#mothball fics

[mothballmilkshake]

I wanted to share the art @ararouge made inspired by my fanfic No Rest For the Wicked: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55935631

Here is a snippet;

There were those who assumed the radio demon didn't sleep at all.

They were incorrect – he did sleep, albeit at somewhat reduced hours than what most would consider standard – but it was still a requirement.

So, on the occasions where it eluded him entirely, he was, unfortunately...

Not at his best.

On the first day, he was hardly different from normal. He had tried to sleep, of course, but somehow the crackling fire and gentle sounds from his false bayou didn't feel as restful as usual. Perhaps it was because he spent so little time in his own rooms these days – but Lucifer had been called away on business, a rare meeting with the other Sins and the Goetia families – so Alastor felt it would be rude to go to the king's rooms without him there.

He had stared at the ceiling for close to an hour, and every time he closed his eyes to attempt to rest, he only ending up tossing and turning, his thoughts focusing on a thousand different things at once.

Nothing important – just things.

[mothballmilkshake]

Yes! New fic up today, and it's in partnership with this amazing artist! Go have a look!

Had the pleasure of participating in the 2024 Egg-plosion event ( @egg-plosion ) and the joy of bringing more much needed AppleMedia content into the world 🥰

Go read the adjoining fic by @mothballmilkshake !! She was such a joy to work with and I know yall are just gonna love it <3

[girl-drink-drunk]

i would do slutty, slutty things to the nameless motel manager kevin mcdonald plays in the wrong guy. no exaggeration

[yonemurishiroku]

this fic said that Nico smells like mothball and I... actually kinda like that idea?

[pirateunderapineapple]

Agathario Ao3 FanFic Recommendation Post

IT IS HERE, IT IS QUEER!

Okay so, I'm trying to gather all of the fics that i have either bookmarked ( so multichapters that i'm following ), and also i'll be going through my ao3 history (oh it's a dark place) to check for either completed works or oneshots etc. They will not be in order of how much I recommend them obv, just in random (except for a couple that you must read or i'll stab you). I haven't found the authors on tumblr but if anyone knows them feel free to tag them, I want all them to know how much i love them hehe This is how it's gonna go: I'll leave you the name of the fic and the author, their summary of the fic and maybe a personal comment, sounds good? Disclaimer: these are fics that i have read and enjoyed so i would like to recommend to other fans as well. If anyone has any other recommendations feel free to add them to the list, i think everyone will appreciate it, myself included! OKAY HERE WE GO

-MULTICHAPTER-

Unraveled by EchoesInTheMargins Summary: The thought of being with a woman had once seemed impossible to Agatha Harkness—a door locked tightly and never to be opened. After all, she was 48 years old, for Christ’s sake.

Then, without so much as a warning, Rio Vidal, a first-year associate, strode into her perfectly controlled life and blew Agatha’s closet door off its damn hinges.

PC: I mean, I trust that everyone knows this one by now and I don't even need to recommend it but just in case! THIS IS A MASTERPIECE! The epilogue was just posted and honestly I can't even describe how I feel about this fic. I would wake up for uni at 7 in the morning and the first thing I did was check if there was an update. How to not keep a secret by disaster_top Summary: Agatha liked to keep her work and personal life separate, which was why even a decade into working as a detective her coworkers had yet to know who she was married to. And unfortunately, her wife had no interest in keeping things that way.

PC: every chapter in this one is kinda like an oneshot, but same universe etc. I really, really love their freaky dynamic ( they're the definition of they much eachothers freak) in this one and I strongly reccommend it!

It’s Bloody and Raw (But I Swear it is Sweet) by Adimnos

Summary: “I don’t believe you. You prefer me—“

“Compliant?” Rio stood slowly, her eyes never leaving Agatha’s face. The action put her inches away, her body heat radiating out, searing Agatha’s skin. “Obedient?”

Agatha’s hips shifted against her will, her lips parting slightly. She closed her eyes against the heady mortification that razed through her chest. She felt Rio move closer and she parted her legs without thought.

Rio stepped between them but didn’t touch, hands settling on the desk inches from Agatha’s hips and hands.

“You always were such a brat.” Rio’s breath was hot against Agatha’s ear, her voice throaty and raw and filthy. “You never knew how to do what you were told.”

Or: After five years away, a still-grieving Agatha is dragged back into the FBI and the arms of her ex-wife. PC: this is art, it's just sto intense, so well written. pure, pure art. i'm thrilled whenever there's a new chapter

Sugar and Honey by visadero Summary: “No way,” Rio said, crossing her arms defensively. “Good for you, get that bag, but I’ll figure something else out.”

Jen’s laughter bubbled up, bright and teasing. “Sweetheart, you’re so sheltered. These women aren’t crusty old grandmas in rocking chairs. They’re powerful, rich, and they smell like Chanel, not mothballs. Some of them are absolutely stunning.” She tilted her head, studying Rio as if sizing her up for auction. “You’d clean up if you stopped being so stubborn. They’d eat you alive—and pay you for the privilege.”

OR: Struggling bartender Rio stumbles into a sugar baby situation with CEO Agatha Harkness. She can't figure out what the woman wants from her, or why she's letting herself go along with it. PC: I really loved this one and I have to add that this fic is actually part of a series, the second work being Honey and Wine , which is basically Agatha's POV i think (sugar and honey is Rio's POV). I haven't got around to reading the second work cause i wanted some time to have passed so as to not remember every detail of the fic. I think i'll be reading it in the next few days tho so can't wait!!

death's doorstep by villhag Summary: One day, Wanda’s spell fades, and Agatha Harkness is awake again.

Pissed off and powerless, she casts a spell to take her somewhere, anywhere but Westview—and it takes her to the last place she wants to be.

Death’s doorstep. -- Agatha and her ex-girlfriend, Death, have a very tumultuous sleepover in Hell. PC: the ending we deserved, thank you author

A Kingdom by the Night by visadero Summary: “You’re early,” Agatha managed, feigning a flicker of annoyance, though her pulse quickened. "I missed you.” The words were simple, almost soft. Her dark gaze held Agatha’s, steady and unyielding. "Agatha huffed, “Is that so?” She turned away, trying to mask the slight flush rising to her cheeks. "I’d think the Queen of Shadows wouldn’t be so sentimental.” The woman’s lips curved ever so slightly as she closed the distance between them. “Think what you want. But here you are." / or : Hadestown came on shuffle, thought about the Hades/Persephone Rio/Agatha parallels and things spiraled wildly out of control PC: this one had me reaaaaally invested

Something Wicked by motherconfessor Summary: While an apprentice witch, Agatha grows frustrated when she's not permitted to learn magic.

Until someone makes her an offer that she can't refuse PC: love, LOVE, LOVE

You'd have to stop the world by Echolux Summary: In the events leading up to Jen and Alice’s wedding, their respective best friends Agatha and Rio have to work together despite their… creative differences.

Oh, and then there’s this: Rio doesn’t fall for straight women. Agatha's not a lesbian. And one of them is lying. PC: This one was one of my recent discoveries and I wish I hadn't gone through it so fast. I appreciated so much the way this author approached the characters and their relationship, it was so pure.

The Ethics of Attraction by Sunshinesongbird Summary: Agatha Harkness prides herself on being a no-nonsense ethics professor, keeping students in line with sharp lectures and sharper looks. But when Rio Vidal—brilliant, sarcastic, and infuriatingly captivating—decides to test those boundaries, Agatha finds herself facing dilemmas that have nothing to do with her syllabus. As playful banter gives way to undeniable attraction, the two must navigate the fine line between rules and reckless abandon. In this classroom, the lessons go far beyond ethics.

THEY ARE BOTH CONSENTING ADULTS THIS IS A DOCTORATE PROGRAM NOT UNDERGRAD THANK YOU!

PC: hehe loving these dynamics

you'll just have to taste me (when she's kissin' you) by agatharioluvr Summary: "You alright, buddy?" She asked, and Nicholas stared up at her, star-struck. "Sorry about that." "It's alright, I caught it before it could hit me!"

Agatha stared at her in disbelief - seeing Rio right in front of her, a little sweaty and breathless; it was unbelievably attractive. Rio looked over at her, smiling that fucking smile of hers, before turning back to Nicholas.

"Well done, little man." She laughed and ruffled his hair a little as he smiled up at her. "I like the jersey - you keep the ball, we've got plenty more."

With that, Rio nodded a farewell to Nicholas and ran back onto the court, signalling for the assistant coach to grab a new ball to use. Nicholas held his new gift to his chest tightly, squealing with delight at the fact that he'd just talked to his favourite player of all time.

OR, Agatha's son idolises a certain star basketball player, Rio Vidal - and maybe she does too...

PC: I actually recently discovered this and read it all in one sitting. Honestly, I think i'm digging the athlete!rio fics a little too much!!

The Green Witch by MickeyJrWrites Summary: Agatha takes her kid to a market where he instantly becomes attached to the sweetest farmer, Rio Vidal. It's a romcom involving carrots and celery. PC: Just cuteness overload and rio calling nicky papito like IM DYING

honey come put your lips on mine (and shut me up) by tinyteamug Summary: “Do not,” Agatha said to herself from her spot in the media booth, “you absolutely do not need to defend your honor against-”

Rio dropped her gloves.

“God fucking damn it.”

The Sharks’ forward had barely gotten her own gloves off before Rio’s fist connected with her jaw. The crowd erupted.

“I am going to kill her,” Agatha announced to no one in particular, already mentally drafting press releases. “Should’ve kept managing curling teams. Nobody ever gets punched in curling.”

OR: Gently feral hockey star Rio and long-suffering publicist Agatha who definitely doesn’t get paid enough for this shit PC: Like i said, athlete!rio is my thing...

break me, shake me, devastate me by saturnreturn Summary: Rio, owner of Westview’s local floral shop “Wisterical,” finds herself with an early Christmas present when her hag of a landlord, Evanora Harkness, keels over. With the biggest pain in her side gone, she’s expecting a relatively stress-free life from here on out.

That is, until the daughter. PC: This doesn't have many chapters yet but i think it's really got great potential!!

hand in unlovable hand by villhag Summary: “You know, it’s kind of illegal to drink here. School property and all.”

It might as well have been the voice of God. The quip came from above; Agatha seeing her shoes before she saw the rest of her. White Nikes, splotched with dirt and grass. Ribbed socks pulled all the way up over gray sweatpants. A dark green sweatshirt. Salem Elementary Soccer embroidered on the front. All culminating with a tan neck, jet-black hair, and a very annoying—should she say condescending—smirk.

Someone had been stupid enough to encroach on Agatha Harkness’s domain. -- Agatha is a widely-despised soccer mom. Rio Vidal is Salem Elementary’s new coach.

Chaos ensues.

PC: same as the previous one honestly

Time Warp by 324b2fun Summary: When Agatha signs on to do a long-awaited sequel to one of her beloved movies, she thinks it'll be an easy check and a chance to reminisce on her youth. Little does she realize her past has come back to bite her in the ass, primarily in the form of one Rio Vidal. PC: I love this fic and especially the flashback chapters

Rage, Rage Against the Dying of the Light by motherconfessor Summary: “Lucky gal,” Agnes said. “The only way––” and she tried to say Ralph. That had been his name, hadn’t it? The idiot of a man whose house she’d taken over. Instead, what came out, tugged by the spell was, “Rio would remember our anniversary is if there was a beer named June 2nd.” - When Wanda's spellwork traps another person in its bindings, Agatha makes a deal that all she needs is seven days to get what she wants.

But seven days is a long time to be stuck in a PG-13 sitcom. PC: agathario in wandavision universe just hits different

-LESS CHAPTERS/ONESHOTS-

anything, and I mean ANYTHING from this author : 324b2fun THEY ARE DOING GOD'S WORK periodt also like, usually when i like a fic i go and check the author's other works so i recommend you do the same

creator, you destroy me by velvetprayer Summary: Time, suddenly, means the moments in between her. PC: there is no need for introductions here i think... this fic was what gotta us all through the finale and i don't even have words to express my gratitude to the author.

i bite my tongue, it's a bad habit by tinyteamug

Summary: In the week since the bonfire incident (which she was absolutely not thinking about), she’d run into Rio approximately seventeen times.

Not that she was counting.

There was Tuesday, when Agatha had taken Nicholas to his first surf lesson. Rio had been teaching the advanced class, wetsuit clinging to her like a second skin, and Agatha had absolutely not watched her demonstrate proper form on the beach.

(“Your coffee’s getting cold,” Wanda had said smugly.

“Shit.”

“And you’re drooling a little.”)

OR Agatha has a mid-life crisis and bails for LA. That’s what people did, right? Terrible breakup, mid-life crisis, pack up your sixteen-year-old kid and move to California. Completely reasonable sequence of events.

Then start sleeping with the hot surfing instructor, royally fuck up keeping it casual, and try your damndest not to fall in love. Less reasonable sequence of events. But whatever.

i looked to the children (i drank from the fountains) by seabiscuit Summary: “Wait, you haven’t even heard my pitch,” She can hear William’s footsteps quickening behind her, “She’s gay, too.”

Agatha turns sharply on her heel, “How could you possibly know that?”

“I asked.”

“You asked?” Agatha slaps a hand over her face, covering her eyes, “Oh my God, Teen, one of these days you’re going to get slapped in the face, and you’re going to deserve it.” * Or,Agatha’s teenage neighbor tries to play matchmaker with her and the hot funeral director who just moved in next door. It goes about as well as you’d expect.

better in the dark by seabiscuit Summary: “I don’t have sex.”

Agatha’s face screwed up somewhere between delight and incredulity, “You don’t ever?” She scoffed, “As in you’ve never at all? How long have you been here?”

“Since the inception of life itself.”

“And you’ve never fucked?” The way she said it, it did sound a little stupid, “What do you do to pass the time?”

“I scare children,” Death shifted in her chair, still rubbing at the skin of one hand with the other. No wonder Agatha had nowhere to live, she thought. She was unbearable. “Amongst other things.”

Or, Upon meeting Death, Agatha takes it upon herself to educate her on some of the finer points of being human. PC: This is pure, pure magic.

death and taxes (a series) by paddingtonfan69 Summary: They’re staring at each other over the now evenly stacked forms at the table. Agatha’s mask has fully slipped and Rio is fascinated by what’s underneath it, an unruly sort of anger, a sharp passion. Agatha looks like she wants to tear Rio from limb to limb. And Rio, god help her, would probably let her.

“Moving on to property taxes…”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Agatha lets out. “Don’t you have a life?” — Rio is the best IRS agent in her field. Agatha refuses to pay her taxes. A love story for the ages.

PC: This story is so random but man I love it

when we kiss (i have anger issues) by lgbtimelord Summary: there’s no one agatha hates more than rio vidal

but there’s no one evanora hates more than the vidal family

so, when her mother forces her to go home for halloween, bringing rio as her pretend girlfriend is the best course of action to piss her off

PC: i remember enjoying this one

with your boots beneath my bed by dumblibramoon Summary: "Here,” Rio said, standing and shrugging off her flannel overshirt. Of course she was wearing layers. Of course.

“I'm fine,” Agatha said automatically, even as a cold shiver ran through her.

Rio just raised an eyebrow and held out the shirt. “You're dripping on my hay.”

“Your hay will survive.” But Agatha took the shirt, trying not to notice how warm it was.

Nicky desperately craved this dusty hellscape of a ranch for summer camp, and because Agatha's not about to leave her son alone with a bunch of horse people, she rents a cottage nearby. And here comes Rio, wearing an incredibly unserious pair of Wrangler jeans PC: just cute little lesbians

if i could take her down and run (then i'd call her) by dumblibramoon Summary: “You're late,” Agatha manages to quip, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth.

“A lady is never late,” Rio retorts, kneeling beside the fallen witch. Her eyes rake over Agatha's form, taking in the severity of the wound. “Looks like you've had quite the night, sweetheart.”

Agatha tries to laugh, but it comes out as a pained cough. “What can I say? I like to live dangerously.”

“Clearly,” Rio murmurs, her cool fingers brushing against Agatha's cheek. Agatha jolts quickly before listing back and slightly leaning into Rio’s hand. Goddamn, she was woozy.

Rio can sense when Agatha is anywhere near death (the physical kind). Featuring Agatha flirting with both her mortality and Death.

the way i feel about you baby can’t explain it by seabiscuit Summary: “She won’t even admit that she’s gay for a New York City Ballet dancer. You think she would go for you, Rio Vidal of Cobb, Oklahoma?” Jenn raises an eyebrow, “IT service provider who plays Elden Ring in her spare time.”

“Maybe.” Chirps Rio. Hope does, after all, spring eternal. * Or, Rio goes from IT service monkey to fucking her very beautiful, very poised boss in a very short period of time. And then, of course, there’s the aftermath. PC: ngl i don't remember much about this one but i remember liking it lol

She Gets The Job Done by visadero Summary: Cars don’t crash through fences for free,” Rio replied smoothly, shrugging. “But,” she continued, eyes glinting, “I’ll make you an offer. You cover just the cost of parts—let’s call it a grand—and I’ll throw in the labor for free.” Agatha frowned, knowing there had to be a catch. “And what exactly do you want in return?” Rio leaned back against the workbench, arms folded and expression deceptively casual. “Dinner with me.”

OR: Agatha is making her way cross country when she wrecks her car. There's only one shop in town ran by a deeply irritating and magnetic mechanic. She offers a discount on the work in exchange for dinner. Then she really puts in the body work (heyo). PC: this was a cute little piece

so maybe when you kiss me, i can let you see me cry  by rainbowinbeigeboots Summary: Agatha reluctantly has her first sleepover

PC: my babies i loved them so much in this

witchcraft filling your void (a series) by wariangle Summary: Pulling the sheet to her, Agatha gets up, draws a hand through her hair. “Get up,” she says, loudly.

The woman – Rio, if Agatha remembers correctly, Jesus fucking Christ – only mumbles something in response and turns over, away from the noise. On her back, right below her neck, the black tendrils of a tattoo spiral across her shoulder blades.

Agatha’s too fucking old for this. “Get up,” she repeats. She’s been teaching for over twenty years; she knows how to make her voice carry in a room. PC: this series has 4 works with 1-2 chapters each, i just put the summary to the first one. I enjoyed reading it and had some laughs with my baby rio

por eso by stick2theplan

Summary: In the seventies, Wanda decided Westview needed some queer representation. If Agnes hated her husband so much, maybe she’d prefer a wife.

(In which Ralph wasn’t real.)

PC: didn't know if i should add this in the multichapter or not since it is about 15000 words only but in any case, READ THIS

Underneath The Tree by Cthulhus_Curse Summary: Rio is back in her hometown after years of disappearance. Having always been seen as the black sheep for going three decades without meeting her soulmate, she finds herself awkwardly going through the motions of a rather disastrous family Christmas. But when a rather hasty brunette runs into her in town, Rio finds herself happy to spend as much time getting to know her before returning to the cruel reality of the holiday season. — Or Soulmate AU. Everyone has a journal that allows them to write back and forth with their soulmate, but need to leave it to fate to let them meet. ----------- OKAY SO, these were the ones i could find, god this list is long, maybe in the future there will be a part 2, who knows i hope i have been helpful to yall and you guys give these fics and authors the love that they deserve! seeya my babes<3

[aphroditeinthesea]

Hii can i please request a frank zhang x reader timeless fic. Lik they're adventures on an antique shop or them dancing with timeless a the backsound

“ timeless ”

frank zhang x reader 🐻

i hope this is okay bc if i'm being honest i mostly skipped frank’s chapters sorry 🧍‍♀️

tw none

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

“What about this one?” Y/N said, stopping in front of a shop with a wooden sign reading ‘Auntie Antiques.’

“An antique shop? You sure?” Her boyfriend questioned, squeezing her hand.

She grinned, “yeah, come on.” She pulled him through the creaky doorway into the dusty store.

As they entered, they were welcomed by the smell of mothballs and a elderly woman standing behind a counter, “good morning,” she smiled, “do you need help with anything?”

“Hi,” Frank replied with a mirroring expression.

“We’re just looking right now, thank you,” y/n added before tugging him towards a nearby table. “Look at these,” she gaped, grabbing at the old photographs. The first one she grabbed was of a girl in a sundress standing by a fence with a cow on the other side, the corner of the photo had printed July 1962, “these are so cool.”

The next photo was a couple, a woman in a calf-length dress and a man in an Army uniform, as she turned over the photo it had scribbled on the back ‘my love and me, April 10th, 1944.’

She giggled, handing it over to her boyfriend, “tell me this wouldnt be us 50 years ago.”

He took the picture from her hands, his cheeks warmed slightly at her comment. He admired the photo, looking between the girl in front of him and the one in the picture, “she kind of looks like you, too.”

Y/N looked at the picture, “yeah, she does actually.” She grabbed the the photo out of his hands, “that’s so strange.”

“Hey,” he interrupted, “what’s this?” He began walking over to a stack of chapter books that looked as though they hadn’t been even looked at since 1950.

She followed behind him as she loosely held onto his hand, “looks like some old books, sweetheart.”

He chuckled, “I know that, y/n/n.” He opened one of the books, so much dust blew off that they both broke out into coughing fits.

“What is that? A first edition Odyssey?” She choked out between coughs.

“It’s called ‘The Court Jester,’” he replied, flipping through the pages. He intently read one of the pages in the middle of the book.

“Frank?” she mentioned. No response. “Frank?” No response. “Frank!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he responded, still not looking up, “it looks like it’s about this princess who fell in love with a jester.”

“It was written in 1557,” the old lady suddenly appeared behind them, causing the both to jump. “This copies from 1712 though.”

“You just casually have a book from three-hundred years ago?” Y/N questioned, glancing up at her boyfriend.

“You know what?” The old lady spoke once again, “you can keep it.”

“What?” Frank asked, surprised, “we couldn’t.”

“Oh, no, no,” the woman grabbed the book from his hands and began looking throguh it, “ah, here it is,” she turned over to the very last page. There in the margins was written, ‘a jester and a princess, or I and thee.’

Y/N smiled, “so it was a gift?”

“From one lover to another,” the lady smirked, “I think another young couple should have it.”

“Thank you,” Frank held onto the book again, “we should be going.”

Y/N nodded, tightly grabbing his hand, “thank you, though. You have a lovely shop here.”

“I know,” the old woman said before walking through a door that seemed to lead to a closet.

As the two walked out of the store, y/n spoke again, “twenty bucks says that woman is 400 years old.”

[29625]

I just saw your post, I’ve been absent from tumblr the last few days. What are your favorite headcanons about Slider, Mav and/or Slimav? (You don’t have to do all three-just whatever tickles your fancy)

I hope you feel better soon!

Hii!! Thank you for the ask!! In fact, you are the first person to appear in my inbox and pardon my overenthusiasm because that meant a lot! I’m recovering day by day. Haven’t been able to write a substantial amount, but I’m trying! I wholeheartedly appreciate your kind words! 🥹

Out of all the somewhat popular headcannons I’ve seen, I suppose Rick Rossovich himself saying Slider is a pleaser is by far my favorite. Like—I can totally see that. I can see he is just…tender at heart, and his whole jokester attitude has the undertone of a caring, soft side of his. I also base my fics on the idea that Slider loves cooking and his love language is food which is just…something else. I was so surprised to know that Kronk, one of my favorite Disney villains (?) growing up, was created based on Slider! Tender himbo attraction runs deep I guess

And now that I’m talking about headcannons, sorry if it doesn’t really fit your original ask, but here are some random assemblies of my own headcannons about Sli, Mav, and Slimav!! Sorry the list is kinda long—had so much fun responding to the ask and finally getting to dump all the small things I think about them! 😫🫶

• Slider is the oldest child, while Maverick is an only child. Slider is usually the one to back down first in fights, and Maverick is usually the one to apologize first.

• Slider is a Virgo (like Rick Rossovich is) and Maverick is a Leo.

• Slider is originally from Orange, California, around the Huntington Beach area (where a lot of my favorite punk bands are from), but moved to Staten Island, New York to live with his nana when he was in middle school.

• Maverick is pansexual, and Slider is gay.

• Slider peels potatoes before boiling them, while Maverick just dunks them straight into the pot. Maverick once teased him for being delicate for his looks, and Slider just shrugged and told him that he just cared about the “proper” way of cooking.

• They both can’t draw for shit. They always insist the other is worse, though.

• Slider’s biggest fear is betraying others, and Maverick’s is abandonment.

• They definitely have tried to switch their perfumes. Let’s just say it didn’t really go well. Cute if Maverick’s cologne with marine notes smells like a sharp, synthetic, windex type of mess on Sli (when on his skin, it smells of something young and dangerous) and Sli’s woody cologne smells like a burned moss with a tinge of heavy incense and funerals and mothballs (when he smells nothing but a cozy, warm, welcoming scent when it’s on his skin)

• Slider’s all time favorite album is The Cars (self-titled).

• Maverick’s all time favorite album is Next Position Please by Cheap Trick—trust me, “I Can’t Take It” and “You Say Jump” is just…Maverick. The smooth awkwardness with a hint of assertiveness and dominance is just so on point!! Go Pete go!! Go and cage your love in your arms to devour him with your hungry fangs goddamn!!!

• Slider’s “sad boy hour” album is Power Corruption and Lies by New Order. (And he has a shirt from their tour, which actually makes a brief appearance in the ch. 4 of Just What I Needed. Small detail much! I know! “Age of Consent” captures how much a pleaser Slider can naturally be, and “5 8 6” is underrated yet a perfect representation of early/pre-Slimav.)

• Slider sings while driving, even to the songs Maverick has randomly chosen on the AUX.

• They are both very messy planners when it comes to traveling.

• Slider’s enneagram is 2w3, and Maverick is a 8w7. Like I said, Slider is a pleaser—that appears to be a stand-offish jokester at first! And Maverick? Yeah, let’s just say, a maverick

• They are about 3-4 years apart; my headcannon is Maverick was about 25 and Slider was about 28 in TG.

• Slider is of Eastern German origin; his nana and his mother emigrated to the US right after WW2. He speaks German fluently, but thinks he needs to learn formal and written aspects of the language.

• Maverick used to work at a Latino grocery store in high school and picked up some Spanish. He was a cherished chico among the aunties.

• Slider played baseball and was an ace pitcher up until he moved to his nana’s place. He then got into bodybuilding in high school. He still likes to watch the games, as well as soccer which he got into in the 1991 World Cup (wherein the legendary “World in Motion” by New Order was born. We are playing for England—En-g-land‼️‼️🗣️🗣️🗣️)

• Maverick was a track and field athlete and played sprints. Unlike Slider, he’s a motor sports fan through and through.

• Despite their differences in tastes in sports, they enjoy snuggling on the couch, cheering like a kid (mostly done by Sli) and talking shit about the play even though he doesn’t know the rules (mostly done by Mav).

[qvrcll]

college mellodrama

summary: (text fic) what had started from a coincidental mix-match of partners, courtesy of dina, you’re paired up ellie williams, a cute yet awkwardly fashionable girl who somehow fits like a puzzle piece.

warnings: food mentioned! a bit of cursing here and there

a/n: i’ve been super inspired by @brackishkittie + @totheblood + @sapphicproblem and their fabulously crafted text fics (that are so bloody addictive hello) and decided to have a go as well :-) this will be a series i think, so i might create a master-list soon (help)

Biology. Fifth period. Lockers crammed with paper thin notes and chiselled folders, barely making the cut. It had been easy, being partnered with Jesse. You both had high-five’d it out and split the work two ways, opting to start a few days onward — ideally, who begins project work the day it’s assigned? It’s only when you’re shifting from that transitionary period from locker to front doors, from front doors to the pavement and then back to your dorm room, that you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. You bite a sigh, eyeing the sender, pursuing peace yet finding none of it.

This doesn’t have to be hard, you think. Secretly, the ‘cute’ comment stuck, mothballed into the crevice of your brain, made a cruel impression on you that only hopeless, flattering idiots would fall for. You think you fit the bill — offended? No, just gay. As you press your dorm keys into the lock and stumble into the well aquatinted space with a sigh and massive thud of your bag onto the floor, you find yourself inserting this ‘Ellie Williams’ into your array of contacts. Seriously, who came up with the phrase ‘easier said than done’? This shit was as easy as pie.

This is easy. This is routine, you think, as you simmer down into your casual touch of environment. You quickly grew to love the smell of several beverages whilst at college, a handful of foods and snacks did the job too. Filtering a quick mug of it worked, as it did most times. But your curiosity piques over the smell of it all, and you revisit your phone, punching up Dina’s contact.

Your fingers croon out of Dina’s contact, swiftly finding Ellie’s in seconds. It was strange, being so accustomed to a stranger in the span of a handle of minutes. Time felt like kernels. But Ellie was easy to converse with, easy to skim the fat to be left with mutual energy.

Her message leaves you creaking with laughter, as you settle in for a good night’s rest, plastered haphazardly to your bed like the morning would be a crime to wake up to. On the horizon’s edge, however, Ellie lays wide awake on her bed, shut down beneath her massive comforter. The message she’s sent reads ‘read’ but she’s got a million and more messages to card out, despite the time. What do you look like? What’s your favourite colour? Hell, what’s your name? She pauses, blinks with humiliation, and opts to settle the name from Dina.

© 2023 qvrcll. Do not repost any of my works on any platform.

[mrsshabana]

♥CW: None. Pure fluff. Gender neutral reader.

♥AN: I've been wanting to start writing for Shigaraki so here's something small to start. I love mothman Shiggy fics and I had a cute idea, so here's my little contribution.

♥WC: 1,004

This is getting annoying and you’re fed up.

Every time you open your closet, you find your favorite sweaters filled with new holes. How is this even happening? These sweaters are useless in the frigid winter when they are filled with holes. The holes are big too, and there’s only one thing that you can think would have wrecked such havoc on your wardrobe.

You must have a moth infestation.

After buying some moth balls from the local supermarket, you make your way to the closet that night before bed. This should get rid of those pesky moths, you think to yourself.

Opening the closet, you are shocked by the sight before you.

A man with giant wings has your sweater sleeve in his mouth.

His wings are black and white, with an iridescent sheen that lays atop a delicate pattern. Feathery antennae stick out of his shoulder length, white hair. He has a fluffy white ruff around his neck, matching his hair. Ruby red eyes stare back at you with a frown. 

With a squeal you throw the mothballs at him.

He hisses, showing off his fangs in an attempt to scare you away. The scent wafting off the mothballs irritate him, so he simply picks them up and throws them back at you. Returning back to his meal.

“Stop it!” you shout, snatching your favorite sweater from his grasp, “This is my favorite sweater!” You’re more concerned about saving your sweater than you are about the literal mothman in your closet.

He squints his eyes at you, “Hungry,” he growls.

Getting a better look at him, he does seem sickly. Very thin and pale, with scars scattered across his skin. He’s wearing tattered pants and no shirt, the sight of his ribs show you just how hungry he is.

You start to feel bad for the poor creature, not enough to sacrifice your sweaters though. “Stay here, I’ll get you some food.”

He waits patiently while you go to the kitchen to fetch him something to eat. He has sharp teeth so you assume he eats meat, grabbing a raw chuck roast from your fridge. Bringing it back to your room on a plate.

“Here,” you sit across from him, offering him the plate. “You can eat this.”

He crawls towards you, cautiously approaching. Sniffing the meal you hold out to him. 

With a single, swift motion, he lunges forward. Pushing the plate aside and latching his fangs on the bottom edge of the sweater you’re wearing.

“No! Stop it, my clothes aren’t food!” You protest, pushing his head away from you. But he doesn’t budge no matter how much you try to push him away. It’s obvious that his strength is far beyond that of a human.

He chews at your sweater with urgency, like he hasn’t eaten in ages. And he’s shivering too. It’s the middle of winter and the poor thing doesn’t have any proper way to stay warm. Maybe that's how he ended up in your home, he was looking for a warm place to stay through the winter. 

You sigh and stop trying to push him off of you. He’s just hungry after all and you can always buy new clothes. Bringing your hand up to the ruff of his neck, you gently pet his soft fur, “Fine, you can have the sweater.”

He purrs sweetly in response, laying his head in your lap as he continues to eat away at the fabric. You stroke his fur, admiring his beauty for the next hour. Until he’s traveled up your body, and down your arms, devouring every strand of the sweater you were wearing.

The mothman licks his lips in satisfaction, sniffing around your chest to make sure he got it all, before turning around to leave. Figuring that he has overstayed his welcome. Quite embarrassed that he had just savagely devoured your sweater, unable to control himself due to the fact that he hasn’t had a proper meal in weeks.

“Wait!” you reach out to him, “Please stay… at least through the winter. You’ll be safe here.” For some reason, you feel sympathy for him. Yeah he was eating your clothes, but he was only trying to survive.

Why are you inviting him to stay? You should be screaming in fear like the other humans do when they see him. But you’re different… the first person to show him a hint of kindness. He can’t turn you down even if he wanted to, his chances of surviving such a harsh winter will be slim without a warm shelter.

Seeing that he’s not quite convinced, you quickly put on a t-shirt and scurry over to your bed. Holding the blankets open for him to join you. The warmth of your bed beckons him. He can’t remember the last time he had a warm, safe place to sleep. Following his instincts, he slips under the covers with you. Nuzzling up to your chest, purring as you roll your fingers through his white hair.

Surely you must have a death wish, allowing a deadly mothman to huddle up with you for warmth. But you don’t care. So far he’s only shown interest in harming your clothes, so as far as you’re concerned, he won’t harm you.

His tense muscles relax in your touch, wrapping his arms around you with a relaxed sigh. Trying to convince himself that he’s only doing this to warm himself up, no other reason besides that. 

“Tomura… my name is Tomura,” he mumbles. Thinking it rude that he hasn’t introduced himself yet, he doesn’t want you to think he’s some wild animal with no manners.

“What a pretty name. My name is Y/N… you’re welcome to stay as long as you like, Tomura,” you say sweetly. 

“We’ll see…” he grumbles. Burying his face into your chest to hide the blush forming across his cheeks.

He’s so comfy here with you, that he might just consider staying through the entire winter. And you wouldn’t mind one bit.

[no-other-mashter]

Sanguine Osculum

Upon exploring an abandoned manor deep in the woods, you find that truth is sometimes just as strange as fiction.

Vampire!Sam Kiszka x Reader

Warnings: Standard warnings for a vampire fic, along with 18+ themes in future chapters.

You'd heard the stories, of course. Deep in the woods, a desolate manor stood. The family who once called it home, they said, had all fallen victim to some illness, leaving the once bustling estate empty and unkempt.

But those who decided to explore it always spoke of an energy that seemed to exist there, of a presence that resided within the worn-down walls. Believers suggest that the spirits of the four young brothers who had once lived there still wandered the halls, unable to accept that they're no longer alive. Others just say it's a creepy old manor, empty and alone. These claims ignited a fire of curiosity within you, and you were itching to explore the place yourself.

The family, it seemed, had originated from somewhere in Europe, their lineage a long line of nobility and prestige. They were revered, held in high regard, as if royalty. Upon arriving here, however, their once illustrious name faded into obscurity. They vanished from the public eye, retreating into the confines of their manor.

This only added to your intrigue, if you were being honest. What secrets lie waiting in that old manor? Was it really haunted?

You decided one afternoon that you were going to find out for yourself, which is how you ended up stood in front of the dilapidated manor, a large pack on your back and anticipation thrumming under your skin.

The manor, once a symbol of opulence and prosperity, now sat in a state of disrepair and loneliness. Time had not been kind to the large estate, with ivy creeping up the decaying walls, nature reclaiming what was once its own. The windows, many shattered, stared out into the world with hollow eyes, as if yearning for what it once was.

The doors were still functional, with a large, ornate knocker staring back at you. Just for the hell of it, you lifted the heavy iron knocker and let it hit the door once, the noise echoing through the halls.

Nothing seemed to jump out at you, no ghosts, no squatters, no animals, so you assumed the place really was empty. You pushed the heavy door open with your shoulder, grateful you had worn something you didn't mind getting messed up as a loose splinter tore a small rip in your sleeve.

While the outside of the manor was in a rather sad state, the inside was surprisingly intact. It was dusty, sure, and some things here and there seemed damaged, but most of the furniture and knicknacks still sat as if no time had passed.

The foyer, once a grand entrance hall, greeted you with faded elegance. The air hung heavy with the scent of neglect, mingling with the faint aroma of aged wood and mothballs. Rays of sunlight filtered through the cracked and dusty windows, casting a dappled light on the old wooden floors. The faded paintings on the walls, still intact beneath the layers of dust, spoke of a time when this place was alive with laughter and vibrant conversations.

You were glad you had decided to bring your camera with you, eager to get photos of this beautiful place. Even the kitchen was elegant; black and white stone floor, white brick walls, and dark stained wood throughout the room spoke of the wealth of the family who once lived here. You wondered what kind of meals they enjoyed that were prepared here.

Your feet carried you to what seemed to be a ballroom of sorts. A large grand piano sat in a corner, intricate carvings decorating its glossy exterior. You were surprised by the lack of dust on it, as if someone took care of it.

The room itself was vast, adorned with chandeliers that hung precariously from the ceiling, their crystal droplets dulled and tarnished. The walls, once adorned with opulent tapestries and intricate artwork, now displayed faded remnants of their former glory. Gossamer curtains, moth-eaten and tattered, danced with the breeze that seeped through the broken windows, casting eerie shadows on the worn parquet floor.

As you reached the old piano, you felt a shiver up your spine. It felt like there were eyes on you, silently watching from some darkened corner. Looking around the sprawling ballroom revealed nothing, not even a mouse scuttling across the floor. Maybe it was just your imagination, but you couldn't shake that feeling.

And maybe you were just overly superstitious, but you didn't want to risk having a ghost angry at you for touching their stuff without asking.

"I-" You spoke up, stuttering at the way your voice echoed throughout the empty room, "I hope you don't mind if I play your piano. I won't break it, I promise."

And suddenly, you felt the tension in the room disappear, as if whoever was watching you was giving you permission.

You gently sat on the wooden bench, letting your fingers drift to the keys. Playing it, you were surprised to find it was still mostly in-key. You didn't know how to play much on the piano, just some simple melodies, but you enjoyed playing it, nonetheless. To be able to play a piece of history was so exciting to you.

You still felt watched as you played, but the gaze felt more curious now. Once you finished playing, you stood from the piano and glanced around the large room.

"Thanks for letting me play. I'll leave you be now," You say again to the seemingly empty room before heading back to the front room.

The sweeping staircase, its banister worn but still sturdy, beckoned you to explore the upper floors. Each step you took echoed through the empty space, reminding you of the tragedy that took place here. You couldn't help but wonder about the lives that once ascended these steps, the footsteps that once filled the hollow emptiness.

Rooms branched off from the main staircase, some to the left and some to the right. The right seemed to be bedrooms, which you left for later. The first room you came across was a library.

As you stepped into the dimly lit space, you couldn't help but be captivated by the sight before you. The room was lined from floor to ceiling with towering bookshelves, their wooden frames weathered by time. The shelves were filled with rows upon rows of books, their spines bearing the weight of forgotten stories and hidden knowledge.

Sunlight filtered through the dust-laden windows, casting an ethereal glow that danced upon the countless volumes. Each ray seemed to breathe life into the forgotten tales, giving them a chance to whisper their secrets once more. You could almost imagine the whispers of the authors, their words suspended in the air, waiting for someone to pick them up.

You ran your fingers along the books as you made your way deeper into the room, marveling at the fragility of their spines and the delicate scent of aged parchment that filled the air. The room was silent, save for the faint rustling of pages as the wind tiptoed through the cracks in the windows.

As you reached the center of the library, your eyes were drawn to an ornate desk, tucked away in a corner. The desk stood proud, its surface adorned with intricate carvings of flowers and vines. You felt watched once more, but this gaze was different. It was wary, but more gentle.

Speaking eased the tension last time, so you decided to do so again.

"Hello... I'm just here to look around. I won't take any of the books."

And again, the air felt calmer. You were certain there was a presence here, but it didn't seem angry or violent. Just... watchful. Careful of it's possessions.

You read some of the papers that sat on the desk. They seemed to be poems, or maybe songs, your eyes trailing along the faded ink. You didn't stay in the library very long, the dust making your throat tickle. You thanked the unseen presence again before moving on.

The room next door was a music room of some sort. Various instruments lay around the room, though two caught your interest: a beautiful violin and a very old guitar. At this point, you weren't surprised when you felt watched again, though this time, you felt a bit of annoyance seep into the room. You decided it would be best to leave the instruments alone; whatever was watching you seemed protective of them.

"I won't touch your things, I promise."

The tension cooled slightly, but you could still tell that you weren't wanted in here.

"Sorry if I'm intruding... I'll take my leave now."

You quickly exited the music room, letting out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. You decided to leave that room be for now; whatever was in there didn't want you in there with it.

The last room on the left side was a sitting room, bathed in the faint light of the slowly setting sun. As you stepped inside, your eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. The air hung heavy with the scent of aged wood and lingering spirits.

An ornate bar, its polished surface covered by empty liquor bottles, commanded attention, taking up a large portion of the room. Crystal decanters, now empty and collecting dust, stood alongside tarnished glasses.

On the other end of the room, nestled beneath the glow of an antique chandelier, sat a cluster of chairs. Their faded upholstery now bore the marks of time, their frayed edges and worn cushions a result of the passage of years. A pool table, its green baize cloth marked with faint traces of chalk, stood nearby, its wooden frame showing signs of wear and tear.

You set your bag down and sank into one of the large chairs, the worn leather creaking softly beneath your weight. It was then that you felt it—an inexplicable shift in the atmosphere, as if the room had come alive with an unseen presence. The air crackled with a tangible energy, and a shiver danced its way down your spine.

The feeling of being watched returned, but this time, it was different. It was no longer a mere gaze, but a physical presence that settled in the room with you. You could almost feel the wamth of another person, almost feel the subtle disturbance of the air as they moved.

And then, in the periphery of your vision, you saw it. There was a flicker of movement, a shadow cast against the wall. Your breath caught in your throat as you turned your head, eyes narrowing in an attempt to make sense of the mysterious figure that now stood before you.

You could see dark curly hair and a white ruffled shirt, like the ones you'd see in those period dramas. Curious, dark eyes stared back at you as you stood on shaking legs, unsure of what you were looking at. The figure stepped closer, and you could finally see the rest of his features.

He was handsome, and reminded you of the old Greek statues you'd seen at the art museum once. There was something off about him, though, and his movements were too quiet for your liking.

It took a minute to find your voice, and it trembled once you did.

"H-Hello... I'm sorry for intruding..."

The young man looked you up and down, raising an eyebrow before finally speaking.

"You should leave. Your kind shouldn't be here. It's not safe."

His voice was low and rough, but there was a softer tone to the second half, as if he were genuinely concerned for you.

"U-um... okay..."

You glanced at the door, slowly walking to it and keeping your distance from the man.

"Can I ask if you're-"

"You really should take your leave. It's not wise to be here right now," he repeated.

You decided to take heed of his warning, slipping out of the room and back into the hallway. The air felt different than before, as if the manor itself was watching you. You quickly headed back down the staircase and out the front door, your heart thumping out of your chest.

Honestly you hadn't even realized it was so late, too enveloped in exploring. Reaching for your cell phone, you came back empty handed.

Shit. You left your bag upstairs.

You couldn't just leave it behind; you didn't have that kind of money. And your camera was in it too, and you definitely didn't want to lose that.

So, with a deep breath, you re-entered the manor. Climbing the stairs, you felt like you were making a mistake, but you continued on. You had to.

As you reached the landing, you could see the door leading to the sitting room standing ajar, a sliver of light peeking through the crack. Your heart pounded in your chest, the sound reverberating in your ears as you approached cautiously, one hesitant step at a time.

Pushing the door open, you entered the room once again, your eyes instantly drawn to the spot where you had left your bag. It lay there, innocently perched upon the worn chair, waiting patiently for your return.

With a sigh of relief, you hurriedly retrieved your bag, pulling it over your shoulders before turning around and running directly into the young man from before.

"Why are you still here?" He asked, worry in his tone.

"I- um, forgot my things..." You replied, shocked that he wasn't a ghost like you first though. His body was physical, clearly, as you had run into him. His skin was cooler than your own, but not wildly so.

"Leave now. Please," He gently pushed you out of the room, and his tone worried you.

In your rush to head down the stairs, however, you slipped. You felt the ground approaching your face, and closed your eyes as you braced yourself for impact. But it never came. Instead, you felt gentle arms around you, and a new voice spoke quietly into your ear.

"Easy, Darling..."

You opened your eyes and looked up, your eyes meeting honey brown ones. This was a different young man, his short brown hair slicked back, showing off his soft features and slight stubble. He wore an off white ruffled shirt with a fancy jacket over it, his dainty features giving him a charming look overall.

"You should be more careful, Darling. You could've gotten hurt."

He had a boyish tone to his voice and didn't look like he was much different in age to yourself, though you could've been wrong. His hands were a bit clammy, but you ignored it as he helped you to the front door.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"It's quite alright, Darling," He cut you off, before smiling softly, "Now, I must ask you to head back home. You shouldn't linger around strange places so late..."

You swallowed and nodded, not missing the way he looked you up and down, his gaze landing back on your face.

"As lovely as it was to meet you and listen to you play, Darling, I must ask that you not return. It's simply for your own safety. Oh, and don't tell anyone you saw us. We don't like visitors..."

You nodded again. You certainly wouldn't be telling anyone about this. It's not like they'd believe you.

The young man smiled again, giving you a slight bow.

"Have a lovely night, Darling," He whispered, closing the door once more.

As you drove home that night, only one thought filled your head.

You had to go back to that place.

-------

The manor seemed just as empty as before when you decided to return, just days later. The overgrown ivy still twisted around the stone walls, casting eerie shadows in the fading light of dusk. The looming structure stood as a silent sentinel, guarding its secrets within. The heavy oak door beckoned you forward, its intricate carvings a stark contrast to the peeling paint and weathered facade. You wondered for a moment if you imagined the strange people who you had met the last time.

You were tempted to raise the heavy knocker once again, but you knew deep down that you would get no response. The manor still seemed abandoned, frozen in time, a relic of a bygone era. Yet, faintly, you could hear what sounded like music drifting through the air, carried on a haunting melody.

Intrigued and unable to resist the allure of the sound, you stepped into the manor once more. The music was drawing you deeper into its depths, the soft creaking of floorboards beneath your feet adding to the somber ambiance that surrounded you.

After a minute of wandering the lower halls, you finally reached the grand ballroom. The doors stood ajar, revealing a scene straight out of a dream— or perhaps out of a period drama.

In the corner of the room, bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, a figure sat at the grand piano. His fingers danced across the keys with effortless grace, conjuring a haunting melody that seemed to reach the very core of your being.

Stepping closer, you recognized him as the young man from before, the one who caught you on the stairs. You couldn't see much of his face from where you stood, but managed to see that his eyes were closed and he seemed to move with the music. His brow would furrow and relax with the highs and lows of the melody, and his mouth hung slightly open, quiet mumbles spilling out unconsciously.

The scene before you was captivating, almost surreal in its beauty and mystery. The candlelight cast dancing shadows across the room, adding an ethereal quality to the young man's performance. The melody he played seemed to echo through the vast ballroom, filling the space with a sense of melancholy and longing.

As you watched him, you couldn't help but be drawn in by his music. Each note was played with such emotion and skill, his fingers gliding effortlessly across the keys. It was as though the piano was an extension of his own body, each chord and harmony a reflection of himself.

His body swayed with the music, his movements fluid and graceful. You could sense the passion and dedication he poured into his playing, his entire being consumed by the haunting melody that filled the room. It was a performance unlike any other, and one you knew he expected no one to see.

As the music reached a crescendo, his eyes fluttered open, revealing depths of honey brown that seemed to hold a thousand thoughts at once. But then, he played a sour note, his body going stiff as he slowly turned to make eye contact with you.

"What are you doing here...?" He asked, his voice laced with confusion, "I thought I asked you not to come back."

He stood quickly, his movements as graceful as a dancer.

"I'm sorry... I just- I had to... I needed to make sure what I saw last time was real..." You tried to explain, stumbling over your words as he approached.

"As much as I'd love to keep your company, darling, you can't be here," He whispered, using that name again. The one that only made you want to stay here longer. He stopped a few feet away from you and stood so still you couldn't even see him breathe. It was as if he was afraid to come closer, or even breathe the same air as you.

"Why is it so dangerous to be here?" You asked, taking a step forward, "That's what the other boy said too, the one with the curly black hair."

The young man tilted his head to the side, "Curly black hair... you met Daniel?" His confusion turned to concern, "You didn't happen to meet anyone else, did you?"

You shook your head.

He reached out, as if to turn you towards the door, "Then you still have a chance to leave. I'd do so before either of them know you're snooping around here again-"

"Sam?"

Another man's voice echoed down from the top of the stairs, and the brown haired boy, Sam apparently, stiffened.

"Damnit..." He muttered, grabbing your arm and leading you to a closet, "Stay in here and do not make a sound. Just trust me."

With that, he pushed you in and shut the door, leaving you in the dark, dusty storage closet. You pressed your ear against the door, straining to catch any sound from outside.

The muffled voices of Sam and the newcomer drifted through the wooden barrier, "Sam? Who's down here with you?" This voice was lower and had a slight rasp to it compared to Sam's more boyish tone.

"There's no one here, Jake. It's just me."

The other man, Jake, seemed to be unsure of that answer, his footsteps coming every so slightly closer.

"I can smell that someone else was here, Sam. You know that no one can-"

"Jake, it's probably just from the person who was here the other day. They were messing with my piano, so it probably still has their scent," Sam explained, though you didn't understand what he meant. You didn't stink, did you? You sniffed yourself but could only smell the dust and mildew in the closet. It tickled your nose, and you did all you could to hold in the sneeze threatening to come out.

"Maybe... I just don't like it when people come snooping around. If any of them find out, they'll be here with pitchforks and torches by nightfall."

Unfortunately, you could only hold in the sneeze for so long.

"Achoo! ... shit..."

The sound echoed through the dark, dusty closet, interrupting the stillness that had enveloped the space. Your heart skipped a beat as you realized your cover had been blown. The muffled voices of Sam and Jake abruptly halted, replaced by a heavy silence that seemed to last forever despite it only being a few moments.

The closet door was suddenly flung open as you locked eyes with who you assumed was Jake. His brown hair fell effortlessly to his shoulders, and there was an undeniable elegance about him, an air of regality that seemed to set him apart from the others. His outfit was different too; a red vest and jacket that showed off much of his chest and the necklaces that lay there, paired with red suit pants and white pointed dress shoes

But it was his eyes that captivated you the most. Like Sam's, they were a piercing amber-brown, but there was something about the way Jake looked at you that made you shiver. It was as if he was looking through you instead of at you. It was both unsettling and electrifying.

His lips curled into a snarl, revealing unusually sharp teeth that glinted in the sparse illumination, adding to his menacing demeanor. Without a word, he grabbed the front of your shirt, his grip firm and unyielding as he backed you against the wall.

With his face mere inches from yours, you could see every detail of his nearly perfect skin. His gaze bore into you, as if searching for answers you were not even sure you had. The intensity in his eyes was like a storm brewing, ready to unleash its fury at any moment.

"Who the hell are you, and why are you here?" His voice was low and dangerous, each word dripping with anger. The weight of his question pressed down on you, demanding a response that you struggled to form.

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the sound of your own fearful breaths. In that moment, you felt like a mouse caught in the gaze of a cat, helpless and exposed.

The seconds stretched on, each heartbeat echoing in your ears like a drumbeat of impending danger. The dim light cast shadows across Jake's face, accentuating the sharp angles and the intensity of his gaze. It was as if time itself had slowed down, trapping you in this moment of uncertainty and fear.

But just as you thought you might crumble under the weight of his scrutiny, Sam spoke up, placing a hand on Jake's arm, "Let them go, Jake. I promise they're not a threat to us."

Jake's grip on your shirt loosened slightly, but his gaze remained fixed on you, "You know their kind and our kind aren't exactly friends, right, Sam? What's stopping them from ratting us out the second they leave?"

Ratting them out about what? For being weirdos living in some old manor in the woods?

"I- I won't say anything! I swear on my life!" You manage to blurt out, the words tumbling out of you in a desperate plea.

Sam butted in again, "Jake, please. It's the one chance we have to see what people are up to now. Please?" He sounded like a child begging their parent to let them keep a new pet.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Jake released his hold on you, stepping back with a wary look in his eyes, "Fine. But if you say one word to anyone, I'll gut you."

Jake turned on his heel and stormed off, his coat billowing behind him. His footsteps echoed through the empty hallway, fading into the distance like a distant thunderstorm. Alone with Sam now, you turned to face him, taking in the subtle downturn of his shoulders and the crease of worry etched into his brow.

"I apologize about him. He doesn't trust people very much anymore..." Sam's voice was apologetic and worried, "He'll eventually get over it. Just, ah, please don't tell anyone about us?"

You sighed in annoyance, still confused about all this, "Tell anyone what?? I still have no idea what or who you guys are!"

It was Sam's turn to seem confused.

"You... you don't? I assumed you had returned because you figured it out..." Sam trailed off, suddenly looking a bit embarrassed, his brows knitting together in a perplexed expression.

"Oh. Well... hmm..." Sam's voice trailed off, suddenly less sure sounding than before.

"Well?" you prompted.

Sam took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging slightly under the weight of whatever knowledge he carried. He took a deep breath, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I, um... my brothers and I... we're not human. Not anymore, at least..." Sam's voice wavered, the confession weighing down his every syllable.

You stared at him, searching his face for any sign of deceit, but all you found was raw vulnerability.

"You're... not human?" The words felt foreign on your tongue, a question you'd never thought you'd say.

Sam nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving yours, "We're something else now. Something different..." His features were drawn with worry, his eyes pleading for understanding, "I know this is a lot to take in, but please... we mean no harm. We're just trying to survive, to exist in a world that isn't made for us."

Not human.

The words echoed in your thoughts as questions fought for attention in your mind, demanding answers that seemed to slip through your grasp like water through a sieve. Not human. Then what was he?

You could touch them, so probably not ghosts; they weren't rotting in front of you, so not zombies, a voice in your mind reasoned, trying to make sense of the impossible truth standing before you.

You looked at Sam, truly looked at him, and actually took in his features. His smooth, perfect skin that accentuated the sharp angles of his face, his amber eyes that leaned a little more red than brown, and his too-sharp teeth, elongated and pointed, glistening slightly under the light filtering through the dusty windows.

Oh.

It all made sense.

The pieces of the puzzle fell into place with a resounding click, and suddenly, the world around you seemed to shift. Sam stood before you, a creature of the night, a being that belonged to the shadows.

"You... You're a vampire??" You ask in a hushed tone, a part of you still not believing it.

Sam nodded slowly, his features softened by a hint of sadness, "Yes, I am. And so are my brothers. We... we never wanted this life, but it chose us nonetheless." His voice was a whisper, full of longing for a world long gone.

"Do you... feed on people?" You ask, stepping back.

"No! None of us do. We can stay satiated enough with the wildlife in the surrounding forest," Sam assured you, taking a step to keep the same distance between you both, "Trust me, I don't like it either. I didnt like eating animals even before becoming this. But I can assure you that none of us will hurt you."

You cast a glance to the doorway where Jake had just stormed off, "What about him?"

"Jake's just highly overprotective of us. Most people tend to run screaming when they discover they're standing in a house full of vampires."

You stayed still for a moment, considering your options. You could run away like others apparently had, and try to forget this place and it's otherworldly inhabitants. But there was something in Sam's demeanor, a certain earnestness in his voice, that made you want to stay.

"You promise none of you will hurt me?" You ask, watching as Sam's face perks up at your words.

"I promise. I swear on my eternal life," Sam grinned, placing a hand over his heart. His teeth glinted in the light, but strangely, you weren't scared of him.

"Alright then. I'll trust you... Sam, was it?" You say, relaxing slightly.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I never introduced myself, did I? My name is Samuel Francis Kiszka, and it's a pleasure to meet you, darling," Sam bowed dramatically, peeking up at you after a moment with another grin, "But you may call me Sam."

You told Sam your own name, chuckling when he decided to keep referring to you as "darling" instead.

"Now, I'd love to give you the grand tour, if you'd like?"

You, of course, agreed.

As Sam led you through the dimly lit corridors of the mansion, you couldn't help but marvel at the grandeur of the place. You followed Sam's tall figure, his movements graceful yet purposeful, as he showed you around the rooms you had only briefly passed through before.

The ballroom, with its ornate chandeliers and marble floors, stood as a reminder a bygone era. Sam spoke of the nights when music and laughter filled the room, when guests twirled in elegant gowns and tailored suits. His voice echoed in the vast space, recounting tales of extravagant parties and lavish gatherings that once graced the halls.

Next, he guided you to the kitchen, where the scent of spices and herbs still lingered in the air, even under all the dust. The massive hearth, now cold and dark, had once been the heart of the bustling room. Sam pointed out the intricately carved cabinets and shelves, explaining how the pantry used to aways be stocked with supplies from the nearby village, ensuring that those living in the manor at that time never went hungry.

Moving on, you entered the dining room, its long table still set with fine china and silverware. The high-backed chairs stood empty, a stark reminder of the absence of guests. Sam's voice softened as he described the family meals shared around the table, the laughter and arguments that had once filled the room now reduced to nothing but memories in his mind.

The last major room you were shown on the lower floor was the main sitting room. Though also covered in a layer of dust and it's windows cracked and curtains torn, it still seemed grand. The large couches were made of fine velvet and leather, clearly expensive in their time and still worth a hefty sum today. The large fireplace, all of its bricks imported from Europe according to Sam, used go heat nearly the whole house.

"Though, we don't really have a need to keep cool or warm anymore. In fact, we seem to run colder than ever before," Sam explained, "We can feel warmth but it doesn't do much, Sam continued, his voice carrying a hint of wistfulness. As he spoke, you noticed a flicker of something in his eyes, a distant longing for sensations that he could no longer fully experience.

The warmth of a crackling fire, the gentle touch of sunlight on his skin – all of no use to him in the eternity of his existence. Maybe all the romance novels had made you forget how lonely the life of an immortal must be.

"But enough about me," Sam turned to head out of the sitting room, gesturing to the large staircase, "I think you should formally meet my brothers."

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

[irl-simon-riley]

WIP whenever

I COMPLETELY FORGOT ABOUT THIS. I was going to do this last week but I had some stressful health and ID stuff that I had to deal with and just couldn't bring myself to work on my WIPS :( I wanted to get a bit more written before I shared but oh well. Anyways, I was tagged by the very very cool @pricegouge to post a current WIP. I have a lot to choose from since I am an absent father, but I will go with my slowburn ftm bodyguard!ghost x rockstar!soap that doesn't have a working title atm. This fic is inspired by a dream I had. I hope y'all enjoy :D

//gender dysphoria, misgendering & dead-naming in reference to pre-transition self, emotional angst, Ghost's canon backstory, Ghost is ex-military

Ghost watches his feet as he walks along the side of a forested road, the smell of moss surrounding him from all directions. The forest is too dense to be anywhere near Manchester, the growth too old, like something from a nature magazine. The lush greenery shading him from the summer heat, the sun would only affect him more with his all-black gear.

He's not alone. In front of him is his mother, following him is Tommy. His mum crosses the road and the boys follow like ducklings. Ghost's mother says something that he can't quite hear, all he notices is that he's breathing much too easily with his mask on.

He finally looks up, a shotgun-style house in front of him. His mum and Tommy are already halfway through the screen door, leaving him behind. A concrete staircase leads down from the road to be level with the house, as if the house was built before any roads were around. Ghost follows behind them, opening the doors that were shut in his face.  

Once inside he enters the room immediately to the right. His room.

The layout is almost the same as his childhood bedroom, only the door has switched walls and there are no windows.

The walls are covered in pastel purple wallpaper with white daisies that look hand-painted. Light greens and pinks are the only other colors that occupy the space. A quilt covers the mattress, held up by a white wrought-iron bedframe. On painted wall shelves there are trinkets, the only one Ghost can focus on holds porcelain figures of the Virgin Mary, Jesus, and a cherub-like angel. Everything is bathed in candlelight, but Ghost can't smell the burning over the scent of mothballs. The room denotes nothing but love and care, the kind that Simon could only dream of as a child---the kind he begged for.

"It's just for tonigh'," He grumbles to himself.

The urge to get out of his gear and sleep consumes him. He turns and his eyes catch on the full length mirror directly next to the door.

He sees... her. Hannah: the name Simon never wished to hear again. A name he thought he left behind at 16, but now... he was 14 again and she was standing in front of him in the mirror. She wears a pink, ruffly tank-top and cotton shorts.

Is this even real? It can't be, he---he's supposed to be out! He got out!

Right?

Simon sucks in a breath and reaches a trembling hand up to the auburn hair that covers his chest and rakes his fingers through it. It's real. Her face morphs into one of fear as she feels the soft strands tendril out between each finger.

In this moment he realizes she's exactly the daughter he was supposed to be; and all the other rooms burn around him.

---

pls help me title this work I am so bad at titles

[mothballmilkshake]

As always, @ararouge has created something absolutely beautiful off one of my fics. I can't believe how blessed I am to have such a talented artist working with me!

This is from one of the chapters of Stolen Moments- Show Me, Show You - Showstopper! https://archiveofourown.org/works/59553343

Snippet;

Lucifer's finger ran over a particularly ridged set of scars set just to one side of Alastor's spine – claw marks, if he remembered correctly, and from an attack that had come long before he'd gained enough strength that his battles rarely caused him such issue – a squeak escaping him as Lucifer brushed against nerves that had healed slightly twisted at the edges of the scar tissue, over sensitive in some places, numb in others.

“Sorry,” Lucifer muttered as Alastor's ears pinned back in reproach, static crackling in the air. The man leant forward and brushed his lips against the marks, soothing Alastor's irritation before it had even had a chance to grow into little more than a spark. He let out a huff, mollified for the time being.

A moment later, Lucifer shifted – swinging his leg off Alastor's rear and resting on one hip at his side, prodding gently at his ribs.

“Turn over,” Lucifer grinned, a pleased and altogether too self-satisfied expression on his face as Alastor flicked him a disinterested glance, one brow raised. Still, after the morning they'd had – he wasn't particularly inclined to argue.

Perhaps they might get through the entire rest of the afternoon without a disagreement – start the counter going once more.

Unlikely, but one could always hold out hope.

[peppymintdreams]

A Photograph Worth a Thousand Memories

Andrew x Darling

The attic was colder than Andrew remembered. The faint scent of cedar and mothballs lingered in the air, mingling with the faint dust motes that danced in the narrow beams of winter sunlight peeking through the small window. He had meant to go through the boxes sooner—years ago, really—but life had a way of pushing such tasks into the periphery.

Kneeling on the creaky wooden floor, Andrew sifted through the contents of a worn cardboard box labeled “Childhood.” The handwriting was his mother’s, the neat and slanted letters sparking a pang of nostalgia. Inside were the remnants of a life he had once shared with someone else: crumpled school certificates, a tarnished trophy for a debate competition, and then, at the bottom, a small stack of photographs held together by a brittle rubber band.

Andrew’s fingers hovered over the photos for a moment before he gently slipped the band off, revealing the images beneath. Most of them were familiar—scenes of holidays past, family outings, and moments he barely remembered. But then, one picture stopped him cold.

It was a snapshot of him and Simon. They couldn’t have been older than ten, their faces identical except for Simon’s slightly more mischievous grin. The two of them were perched on a low stone wall, their arms draped over each other’s shoulders, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows behind them. Andrew recognized the setting immediately—the park near their childhood home, a place they’d spent countless afternoons chasing each other through the trees.

He felt the sting of tears welling up in his eyes and quickly blinked them away, though there was no one here to witness his vulnerability.

“Simon,” he murmured, his voice breaking softly.

It had been years since they had spoken. Not since their falling out, a rift that had grown wider with every passing year. Simon had always been the brave one, the one who rebelled against their parents’ strict rules and dared to live authentically. Andrew, in contrast, had been the obedient one, the “good son” who followed the path laid out for him, even when it chafed against his soul.

He traced the edges of the photograph with his thumb, his mind flooded with memories. The time Simon had convinced him to sneak out to watch a meteor shower. The way Simon always stood up for him, even when he didn’t deserve it. The laughter they’d shared, the secrets they’d kept, the bond that had once seemed unbreakable.

“What happened to us?” Andrew whispered to the empty room.

He hadn’t wanted to admit it—not to himself, not to anyone—but he missed Simon. He missed his twin’s easy laughter, his sharp wit, and the way he could always sense what Andrew was feeling without a single word exchanged.

Clutching the photograph in his hand, Andrew made a silent vow. He couldn’t change the past, but perhaps it wasn’t too late to mend what had been broken. Perhaps, after all these years, he could reach out.

For now, though, he carefully placed the photograph on top of the box, where it would be easy to find again. The attic felt warmer somehow as he descended the stairs, the picture of their boyhood smiles etched firmly in his heart.

P.S. Hey… hey, you! 🫵🏾 Do you want more Sakuverse gay shit? Hit that follow button and send in a request! You’ll get notifications whenever I post new fics or Sakuverse Reimagined Twist of Fate, and maybe even a chance to have your OC featured in a story.

[devils-dares]

little fic i'm starting on (with the immense help from @gallaghersgal)

-----

“Was it fun? Out there in New York?” You ask, legs dangling over the edge of the cliff you two had hiked up to, fog kissing your shins. He shrugs, cigarette dangling between his lips. 

“S’nice, to get away from here. Had too much build-up, had to leave to get it out. Missed ya like hell though.” His cardigan is ratty, mothball scent and holes all over. It must’ve been sitting in a closet in Chicago, waiting for him to come home. “Nothin’ like it here, but it’s been too quiet since…” His voice trails off, the fresh pain of his brother echoes in the silence.

The quiet breathes its pain and sorrow in and out, the fog thick as ever. The grief is palpable, dense, and you hate it. He’s changed since he left, and you hate it.

[puttingonmyskepticals]

Brand new chapter of my dipcifica fic, adapting the lost legends story “face it and then some. Here’s a preview!

“I can’t BELIEVE you, Pacifica!”

The golf cart zoomed along at a speedy 25 miles per hour down the streets of Gravity Falls. Every time they ran over a pebble, the whole thing would shake violently. Pacifica wasn’t used to vehicles that so much as wobble, so it was all she could do not to fall out of the wretched thing.

And of course, Dipper was still shouting in her ear. “Didn’t you learn ANYTHING during the ghost incident? Like maybe something about growing as a person?”

Ouch. That stung Pacifica a little more than she cared to admit. The week and a half or so since the party at Northwest Manor had been a weird one for her. Tensions were still high with her parents, and she was trying to do everything she could to lower the temperature. This photo shoot was just the way to do so. Her parents were usually in a good mood whenever the world got to see just how perfect the Northwests were looking this week. So when she summoned the beanpole with a vomit-colored jacket from Dipper’s nerd book, she had a solid justification. How could trying to keep the peace be a bad thing? Sure, she had gotten Mabel’s face snatched by the smiling creep in the trenchcoat. But that wasn’t a moral failing. How was she supposed to know that someone would try to trick her? Had any person with a lot of money ever been tricked like this? It seemed doubtful.

And all of that aside, she needed to look good for the picture. And in general.

“Look, I happen to care about my appearance, okay?! Just like how you care about kissing aliens or whatever!”

That seemed to get to him. Dipper ripped his eyes from the road for a moment to give her an incensed work, his cheeks bright red. After so much time dealing with his unflappable attitude in the face of danger, Pacifica felt a little bit of satisfaction at finally finding a weak spot.

“I’ve never kissed an alien! I’ve never kissed anyone!”

“Well, obviously! You live in a barn!”

“I’m already regretting bringing you on this.”

Before she could respond, Pacifica spotted a figure sprinting down the street, carrying a leather bag and wearing a familiar vomit-green striped trench coat.

“THERE HE IS!”

As they got closer, Pacifica could hear Mabel’s muffled voice inside the bag. “HELP ME! It smells like mothballs and morning breath in here!”

Trenchcoat man (or “Mr. Whats-His-Face”, as Dipper’s nerd book called it) came to a stop in front of a door on Main Street. It turned its face– or at least, its smile– to Pacifica and Dipper, and its grin widened as it pulled out a golden key.

“Try to catch me, if you dare…”

In one swift movement, it unlocked the door, opened it to reveal a black void, and hurled itself through the door, bag in tow, and shut the door behind it. That didn’t stop its disgusting voice from gurgling through the door, however.

“But you’ll find…”

As the thing spoke, Dipper pumped the brakes on the golf cart, ran over to the door, and threw it open to find–

“...I’m not anywhere!”

Behind the door was nothing but a brick wall. Pacifica had seen some weird things today, but this was starting to freak her out a bit.

“That’s… not normal.”

“No, it’s paranormal.” Dipper was already flipping through one of his journals, seemingly unphased. “Welcome to my life. Now, how do we get in…?”

“Didn’t that freakshow have some kind of a key?”

“Wait, of course! That’s it!”

Dipper reached into his vest, and Pacifica caught a glimpse of a seemingly infinite collection of haphazardly sewn-on pockets on the inside. Before she could ponder how the seams were still holding, Dipper found what he was looking for, and whipped it out with a flourish.

“The President’s Key!”

The golden brass shone in the sunlight. It was elaborately designed with ornate patterns and reminded Pacifica of the keys that her parents kept for the butler cages when they got too rowdy.

Dipper continued. “A former president gave this to me. I think he also gave me cholera. I might wanna get that checked out.”

Pacifica decided to ignore that. She didn’t know what cholera was, but it sounded like a poor person thing. It was better to focus on saving Mabel or whatever.

Dipper put his hand on the door. “Prepare yourself, Pacifica. If I know Gravity Falls…”

He put the key in the lock.

“...things are about to get weird.”

He turned the key. The doorknob began to glow, a deep red emanating from the center. It shook, and as it creaked open, Pacifca could see into the hallway behind it.

Well, “hallway” was a pretty generous descriptor. Pacifica felt a more accurate description would be “Ungodly Horror.” It looked more like a mouth than any human-built structure, with jagged teeth dotting the gummy walls and a thick layer of slimy saliva coating the tunnel. Pacifica’s skin crawled at the thought of touching it, let alone descending into the gaping maw.

“Oh, fun. A tunnel made of living skin. Yeah, I’m not going in there.”

Dipper gave her a sharp look. “My sister has no FACE, thanks to you! We’re going in!”

He grabbed her hand and moved towards the tunnel. She dug her feet in, still trying to suppress her fight or flight response.

“Are you INSANE?! This hallway has TEETH!”

“You wanted to mess with magic? Well, congrats, Pacifica– Today you’re messing with magic!”

And with that, he pulled her down the tunnel, the two of them falling into the murky darkness, Pacifica’s shriek echoing off the spongey walls.

READ THE FULL CHAPTER NOW!

[pearlypairings]

pairing : steve harrington x chrissy cunningham summary : steve and chrissy are experts at avoiding boredom at their parents' country club. while on a mission to raid the club's storeroom for alcohol, they have to escape chrissy's mother, but may not be able to escape their undeniable chemistry. tags : friends to lovers, country club shenanigans, light underage drinking, almost caught, tooth-rotting fluff, confessionals, happy ending wordcount: ~5k & Inspired by this post!

full fic on ao3

Sneak preview:

And there he was, front and center, wearing someone else’s patchwork tweed cap and leaning against the long rack with a smirk: Steve Harrington in all his glory and adorably stupid shenanigans. “Took you long enough, Bonnie,” he said, twirling his pair of sunglasses like a toy. “Ready for our next caper?” She squinted, approaching him with a sly expression, and crushed the borrowed hat over his ears. “Oh, Clyde—seems you finally found something nice to cover your outrageous hair.” “You like? I was thinking of asking the Crypt Keeper of this monstrosity if I can borrow it sometime for a date…” “You wouldn’t dare,” she laughed. The coat closet had been their meeting place for well over a year now. It was far from luxurious, reeking of mothballs, a stringent mixture of perfume, and a whiff of grandma's house. In the winter, their hangout was often soaked by melting snow and they'd have to remember not to rub up against the wet coats and ruin their cover. But there were major pros to meeting in this closet. No one really went in there after these events commenced except for a few of the staff, and they didn’t seem to mind the two teenagers as long as they kept a low profile. Her fingers traced the edge of Mrs. Polk’s cashmere scarf; she always wore it with her signature blue peacoat. She pressed the material, letting it melt between her fingertips. Steve watched her, silently smiling at his own joke, she supposed. God, his eyes were pretty. She looked to the scarf in her grasp. “Sooo,” Chrissy said. “How will we be surviving today? What’s the grand plan, King Steve?” In her periphery, Steve nodded solemnly, replacing the hat back over the numbered hook she hoped was the correct one. “I think it’s time.” “Time? Time for what?”