crouches and I painfully push myself up to sit on the stone ledge. My leg burning from the bite.

"Do you not remember?" I force the words out, behind a heaving breath. "No. . ." He replies softly before giving a growl. I freeze, before gently taking his other paw to stop him from swiping at his eyes.

"D-don't, you'll make it worse," I hesitate, before saying, "Something. . . has gored your eyes. . ." He is quiet, processing the information, a hand straying to his cheek before his fingers clench. I reach up, cupping his furry cheeks in my hands, my forehead resting against his.

"What was it?" He rasps, and my heart breaks, at the emotion that colors his voice.

"I don't truly know. . . A spell of some kind. A similar spell that has woven its way across the castle ground." Ed growls and I jolt without meaning to.

"I can't remember, why can't I remember?" He shakes his head from side to side, as if willing the fog in his mind to clear. "Why do you smell. . . so afraid?"

I swallow and feel ashamed. What should I say? What can I say? I purse my lips together, squeeze my eyes shut. "A lot of things have changed, since you've been away."

Edrick tilts his head, "I don't understand."

"Edrick. . ." I say, my voice a hoarse whisper. "I think we are the only two left alive in the castle."

Edrick tenses, and I release a shaky breath. "How can that be?" He asks, instead of responding right away, I wrap my arms around him, and hold him closer. "I am not sure myself," suddenly I feel as if I am lead. "The palace. . . is no longer safe. It has fallen to ruin while you have been gone. The castle is overgrown with. . . these briar vines and roses. There have been dangers lurking in the castle, at one point the vines had a will of their own, the guards were dragged away, people began to disappear until there weren't many of us left."

His arms wrap around me as well, and we stay huddled together for what feels like hours. I wished Edrick and I could stay together like this for eons more. Mourn our past lives, our losses, lick our wounds. It isn't safe to do so, not yet. Not while this labyrinth of danger was the cage we reside. I relent and gently pull away.

"Wait, wait right here," I squeeze their hand before going to search the grounds. The bite causes me to limp, but I can still walk, a blessing in its own right. I find a broken spear, one without its blade. Making my way back I give it to Edrick, pressing it to his palm and folding his large fingers around it. He takes it in his hands.

"What is this. . .?"

"To help you feel your way. Tapping the cobbles with the staff to make sure the space is safe to tread."

I take his free paw, to kiss his knuckles, "And I shall be your eyes." Edricks tufted ears are up and alert. I struggle to bend down and reach for the dagger at my feet, resting at the fountain to cut my sleeve into ribbons.

"You have changed," Edrick said softly. "You have always been clever, ever since we were children, but where is the coquette I once knew?" I took a deep breath, and hesitated on what to say.

"For a long time I was convinced I had lost you." The dots of white that marked his brows knit together. I nervously put my arms past his great head, softly tying the makeshift bandage around his poor eyes.

"The past fears I had," I run my hand up and down his arm as I spoke. "Pales in comparison to these last months, and if we make it out alive. . . I will carry you myself to the chapel." Edrick grins at that, ferocious teeth pulled back. It makes me tense, but I refuse to let go of him. "Then let us see to that quickly my love, I can already hear those bells… Tell me what I must do."

We may be battered, but we are not yet beaten.

[hp-hcs]

1.3k words of the author bullying blaise zabini just for the plot (Chapter Three of The Doll) — slytherin boys x gn! ‘the boy’ (2016)! reader

Requests open

tws: dolls, obviously; reader referred to as ‘it’ (presumed inanimate); mentions of past child character death(s); mentions of a house fire—implied arson; violence; & murder

based entirely off of the 2016 film ‘the boy’. the painting? dear jesus fuck. that’s my trauma. watching that scene when i was like, thirteen.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Without further ado, Blaise snatches up the fucking doll, stomping upstairs with the doll carelessly dangling by one porcelain arm. Reaching Y/N’s bedroom (of course the freaky doll has its own bedroom, why wouldn’t it?), Blaise opens the door with much more force than necessary. He pauses in the doorway, taking in the room that the L/Ns had so carefully decorated—as if it were an actual child’s room—with brightly colored bedsheets, cartoon animals painted on the walls, and toys scattered everywhere.

He aggressively chucks the doll onto the rocking chair in the corner, (“The reading chair,” the L/Ns had cooed. “Y/N just loves when we read them bedtime stories”), and shuts the door as he leaves, digging through his pockets for the skeleton key the L/Ns had left the boys and locking the door with a resounding clack!

Letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, he tries to calm his racing heart. Drawing the key back out of the lock and tucking it away safely, he makes his way back downstairs on shaky legs.

He pointedly looks down at the floor as he passes the painting of the L/Ns.

Returning to the living room, his friends stare at him with wildly curious expressions.

“You okay, man?” Draco asks slowly, tilting his head.

“You guys aren’t getting popcorn tonight,” Blaise says with finality, his voice cracking on the last word. Blaise Zabini is not the kind of person to waver while speaking.

The boys don’t press the issue.

They instead scoot over, making room for him to join their blanket pile on the floor as they start the movie. Once he’s settled in, Blaise focuses on watching Cady Heron fumble her way through high school and tries to push the fuckery with the doll out of his mind.

~~~ Passing through the main narrow hallway, Blaise precariously carries a stack of antique books, liable to disintegrate at just the wrong glance. The rain is still going strong, a sudden clap of thunder causing the hallway’s oil lamps to splutter feebly. Cursing under his breath, Blaise sets the books on a decorative hall table and fumbles through his pockets for a lighter. Just in time, another crack of thunder seems to shake the whole house, the lamps giving off one last sad spark of light before giving up entirely.

His thumb slips against the flint wheel a few times before the lighter finally flickers, a flame catching on the wick. The tiny pinprick of light in the otherwise murky and oppressive hallway does nothing to light up Blaise’s surroundings. Moving the lighter around slowly, so as not to accidentally catch anything in the old house on fire, he slowly makes his way down the hall, immediately banging his hip on a console table.

Cursing again, Blaise swings the lighter around, looking for any more furniture boobytraps attempting to further maim him.

Then, a soft sound could be heard.

Blaise freezes, his breath catching in his throat.

It’s the unmistakable sound of a child crying.

Holding the lighter out in front of him like a weapon, Blaise takes a hesitant step down the hall towards the sound. The flame of his lighter then glints off of something hanging on the wall, a very large glossy wooden picture frame.

It’s the damn painting.

Frozen in place, Blaise can’t do anything but stare up at the imposing painting in terror. In the meager light, the L/Ns faces all look demonic and twisted.

The sobbing gets louder, closer.

He glances down the hall towards the sound, his heart pounding in his chest, before glancing back at the painting.

A hand shoots out from the canvas and seizes him around the throat, sharp nails digging into his flesh and squeezing squeezing squeezing-

~~~

Blaise wakes up in a cold sweat. Heart practically beating out of his chest, he breathes heavily, every one of his senses on overdrive, screaming at him to get out of there.

The clock on the TV stand glows a comforting green, whispering the time as an early five in the morning. The sun has only just begun to break over the horizon, gentle morning rays leaking through the decorative bits of stained glass at the top of each of the windows and casting warm shades of colors over the ceiling.

Mattheo lays stretched out next to him, dead asleep and hogging all of the blankets. Enzo and Draco fell asleep on each other, in a way that looks terribly uncomfortable. Theo is sprawled out across all of them, his head on Blaise’s knee and half of his body sandwiched between him and Mattheo. They must’ve fallen asleep before the movie ended, because the little DVD logo box slowly bounces across the screen, avoiding the corners like the plague.

Blaise scrubs his hands over his face, looking around the inviting and entirely non-threatening room. Really, the house is rather cute, in its own charming way. Like how a grandparent’s house is always tacky and poorly decorated, yet still perfect and homey nonetheless.

Knowing there was no way he’d be able to fall back asleep, Blaise carefully moves Theo’s head onto a blanket, sliding out of the group pile and standing up. His knees snap crackle and pop as he grunts to himself, shuffling to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.

The kitchen is even cuter in the sunlight, with pale gingham curtains framing the window above the sink and cross-stitch frames dotting the walls. As he flicks the start lever on the coffee pot, he takes the opportunity to look around the room. Tacky linoleum floors? Check. Kitchen towels with embroidered kitschy sayings? Check. Live laugh and fucking love, everybody.

Blaise leans against the counter on his forearms, listening to the coffee pot hum. Taped onto one of the kitchen cabinets in front of him is a faded polaroid of a family in the outdoors, the woman and man grinning widely at the camera while the young child in the foreground appears to be mid-laugh, clinging to their father. The scrawled handwriting at the bottom describes the photo as ‘Y/N’s 9th birthday at the lake!’

Blaise’s eyebrows shoot up as he looks over the photo again. He hadn’t recognized them immediately, but sure enough, the woman and man in the photograph are the L/Ns. They look so much younger and happier in the polaroid, the weight of life having yet to set in.

Caught up in his thoughts, Blaise barely notices when the coffee pot dings to let him know that it’s done. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he pulls down a few mugs for him and the rest of the boys. He glances down curiously when the coffee pot continues to hum.

His brow furrows as he taps at the machine with a fingernail. The coffee maker splutters indignantly and beeps again, then goes silent.

But the hum continues.

Abandoning his quest for caffeine, he peeks out into the hall, wondering if one of his friends had woken up. He peers into the entrance of the living room from the kitchen doorway; he can see the still-bouncing logo on the otherwise mute TV, and his four friends still sprawled out on top of all of the blankets.

But the hum continues.

He steps a little further out into the hall. He can now hear distinctly that the sound is coming from upstairs. Looking back at his abandoned mug on the counter forlornly—and mentally cursing himself for being insatiable in his curiosity—Blaise slowly starts up the stairs.

Once he reaches the top floor, the sound grows louder. It’s clearer now too. Blaise can tell that it’s not a hum.

It’s a child’s sobs.

Eyes widening, his gaze immediately latches onto the door of Y/N’s bedroom.

Surely not.

Holding the skeleton key retrieved from his pocket between shaking fingers, he slides it into the lock and twists, the door slowly creaking open.

The doll is still sitting in the chair, exactly as he left it.

He sighs in relief.

It’s a doll, dumbass. You’re just being paranoid. The war just left you on edge, that’s all.

He turns to leave, to go back downstairs and enjoy his coffee, when something catches his eye.

The doll is crying.

A single tear tracks down its face, hanging still for a moment before dripping off of its porcelain chin.

Blaise stumbles backwards, dropping the key with a clatter. He tugs the neckline of his shirt down frantically, feeling the phantom hand from his dream wrapping around his throat once more. He could swear he feels those damn nails again, slicing into his skin.

Watching the doll with bated breath and terror-stricken eyes, Blaise waits a long moment before another tear runs down its face, running down the bridge of its nose from its forehead.

Wait.

Forehead?

Blaise slowly looks up at the ceiling, a bit convinced that if he looks away from the doll for too long, it’ll lunge. He releases the breath he’s holding when he sees that the ceiling has a leak, rainwater from last night’s storm dripping down. Down from the seam of where the shut tight pull-down ladder to what must be the attic—or some kind of storage space—meets the rest of the ceiling.

It’s just an old house. There’s no crying dolls, no monstrous paintings. Just a wacky old house with wacky old owners.

Yep. That’s all.

~~~

Chapter Four <3

[jadegretz]

Jessica Rabbit: Screen Diva by Jade Gretz

Jessica Rabbit stood at the edge of the sprawling city, her silhouette framed against the golden glow of the setting sun. The skyline stretched out like a painting of jagged buildings and streets that pulsed with the rhythm of a thousand stories. The Jessica that the world knew—the sultry singer with curves that could stop traffic, the bombshell who captivated audiences at the Ink and Paint Club—was just an illusion. Beneath the glamour, beneath the surface, was a woman who had always felt like she was playing a part, living someone else’s dream.

Tonight was different.

The wind whipped through her flowing red hair, carrying the distant sounds of honking cars and muted conversations. She wasn’t heading to the club tonight. No sultry number, no crowd of leering eyes. Tonight, Jessica Rabbit was going on a journey. A journey that had been calling to her for years, but one she had been too afraid to face—until now.

The streets behind her began to glow with the neon lights of the city coming to life, but Jessica’s gaze was fixed on the road ahead. It led to the outskirts, beyond the city’s steel skeleton, toward the rolling hills that stretched far into the unknown. It was there that she had been drawn, ever since she was a child. It was there, in a crumbling mansion hidden among the hills, that her family had once lived—a legacy wrapped in secrets she had buried long ago.

But tonight, she couldn’t ignore the pull anymore. It was time to uncover the truth about herself, about where she came from, and to answer the questions that had haunted her for so long. The past she had buried was about to resurface, and she had no idea what it would reveal.

The journey to the mansion took hours, and the further she went from the city, the more the landscape transformed into something raw and untamed. The rolling hills, covered in tall grasses and wildflowers, gave way to thick forests. Trees rose like sentinels, their branches casting long shadows that danced in the moonlight. The road beneath her heels crunched with each step, and the air grew cooler, thick with the scent of earth and pine.

Final …(see the rest of the story at deviantart.com/jadegretzAI). For more supergirl, chun li, batgirl, tifa, lara croft, wonder woman, rogue and much more, please visit my page at www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai - Thanks for your support :)

[lialacleaf]

Make for me, a soft universe.-Aurora

Please don’t repost these images, they are my own personal artwork.

Simon Riley x Reader

Warnings: Mature Themes, nude painting, they kiss too. Probably should just say 18+ but not NSFW. I’m sorry it’s not edited. Enjoy.

You'd grown up fearing death, even the very reminder of mortality. You hated seeing the skeletons in the fall months as a child. They scared you, and you always felt a sense of confusion at the cultural obsession with them.

And then he had come along, carrying the smell of gunpowder and smoke, phasing into your life like the phantom he claimed to be.

He wasn't the sort of man your mother wanted for you. Sometimes you weren't even sure he was a man at all.

You owned a booth at the farmer's market where you displayed your brilliant paintings, full of cover and life, the first place you'd seen him. Just the sight of him in that mask, large frame towering over the crowd a few stalls down had you fighting down a sudden acid reflex that threatened to spill your breakfast onto the ground beneath you.

The crisp early morning air didn't make you shiver nearly as much as his scent carried to you on the soft breeze.

You prayed he wouldn't come near you, feeling your breath catch at the sense of something intense impending on the horizon as if whatever it was would crash over you and slowly drown you in him.

Nevertheless, his gaze settled on your little table, and he left his much friendlier companion at one of the candle seller's stalls to look at your paintings.

You couldn't help but tremble when his eyes flicked up to rest on your face, eyes boring through you as if he saw something there that everyone else had somehow missed.

The intensity of his eyes, brown ones that caught in the morning sunlight, made the rest of the world suddenly feel very grey as if all sound and sight were suddenly muted.

His black-clad form was the backdrop, his white skull mask the canvas, and those eyes, gracious those eyes, they were art.

He cleared his throat, and suddenly the world snapped back into place, suddenly so much brighter and clearer than before you'd even forgotten it was there.

You barely caught the movement of his skeleton gloves tucking one of your business cards into the pocket of his tactical vest. You blinked and he was gone, leaving you panting as if you'd run a marathon.

The second time you saw him he was in your studio. You didn't hear him come in, despite the bell hung purposefully on your door.

He glanced over a large painting of a stag cast in golden sunlight amidst the trees of a forest. It's antlers spanned from one corner of the canvas to the other. After a moment of letting his eyes rove over it, theys ettling on you, frozen before a half-painted canvas, your lips parted as you barely breathed and your fingers twitched around a paintbrush, and his head tilted at you curiously.

"You take commissions?"

His voice was warm, rough, and forign. An English dialect that you couldn't immidiately place.

You tried to speak, but your tongue felt like lead, and you struggled with your words before bolting from your seat and bringing him a copy of your commission form.

He accepted the sheet of paper in one of his gloved hands, unintentionally crumpling it in the strength of his grip. Standing so close, his smell made your eyes flutter closed for only a second before you came to your senses and they snapped back open.

You watched his eyes trail over the words, before with a single swift motion he plucked the pen that had been tucked behind your ear and began to scribble down his request.

His touch left you reeling, and you could only imagine you looked like a deer caught in the headlights with your wide eyes.

He pulled an envelope from his jacket and handed it to you with your pen and the completed for.

"I'd like this, but...how you would do it." You nodded dumbly as he offered you a crisp hundred-dollar bill. "For the deposite."

He was gone after that, leaving you standing dumbfounded in your own studio.

~

You carefully held the worn out photo between your fingers, starring into the sorrowful eyes of the otherwise beautiful woman, before placing it back in the envelope.

Maybe the woman was his lover, but the picture looked far too old. Unless he was a lot older under that mask than all his muscle and bulk suggested.

It mattered little to you, he was paying you quite decently for your work.

You decided she’d look lovely in a purple dress seated beside a pond. Eyes full of life and smile mirthful, she was quite a sight to behold.

He didn’t leave any contact information, and you weren’t sure how you were supposed to contact him when it was finished, so she sat in your display window for nearly six weeks before that telltale smell of him wafted into your studio one rainy morning.

The bell sounded, and you glanced up from the computer at your front desk. Your eyes settled on the skull mask and widened, your lips parting as you inhaled him into your lungs.

“Your back,” you said, dropping your pen onto the counter.

“Too soon?” He asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

You shook your head quickly, moving towards the painting in your window. “No! No I just…wasn’t sure if you were coming back,” you stated nervously.

He nodded, as if he’d almost expected you to say as much. “Been away,” he stated simply.

You offered him a tight lipped smile. “Enjoy your trip?”

He stared blankly at you, glancing away as if the question made him ever so slightly uncomfortable. “Sure.”

You bit your lip and nodded in an attempt to dispel the tension. “We’ll, here she is,” you said, turning the canvas towards him.

His hard gaze softened as soon as his eyes settled on the image, and you watched him take it in with a warmth you had get to see in those brown orbs.

A gloves hand reached out to ghost over the woman’s cheek, and you felt your heart speed up at the sight of it.

“Here,” he murmured, handing you his card as he gently took the painting from your hands to he could inspect it closer.

Your breath caught in your throat as his warm gloves brushed against your bare fingers.

Wordless, you scurried over to his desk to run the card, printing his receipt.

“She’s very pretty,” you said, handing him his items. He glanced at you and nodded in thanks.

“My mum.”

You couldn’t help but smile softly at that. “I’m sure she’ll love it.”

He stared deeply at you for a moment before nodding. “She probably would have.”

Your eyes widened, and your lips parted as you nearly choked on air. “Oh. Oh my gosh I’m so sorry,” you squeaked, slapping a hand over your mouth.

“S’alright. Probably much happier where she is now anyway. I’d bet she looks more like this,” he said, nodding to your painting with a crinkle in the corners of his eyes.

You blinked, tilting your head as you thought over the implications of his words. He saw an odd sort of freedom in death, a release of a tormented spirit.

Your eyes settled on that skull mask again, and the deep brown eyes gazing at you from behind it. What was he?

~

He haunted your dreams now. Those burning eyes, so expressive that it made up for his lack of a face.

Did he even have one under that mask?

Maybe he was horribly scarred.

It drove you a little mad to think about it. At first you’d just started painting him in that silly mask, the contours of it speaking to you in ways that a skull never had before.

Your mother wasn’t pleased with your new infatuation. She seemed just as frightened by his image as you had once been.

Soon enough however it wasn’t enough to paint his mask and his eyes. You wanted his face. You had some ideas of what it could look like.

He had a large nose, that much you could tell, and blonde eyelashes. His face was long, and his jaw must have been rather exaggerated to have moved his balaclava every time he spoke.

There were about a hundred sketches sitting in your notebook of him, or possible hims rather.

You wished he’d walk through your door again so you could rip it off his face, but you highly doubted he’d ever be back.

Sometimes you’d stare out the window of your shop and fantasize about what you would do if he did ever come back.

~

“I didn’t think you…did this sort of thing.” Your closest friend, Madelyn, held up the flyer with a sort of frightened interest.

“They won’t actually be naked, they leave on their underwear,” you argued.

The local arts festival was hosting a competition, and the theme this year was Michael Angelo.

“Have you secured a model yet?” Mady asked, eyeing the picture of an almost nude painting on the flyer carefully.

“Posted a casting call at a few coffee shops this morning,” you said, taking a bite out of your breakfast as you organized your desk.

There were order forms scattered all over the place, but you’d put all commission work on hold for the contest.

“Why not try the gym?”

You blinked owlishly at Mady and tilted your head. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea,” you mumbled. “I’m sure there are a few pompous peacocks who’d like to have their muscles on canvas.”

You grabbed your coat from the back of your chair and shoved your arms through the sleeves. “I’ll be back in half an hour, keep an eye on the place for me?” You asked as you grabbed a handful of flyers.

Mady gave you a thumbs up as you dashed out the door. You ignored the wind as it picked up around you, dashing down the sidewalk to the end of the plaza where the gym was situated.

The wind practically slammed the door behind you as you stepped inside, and you smiled politely at the receptionist as you made your way to the advertisement board near the entrance.

It was rather empty, save for some ads about odd local jobs. You went about pinning up your flyer before turning to the door when something caught your eye.

A familiar gaze was settled on you from afar, deep brown eyes watching you from the exercise mat. The skull mask had you practically choking on your own spit.

There was no tactical vest, just a black sweatshirt and a pair of grey joggers. His hands were covered in little scars, and the veins on the back of the large hand holding his water bottle were thick and prominent.

You swallowed thickly, and offered him a nervous smile as you rushed out the door.

All this damn time…he’d been just a few doors down. You shook your head at the thought.

~

You were filing away receipts when it finally happened. The bell on your door chimed, and you looked up to…there was no way.

He wore the same black sweatshirt from the gym, but his jeans were a dark navy color, and his boots looked like they’d seen better days. What surprised you the most however, was the black surgical mask that put his blonde head of hair on full display.

You were right, he was gorgeous, even if you hadn’t gotten a look at his mouth.

“Afternoon,” he greeted in that husky Mancunian accent.

You blinked in surprise, and tried not to sputter. “Oh, hey…hi.”

“Hi.” He stared at you for a moment with a raised brow. “You posted this?”

You felt your eyes grow wide as he held up your flyer. “Yeah! Yeah that was me, if your interested, the prize money is-“

“You can keep the money.”

You blinked in surprise. “You don’t want a cut?” You asked.

He shook his head as he stepped closer to your desk. “I like your work,” his eyes settled on something behind you and it was an effort not to gasp as you realized there was at least one painting of him on display, his skull mask expertly contoured by your hands. “You keep the money, I keep the painting.”

He said it so resolutely that you didn’t even bother to argue, nodding your head dumbly. “And your comfortable with…that?” You asked, motioning to the flyer in his hand.

“Been sharing a locker room with men and women for over a decade. Nothing new,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Your weren’t sure how to respond to that, so you simply smiled nervously. “Alright then. I’m y/n by the way,” you said, offering him your hand.

You watched as his much larger one enveloped your hand in his grasp. “Simon. Friends call me Ghost.”

You raised a brow at him. “I can see why.”

~

Your canvas was prepped, and you’d laid out a tablecloth on the floor for him to sit on. You made a strong effort not to watch him strip down, but you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander over his back as he slipped out of his clothes.

He didn’t remove the mask, and you didn’t ask him to.

“What now?” He asked, stepping onto the white cloth. You refused to look him in the eye as you guided him into your desired sitting position.

“One more thing,” you said, pulling a dry erase marker from your pocket and flicking the cap somewhere on the floor behind you. “May I?”

He nodded, eyeing you curiously as you brought the tip to his skin, tracing the lines of his muscles lightly, following the shape of his pecs, his shoulders, and slowly moving lower, following the lines that made his abs, and the V that dipped down to his waistband.

His eyes were glued to your face, his gaze intense, and it make your hands shake.

“Nice trick.” Your head snapped up to meet his gaze, and you blushed, not having realized how close your faces would be.

“Makes the sketch go faster,” you mumbled.

“How long will the whole thing take?” He asked as you seated yourself at your canvas.

“We won’t be finished today, that’s for sure.” Something seemed to spark in his eyes at that statement.

“Take your time, Lovie.”

That certainly made your cheeks burn.

~

“Why the mask?” You asked as you carefully added shading to his shoulders with a fine tipped paint brush.

“Does it bother you?” Simon asked, tilting his head at you. He seemed to become more and more relaxed after the past few afternoons spent in your studio.

“Not really,” you explained. “Would be nice to have a face to paint though.”

He hummed softly, and you glanced up at his warm eyes that make your stomach flip. You held his gaze for a moment before he reached up, slipping the mask off his face and tossing it behind him.

You eyes widened, drinking him in. You weren’t sure how seeing his face was so much more alluring than seeing the rest of him, but your heart rate must have skyrocketed.

You couldn’t help but slide from your stool, approaching him with nervous footsteps. Your fingertips brushed his cheeks, cupping his jaw as you tilting his head this way and that.

His eyes fluttered closed before drifting open again, a new ferocity burning in them. He smirked softly at you, dipping his head to press his lips to your fingertips.

You felt your mouth go dry, your tongue darting out to wet your lips, and the motion caught his eye.

One of those large hands reached up, tilting your jaw down towards him as he held your gaze.

“Now that’s art.”

You kissed him hard, lips melding together, teeth clashing, his tongue sliding against yours until he had control of your mouth. Your fingers traced the scars on his chest and shoulders reverently.

It was going to take longer than expected to finish that painting.

AN: this one just kinda came out of nowhere, an excuse for me to flaunt my Ghost artwork 👀

[ghosts-n-bones]

Error Sans x Reader - 𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓼

~*~

With a scowl on his face, Error sits idly on his spot on the couch in your living room.

Yes, his spot.

He spends so much time at your place that he had claimed the left side of your couch as his, not that you really minded. You happened to like the right side better anyway, or so you’ve told him. However, you had spent the entire evening up in your spare room, leaving Error without his couch buddy. At some point, he had even gone up to see what you were doing, but you told him he wasn't allowed to see yet.

Which is why he now sits on the couch alone, grumbling to himself.

Look, Error knew you were probably making something to show him, if the mischievous look on your face told him anything. You had told him before that that extra room became your hobby room when you moved in. He's seen it before. It was filled with miscellaneous art supplies and instruments. He... didn't like going in there too often. It reminded him of a certain skeleton he'd rather not think about. You had told him that you completely understood. After all, hating that rainbow bastard was something you two had in common.

Despite his hesitance, he still wanted to see what was taking you so long. He knew it was supposed to be a surprise, but that didn't stop Error from being painfully restless and incredibly curious. The tv in front of him became white noise as his mind raced with different possibilities. He didn't really like surprises, they tended to make him crash.

But he knew you would never do anything to scare him on purpose.

He flushed a bit at that thought, but he quickly shoved it away. Never in a million years did he think he would ever feel comfortable enough around someone to think that, let alone a human.

With an overdramatic sigh, Error flops sideways on the couch into a laying position, staring at the ceiling. Hopefully you'd be done soon... he's not sure how much longer he can be patient.

---

With a few more flicks of your brush against the canvas, you let it drop into the water glass with a satisfying plop. Taking a step back from the easel, you cross your arms over your chest. You squint, tilting your head sideways as you looked at the now-completed painting in front of you. With a satisfied grin, you sigh happily at the completed art piece. You were honestly worried that you wouldn't finish it on time. You wanted to give it to Error before the day was up, and you knew you were pushing it, but you were able to power through and create something you were rather proud of. You see, today was an anniversary of sorts. Today marked exactly one year since you saw the stars for the first time, and Error had been the one to show them to you.

You had lived in a busy city ever since you were a child, so you had never really been able to see the night sky. The combination of light pollution and your busy schedule prevented you from ever seeing the stars in person.

The night you first saw the stars happened unexpectedly. Error had come over again, like he usually did, and you happened to be watching a documentary about space exploration. Error surprisingly seemed to be really interested in the topic. He told you that watching a documentary would never compare to seeing the real thing. You offhandedly mentioned that you had never seen the stars in person before. He then proceeded to give you a bewildered look, asking how that was even possible. You shrug, saying you had never had the opportunity to see them. Without a word, he then wrapped a few of his strings around your wrist and opened a portal. He dragged you off of the couch, much to your displeasure, and through the portal. You were confused at first... the ground beneath you had changed from your carpet to what appeared to be rock, and the surrounding area was darker than it had been before. You remember asking Error where he had brought you and he simply pointed to the sky, saying "You said you've never seen the stars, so I brought you to the source."

You lift your head to the sky and let out an audible gasp. That's when you saw them. Millions of bright, glowing stars shining in all their glory. The stars were brilliant shades of blue, purple, and yellow, twinkling above you. It felt like your breath had been taken away. You had never seen anything more beautiful in your entire life. Error explained to you that this was another universe, known as Outertale. It quickly became a very special place for you and Error.

And the rest was history.

With a faint smile on your lips at the memory, you turned towards the door to your spare room. You couldn't wait to see what Error thought of your gift.

---

Error heard the door to the spare room creek open and he quickly sat up. You peeked your head around the door frame and looked around before calling down to the glitchy skeleton.

"Error, I'm do-," you began, but you were suddenly cut off by a familiar black blur appearing in front of you.

You let out a small shriek as Error chuckles to himself.

"Whoops, I didn't mean to teleport that close," Error says with a smug grin.

He totally did. What a dork. You shake your head with a small laugh, straightening yourself out.

"That excited to see what I made, huh?" you ask jokingly.

Error pinches his fingers together and squints.

"Maybe a little bit. You've been up here for the past two and a half hours, I can't help but be a little curious, you know?" he says with a noncommittal shrug.

You roll your eyes and chuckle.

"You are so impatient," you joke, as Error puts his hand on his chest in mock offense.

"Ouch, you wound me," he says dramatically.

"Come on, weirdo, do you want to see or not?"

"I don't know, I'll think about it."

You give him an unamused look, causing a smug smile to spread across his face. He lets out a loud laugh before walking towards the door.

"Fine, fine, I'll look, but only because you asked so nicely," Error says teasingly.

You roll your eyes again and snort out a laugh. Grabbing the door, you swing it open so Error could walk through. As Error started walking past you, you quickly stopped him.

"Wait wait, don't go in yet," you say briskly.

"Do you want me to go in or not? I'm getting mixed signals here," Error says with an amused huff.

"Yes, I want you to come in, but you need to close your eyes first."

Error quirks an eyebrow before squinting his eye sockets suspiciously.

"Why? Is something going to jump out at me?" Error says skeptically.

"No, nothing is going to jump out at you, I promise. I just want it to be a surprise," you say, shifting awkwardly in place.

Error's eye lights scan your face for a moment before he sighs.

"Fine, but if I crash, I'm blaming you," he says.

He uses a few of his strings and wraps them around your wrist, then he closes his eyes. He even puts a hand over his eyes for good measure. You giggle at this, causing him to smirk. He tugs at the strings attached to your wrist.

"Come on, lead the way," he says.

You gently pull him along toward the easel where the painting stood proudly. He shuffled slowly behind you, looking a bit nervous due to his lack of eyesight. You eventually come to a stop, tugging on the strings around your wrist.

"You can open your eyes now," you say, barely able to contain your excitement.

The strings fall away from your wrist and Error takes his hand off of his eyes. You watch as his eye lights look towards the easel and his slight smirk fades into a shocked silence. In front of him stood a painting of Outertale, with delicately painted stars scattered along the canvas' surface. His eye lights flicked to the bottom of the canvas, where, to his surprise, he saw himself, with you right next to him, looking up at the starry night sky. His feet carried him absentmindedly towards the painting, at a loss for words. Paintings usually bothered him because of how much they reminded him of Ink, but your painting felt... different. He could almost feel your heart and soul in every brush stroke. Every delicately painted star seemed to glow with warm intent.

And you made this for him.

"Do... you like it? I made it as a thank you for taking me to see the stars. On this day, one year ago, you allowed me to experience something people only read about in science books... I just felt like I had to repay you somehow," you say, albeit a bit awkwardly.

Error just continues to stare at the canvas, seemingly lost in thought.

"Error--?"

"It's beautiful," he says in a small voice.

You look at him with wide eyes.

"What?" you say, unsure you heard him correctly.

"I said it's beautiful. It's really beautiful," he says with a small laugh.

Your heart melted seeing Error so happy about your gift. A warm feeling flooded your chest, causing your face to heat up.

"I'm glad you like it. I... care about you a lot. You've made me happier in the past year than I have been my entire life, it was the least I could do," you say gently.

Now it was Error's turn to blush. He looked at you wide-eyed, a dark blue hue spreading across his face. You giggle at his dumbfounded expression, causing the blush on his face to increase. He pulls his scarf up around his mouth, trying to hide his flustered expression. He looks away for a moment, allowing the heat in his face to cool down before he turns back to you. His expression had softened considerably, looking at you with a gentle expression.

"You... really made this... for me?" he says quietly, almost like he didn't trust his own voice.

"Well, yeah. You always tell me how much you love Outertale, and it has a special place in my own heart. I just wanted to give you a gift to show you my appreciation," you say honestly.

His eye lights search your face for a moment, almost like he was trying to find some sort of ulterior motive. When he found none, a smile spreads over his face.

"I've never been given anything like this before. I... don't know what to say," he says.

"Well, your expression says it all," you say teasingly.

Error gives you a playful stare, shaking his head with an amused huff. His expression mellows and he looks at you again.

"Thank you," he says.

You give him a warm smile.

"You deserve it," you say gently.

You look at each other for a moment before you turn your attention to the painting again. Your smile suddenly turned sour when you realized something.

"I knew I was forgetting something," you mumble.

Error gives you a weird look as you glare at the canvas.

"What could you have possibly forgotten? It looks pretty good to me," he says jokingly.

You wave your hand dismissively with a small chuckle.

"It's nothing major, I just forgot to sign it. I usually sign my artwork when I'm done with it," you explain.

Error shakes his head with a chuckle. You were weird.

He didn't mind that, though.

"Actually," you say, bringing Error out of his thoughts, "Maybe this is a good thing. Now we can both sign it!"

Error whips his head around and gives you a confused look.

"Me? Why would I sign it? I didn't make it," he says.

"Well, without you, I wouldn't have even seen the stars, so it is only fair that the skeleton who inspired me gets to sign it too," you say with a wink.

Error can feel his face heat up again. God, you were really trying to kill him tonight, weren't you? He feels your eyes on him. He hears you snort out a laugh, making him want to hide in his scarf again.

"Come on, glowstick. Your blush is lighting up the room. Are you going to sign the canvas, or not?" you say, holding up a pen.

Error grumbles something at you before snatching the pen out of your hand. You chuckle at his pouting face as you gently take the canvas off of the easel. Placing the painting on the table, you show him where to sign. Error uncaps the pen, hovers it over the canvas, and stops. His eyebrows are knitted together as his hand shakes above the canvas.

"I'm going to mess this up..." he grumbles to himself.

"No, you aren't," you assure him, "No matter what you do, I'm going to love it, trust me."

He glances at you and sighs.

"Alright... here goes nothing," he says under his breath.

Hesitantly, Error puts the pen on the painting and begins to sign his name. You had never seen his handwriting before, but it was way cooler than you ever could have imagined. He wrote his letters in a blocky fashion, which, much to your amusement, looked like the font used on old CRT computers. When he was done, he looked at you nervously, almost like he was looking for your approval.

"That looks amazing, Error! Your handwriting is so cool!" you praise.

Error shrugs and glances back at his handiwork.

"It's nothing special... but, glad you like it," he says with a small smile.

Now it’s your turn. Error hands you the pen, careful to avoid accidentally brushing his hand with yours. Uncapping the pen, you brush your hair out of your face and place the pen on the canvas' surface.

"Don't mess up," Error says from beside you.

You look at him and give him a glare, which he gladly returns with a smug grin. You roll your eyes and place the pen back on the canvas, quickly signing your name in the best cursive you could manage. Error gives you a hum of approval as you take a step back to admire the newly signed painting.

"Now it’s perfect," you say with a satisfied smile.

You pick up the canvas and give it to Error. His eyes widen, gently taking the canvas and holding it as if it were made of glass. His eye lights scan over the painting as a smile creeps along his face. He looks back up at you and studies your face for a moment, contemplating something. You give him a confused look and he sighs.

"S-stay still for a moment, alright?" he asks hesitantly.

You nod, despite your confusion. You watch as he walks towards you slowly. Once he is right in front of you, he takes a deep breath, holds out his arms, and wraps them around your shoulders.

He was hugging you.

He had never even let you touch him because of his haphephobia, and now here he was, giving you a hug. You desperately wanted to hug him back, but you kept your arms at your side, so you don't accidentally spook him. So, you opted to rest your head on his shoulder instead. You feel him tense up for a moment, his body vibrating and glitching a bit more than usual until he eventually settles into the hug again.

"Thank you... for everything," he says in a soft voice.

"Of course, Error. I don't know what I would do without you," you say with a smile on your face.

You both stand there for a few moments in content silence before Error's hand shifts off of your back. You hear the clink of glass, but before you could question it, you feel a wet paintbrush brush across your cheek. You gasp at the foreign feeling on your face as Error pulls away, paintbrush and canvas in hand.

"That's for calling me a glowstick," Error says with a smug grin before he teleports out of the room with an evil cackle.

"ERROR!"

[umbralsong]

Lady Incognita

Cazador Szarr's "niece" is named Amanita Szarr. You can find her story scattered throughout the palace's attic, dungeon, and the House of Hope. She was a girl who grew up near Anga Vled raised by old servants. At 13, she was brought to visit her uncle in Baldur's Gate...

The day her entire family exposed themselves as vampires.

Alternate Text: An east Asian girl with medium-brown skin and dark brown then red eyes looks away from the viewer. One with brown, facing away. Twice with red and shoddily cut away dark hair, looking away in despair and notably darkened, red, downcast eyes and short hair. Once more with darkened eyes and a cloak and red eyes to match, long dark hair flowing from her hood.

Unfinished, but hey. I want to show fellow artists that things just don't come to you. Sometimes, you have to work the lines and paint until they do. Use Glaze to protect your art from AI scrapers.

The notes you can find in order:

Alturiak 1477 Tarsakh 1477 Mirtul 1477 Kythorn 1477 Flamerule 1477

Please read about issues with Cazador's depiction [here]. Thank them for their kind contribution and show support.

Donate to Gaza here: https://gazafunds.org/ Support good causes with a click here: https://arab.org/ Ceasefire Now: https://ceasefire-now.com/ Donate to the [Sidewalk School] [Pay your rent], settlers. [KOSA Resources]

The city palace, straddling the wall between the Upper and Lower City, was more than creepy, it was somehow chilling.

Cazador Szarr the Avid rose to power in 1296. She stayed at the estate for at least four months before she was killed. She was turned in Kythorn 1477, 15 years before the start of the story.

'Uncle' Cazador made me a vampire, but I refused to participate in the family rites. He gave me the Hunger but he could not break my will. He had Blovart imprison me in the attic. I weakened. They sent up human blood, and eventually I drank it. For a year, they stopped sending anything. I tore at the walls in frustration. Then they sent up a bound captive.

Cazador's favorite punishments are cruelty, hunger, and isolation.

His staff, "Woe:" The gentle tap-tap-tap of a staff on stone sparked terror for all in Cazador's palace. It signalled an approaching storm, and all they could do was shrink into the background and pray its wrath would not fall on them. His dagger, "Rhapsody:" Cazador's love of poetry arose after he read on the naked stomach of a dead child in his homeland. The child was hung from the lowest branch of a tree. Cazador read the poem, and looked at the child, and he knew that here was the artform for him.

Her coffin is on a wooden table overlooking a window. There are chains by her bed, a candle, and a skull. There are three skeletons in the attic, one headless with a crossbow and garlic cloves in their cage.

I succumbed. I am a vampire, and damned. I curse the name of Szarr and reject it. Now I stay in the attic by choice and write my little histories. I am Lady Incognita. Amanita is no more.

I think the snippets of her story were so impactful because of the complete betrayal. The fact her family were never around. The fact they lied for her entire life. The fact they forced her to transform, which we know from Astarion's partial ceremorphosis dialogue is incredibly painful:

Player: Unlike you to be so unwilling to receive a new power... Astarion: That was before I knew the cost. Before I knew it meant transforming into some grotesque beast. I remember how it hurt when I turned to a vampire. My body writhed and warped while I was utterly helpless, the grip of death owned my heart as it beat its last. I - I don't want to turn into anything else. I can't do that again. I can't watch my body be taken over. Player: You're afraid? Astarion: I'll happily murder my way to whatever powerful artefacts we can make use of. Point at the back and I'll stab. Just don't ask me to sacrifice my body. It hasn't been mine for so long.

We know thematically there is a parallel between vampirism, abuse, and sexuality. Cazador appeared to lose interest in his 'niece' altogether. Nonetheless, he locked her into an eternal childhood under "true vampirism," never to grow to adulthood, and denied her a "typical" life forevermore. There is something particularly grotesque about that.

Astarion: Nearly two hundred years and I never came back. Not since the night I woke up down there. I had to punch a hole in the coffin and claw my way through six feet of dirt. Then when I finally broke the surface, retching up dirt and congealed blood, Cazador was waiting. From that day on I was his. Until today. Player: You were never his. Whatever he had, he took by force. Astarion: Maybe, but he did take it. There's almost nothing left of the person I was. Just a name on a rock. For nearly two centuries, I stalked the streets like a ghost while the person I was lay here, dead and buried. Now I need to figure out who I am. What I want.

We find The Tourmaline Depths in the room beneath Cazador's room. She wrote Diseases of the Blood to tackle vampiric illness. She wrote the names of ruling vampires, their titles, and their successors. She is, what, 28?

I like to think she knew all of Cazador's secrets, from the corpses in the suspended cages to his dungeon. I'm impressed by her mental fortitude in the face of such odds as a child and young woman. I'm impressed she chose to do what she loved, escaped, and became such a relevant figure in the study of vampiric physiology. I wish we knew her better. I wish we had the opportunity to meet her.

She is the historian who sullies his name and documents his endless crimes. She escaped. Cazador underestimated her.

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

S/O brought Skeleton to a pride parade

Undertale Sans - You are a bit worried because the crowd is gigantic and your skeleton is very small. After like ten minutes, you completely lose him and starts to freak out, only to find him an hour later on a float full of trans people, just hanging there, charming everyone around. He usually doesn't have an opportunity to show off his trans puns because people don't know he's trans so he's having fun!

Undertale Papyrus - He got immediately kidnapped by the lesbians. Undyne wanted him, Alphys wanted him, so now all the lesbians want him. He is now in bright pink, with flags painted on every bone visible, and he's a very proud lesbian as well right now! He's a little confused about what's going on to be honnest, but everyone is happy so he's happy! He was supposed to say he's aromantic though? Oh well, that works too!

Underswap Sans - He's a little too excited, and the people screaming everywhere is not helping. Blue is on hyper mode, running everywhere as well, carrying flags, water bottles and banners from one part of the pride to another. He's like the official messenger between the two ends of the parade. He's having fun, and for once he's even tired when it's time to go home!

Underswap Papyrus - He accepted to take care of a child for five minutes, and now everyone is giving him their children and he's so confused??? He's hanging at the end of the parade with ten children or so as their parents are walking and parading. It's fine with him though. He feels safer out of the crowd, even though it means he gets to be insulted more often by the stupid queerphobe people waiting for the pride to arrive to insult them. But that's fine, he doesn't care. He has his three service dogs with him and they're big enough to scare the pests away.

Underfell Sans - He ditched you to flirt with the gay float people. You're a bit offended until you realize he's doing this only to climb on the float because he's so tired of walking and would gladly sell all of his limbs if it means he can sits on one of the floats lol. If it doesn't work, he goes to flatter the acearo people. And he's going to try this with every float he finds.

Underfell Papyrus - You're surprised not so much people are insulting you this year. That is until you notice Edge giving a death glare to a Karen about to insult some trans people. What's even cuter is that he has Frisk on his shoulders the all time and a unicorn horn on the head that the kid insisted he wore. He's acting more as a royal guard than he is having fun though.

Horrortale Sans - He has no idea how the hell he ended on a float in the middle of a huge crowd. He's so confused what's going on. His hands and face are painted with random colour flags and he's staring at everyone in complete confusion. Some random people he pretty sure he never met kept checking on him once in a while to give him water and food so it's not too bad. It's rare people are friendly with him.

Horrortale Papyrus - People noticed he was struggling to walk, but was very determined to parade with everyone. He cried when a random person proposed to give him their wheelchair to rest for a bit. He's a bit overwhelmed by everyone kindness. He talked with a lot of disabled queer people during this pride and learned quite a few things. He's a bit sad when it ends and insistes to stay in touch with everyone.

Swapfell Sans - He went just because his S/O wanted him to come, he got out of there having an existential crisis as he realized he might be asexual. He's not sure what to do about it, he needs to think this a little more.

Swapfell Papyrus - He's on high heels, dancing on a float, and he's having so much fun. He didn't know pride were a thing and now he wants to go to every of them. He had no idea people could celebrate being gay. It's just so normal for Monsterkind it's a little cultural shock. He loves it though! He can show off his body, look at him go!

Fellswap Gold Sans - He had no idea humans could be genderfluid too??? Why does he discovers this only now? He spends the day talking with enby people and has his mind blown as he discovers there's a ton of differents way to be non binary??? He promised all of them once he takes the control of the world, they will have good places in his kingdom. Everyone is a bit confused, but ok???

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - He's holding your hand for dear life and he's terrified to let go. There are too many people around, too much noise and too much colours everywhere for him to focus. He's probably going to have a panic attack in ten minutes or so, but he's holding on!