#it’s a little before the house with a single grave in the front yard for someone only referred to as Tom

[chiara-hotel]

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝐧𝐝: 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬/𝐨

Characters: Chuuya, Fyodor, Poe, Ranpo, Sigma, Dazai & Nikolai

TW: Mentions of Fake Blood, Limbs, Clowns, Usual halloween decor

This idea is so cute so I ended up adding Chuuya & Nikolai aswell for the characters list. Anyway, hope you enjoy the hc & thank you for requesting!

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Chuuya:

- Chuuya loves celebrations and celebrating

- Hes definitely the person to go all out on decorations (not even on purpose too, he just sees something he doesnt have and then buys it)

- Each halloween you open the seasonal storage to see a lot of new things

- Onto the actual decorating, he loves decorating with you

- Chuuya will make you fly with his ability to help you put up some of the decorations before letting you back down and kissing you

- You guys put up a lot of lights and other decor in higher places, just because chuuya likes using his ability on you and seeing you happy

- But don’t worry he also helps put up a lot of things

- Imagine your on a ladder and then he jumpscares you with one of the decorations

- Then comes a playful fight between the two of you

Fyodor:

- Fyodor doesnt own many decorations

- I’d say 3-6 with a few cobwebs + spiders

- But the decor he owns is definitely the scariest

- You guys are putting the decor up and all of a sudden you active it and jump back

- Fyodor would laugh at you before asking if you’re alright

- Then after that your staying behind him & helping out from the saftey of your boyfriend

- If they keep jumpscaring you he might get rid of them

- After you set up the things he owned, you bought a whole ton of decorations for inside the house

- So you suprised him with them and you convinced him to let you put them up

- He helps hold the ladder your standing on for lights, hands you stuff/decorations to add but he won’t put anything up

- He would never admit it but he finds it cute when you decorate the house

- Hugs while he’s standing there helping you, especially if he gave you the last item

Poe:

- Poe is the one who’d get scared at every single thing you bring out of your halloween decor box

- Hes hiding behind you and he’ll look adorable while hes doing it

- Definitely will help out for the non-scary decorations

- Karl also helps you guys out! and hes a big help

- Expect a lot of hugs from him (mostly from behind)

- Talks about making some new halloween mystery novels while you put up some of the decor

- Maybe he’ll even start writing if you have a little bit of decorations left

- Karl eats some of the candy though (and you guys spend 30 minutes trying to figure out where it went)

Ranpo:

- The one who doesnt find any of it scary

- Ranpo will complain at the beginning but eventually gives in just for you

- He doesn’t really help out though. Ranpo is your helper who will support by eating snacks at his desk

- On a side note: hide the halloween candy because this man will take them all

- Even if Ranpo finds a lot of the scary stuff stupid, he doesnt like some of the overly scary things

- Lights, Cobwebs, Pumpkins, Spiders, Bats are just a few things he loves

- Also those blow ups that you put in your front yard (he does that one, he must set it up)

- Ranpo expects a lot of praise for putting up the 1 decoration so give him some wont you?

- And when you’re finally done with all the decorations here expects a lot of cuddles for all of that work

Sigma:

- Sigma would want all of the decorations to be perfectly placed, so I think he would spend a lot of time on them

- Definitely overthinks the placements… a bit too much

- If hes deep in thought just hug him and ask him to help you with something else

- He likes cobwebs, carving pumpkins, jack-o-lanterns & fake graves/skeletons

- Nikolai probably gave him a clown decoration for fun so now you guys hang it at your door

- Sigma especially loves carving pumpkins with you. its relaxing and he also makes a lot of designs

- you guys definitely have the path leading to your house filled with jack-o-lanterns

- You also help him & nikolai decorate at the casino/DOA office

- Mostly because nikolai forces the both of you

- Nikolai would make comments about how cute you guys look together the entire time (and he won’t shut up until you guys kiss or something)

Dazai:

- When Dazai asks you to help him decorate his house, he doesn’t actually want to decorate-he just wants to spend time with you

- But hes so glad when you agree to decorate his house because that includes: Shoping trips, Spening more time with you, and much more

- Most of the time Dazai will complain about putting up the decorations as if it werent his idea

- The other times he’s actually helping you, maybe start bribing him with kisses to get him to work

- He likes mummys, caution tapes & fake blood for decorations

- Dazai will also secretly buy a while can of fake blood just to put on himself on “accident” he just wanted attention

- So you spend a whole hour in the shower together (you taking off the fake blood and cleaning him)

- The decorating will take 2 days or more with him because he gets lazy

Nikolai:

- Run away while you can

- Goes shopping for halloween decor with you only to pick out the scariest of items

- Your house is a literal haunted house

- Not to mention Nikolai bought some extra suprises for you to put around the house

- You got into he kitchen… Open your cupboard and BOOM a clown will pop up from the cupboard and scare you

- As for decorations he likes, scary ones, the decor with audio, clowns, blood, fake limbs but why have fake ones when he can get real limbs & blood easily

- Nikolai is also that one house on the street that has audio with screaming & scary sounds

- At this point everyones afraid of him

- Not to mention while decorating hes going to try to spook you at every possible moment

- As for the decorating itself hes prefect because of his ability!

- Nikolai can easily reach the high spots

- So yeah decorating with him will take the entire day

[birrdies]

going home

780 words, secret life finale spoilers

The air snaps and bends around him as his pearl strikes the earth. The world tilts upside down. His legs fold beneath the panicked pitch of his weight, his body rolling in the grass and dirt. Every bump and bruise aches, his lungs burn down to their bases. He grabs fistfuls of dirt to pull himself up. A mess of limbs rushing under him to haul across the open grasslands. The armor on his shoulders might as well weigh a thousand pounds, as if his boots themselves are full of leadened water threatening to drag him back down. 

Etho’s given plenty of thought to how he would die. In a game that deals its bidding in deaths and hearts and borrowed time, there leaves room for little else to ponder. The simplest misstep, an error in redstone wiring, a careless back turned to an open cave. These are all it takes to lose it all, and Etho’s always tried to be careful about every single one. 

He’s died a lot of ways across these games. He’s burned, he’s fallen, he’s fought himself bloody, he’s dug himself down into his own grave, riddled with arrows. Every time he’s died, it’s been with some semblance of dignity. His heels dug into the ground, his sword in his hand, some naive yet flickering hope that he might just make it. 

An arrow skims his leg, striking the dirt to his side. He staggers to the side, his breath hot and jagged as fractured glass in his throat. Every breath hurts, every step reverberates through his spine like each clap of thunder— each death of a friend turned enemy turned fallen. Green, yellow, red, and gray. 

He’s never been hunted down. Not like this. Hounded, the teeth gnashing at his heels as he throws himself towards the house embedded in the hill. He can see the greens from here, walls fading into the trampled grass of their sheep farms and the soft hills that come over the roof. Gentle slopes, warm torch light, the idle sounds of sheep out front behind the fencing. 

Home. A weird name for a weird place for a weird group of people. But it’s the first time Etho’s been willing to die for a place; if this is how he has to go out, he wants to be in the comfort of his own yard. The half-finished staircase, the portal without proper corners, the paintings hung on the wall, the scuff marks from where bookshelves were placed and moved and placed and moved over and over again— the heralds of a place well-weathered. A place built for living rather than surviving. 

“I’m going home,” he forces between pants, speaking onto the night air and the sleeping hills ahead of him. He can almost reach out. He can almost touch it. “I’m dying in my home.”

Because he’s known since the day began, since before night faded, since before Cleo looked him in the eyes and they both knew. Since she told him, You’re my favorite, you know. You always have been. 

He’s not going to win. He’s never really wanted to. 

“He sounds like a wild animal that’s been wounded,” a voice jeers behind him, as he’s reaching the steps, familiar wood under his boots. “Let’s put him out of his misery.”

The hot breath is on the back of his neck. The air pops with the force of another ender pearl, and he’s not alone anymore. Scar cracks through thin air with a sword reared over his head; Etho can’t notch an arrow before the blade’s run straight through him, blood gushing from the split in his chest and staining golden stalks of wheat crimson. It happens so quickly he hardly feels the pain of it, only an immense pressure crushing his ribs. 

Etho’s died a lot of different ways. Some more painful than the rest. And he’s almost always died alone. He’s used to dying alone. But he’s never died an animal: completely cornered, hopeless from the start. Dead before his feet even hit the ground, before he peered over the ledge of the tower and lost his footing.   But he’s home. He made it home. The smell of the sheep’s wool tickles his nose. Before his vision starts to blur, blankets of green lying over the hilltops, the lights left on in a living room he’ll never come home to. The heat of a nearby torch prickles his cold fingertips as he grabs onto Scar’s wrists. A final attempt at making a stand. But Scar’s eyes are impartial and cold. 

It’s not the first time Scar’s killed him, but Etho thinks it might be the worst.

[sailorshadzter]

heavily inspired by 'tis the damn season.

as usual, thanks @taylorswift

She’s come back again, just like she always swears she won’t do. 

It’s not a place she longs to come back to, not after all that had happened, not after all she’s endured. Yet, it feels strangely comforting as she drives down the old, familiar streets of the North, her windows cracked just a hair, allowing in the cold morning air. 

If nothing else, she has not yet forgotten the taste of the Northern cold.

The radio blares a tune she doesn’t hear, blue eyes are scanning the homes as if they’ve changed even in the slightest. As if she might not recognize the place she grew up, as if she might not know the home she had once loved beyond all else. As she pulls into her family’s drive, she glances two houses down, to where once upon a time a boy she had loved lived. But now that house was occupied by ‘the nicest of folks” as her mother had said more than once over the last few years. A sigh escapes, rosy lips pursed as she shifts the car into park, the front door already opening.

She draws her eyes away from that other house and smiles, forcing herself to forget. 

[ x x x ]

When she shifts her car into park, she knows that she’s crazy.

She looks to the left, to see the old church, to her right, the old school she once roamed the halls of. These places were still yet familiar to her, despite the long years that have passed, a testament to the importance of these places in her heart. It was here in these places where she fell in love, where she lost it all, where she learned just how cold life could be to a girl. Her gaze shifts over the gray stones of the graveyard and her heart sinks. 

But she gets out of her car anyway, tugging her scarf a little closer, hands in the pockets of her gray wool jacket. She pushes open the old, rusting gate, wondering as she always does why they don’t just replace the thing, why the world in the North seems to never change despite the years that pass. 

Her feet take her the ever familiar path to the grave she only visits when she’s home, the one she tries to pretend doesn’t exist when she’s not. The pain of this loss was just too great and she must constantly pry herself out of the hole grief has dug for her. 

Robb’s grave is well kept, though the once fresh flowers her mother placed upon it have dried up and died. She sucks in a breath, letting it go in a cloud of white as she sinks to her knees, ignoring the mud that stains her jeans as she leans forward, fingertips tracing the outline of her brother’s name in the stone. It’s been three years too long without him, without his easy going smile, without his boisterous laugh, without his calming touch of hand. Before she knows it, tears are streaking her cheeks, cold in the winter breeze. She closes her eyes, allowing herself to sink into the memories of what she’s lost, of what she’s left behind… 

“Sansa���” 

The voice draws her out of her thoughts, though she couldn’t tell you just how long she’s knelt there. Drawing back, she twists around, blue eyes falling into place on the single man that stands just several yards behind her, solemn gray eyes unrelenting in their gaze. “Home for the holidays, are you?” Jon questions, tilting his head, the slightest of smiles curving on his lips. 

Suddenly, it’s three years ago and they’re standing in this very same place. 

She can still yet recall the every moment of their last meeting, of the time she had shattered his already broken heart. I can’t stay here, not anymore, she had whispered, willing him to reach for her, to beg her to stay, to keep her there beside him. Instead, he’d merely smiled, nodding, understanding. You could come with me, she had said next, but he’d only shook his head, knowing this was his place, his home, no matter what his heart wanted. 

“Yeah,” she finally says, drawing herself out of the new wave of memories as she stands up, taking the few steps it takes to stand in front of him. They’ve not been this close in three years, yet his presence is as familiar to her now as it was then. “I’m here for a few weeks,” normally she’d come and go as quickly as the holidays did, but this time… Something had compelled her to take more time here with her family. 

“That’s nice…” He shifts from one foot to the other, awkward in her presence, uncertain in what to say next. “The South is treating you alright, then?” He imagines her in the warm, Southern air, sunlight woven into her auburn locks. He imagines her as he always does, happy and laughing, with the wind in her hair and a permanent smile. She freezes, blinking those blue eyes, before she slowly nods, perhaps torn between admitting to him that his thoughts of her could not be further from the truth or lying that she’s never been happier. “Your mum told me you’re still singing,” he goes on next, thinking of all their days before, days of youth when she had dreamed of being a famous singer someday. The rest of the town had always laughed, calling it childhood fantasies, but Jon had always believed she could do it if someone would ever just give her the chance.

Sansa laughs, thinking of her mother bumping into him in town, perhaps at the grocery store- her heart flutters as she wonders if it were he that brought her up, or her mother. “I try,” she admits as her cheeks stain pink, which translates to each weekend she spends in any coffee shop, any bar, that will have her to perform, hoping that one day someone would hear her voice and take her to where she so desperately wished to be. She thinks of Robb then, his cheering her on from the front row of any school performance, of any talent show, of any car ride. Sorrow tugs at her heart and she sighs, looking up over his shoulder at the old church that sits in this distance, abandoned in the years since she’s left home. “How’s Ghost?” She asks, turning back to face him, watching as the first true smile appears on his face. 

“He’s in my truck,” he says and she feels her heart skip a beat, thinking of all the time she spent in that truck, too. “Come on, I bet he’d love to see you,” he says next and against her better judgment, she follows him out of the cemetery and into the parking lot, where sure enough his old pickup truck is parked next to her car. Through the windshield she can see the great big white dog pacing back and forth, excited she thinks because he sees Jon returning to the truck. But to her surprise, when he opens the driver’s door, the dog leaps from inside and rushes to her, paws to her shoulders in his earnest attempt to lick her face.

Laughter tumbles from her lips as she gently pushes the dog down, dropping to her hunches so she can wrap the dog into her embrace. “Good boy, Ghost,” she chuckles as she holds tightly to him, recalling the many nights she slept tucked against the dog in Jon’s bed. 

She misses this dog as much as she misses his owner. 

Jon swallows, watching as she interacts with his dog as if no time has passed, as if nothing has ever changed. How many times has he wished for this moment in the last three years, he wonders, too many to count that was for certain. “I told you,” he laughs as she finally pulls herself away from Ghost, though the dog continues to sniff at her legs, her hands, until she gives in and returns her palm to stroke the spot between his ears; his favorite place to be petted. She still remembers, he thinks, though she would say how could she forget? “How long will you be in town?” He asks next and she looks up, blue eyes meeting gray; he needs to know beyond her comment of a few weeks.

“Until after the winter solstice,” she replies, having decided to stay for the local festival. 

“Can I… See you again?” He asks softly, daring to be courageous.

A smile curves on her lips and she nods, unable to help herself. 

[ x x x ]

The lingering touch of his hands in the darkness, the aching breath that catches in her throat. 

“Jon, I…” she hisses, but he isn’t listening, not even close as he draws his lips across hers, silencing her before she can continue. His kiss fills her up, threatens to overflow, and she can do little but sink into it, into him. She threads her hands into his hair, unkempt from the hours they’ve spent between the sheets of his bed, tangled limbs and stolen kisses. 

When he pulls away, their eyes meet, a single beat of silence, a single moment of true understanding. “Babe…” He murmurs, but she kisses him, silencing him as he’d only just silenced him. He’s drawing her in, closer than before, rolling them so he can lean over her, one hand tracing the curve of her cheek while the other presses itself between her  thighs. They move in time with each other, as if it’s not been years since she slept in this bed, wrapped in his arms. They move in time as if they’ve never been apart, as if they know each other better than they could ever know anyone else. She knows what he wants to say, she knows what she wants to hear, but they both know it could never be. In the morning, she’d return home and they would forget this night had ever happened. It was their only option. It was the only way. 

This was all it could ever be. 

[ x x x ]

The darkness overhead is broken by the colorful display of fireworks.

“Beautiful,” she breathes, a sense of wonder brightening her eyes, a look on her face he’s not certain he’s seen ever before. Away from home all this time, she’s forgotten how beautiful of a show the North could put on for this event. 

There in the night, with their heads tilted back to watch the show, Jon slips his arm around her shoulders. Time suspends and she glances his way, only to find he’s already looking right at her. Something cold twists in her heart, but she leans in all the same. 

It was beautiful, wasn’t it?

[ x x x ]

They drive home in silence, but halfway through the drive his hand reaches for hers, taking hold without a second thought. 

Almost as if it was a familiar sort of gesture, one he’s never forgotten, one he still yet dreams of. 

She lays her head against the cold glass, watching the familiar landscape rush by her, fingers entwined with his. To her surprise, it’s not back to his home that he takes her, but rather he pulls into the parking lot between the old church and school, the one they’d stood in only a few short weeks ago. That’s right, I’m leaving tomorrow, she realizes with a start, turning to face him as he puts the truck into park, his face somber as always. “Jon, I…” She begins but he turns to her then, shaking his head. 

There was nothing to say, after all. 

She gives his hand a tight squeeze and for a long moment, they listen to the whistle of the wind outside, the promise of a winter storm woven into every whisper. It’s only when his hand touches her cheek that she realizes she’s begun to cry. “There’s always next year,” he laughs and she blinks, a chuckle escaping as she wipes her eyes. For the briefest of moments, she wonders if he might ask her to stay. For the briefest of moments, she wonders what her answer might be. But, just as she’d never ask him to wait, she knows he’ll never ask her to stay. 

“Next year,” she agrees, leaning in to brush her lips against his.

He captures her mouth in a kiss that says it all- a kiss that long after they’ve parted ways, her lips still tingle with it. 

[ x x x ]

When she pulls out of her family’s driveway that next morning, she waves goodbye to her parents, to her little siblings, and wonders why it hurts so much this time. 

She drives down their street and at the stop sign, she wonders if she ought to turn back, if leaving home this time was a mistake. But she turns her car onto the main road, forcing herself to not look back, to never look back. There was nothing left for her here in the North. 

Jon’s face flashes before her eyes but she drives on, willing herself to forget the feel of his hands in her hair, to forget the way his gray eyes would look into hers, to forget the warmth of his embrace. It wasn’t hers to hold onto, none of it was, none of it ever would be. And so, she drives past the old school, the old church, and she doesn’t look back.

She doesn’t see the old truck parked in the lot, watching her drive by. 

Watching her leave.

[aerodaltonimperial]

HIIIIII! A question of curiosity: How does Danhausen feel about the darkness the doctor found in Hook? SHIT, how does Hook feel about it for that matter! Any plague doctor adjacent content would be dope, cuz I love him and Danhausen knowing each other so much. 🥰

(Well, well.)

Theron Sherman is a neat man. His house is meticulous, bookshelves organized by genre and then author name; his living room holds only a couch and a single armchair, both bearing imprints of having weight put in the same place each and every time, the fabric faded in splotches. Only one light has been placed on a timer, and it's a small lamp near the kitchen sink. It offers little by way of brightening the room.

Danhausen waits until the man comes home. Dr. Sherman slips his shoes off by the door and aligns them heel to toe. He sets his briefcase down on the edge of the rug, parallel. He is midway through taking his jacket off when Danhausen grabs him by the throat and flings him onto the armchair.

The object must be alarmed at having the man's body slap into the seat sideways, at such a poor angle.

"Do not scream," Danhausen orders. He hopes that it comes out friendly enough, given everything. "I'm not here to hurt you."

Dr. Sherman shows a remarkable resilience when he clamps his mouth shut. His phone is in the front pocket of his briefcase, several yards away by the door. Useless. He glares at Danhausen with the expression of one long-practiced in being shocked and surprised. Danhausen has perhaps not given him enough credit.

Still, Danhausen leans forward. He hopes the mask on his face offers enough protection. Just in case, he tugs a few of the shadows down around his neck to cradle his jaw. "Your notes are incomplete."

"What notes?" Dr. Sherman snaps. "My notes are flawless."

"049."

Dr. Sherman's face changes, ever so slightly. His eye twitches. "How do you know about 049?"

"What I want to know is why you have failed to document anything about the darkness."

"Darkness?" Dr. Sherman's foot trembles against the chair's arm, one of the only signs that he is afraid. Good. Fear, in this situation, is healthy. "No darkness. He's only obsessed with this pestilence, this...disease he thinks he can cure."

"No." Danhausen shakes his head. "He talks of a darkness. He says the pestilence seeks out the darkness."

Dr. Sherman's jaw sets, tight. "He's never said anything of this to me in our interviews."

"Then perhaps you are not asking the right questions."

When Danhausen steps back, a show of goodwill, Dr. Sherman's eyes narrow. If he wasn't such a particular man, Danhausen might worry that he's got a weapon stashed somewhere in the room, but as it stands, there is too little clutter for such a thing to remain hidden.

"You've lost him," Danhausen says. It's not a question.

"We'll get him back. This...darkness. You're worried." Dr. Sherman is trained to spot weaknesses. His eyes rove down Danhausen's masked face briefly. "You're protecting someone. Who?"

"Someone I would die for."

"Then you might get your wish," Dr. Sherman says, with grave seriousness. "Because I don't know where 049 is."

Danhausen thrusts a piece of paper into the doctor's hands. Dr. Sherman stares at it for a moment, and then, brow wrinkling, looks up. "Coordinates?"

"His last known location."

"What are you?" Dr. Sherman whispers.

Danhausen sighs. This is getting him nowhere; Dr. Sherman has never gotten into this during his interviews. "It doesn't matter."

"No, what number are you?"

"There were no numbers back then," Danhausen says. "Only stories whispered in the dark."

"Fuck," Dr. Sherman says, succinct.

Danhausen's eyes flicker to the door. He hadn't noticed the silent alarm: an oversight. "Find him, Doctor. Before someone else gets hurt."

"Is that a threat?" Dr. Sherman asks. He's stalling. He's smart.

But Danhausen is smarter. He doesn't offer a reply, because the doctor will take his statement however he wishes. He simply melts back into the shadows, and disappears.