#originally wrote this for Halloween

[ogradyfilm]

Recently Viewed: Re-Animator

[The following review contains SPOILERS; YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!]

Stuart Gordon’s Re-Animator (an extremely loose adaptation of a serialized story penned by H. P. Lovecraft) comfortably resides at the intersection of horror and slapstick. The scenario of a zombified corpse carrying its own severed head, for example, wouldn’t feel out of place in a Chuck Jones animated short (albeit a particularly grotesque, macabre one)—though actor David Gale’s talent for nonverbal communication elevates the classic gag (sheer annoyance has never been so palpable).

And no, I won’t elaborate on what exactly that decapitated torso gets up to. If you know, you know.

The true MVP, of course, is young Jeffrey Combs, who is seemingly impervious to the inherent absurdity of the film’s premise, delivering an utterly earnest, straight-faced, unironic performance. In his capable hands, ambitious medical student Herbert West epitomizes arrogance, vanity, and egotism; despite his formidable intellect, the aspiring scientist is neither wise nor self-aware enough to recognize his increasingly obvious madness. Thus, Combs’ unwavering sincerity merely reflects his character’s humorless disposition and unflinching confidence in his academic brilliance—a compelling, insightful, thematically appropriate creative choice.

The movie is hardly flawless; indeed, Arrow’s recent 4K restoration inadvertently exposes some rather lackluster cinematography (flat lighting, bland compositions) that might otherwise have been disguised by the fuzzy grain of a VHS transfer. Such minor blemishes, however, are ultimately inconsequential. The artistic value of a production like Re-Animator is measured not in the quality of its craftsmanship, the structure of its plot, or the depth of its narrative, but in gallons of gore and volume of sleazy subject matter—and on those dubious “merits,” it is an undeniable success.

[mrsjellymunson]

If You Go Down to the Woods Today…

Summary: Strangeness occurs in a forest

WC: ~2.4k

CW: Suitable for all. Implied threat, very mild innuendo, food mentions and consumption.

A/N: Okay this is a total departure for me because this is not Eddie or ST-related, but I thought it would be fun to share a little Halloween tale that I wrote for my small offline gaming group. Before I stumbled into this place I would never have imagined I would write anything, let alone an actual sort-of original story, and much less share it, but here we are, and it’s all thanks to you guys. Happy Halloween!!! 🎃👻🦇🤍💀🖤🍄🧡🕯🕷🌲

Background (please read so it makes even the smallest amount of sense 😆): This is a medieval murder mystery. The characters have been thrown together to investigate, and have recently met for the first time in a tavern. Flavia is a low-ranking soldier who’s been unexpectedly promoted to de facto mission leader. Blossom is a chef and knife enthusiast who has a penchant for ‘charming the gentlemen’. Amelia is an inquisitive, rational alchemist with limited social skills and an intelligent/trained rat companion named Pancetta. The orphans, Ursula and Urchie, are two young street urchins who have recently become acquainted with the party. The story is wielded and guided by our Games Mistress/GM. The group is discussing heading into the forest, parts of which are said to be dominated by the mysterious Fae, to commence their investigations.

The noise and general clamour in the tavern steadily increases as the afternoon wears on, as more and more soldiers, guardsmen and assorted military types finish their duties and seek refreshment and relaxation.

Amelia is feeding Pancetta some small pieces of cheese, sharing the remains of their lunch, and Blossom is cutting up more cake, the others wondering quite where she’s managing to keep it all stashed. The latter comments, as nonchalantly as she can,

“So, does anyone have any thoughts about these forest people rumours?”

Flavia hefts her new weapon in her strong hands, feeling the weight and inspecting the workmanship.

“I think it’s just old customs. Tradition, y’know? I heard something about hangings, and a few most likely over-embellished stories regarding…” She clears her throat and tries to say the next two words as quickly as possible,

“blood sacrifices. But I’m sure it’s all gonna be fiiine.”

She spreads her arms wide, forgetting for a moment that she’s still holding her sword. Amelia ducks, narrowly avoiding receiving an accidental haircut, and the alchemist eyes her companion sideways, before stating,

“I do hope you’re right. One really shouldn’t undertake potentially dangerous investigations without at least a modicum of accurate information.”

Blossom speaks through a mouthful of cake, spraying crumbs across the faded tablecloth.

“Yes, I’m sure it’s all bluff and bluster. They’re just trying to keep outsiders away from their villages, that’s all. I’d be the same if people wanted to study me, or saw me as some kind of… curiosity.”

Flavia and Amelia eye each other briefly, before eventually nodding in agreement.

The three continue their discussions as Pancetta hops off Amelia’s forearm and makes her way to Blossom’s side of the table. She gathers the largest of the abandoned cake crumbs before settling into a crouch near the cruet set and beginning to feast with gusto, squeaking happily.

— — —

Myths forgotten and wheelbarrow packed, the investigators make their way into the forest. It goes reasonably well at first, barring unfortunate altercations with some shepherds, a boar (which did, advantageously, provide the party with a welcome addition to their rations) and the much-mourned loss of said wheelbarrow.

The intrepid band bed down for the night under the forest canopy, after a good meal of roasted boar meat and foraged berries.

A light mist is rolling in, chilling the air, and Amelia and Blossom offer to shelter an orphan each to share body heat, Ursula curling up with Blossom and Urchie lying next to Amelia, with Pancetta snuggling between them. All the blankets are put to use to help keep the party dry, and Flavia piles the fire high with wood to keep them warm overnight.

All is initially quiet and uneventful, save the snuffling of a few diminutive woodland creatures and the hooting of nocturnal birds.

But then, there’s some peculiar and unexpected noises.

Rustling.

Giggling.

The shuffling of feet.

Flavia rouses first, her finely tuned soldiering senses alerting her to the peculiar changes in their surroundings.

She’s quick to rouse Amelia, however, when it becomes clear that they’re not alone amongst the shrubs and trees.

The alchemist awakes from Flavia’s shove to the sound of low laughter and screeching and she sits bolt upright, taking the blanket with her, much to the disgruntlement of a grumbling Urchie.

Blossom is the next to rouse, blearily rubbing her eyes and absent-mindedly pulling a piece of cake from her tunic and starting to munch lazily as she murmurs,

“Woss goin’ on? Is it breakfast already?”

The noises continue. More shuffling, more giggling, rapid footfalls.

The adventurers glance between themselves, as Amelia states as assuredly as she can,

“Now, everybody just stay calm. I’m sure there’s a perfectly rational explanation for all of this.”

Her voice is steady, but the furrow between her eyebrows and the speed at which her eyes are flicking around their surroundings belies her rational and confident exterior.

The shuffling seems to come closer, and Blossom, ever one to state the obvious, mutters,

“It’s… it’s getting louder…”

Amelia’s eyes are wide as she clutches the blanket, Pancetta now taking refuge beneath it. Her pouch of alchemy supplies is just out of reach, but she reasons she could feasibly lunge for it in an emergency. Flavia fingers the hilt of her sword, and Blossom's palm rests instinctively over her tied roll of kitchen knives. Ursula and Urchie seem more intrigued than troubled, the others surmising that their years of living on the streets in the city was likely quite often scarier than this.

Suddenly, the form of a bipedal figure darts past, illuminated just enough from the firelight to momentarily be seen. It looks like a small creature with a pumpkin for a head, and it’s laughing maniacally.

Following it, there’s a slightly taller figure, covered in what appears to be blood, screaming and pursued by two others brandishing a carving knife and a small hatchet. Yet another figure is covered in fur from head to toe, has raised, clawed fingers, and is growling.

The small figures head in all directions and seem to encircle the small camp. Some are dressed in black with tall hats, others are in rags, yet more are wrapped in what look like torn sheets.

They move towards the camp and begin to chant, low at first but building to a disturbing crescendo,

“Trinkets or Trunks. Trinkets or Trunks! TRINKETS OR TRUNKS!!”

Suddenly, everything stops.

In the silence, and much to her embarrassment, Amelia lets out a small,

“Eep”.

Someone else lets out something different. It’s silent, but deadly…

One of the figures is the first to speak, and in a discombobulatingly light and high voice, asks,

“Come on, it’s Galloween! What’s it to be then? Trinkets? Or Trunks?”

Amelia sits stock still, unmoving, and Blossom takes another nervous bite of cake. Flavia’s communication skills are on top form, as she mumbles,

“Errrrrrr..?”

Two of the figures move closer, striding confidently into the firelight.

The taller of the two states quite matter-of-factly,

“You know, Galloween! Oh, don’t tell me you’ve never heard of it?”

It’s Amelia’s turn to attempt language now, as she looks between the two small figures and mumbles,

“Ummm…?”

Blossom swallows her mouthful of cake, and, suddenly the most eloquent of the three, murmurs,

“Erm, is this a forest thing?”

The smaller figure speaks with the voice of a small boy, as he shifts happily from foot to foot.

“Oh, so you’re not from around here? Now it makes sense! It’s All Gallows Evening of course, where we celebrate all The Outsiders that we’ve put to death on the gallows!”

He cackles and claps his hands, dancing in a small circle, and a few of the other figures cheer.

The taller figure, apparently an older girl, steps across and shoves him lightly on the shoulder.

“Shh, Bobbin! We don’t do that anymore. Do we?”

The boy looks suitably chastised, and clasps his hands in front of him.

“No, Mumpkin. Not anymore… But we still like to have fun! And we shorten it to Galloween now because it’s easier to say.”

Various other figures step forward now, and the party sees that they’re mostly, if not all, children. They speak over each other in a rush to explain.

“Trinkets means you have to give us something fun.”

“Like a toy, or a bell.”

“Or a nice rock.”

“I got a hat once.”

Some of the younger children pipe up,

“Or a scone!”

“Yeah, a scone!”

”Especially one with fruit or bugs in… mmm.”

All the children hum in agreement, and there’s much chatter amongst them all about who’s received the absolute best Trinket prizes.

Ever the inquisitive one, Amelia eventually asks,

“So, what about Trunks? What’s that?”

The small boy, Bobbin, speaks again.

“Well, if you don’t give us a Trinket, we get to take one from your trunk! Or, we hit you with a stick. It used to be tree trunks, but they’re way too heavy to carry around, so these days we just use sticks. See?”

He pulls something from his belt and brandishes a not-very-scary-looking tree branch, swishing it in front of him, making it whistle through the air. The other children ooh and aah, glancing at the boy’s twig like it’s a deadly weapon.

The three adventurers consider this for a moment. Sure, a stick like that could probably do someone a mischief, depending on how close it came to an ear or, especially, an eye. But generally speaking, none of them feel terribly… threatened.

Smirking at each other, they decide to play along.

Amelia screeches, voice comically high-pitched,

“Oh, brave sir, don’t be waving that in our direction!”

Blossom interjects,

“Gosh, I’ve never before seen one quite that big…”

But the pièce de résistance is Flavia, who, still dressed in her amour and imposing military finery, throws herself onto the ground in a shivering crouch and pretends to cower, shielding her face and head with her arms and whimpering,

“Oh, never have I faced such a formidable foe! Please, please, small guardians of the forest, take pity on these weak and lowly travellers. We shall choose Trinkets, and hope and pray that you will allow us to spend just one night beneath your mystical and protective canopy!”

The boy with the stick looks at it aghast, and his friends cheer and clap, one or two slapping him on the shoulder, and Flavia’s performance garners chuckles and even a smattering of applause from both the camp and the conglomeration of figures.

Discussion turns again to trinkets, and Flavia decides to make something, searching the undergrowth for a sturdy stick and using her dagger to whittle a simple pattern on its surface by removing some of the bark and exposing the pale wood beneath.

As she works, Amelia roots in her satchel, pulling out a small, semi-opaque stone. Its internal facets are slightly iridescent, and the children marvel at the multiple colours and the way it reflects the dim light. She spins an improvised tale about it being gifted to her by a powerful alchemist master, and that the children should be careful not to awaken its devastatingly powerful magical aura, to which they nod furiously, taking everything very seriously indeed.

Blossom offers a small object carved from bone. It looks like it could be an animal, possibly a horse, although it’s not entirely clear how many legs it has. Nobody asks and nobody comments, reasoning that only having kitchen tools available for such artistic endeavours not only limits one’s dexterity, but also allows the creator access to myriad forms of weaponry, should any offense be taken. The children don’t seem to mind, and immediately begin racing it up and over each other's shoulders and across the moss-covered rocks, making a variety of similarly unidentifiable noises.

Tension entirely dispersed, Amelia spends some time talking to the children and making notes about their costuming and customs in her leather-bound book. There’s much chatter as Pancetta feels brave enough to come out and perch on her shoulder, and the children delight in sharing some of their already-accumulated treats with her.

Flavia finishes her crafting by carving a smooth divot into the top of the piece of wood, turning it into a thumb stick, and Bobbin, still holding his twig, casts it aside without a thought as she offers it to him. She explains that it’s not for hitting, but rather for walking and trekking and going on journeys to make great discoveries.

He beams so hard it splits his face in two, and he stands up straight and marches around the clearing as if he’s leading a grand expedition. Some of the other children stride behind him, swinging their arms and chanting some variation of ‘hup, two, three, four’ but in a language none of the three women have heard before.

The children seem more than pleased with these simple offerings, passing them amongst themselves and cooing. Even Ursula and Urchie have been accepted into the throng, laughing and dancing and making animal noises along with them. The three travellers look on fondly, wondering quite how long it’s been since they’ve behaved like this. Like children.

As Bobbin strides past once again, he huffs, slightly out of breath,

“Next year you’ll have to come back to the village and have some special Galloween food!”

Blossom perks up significantly at this, and the children are excited to tell her all about the spread that awaits them. There’s candied turnips, mashed swede, onion and honey sweet biscuits, and if they’re especially lucky, squirrel burgers.

They explain that there’s also a special drink made from rotten fruit that only the grown ups are allowed to have, the children commenting that it smells weird and ‘makes them all dance funny’.

It all sounds delightful, and the three investigators decide there and then that wherever the next year takes them, they’ll reconvene to make a special journey this time next year. They’ll bear trinkets aplenty, and are already planning to justify it to their various superiors as a fact finding mission and cultural exchange.

As the children are winding down their antics and Ursula and Urchie are beginning to tire, there’s a bellow from within the forest.

“Gracie Groggington and all the rest of you Grogglets, you get your backsides back to camp this instant!”

One girl in an especially pointy hat gasps loudly as all the other childrens’ eyes widen, and they all leap to their feet as Amelia questions,

“Who’s that?”

Mumpkin explains,

“That’s Jiemme, she organises our playtimes, but we kinda went off track a little bit tonight…”

Bobbin adds,

“She’s good fun though. Comes up with all sorts of cool adventures for us.”

Another boy interjects,

“Yeah, she sometimes takes our Trinkets off us, mind you.”

Mumpkin continues,

“Well, to be fair Old Man Groggy did give Tiny Pete a flick knife for his third birthday, soooo.”

Bobbin nods knowledgeably.

“Yeah, you usually have to be at least 4 to get one of those.”

He turns and begins running into the darkness of the forest, waving as he goes.

“It was fun meeting you, and thanks for the Trinkets!”

The other children follow suit, and soon the clearing is as quiet as it was before, the only evidence of this most unexpected of shenanigans being some packed earth bearing small footprints, and a moderately impressive twig discarded off to one side.

Just as the weary adventurers are settling back down into their blankets, there’s yet more rustling from the foliage, and the exhausted team are almost too tired to care, assuming it's one of the children coming back to find a lost possession, or perhaps to play a practical joke.

Until there comes the disturbing rumble of a very loud, very guttural belch…

Afterword: this leads on to another adventure where we meet a drunken NPC with digestive issues… 😉

As always, I’d love to hear what you think of this. Especially as it’s so far removed from what I usually share 😙

Tagging my general list (open), but feel free to ignore if this doesn’t interest you 🤭 @joejoequinnquinn, @jamdoughnutmagician @guiltyasquinn @madaboutmunson @airen256 @sunshinepeachx @the-unforgivenn @skrzydlak @comeonatmebruh @jamiecb66 @80s-addict @abellmunsonmovie @definitionwanderlust @sheneedsrocknroll92 @munson-blurbs @wonderlanddreamer @daisy-munson @maedesculpaeusoubi @kurdtbean @mediocredreams @in2tswft @micheledawn1975 @littlebebebunny @12thatsanumber @alastorssimp @the-baby-angel @eddie-is-a-god @wolfqueenxxx @sassidykassidy @richter-raccoon @1deverland @bettyfrommars

[mci-writing]

Warmth (Midoriya Izuku x Reader)

Warnings: Obsessiveness (near the end), implied major character death, reanimated corpse (it’s Deku), necromancy, Deku is the equivalent of Frankenstein’s monster kinda, a little ooc, mentions of pain, descriptions of skin burning (not exactly but yeah idk how to explain it)

Kofi

Viridian irises glance over the form laid before them, a longing sigh passing through chapped lips and landing on deaf ears. Fingers, cold to the touch and tinted blue from lack of flowing blood and oxygen, slide across the small expanse of exposed (s/t) skin, the thumb stopping just under a closed left eye and softly, lovingly, tenderly rubbing the area. It leaves the warmest goosebumps, so warm it should ache, dulling once the contact is distanced.

Whispers of ‘patience’ sound through the air, chilling down to the bone and causing him to pull away out of instinct. The reactions of those around him tell him that they aren’t really there, but he can’t help his response after being told such for so long. For so achingly long.

“Deku-kun,” He feels himself straighten at the voice beside him, a hand setting itself at the small of his back. The thumb rubs small, circles in an attempt to soothe his worrying, “If you keep tugging at your lip like that, you’ll rip it off.”

He becomes self-aware of his habit after his companion points it out, cheeks warming as he quickly lets it go. He wets his lips with his tongue after, teeth grazing over the bottom one as they pop out. He’s unable to stop the awkward chuckle that follows or the way his eyes flit from those around him to the body on the table.

“I’m sure (L/n)-San wouldn’t mind reattaching it once they wake, Uraraka-San,” Todoroki stands near the door, his eyes never straining from beyond the frame as he speaks to them. It’s hard to miss his tense demeanor from where they’re placed, one of his fangs pointing past his lips.

Izuku feels himself sweat at that, a wobbly smile forming on his face as he brings his full attention back to the other members of their group. The best he can manage out is a small “T-Thanks, Todoroki-San” as his hand connects with (Y/n)’s and laces his fingers through theirs.

Silence fills the room again after that. Midoriya can hear his heart racing and feel (Y/n)’s faint pulse. They pump in tandem together, like always. Yet, it does nothing to ease his fears. He knows that spell they cast was powerful, but they’ve been out for a few days now. The only reassurances he’s received of them still being alive was the small noises they’d make as they rested, the way their hand tightly holds his each time he holds it, and the addictive burn he receives with each touch to their skin.

The book of necromancy did say that some spells would be harder to cast for users with less experience, but Midoriya didn’t realize that translated to needing to rest for so long to regain the little strength of power (Y/n) knew how to use. He would’ve tried harder to suggest something else for their escape.

“Oi, Deku!” The rough voice of his childhood friend wakes him from his thoughts, his thumb and forefinger making themselves known on his lips as they tightly squeeze from the small jump he makes. He’s being side-eyed by shades of crimson, but not many would catch the soft worry behind them, “Me n Shitty Hair’s got the ship waiting at the dock. Cargo truck’s outside.”

Emerald eyes meet the fiery shades, an understanding spoken between them that only their little bubble could process. Without a beat, Bakugou comes forward and lifts the end of the slab they're laying across and Todoroki is quick to grab the other end. They load it into the cargo truck's trunk, careful to ensure they're strapped down in the back before Todoroki hops out. Midoriya watches on, eyes longing for the warmth he’s just lost.

~~~~~

The car only holds four people, debatably three if you wanted to argue whether or not Midoriya could still be counted as human in his current form. He was undead, that much he could confirm from the way his body had been stitched together and the ice cold feeling of his skin when he wasn’t within a certain proximity of (Y/n). He was something like Frankenstein, but the context seemed less science fiction and more fantasy. He had no clue why he had been brought back to life, just that he had been. (Y/n) and Kacchan always avoided the question when he’d ask how he’d died.

That’s another thing, it’s always the three of them. Even now, only Kacchan and (Y/n) were going to board the boat with him. Kirishima was only here to take them there and back.

His gaze pans away from the passing scenery outside to the body pressed against his. His cheeks warm as bright a red as they possibly can at the proximity, yet he can’t force himself to move away from the burning sensation of their skin touching. It hurts in the nicest way possible, making him feel way more alive than he thought possible. It’s why he thought he had just woken from a long sleep instead of immediately thinking he’d come back to life, the warmth too comforting for him to question anything at the time. Both of his companions joked about it being out of character for him.

He takes in the low rise of their chest and the serene look of their face. It’s one of the very few times he hasn’t seen them worried out of their mind since being brought back to life. He’s tried not to keep count of their smiles, one of his favorite aspects about them. If with their lips held in a neutral shape, he’s fighting the urge to kiss them until they swell.

He feels himself warm more at the repeated thought of laying a kiss on their unconscious form. He should be ashamed, but he’s been wanting to be intimate with them for a while now. It’s gotten so bad he gets a little jealous when he catches them and Kacchan away from him, whispering between themselves in a bubble of their own that he feels he won’t fit in.

That thought sours his feelings a little, especially when he knows he could never take them from Kacchan and he could never take Kacchan from them. The idea of them moving forward without him, leaving him out, and further pushing him away from the picture he'd perfectly fit in before his current state, gives him a deep pit feeling in his chest that he doesn't enjoy dwelling on for too long.

But right here… Right now…? He could just give them a quick peck and pretend it didn’t happen. No one would know… Unless they woke up from it or something…

He weighs his options, emerald eyes measuring and tracing the outlines of your lips. He has vivid memories of the one time he managed to get a kiss from them, in the dead of night when the only witnesses aside from themselves were the twinkling constellations. He doesn't remember how long ago it was, but he can perfectly picture the sight of them shyly smiling, their face warm, and (e/c) eyes dilated like a super moon. Their lips fit perfectly against his, slated and locked like they were meant to be attached for eternity, and delectably soft like fresh baked goods straight from the oven. He'd press his lips against them as much as he possibly could, suffocate against them even.

The cons would be them waking and beating the shit out of him... Or Kacchan catching him and beating the shit out of him...

Midoriya leans forward, hand burning as he cups their cheek. He rubs his thumb against their skin as his lips finally meet theirs again. It feels like home, his lips feverishly sucking against the plump flesh like he'll never be able to do so again.

He pulls away once he realizes he's being too greedy, too desperate. He sucks in a deep breath, the butterflies rising to his chest as his heart pounds against his ribcage. He can feel the warm honeydew in his cheeks, worsening when his eyes dart up and meet a certain pair of crimson ones. They stare at one another for a moment, but Midoriya can't read what Bakugou is thinking at all. Bakugou sends him a small smile, or something close to it. His lips quirk upward on one side before he turns back to the road. Kirishima is talking about something, but he's obviously not paying attention.

"'Zuku?" The soft call of his name has him looking down, meeting the dazed stare of (Y/n). They're still relatively exhausted from their overuse of magic, a bit of light missing from their pupils. They press their cheek into his hand, the bags under their eyes heavy, "Are we... heading there?"

"We're going to the dock right now, (Y/n). Kacchan's in the front seat and Kirishima's driving us there," Midoriya informs them, voice low as to not cause them any discomfort. He knows they typically suffer from headaches after too much use of their necromancy abilities, "I'm sure you should be able to rest a bit longer-"

"No, no," They begin to sit up, getting a grip on his shoulder and using it to push themselves up. They let go and force themselves to sit up on their knees, getting in a position where they can easily look out the window, "I have to check that... we're not... Not being..."

Their voice trails off as they grab their head, another splintering headache racking their body from the sudden movement. Midoriya is quick to grab hold of them, leaning their body against his. Gravity lays them back across his lap, their face pressing into the fabric of his shirt while they close their eyes. Out of instinct, he presses his fingers against the nape of their neck, slowly sliding them upwards to press at various spots in the back of their head.

"No one's following us, (Y/n). We made sure of that..." He murmurs, pushing their hair out of their eyes. His hand eases down the side of their face, fingers hooking under their chin and pushing it up so they can see him better, "Get your rest."

"Izuku...," They stare at him for a moment, different emotions flashing through their (e/c) eyes. One of their hands reaches up for his cheek, the flesh feeling as if it'll catch on fire at any moment. They pull away too quickly for his liking, the same stricken look reaching their eyes like every other time they touch him and they're reminded of their afflictions. He's heard them apologize to him in the late hours before.

With little thought, he grabs their hand and presses it back to his flesh. He feels just a little closer to being human again at the touch. He nuzzles into their hold, keeping eye contact with them and watching the confliction beyond their irises. He doesn't care about the way his body screams to flinch away from the heat, pressing more into it as opposed to as opposed to running from it. He tightens his hold when he feels them try to tug away from him.

“Izuku, stop. You’re hurting yourself-,”

"No, it's okay," He responds too quickly, leaning into their touch. He presses his ear to their chest, listening to the steady beating of their heart and the movement of their breathing in their chest. The heat isn't as excruciating, simmering to an addictive warmth adjacent to bodies entangled in a hug. It crawls over his skin and wraps around him like a blanket, "Everything is okay..."

He never wants to leave from (Y/n)'s hold, (Y/n)'s warmth, ever again. He doesn't know how he could ever live without it, especially not now when the cold is even colder than before...

[safyresky]

Scrimbly Jacqueline 44/52: Halloween scrimbly! Jack and Jacqueline are gonna kill it at the Legend-Legate Halloween Party because yes, Jacqueline did indeed get Jack on board...

All he had to do was dare her to cut her hair for it! It went a little like this...

🎃👻🍷🥳✨

It started, (as most things did for her, weirdly enough) with a sprite sleep.

It wasn’t out of the ordinary. Especially this close to Spring’s approach. Work ramped up for Jacqueline and like, nine out of ten times Dite would be startled by a large thump out in the atrium, only to see her girlfriend COVERED in snow laying face down by the pond.

“Long day?”

“SO long and I am SO tired. I can’t even make it to the bedroom. What EVER will a cute LIGHT AS A FEATHER sprite like me do~”

Apparently, roll over, throw the back of her hand over her forehead and pout with really big cute eyes right at Dite.

“Well it’s a GOOD THING your fluffy, tall, and VERY strong girlfriend is here to rescue you.” She knelt down, picked her up bridal style and flew the pair of them right to her rarely used bed.

“Boop!”

“Hehe. Boop.”

A finger came up, booped her nose, and in seconds Jacqueline was passed out, a welcome chilly presence against Dite’s side.

They stayed cuddled like that for a while. Dite amused herself in the meantime. Stole Jacqueline's phone and scrolled through the tag she had for stuff to show Dite later. Let her brother know where she was, threatening him under pain of death should he try to wake his sister up and bring her back out into the field (he promised he wouldn’t and said he, too, was in hiding and Winter was who they had to watch out for). Checked in with Elle, since, y’know, Jacqueline’s phone was RIGHT THERE and Dite knew her url. Napped for a bit.

But when it became apparent that Jacqueline’s sprite sleep was just that, and would last more than half a day, Dite wriggled her way out and shifted to watch mode.

It was quite fun, really. Keep up with her notifications, place sweets on the bedside tables to see if they’d rouse the sprite (and they did but Dite always missed it by THAT MUCH, only knowing Jacqueline had eaten the treats based on crumb distribution), re-tuck her in every so often, cuddle when Dite decided sure, why not, she could totally sleep for a bit! You know, that sort of thing.

And while keeping vigil at her side, Dite booted up her PS4 and played her very favourite game possibly ever: Hades.

She lost count of how many runs she did. But she got a fair way along in the storyline by the time Jacqueline woke up. So much so that she didn’t even notice the sprite rouse and slowly make her way to the edge of the bed. And she must’ve been there for a hot minute because it wasn’t until Dite had dealt the final punch onto Learnie that she realized her girlfriend was awake and watching, and NOT because she had noticed calmly while button smashing. No.

It was because the moment Learnie exploded, Jacqueline made a noise that may have been a purr? And said, “Mm. That's hot.”

Right in Dite’s ear.

Needless to say, Dite was startled. So much so her flight and fight response kicked in and she shot into the air, longbow drawn, arrows ALREADY LAUNCHED before she realized what had happened.

“Oh! Oh no! Jacqueline! I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay, it’s okay!” Jacqueline pulled an arrow out of the bed, feathers flying about. “It’s fine! I scared you! My bad. I knew you were in the zone but didn’t realize how in the zone you really were—hhh.”

The breath escaped the sprite as Dite grabbed her in a very tight hug. Emphasis on the tight.

“Dite. Dite. I need to breath—” the top of her head was wet. Why was it wet? Was Dite—

“I’m s-s-sorry!”

“Oh, sweetheart, you don't have to cry about it!” Wiggling out of Dite’s grip (a challenge in itself), Jacqueline managed to throw her arms around the goddess’s neck and squish her nice and tight. “I’m okay! Really.”

She pulled back and held onto Dite’s face, wiping the wet off her cheeks and immediately booping noses.

“Boop!”

Dite laughed. “You’re so cute.” sniffling, she wiped the rest of the wet away, fanning her face. “Whew. Okay. Okay. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Positive! It’s just a couple arrows.” She pulled another one out of the bed. “And I’m slippy.”

Laughing, Dite pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. “Okay! If you insist.”

“Which I do. You’re playing Hades? That game you've been telling me about for like. GOD. Two years at this point?”

“Yep!” Chipper, Dite floated back down to the bottom of the bed, picking up the controller and popping Zagreus up to the next level. “It was a fun way to spend the time while you slept. How long have you been watching?”

“I woke up to a you died screen. Very disorienting. But then I got to watch you go through the underworld! Nyx is hot. So is Achilles. Like, everyone in that house was pretty hot.”

“If you think that, just wait! There’re a bunch of characters that weren’t in the house during that run! Wait until you see Thanatos. You’re gonna think he’s so hot”

Grabbing the blanket and wrapping it around herself like a cloak, Jacqueline picked up her phone, plopping down to sit beside Dite as she continued her run.

“It’s been a while since you played it.”

“It has! I got busy and I’d beaten the main plot. Now I’m doing the epilogue plot! And I’ve added some heat to make it harder, which is why I died so soon! One of the bosses was given a chariot and a MACHINE GUN. I think. And I was NOT ready for it.”

“Why did you pick it back up again? Had the urge?”

“All MONTH actually! They announced a sequel.”

“They did?”

“Yeah! It looks super cool! Here, let me show you the trailer.”

Pausing the game, she pried Jacqueline’s phone out of her hand, pulling up the Hades 2 sneak peek. Jacqueline watched with rapt interest, eyes going big.

“Woah. That looks dope.”

“Right? And it looks like it has a LOT more gameplay and I am SO EXCITED! I can’t wait until it goes into beta! I’m hoping I can play it during pre-release. I think you’ll really like it, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! The protagonist uses MAGIC! AND she’s trying to rescue her family! She’s Zagreus’s little sister.”

“Oh, cute! Maybe I’ll keep tabs on it then, if you think I’ll like it. And also, magical little sister. LOVE that.”

Dite giggled. “I thought you would. Wanna try playing the first one?”

“Maybe later. For now, I am perfectly content sitting right here and watching you play.” Pecking Dite’s cheek, she grabbed her phone back and opened it up, catching up on messages.

“What did you do to my recent emojis?”

“Don’t worry about it!”

🎃👻🍷🥳✨

It had also started small.

After their brief chat, Jacqueline didn’t really show any more interest in the game, though she was happy to start her own save and do a run or two or five. Which Dite had expected, of course! Jacqueline always liked up close combat and was a big fan of button smashing (you had to be when you played Super Smash Bros with her younger siblings. They were FAST—but Jacqueline was faster and Dite, even faster!) and Hades was full of button smashing.

And incredibly hot characters, according to Jacqueline. Dite took her word for it.

At any rate, Dite was not prepared for the ensuing love the sprite ended up having for the game’s sequel. Not until she got back from work to...WAY too many missed texts from Jacqueline.

DITE IT ENTERED EARLY ACCESS

I gotta pay for it? WHACK.

GUESS WHAT I JUST DID

OH GIRL IT’S DOWNLOADING

I can't find my ding dang controller

I STOLE YOUR BLUE ONE! SORRY BABE XOXO

Oh girl. GIRL. It’s so cool

Oh it’s so FUN

Okay. Just got my ass whooped.

OKAY WOW YEAH super different mechanics but like, really fun. She has this cool thing that I think replaces Zag’s cast basically? But it’s like a big sigil looking thing and it KEEPS THE LIL GUYS FROM MOVING ABOUT! I love it

NEW GODS

THEY’RE HOT

SOME OF THEM LITERALLY

I don't wanna give you too many spoilers but lmk if you’re free tonight? I’ll bring my laptop! And return your controller. Maybe. Idk it’s my favourite shade of blue, so...😈😈😈

There was a brief gap, according to the timestamps. Enough for a couple of runs, Dite guessed. The messages continued after, borderline unintelligible (Dite thanking the gods for small miracles like autocorrect as she read on).

Oh

Oh NO

DITE

DITE SHE NEVER GOT TO MEET HE R BROTHER

SJVHUHVUI

VUUEAKCJWNE

ASDFGHJKL

I’M SO SAD AND HEARTBROKEN OMG

SHE DIDNT GET TO MEET HER BROTHER? NOW SHE HAS TO GO SAVE HIM? SHE’S NEVER GOTTEN TO MEET ZAG?? I THOUGHT THEY HAD LIKE SOME TIME TOGETHER BEFORE CHRONOS BUT APPARENTLY NOT???

OH SHE’S SO CUTE WHEN SHE’S LITTLE I’M 🥺😭🤯

Another bout of silence before the final string of texts.

...girl I'm hooked.

I'm OBSESSED

I need the full game SO BAD

MELINOË 😭🥺😭🤩🤩🌨😭🧜🏻‍♂️

That seemed to be the end of it. Dite giggled to herself, quickly typing a few replies.

Well the good news is now, you own the full game! Yay💕💕💕! We should share Steam libraries if we haven’t already! 😘😘

So sorry for the late replies, blue eyes! 💙💙 It's high season for me! But I'm home now and yes, absolutely free.

What do you want for dinner? I can grab something or make something and we can hole up here for the night! Just you, me, and the sequel to critically acclaimed god-like, rogue-like dungeon crawler game Hades 2! 💙💖⚔

Also the controller is your favourite shade of blue because I got it for you, silly! 😘💕

The replies were instantaneous.

Is for me? YAY! 😁😁😁

I’ll be right over!

Can we do Za from that place by the tower of Pisa? 🥺🥺🥺

🍕🍕🍕🍕

Dite laughed.

Sure! I’ll grab it and meet you back here?

😎🆒

And that was Jacqueline for yes.

🎃👻🍷🥳✨

It was obvious once she’d returned with the pizza that Jacqueline was absolutely ENAMOURED with the game. The love radiated off of her in waves as she talked about it!

And talk about it she did. The pair of them spent the entire evening and well into the morning taking turns doing runs, guessing story beats, and trying to see who could make it farther out in the runs each in-game night.

By the time the sun rose down below them, Jacqueline had unlocked the path up to Olympus, and BOTH girls had squealed in excitement (enough to upset several cherubs as they flew away angrily. One even hissed).

They’d called it there, then. Angry cherubs made for a bad time.

But that certainly didn’t stop Jacqueline.

🎃👻🍷🥳✨

Whether with Dite or on her own, Jacqueline could not get enough of the game. It was like Dite said; she was enamoured with it. She loved it on its own, and she loved how much fun she had when playing it alongside Dite.

And maybe, just maybe, she felt a bit for Melinoë.

Whatever the case, it fast became one of her favourite games and was very much on the mind when talk of the Legend-Legate Halloween party came up once more.

For the last almost fifteen years running, Santa had been joining the festivities given that he now had a Legate of his own.

And for the last near fifteen years running, Santa and Charlie had won the costume contest every. Single. Time.

So when July came around and Halloween hit the shelves, talk of the costume party came up once more amongst Jacqueline and her Legend, the Big Bother himself.

It’d become a regular lament around this time of year.

See, she and Jack had won the contest since their first year both attending post reunion. They had held onto the trophy for a couple of sweet, sweet years when Charlie got his Legate status and he and Santa swooped in and managed to steal the trophy every goddess damned year.

“And I am tired of it, Jacqueline! I mean, the only reason they’re winning is because they have  SEVERAL departments FILLED with costume experts, I mean, come on. It simply isn’t fair!”

And sure, maybe Jack had a point. But like, they were using the resources they had at their disposal so like. You know. Why not.

Jacqueline had said as much, only for Jack to grumble and glower and tell her to stop defending the enemy.

“In fact, you should stop fraternizing with the enemy, too! No Charlie hangouts until after Halloween.”

Jacqueline had bit her tongue. Swallowing her laughter, she cleared her throat.

“Okay, but like, if I do that…how will we know our enemy? We can’t defeat them if we don’t know them, you know?”

“No, I don’t know! Good point! Okay, fine. Keep fraternizing. We’ll see who fraternizes last.”

Jacqueline snorted. “What the frost does that mean?!”

“I’m having a moment, Jacqueline! You think I know what the things I say mean when I’m having a moment?!?! Honestly. Where’s the support!”

He’d gone on for another good twenty minutes, much to Jacqueline’s amusement. Finally, though, he had eased off, and chit chat returned to the regular gossiping and bitching as they made sure to keep the snowcapped mountains…well. Capped with snow.

Of course, before finishing for the night Jack had once again reminded her to start thinking of a costume that would beat the Calvin-Claus duo once and for all.

It was distracting her something fierce that evening. She’d already lost two death defies to Chronos! TWO! And that hadn’t happened in like, the last ten Underworld runs. Goddess above, the costume thing shouldn’t be bothering her that much.

Finally getting the last hit in on Chronos, Jacqueline sighed. She piloted Melinoë around the decrepit House of Hades, really wishing the game was fully out. She was dying to see how gameplay would work re: saving the rest of Melinoë’s family. She also really, really wanted to reunite her with Zag! She couldn’t WAIT to see the plotlines and the arcs and the—

Oh. Now there’s a thought.

Sending Melinoë back to the Crossroads, Jacqueline sat up straight.

She knew exactly what costumes would give them the trophy this year.

🎃👻🍷🥳✨

“DITE!”

“JACQUELINE!”

“I JUST HAD A BRILLIANT IDEA.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah! I can trust you, right?”

Dite laughed. “We are literally dating, Jacqueline. Of course you can trust me! Why wouldn’t you be able to?”

“Because this isn’t your run of the mill Jacquie brand idea. This is serious stuff, Dite. This is...Halloween related.”

“Oh! You’ve thought of a costume for you and Jack? For the Legend-Legate party?”

“YES! And I think it’ll have a really good chance at winning the whole thing.”

Dite’s wings fluttered. “That’s wonderful! What’s the catch?”

“For this to work, there are two big things I have to do. The first one: use what I have at my disposal which is a literal goddess of a girlfriend.”

Dite flicked her ponytail. “Hedone is at your service!”

“I like that you added the sparkles.”

“You don’t think that was too much?”

“No! Not at all! I loved it!”

Dite grinned, hovering. “Yay! So what do you need from me?”

“Access to godly forages and godly resources.”

“Done! We’ll check in with Mom’s side of the family, they’ll probably let us do more nonsense than Dad’s side. So what’s number two?”

“I need to convince Jack to do it.”

“Why is that?”

“I think we should go as Mel and Zag.”

Dite brightened. “Oh! Oh, I love that idea! That’s so cute! We can make the weapons HERE and we’ve got TONS of reference material to get the fits JUST RIGHT and I can find some laurels for you both that’ll REALLY make the look proper godly, ou, it’s going to be SO FUN. I bet Jack’ll go for it!”

“I know if worse comes to worse I can guilt him about it but that’s not really how I want to go about doing it, you know? At least, not seriously.”

“Well, how about a PowerPoint?”

Jacqueline blinked. “Oh, shit! That is a great idea! I fucking love PowerPoints!”

🎃👻🍷🥳✨

And that’s how, months later, Jack found himself at Jacqueline’s recently-restored-forgotten-about-house, seated on the huge sofa and watching as Jacqueline set up a PowerPoint presentation on the TV, Dite grinning like a maniac beside him.

“And…there we go! Open up!”

The PowerPoint loaded.

“Why Jack and Jacqueline Should Attend the Legend-Legate Party as Zagreus and Melinoë from critically acclaimed, god-like, rogue-like game Hades and its sequel, Hades 2. That’s a bit of a mouthful, don’t you think?”

“But it gets the point across, right?”

“Jacqueline, I don’t even know who these characters are.”

“Well good news for you: The first half of this PowerPoint will make sure you know just that. We’ll start with the first game, because that’s where your character comes from: Zagreus, Prince of the Underworld!”

By some miracle, Jack actually sat through the entire slideshow, paying rapt attention and interrupting a minimal amount and learning quite a bit. Dite was more than happy to compare the game to both sides of her family in real life, much to Jack’s amusement. By the time Jacqueline made her way through the Hades 2 portion, Jack had a pretty good working knowledge of the characters and the game. Games, that is.

“So! In conclusion! Here’s why we should go as these two. One: they’re siblings, so are we! Two: they’re MAGICAL siblings. So are we! Three. They are INSANELY hot. Four: LOOK at how BADASS their fits are! Five: the big ass weapons are DOPE and WILL get us bunny votes. Six: I’ve gone ahead and pulled a Santa and Charlie and used the resources I have at my disposal.”

“Which are?”

“Ta-da!” Jacqueline grinned, presenting Dite. “Celestial girlfriend!”

“That’s me! AND I’ve gone ahead and gotten everything we need to get this going!”

“You know, Dite, technically you’re the enemy here too.”

“Hey! Jack! Be nice!”

“No, it’s okay babe! He’s right. But here's the thing. I love Jacqueline very very much and,” she leaned closer to Jack, her cheery disposition falling, determination taking its place, “I want to see Santa and Charlie go down just as bad as you two do.”

Jack looked surprised. Pleasantly so. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Alright then.”

“So? What do you say?! Please? Please Jack? Pretty please?”

Jack looked thoughtful for a moment, rubbing his chin and hemming and hawing.

“Need I remind you about the time you accidentally stabbed me and then left for fourteen hundred years?”

“You do not, thanks.”

“Okay, good. Just checking. So? What’s the answer?”

“Tell you what, little flurry. I’ll do this costume with you. But! If and only if you cut your hair as short as Melinoë’s for the thing. You know, authenticity’s sake and such.”

Jacqueline patted her hair which was, presently, very, very, very long. “My hair?”

Jack nodded. “Yep! Off it goes. Right up past your shoulders.”

“...done.”

Jack sat up in shock. “Really?”

“Yeah! I’ll cut my hair for this. But you HAVE to go as Zagreus. No take-back-sies, especially after my hair cut.”

Jack smirked. “Done.”

🎃👻🍷🥳✨

About a week before Halloween, Jack popped by to visit the fam only to find Jacqueline with very, very, very short hair.

“Wow,” he said, pulling out his seat and helping himself to the coffee time spread. “You really went and did it.”

“Yep! I told you I would! And also, you dared me to."

"Ah yes! Right. I did, didn't I?"

"Yep. And Jacqueline Frost does NOT go back on a dare."

"Evidently."

Dite brought the costumes by earlier, by the way. They’re done and just about ready to go! We’ll need to try them on and make sure they fit well and all that jazz but then we’re good to go!”

“Weapons, too?”

Jacqueline grinned. “Yep! Actual, FUNCTIONING weapons! I was playing with Lim and Oros earlier, holy heck. If that’d been my loadout during the piracy? I’d have conquered the piratical world, Jack.”

“Well it’s a good thing it wasn’t! There’s be no living with you then, King of the Pirates.”

🎃👻🍷🥳✨

Halloween week rolled around and with it, the Legend-Legate Costume party.

Jacqueline stood in her room, all dressed up, admiring the freeze job on her left arm. The ice was thick enough to give her arm an almost ghostly look about it underneath; close enough to Melinoë’s ghostly prosthetic of sorts to work for her.

Grabbing Lim and Oros and taking a few practise swipes, she tumbled out of her room,

“JACK! You ready? We gotta GO!”

“Chill out, would you?”

Across the hall, Jack’s door opened. Out he walked, in his Zagreus costume—huge sword and all.

“AH! You actually DID IT!”

“Of course! You actually cut your hair, and I am a man of my word.”

“Woo! Yes Jack!” In her excitement, the sprite was hovering a bit, the north winds filling the halls. “We’re gonna kill it today! That trophy is as good as ours.” Landing, she swiped through the air with Oros.

“Yes, just one little detail we need to fix.”

“What?” Jacqueline landed. “What detail?”

“Eyes. Quite literally. I have a little spell that may work, but it won’t do eye colours we don’t have in our genes.”

“So instead of one red, one green, it’ll be one blue, one gold-ish?”

“Bingo. I thought we may be able to do the red what with our favourite uncle and all,” (Jacqueline snorted), “But wen I asked Dad, he told me that the only reason his eyes were that dark was because of all the negative magic and whatnot that he used. Something like that.”

“Really? I always thought they were identical except for the eyes and hair.”

“Nope! Same eye colour too!”

“Damn. I do NOT envy Gran.”

“Nor do I. Anyway, hold still, would you?”

“You remember which side is which, right?”

“How could I not? With how informative your presentation was and how you haven’t stopped talking about the game?” He sniffed. “Please.”

There was a pull of magic in the air. Jacqueline looked down at the ice on her arm—yep! Two-toned eyes.

“Ou, that’s banging.”

“Banging?”

“You know darn well what I meant to say. Let’s bounce so I can go swear.”

“And so we can win that trophy! The look on Santa’s face when we take it from him will make my Christmas. I won't even ask for anything else! Except for maybe a framed picture of the exact moment we're announced as the winners.”

“And if we don’t get it, we have WEAPONS. We can take it,” Jacqueline smirked rather devilishly, stabbing the air with the dagger. She spun on her bare foot and ran down the stairs, weapons trailing magically behind her.

🎃👻🍷🥳✨

It was Cupid and Dite who were hosting this year.

Their villa was done up, lights flashing, the smell of good food wafting down their way. Decorations were put up, and it looked like some of the other gods were hanging around as well.

They made their way into the atrium, the party in full swing as they looked for this year’s hosts.

“Jacqueline!”

“Dite!”

“Ou it looks so GOOD ON YOU!!”

“And look at YOU!?!?!? Are you NEMISIS?!”

Dite giggled, flaunting the armour and standing very tall. “Sure am, Princess.”

“Oh, I love it! Why Nem, though? She’s so rough and tough with Meli and you for SURE can’t do that with me, your cute and lovable girlfriend!” Tilting her head and smiling sweetly, she folded her hands under her chin, Lim and Oros in her grasp.

“Dad was inspired by you two and had this great idea—”

“I sure was! I'll take it from here, kiddo." Cupid finally appeared, floating towards them. "Hey! Jack! Ya made it! And Jacqueline, look at you two! Lookin’ good.”

“You have got to be joking me. Really Cupid? Really? THESEUS?”

Cupid laughed, doing a loop-de-loop on the way over. “Yeah! Did it with you in mind! I’ve played my fair share of Hades, so when Hedone told me you and Jacqueline were doing Zag and Mel, I thought, hey! You know who annoys the shit out of Zag? THESEUS! And so, ta-da!”

He floated back, arms outstretched, lights catching onto the costume.

“I can’t even be mad anymore, Cupes. I’m simply impressed.”

“Ha! That’s the spirit, Jack. Anyway, c’mon in! Mind the crowd. Some of the more laid back family members are here—and some of our Greek cousins, too. Dionysus and Bacchus are in the house. It’s gonna be a PARTY TONIGHT! HAHA!”

“I saved you some treats! C’mon!”

Dite pulled Jacqueline away, the sprite grinning up at her as they disappeared in the direction of the food. Jack smiled, watching them go, content.

“I gotta say, Jack. I’m surprised you agreed to this.”

Jack quirked an eyebrow as Cupid floated closer to him, at eye level with his fellow Legendary Figure.

“Oh?”

“Yeah! I never thought you’d go for something like this,” he gestured to Jack’s Zag outfit, “for a costume.”

“Jacqueline was very excited about. She insists it’ll knock Santa and Charlie right off their pedestal.”

“Oh, I think it will. You’ll never guess who they’re here as.”

“Mario and Luigi?”

“Nope.”

“Scooby and Shaggy?”

“Ha! That’d be funny to see. Nope! Wanna guess again?”

“Not particularly.”

“Buzz Lightyear and Woody. From Toy Story.”

Jack laughed. Out loud. “Really? THAT’S the costume they went with?!”

“Oh yeah! So ah, between you and me, Jack…” the god floated closer. “I think you and your sister got this.”

“You and Dite have a good shot too.”

“Ha! Are you kidding? We don’t enter that shit.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Hedone gets a little too competitive so I ah, try to avoid competitions as much as possible. Seriously, it’s terrifying. You should see her playing board games. Risk? Monopoly? Yikes. She brings even the greatest strategists to tears. Minerva hasn’t been the same since the last board game night. It’s bad, Jack.”

“It’s funny you mention that. When Jacqueline gave me her presentation on the world of Hades—or at least, this iteration of it—” he gestured to himself. “She got very…intense when I asked why she was helping.”

“Yeah. You’d think love was enough, right? Nah. That coupled with beating someone at a competition? Yeesh. You’re lucky you made it out alive, let me tell ya.”

Jack snorted. “The night is still young and this sword is very, very real. Or so I’ve been told. It’s lighter than I expected.”

“I think Heph did that on purpose.”

“I’m not sure whether to be thankful or offended.”

“Eh, when it comes to these guys, it's usually a bit of column A, column B. Regardless, I think you guys have a good chance at winning tonight! Helps that I’m hosting too. We gods are a vain bunch. And I don’t think I could stop them from voting even if I tried.”

“Ou. Then I can tell Scott that I got the godly vote.”

“Ha! You’re gonna be insufferable all year! More so than usual.”

“Only if you’re Scott.”

“Is that why you agreed to the costume?”

“Cupid, please. You know damn well why I agreed to it.”

Cupid smiled. “I do, yeah. I just wanna hear you say it.”

Jack tried very hard to look annoyed but it did not work. He bit back his smile.

“Well, you know how it is. You do very silly things for the people you love.”

“Ha! There it is! You betchya!”

“And you know…there’s no big, huge, grand gesture I can do to make up for everything I did to her,” Jack continued, finding himself watching their Legates in the distance.

Jacqueline already had chocolate on her face, Dite fawning beside her as they helped themselves to some drinks, talking animatedly with Tinkerbell and Peter Pan—ah. Roy’s kids, Jack realized. Olivia and Myles. The pair of Legates were admiring Jacqueline's weapons while she shoved an entire cupcake into her mouth, Dite showing them how to wield the set.

Jack smiled softly. “And while there may not be some grand gesture I can make, there’s all sorts of little things I can do to make up for it all. And this is one of them.”

Cupid chuckled, clapping Jack’s back. “Attaboy! C’mon, let’s get you a drink.”

[astranauticus]

A thrilling and horrific tale of 5 strangers caught up in a mysterious supernatural conspiracy, will they uncover the secrets of the peculiar artefact bestowed upon them or will they fall to what lurks in the shadows? Find out in Curse of the Amulet, coming to a theatre (heh) near you this Halloween season!

[autumnalwalker]

The Melts

Author's Note: A while back I had a bit of a ramble on how I wished that it was more common to find examples of human bodies artistically warped into new and interesting configurations presented in a manner other than horror and gave an off-the-top of my head example of a hypothetical episode of a slice-of-life series going on that theme. A couple months passed, and then with Halloween approaching, I decided on a whim to slam out a rough draft of that story over the weekend. So here we are. Summary: What if your entire body slowly melting over the course of the day got treated as being no worse than the common cold and you still have to go to work because you work retail and already used up all your sick days? Wordcount: 5,295 Content Warnings: Descriptions of the sensation of one's body slowly melting into a fleshy pile of goo, various weird anatomical modifications, spider-like creatures crawling all over people, having to go into work while sick.

Mil had the melts.

They became aware of this approximately four and a half minutes after waking up when their hand made an unfortunate squelch sound upon palming their alarm clock’s snooze button.  They held their hand in place in denial for another half minute while their arm slowly stretched and drooped down into the space between bed and bedside table.  They reluctantly opened their eyes and groaned at the sight of the clock’s contour pressing up through a hand whose bones had gone limp and elastic.

It was going to be one of those days.

The thought of calling in sick today briefly crossed their mind, but no, it was close to the end of the year and they’d already used up all of their sick days.  Any more would have to come out of their precious holiday leave time.

It was fine, they told themself while throwing back the covers of their bed and pointedly ignoring how that arm curled back around on itself from the momentum.  It was only a mild case and it would probably clear up by the time their shift was over.  Enough to be annoying but nothing worth making a fuss over.  Unless it was a severe case, but that almost never happens.

As a small mercy, Mil’s legs weren’t as melted as their arm so they only almost fell over immediately upon standing up on appendages that bent and swayed in spots that don’t have joints.  Thank goodness for counterbalancing tails.  People often called their look basic, but Mil preferred to think of it as classic.  Feline ears and tails had been among the first reshapings to see mainstream adoption and Mil had personally always found more complicated additions of prehensile limbs and sensory organs to be a nightmare of overstimulation.  Plus, the ears and tail were a nice aid in emoting to make up for the difficulty Mil usually had with expressing themself by voice and face alone.

By the time Mil reached the kitchen they’d found a workable rhythm to their unsteady gait that managed to keep them mostly upright.  No time for anything complicated for breakfast, and probably best to keep away from the toaster in this state, so cereal it was.  That had its own complications of course - grip the spoon too loosely and its weight would stretch their fingers down and apart, but too tightly and their whole hand would roll itself up and try to retract back into their arm - but several minutes of grumbling around mouthfuls of wheat byproduct and dairy tree milk where enough to convince Mil that it wasn’t really all that bad and that they’d be able to manage at work today.  

They pointedly ignored the ensuing contrary evidence that came in the form of their legs getting stuck on the inside of their pants and rolling up into lumpy balls until they gave up and went with a skirt.  They’d already spent all the time they normally would have devoted to their morning workout on trying to pour themself into a tight turtleneck while getting the right body parts through the right holes.  Supposedly wearing snug-fitting clothing like this was an effective way to hold your shape relatively solid in a bad case of the melts - which Mil definitely (probably) didn’t have - but in practice it was not as useful a tip as its popularity would suggest.

But hey, they were fed, dressed and out of the house almost on time, so that was a victory.  And it meant they were almost on time to catch the tram before it left.  Oh.  Wait.  

It’s fine, they told themself while fiddling with the straps on the mask they’d donned on their way out the door.  It would only be a few minutes until the next tram scuttled up.  They’d only be a little bit late to work.  Everyone would understand.  Afterall, who hadn’t had the melts before?  In the meantime it gave them a few extra moments to try to get their mask to squeeze their head into a less embarrassing shape.  If Mil had to go in sick, it was the least they could do to try not to spread it.  But if they could be considerate while not having their skull get squished in the middle into the shape of a peanut, that’d be great.

A few pats on the side of the face, a push on the the top of their head, some hard nodding, get their fingers untangled from the mask straps aaannnddd…. A plop and a dizzying snap as Mil felt their jaw distend and the lower half of their face slide fully into the mask just as the next tram arrived.  Checking their reflection out in the tram’s shiny carapace confirmed that their head was an acceptable shape.  Maybe a little bit snout-y, but they could write that off as being part of the feline look.  So long as no one saw the mess under their mask.

The good part of being out at the end of the line like this is that Mil almost always got a decent seat on the tram and plenty of time to listen to their audio books.  It almost made up for the long commute.  Of course, today one earbud kept falling off the top of their head every few minutes from that ear not holding its shape well enough and the other one was worming its way uncomfortably far into an ear that seemed to be trying to swallow it through a series of expansions and contractions that mirrored Mil’s breathing.  By the second stop Mil gave up and shoved both earbuds back into a skirt pocket, resigning themself to ride stewing in silence.

That silence only lasted one more stop when the bulk of the other commuters started to pour in.  By the fifth stop Mil was firmly wedged between a shell-backed construction worker and a twelve-armed switchboard operator who had enough respect for personal space to keep those arms wrapped around zemself but not enough to not press three different elbows into Mil's ribs.  Mil tried not to hold it against zem.  It was the morning rush hour.  Getting pressed together was to be expected.  Even if that meant winding up half a foot taller and considerably flatter.  Mil tried not to think about how many people they were spreading their melts to.

At the ninth stop Mil extruded themself from the over-packed tram and toddered over to a bench to catch their breath.  If they were going to be late anyway, what was an extra minute or two to let their shoulderblades stop overlapping and left and right halves of their ribcage stop interlacing?  Just a few deep breaths to puff their torso back out and they were good to go.  They could fix their hair later after they got into a restroom to wash the public transit funk off their hands.

Walking into the store’s employee entrance a couple blocks down the street, Mil was greeted with the terrifying visage of their manager, Baroft.  The smile wasn’t terrifying because of the fangs (Mil had been considering getting some themself for some time now but couldn’t quite justify it with how little meat they ate), nor because of the extra pair of slit-pupiled crimson eyes (pretty standard for those who could adapt to the extra sensory input), nor even for the contrast with the face’s second mouth that wasn’t smiling (that one never smiled, it wasn’t the customer service voice mouth).  No, that smile was terrifying because if Baroft was happy - even worse, relieved - to see them walk in the door late for work, then that could only mean one thing.

The store was short-staffed today.

Mil would have to deal with customers.

Mil was - generally speaking - not good with people even on the best of days, and today was - as the flesh of their hand pooling at their fingertips under the force of gravity like ripening fruit would attest - not the best of days.  Most of the time they got by on trading duties with coworkers to spend as much of their workday as possible on the backend duties; stocking inventory, cleaning, feeding the weavers, updating displays, etc.  If one good thing could be said about Baroft it was that after seeing Mil awkwardly stumble through enough customer conversations and fitting attempts, yt had realized that putting them in a customer-facing role was more likely to lose the store money than earn it.

But now Baroft was complaining about Rangel being out on jury duty at the same time as Kalei being unable to come in due to thons kid pupating, and Paras from the evening shift had called in sick, so Mil could just imagine the sort of morning Baroft has been having, and Mil was going to have to be a team player and pull through just for today all the way through until closing time, and yes there would be overtime compensation once they made up for arriving late, and what’s Mil complaining about it’s just the melts, if they were able to get here then obviously isn’t that serious, now no attitude and best behavior in front of the customers, it was already bad enough that yt had had to call Leolani and ask eir to come in early today.

That last part cut through Baroft‘s blizzard of words and caused Mil’s heart to skip a beat.  Leolani usually arrived just as Mil was getting ready to leave for the day so they didn’t know eir all that well, but the handful of brief conversations the two of them had shared always left Mil wanting to change that.  It wasn’t a crush per say, only that everything about Leolani struck Mil as indescribably cool and made them wish they could be friends and hang out.  Eir jacket covered in punk patches that ei left draped over the chair in the employee breakroom that no one else dared claim.  Eir perfect eyeliner.  The way ei could multitask taking one customer’s measurements while uncoiling eir twelve-foot neck over to help another customer pick out a suit off the rack.  Eir taste in music that had made the basis for the longest interaction Mil had managed with eir.

Under other circumstances, the opportunity to spend the day commiserating with Leolani over being the two youngest employees by a wide margin and how awful the holiday rush that started earlier every year was might have almost made up for having to work late.  Now though, they were suddenly feeling self-conscious about the way their spine had started to go limp in places and force them into a slouch.

Mil’s trip to the restroom to straighten up in front of the mirror was a perfunctory one.  They might have arrived late to work, but no way were they going to be late to feed the weavers on schedule.  Elam - in early and still in nir fall look of leaf-like orange hair and skin covered in gray keratin growths mimicking tree bark - gave a marginally less brusque than usual greeting when Mil pushed aside the heavy curtain separating the dim tailoring room from the shop, even going so far as to offer nir sympathies for Mil’s melts.  Mil’s more solid hand glorped over one of the nutrient slurry canisters on the shelf as they insisted that they were fine.  Just a minor case of the melts that would clear up by the afternoon.

Elam raised a skeptical woody eyebrow and offered to handle the feeding duties today, but Mil declined and stepped into the weavers’ enclosure.  The way Mil saw it, they were something like an apprentice to Elam who had finally promised to teach them how to direct the weavers once the new year rolled around, so any chance to prove themself… well, it wasn’t so much welcome as not something they could afford to pass up.  Experienced weaver handlers were always in demand (as evidenced by Elam being able to afford four full-body reshapes a year just to keep up the image of a tree changing with the seasons), and honestly it was the closest thing Mil had to a career advancement opportunity.  

Besides, Mil genuinely liked working with weavers, they thought as the small swarm of arachnoid bio-tools began crawling all over them to get to the nutrient slurry.  It was important that the weavers were well-fed in the morning before any clients came in for a fitting lest they get either too tired or too carried away with their purpose.  As it was, a few of the weavers must have failed to recognize Mil’s scent and shape due to their illness and mistaken them for a client, forcing Mil to gently shoo the engineered creatures off before the threads of their turtleneck could be unpicked and reassembled into whatever pattern the weavers had last been installed with.  Most of the chittering swarm sloughed off to feed once the nutrient slurry had been dispensed and Mil was able to encourage the stragglers to depart from their body heat without too much trouble.

To Mil’s chagrin, once they stepped back outside of the enclosure Elam leaned over and plucked a weaver off the back of their neck that had pushed their unusually pliant skin into a little bowl to nest in.  Mil’s stammering apology was met with a laugh and an encouraging slap on the back that made their whole body ripple unpleasantly.  Better than a reprimand.

Back out in the main store, Leolani had already arrived and engaged with the first customers of the morning, signing at one with eir hands while stretching eir neck over an aisle of racks to explain the fitting process to another.  When ei caught Mil staring, ei sent the second customer their way.  The next few minutes constituted the first grueling attempt of many that day to talk someone who wasn’t really all that interested (whether due to boredom, intimidation, lack of intent to buy, or just wanting to get their stuff and get out) through pricing options on bespoke versus alterations by limb configuration and fabric type.  Or failing that to sell something off the rack, even if it was just an expensive pair of socks with the store’s monogram on it.  Or failing that at least collect an email address for a mailing list.  This is what made the holiday rush so awful.  The rest of the year most of the store's customers were regulars who mostly had a specific goal upon walking in, but for the next couple of months traffic would surge with only a minimal uptick in actual sales to show for it.  All the same, everyone that walked in had to be treated as a potential new regular just in case.  As if it wasn’t already anxiety-inducing enough to deal with people whom Mil possessed at least a passing familiarity with.

By noon Mil’s ears were pressed flat back against their skull.  In part, this was an expression of their mood, but mostly it was a matter of the ears’ swivel muscles losing cohesion and getting stuck in the last used position.  It was making it a little bit difficult to hear clearly, but they had long since learned the hard way that making a rough guess and sticking to a script tended to be received better than asking people to repeat themselves.  At last the lunch-time lull arrived and Mil was able to steal off to the break room for a reprieve.  It was blessedly quiet in there save for the hum of the refrigerator holding the protein shakes Mil had stashed for days too busy for a proper lunch.  Mil dipped into that stash today.  Their melts were getting worse before they were getting better and the prospect of trying to wobble down the street in their current state to their usual lunch spot where they would surely be recognized struck Mil as lethally embarrassing.  And exhausting.

They took the opportunity to examine the patches on Leolani‘s jacket (draped over eir chair in undisputed claim as ever) while they struggled first with the shake’s cap and then with their mask.  Their fingers weren’t cooperating much at all now, between having gone mostly limp and being plumped up with all the flesh their normally-flatteringly-body-hugging turtleneck was now squeezing out of their torso and arms and into their extremities.  At least one or two of the patches on the jacket had to do with bands, Mil was fairly certain.  Would it make for a better conversation starter to ask Leolani about those bands, or to look up and listen to the music up themself first in order to have something in common?  Mil mulled the question over while nursing their shake.  Better than thinking about the similarities between their lunch and the weavers’ breakfast.

As Mil threw their head back to drain the last few drops from the protein shake’s bottle, they felt their spine come loose and their head just kept going back.  And down.  And around.  Until it bumped into the back of the low-backed chair, upside down and just above their own waist.

They had folded themself.

Mil took a breath, held it, let it out, and came away even less calm than before.  Lungs not making up their mind where they should be will do that to a body.

It was fine.  This sort of thing happened.  Annoying, but nothing serious.

Mil tried to swing themself upright, but it was the sudden lack of back muscles that got them into this position.  They tried grabbing the chair and pulling themself up into an unbent vertical, but the strain just stretched out their hands.  They tried to do the obvious thing and just stand up, but folded like a wet, heavy towel as they were over the chair’s back, they couldn’t get the proper leverage and just scrambled their feet, scooting the chair along the floor with a teeth-itching squeak.

Mil heard Leolani walk in before they saw eir.  Not that they could see much besides the floor behind their chair.  Leolani asked if they were alright and Mil’s mind raced with enough potential responses that it might as well have gone blank.  But then fear of getting stuck won out over pride.  There was no salvaging this one to come out looking cool.

Mil asked for help.  Just a little bit mind you.  They’d be fine if they could just get themself unfolded.

Boots made for digitigrade feet stepped into Mil’s inverted view, followed by a round face with perfect eyeliner that then rotated to match their perspective in a motion that suddenly shifted the impression from serpentine to owlish.  A light joke about the view from down there was quickly followed by a warning that came at the same time as a pair of hands gripping (very literally) into Mil’s shoulders and lifting.  Once ei had them upright ei asked if they were good.  Mil said they were and then immediately slumped forward, overcorrecting and refolding in the opposite direction.

Leolani, neck now coiled up over and around eir own shoulders like a scarf, told them to hang for a minute and then came back with a mop handle and a roll of duct tape.  A comment about a friend of eirs once having done this for eir and an apology about this feeling weird was all the warning Mil got before the Leolani began working the mop handle up the back of their shirt.  Ei called it the scarecrow method of stabilization.  After producing a pair of compression gloves from eir messenger bag and helping Mil get them on, Leolani let them apply the duct tape in private with a reassurance that it was the cheap stuff and would come off after a decent soak in a hot bath, if not sooner.

Trying to walk with the improvised back brace was awkward, but better than the alternative.  Mil shambled out of the employee break room, wondering how much longer their legs would stay semi-solid, just in time to see a regular they recognized but couldn’t put a name to walk in.  Somehow additional legs were far less popular than additional arms, so this regular’s centaur pattern group body configuration stuck out.  Not that Mil knew for sure whether it was hooves, feet, or claws beneath those patent leather shoes and it would be rude to ask.  What Mil did know at a glance was what xe was here for.  The regular’s bat-like wings (aesthetically impressive and flexible enough to clasp in the front and fold into a cloak, but almost certainly not flight-, or even glide-rated) hadn’t been present on xyr last visit to the store.  Now here was something that was as close to Mil’s comfort zone as anything got.

They greeted the regular and went through their mental script for this sort of interaction, making the appropriate vague inquiries about xyr wellbeing, complimenting xyr new wings, trying not to drip on anything as their melts slowly got worse, guiding xem through the booklets of fabric swatches and catalog of styles, and dancing around the fact that they couldn’t remember xyr name for the life of them.  Once the regular made their selections, Mil led xem back to the tailoring room where they handed the selections off to Elam.  Strictly speaking, Mil should have left it be from there and returned to the main display floor of the store, but they liked watching this next part and were even more willing than usual today to take any excuse for a break.  If anyone asks (no one will) they’ll say that they were taking notes.  Or would saying that they were assisting sound better?  Whatever the truth would be on most days, this time Mil simply leaned on a wall for support and watched Elam type in a console to install the selected pattern on the weavers, guide the regular into the weavers’ enclosure, and start speaking in the language of clicks, snaps, and command phrases the bio-tools had been trained on.  What before had been a disorganized collection of individual lab-created arachnoid creatures became a precision swarm washing over the regular (who had been through this enough times not to flinch too much), taking xyr measurements by touch with sensitive legs able to estimate and account for offsets due to the regular’s clothes by pressure and texture alone.  Once each of the individual weavers was in position on the regular’s body Elam snapped nir fingers to send the swarm skittering into a different position, held for a few seconds of processing, then snapped again for a third configuration.  A larger swarm could have generated a full three dimensional scan of a target’s body in one go, but the upkeep costs on swarm size wasn’t generally seen as being worth it just to shave off a few seconds.  A final command word cleared the swarm back into the corners of the enclosure.

Like most customers, the regular elected to come back later in the day to pick up xyr new suit and have any last-minute alterations made then.  As opposed to partially undressing and allowing the weavers to weave the new suit directly on.  Supposedly the latter option would get a truly amazing bespoke fit, but for most it wasn’t worth standing still for an extended period of time with bug legs crawling all over you and working miniaturized biological sewing machines millimeters away from your exposed skin.  Maybe one day when Mil had Elam‘s job and income they could find out for themself.  For now though, Mil simply offered to lend nem a hand with loading in the fabric feedstock to get the assembly process started.  It seemed that pinstripes were making a comeback this season.

The next few hours were, all things considered, not too bad.  A decent portion of customers were regulars rather than randoms, Mil got to watch a couple more sessions of the weavers at work, the one song that they weren’t tired of on the station the store had been running on loop for the past three weeks came on, and - most importantly - they’d managed to keep up something like an ongoing conversation with Leolani in between customers.  Now if only their melts hadn’t been getting steadily worse instead of better.  By the time Mil’s normal shift would be ending they were having trouble standing up for more than a minute or so at a time.  Elam even offered to talk to Baroft on nir way out - ne still got to live at nir usual time today - about letting them go on home.  Against Mil’s better judgment, they turned nem down, citing the appeal of overtime pay and silently fearing that leaving might reflect poorly on their performance or attitude.

So, of course, two hours later Mil’s skeletal structure gave out altogether, reducing them to a fleshy puddle on the floor.  They’d felt it coming on and had just barely been able to make it back to the breakroom and out of sight of customers.  Leolani came rushing in moments later, having seen their attempt at a distressed and hasty exit.  If there was a silver lining to the gross (they were on the floor in a public building) and embarrassing situation, it was that their skirt had flared out enough to preserve some semblance of modesty and mostly cover up the skin-covered blob slowly spreading across the linoleum.

When Leolani asked if they were alright, Mil’s response came out garbled and bubbling.  So, no, not so much.  

After several rounds of “One blink for No, two blinks for Yes,” Mil managed to first turn down an offer to call an ambulance (it might be a severe case, but it was still just the melts; they would sleep it off and be fine by morning) and then to direct Leolani to retrieve their phone and its neurolink adapter from their skirt pocket and attach the adapter to Mil’s forehead (or at least a spot on Mil’s increasingly amorphous form slightly above their eyes).  Neurolinks like this one were a clumsy technology, still in its infancy, so Mil had to concentrate on a single letter at a time for a second or three apiece to make words appear on the screen, but it beat the alternative.  From there the two of them were able to talk - after a fashion - and settle on the plan of laying Mil out in the tailoring room, out of sight of both customers and Baroft.  If Baroft asked where they were, Leolani would cover for them and say that they were handling some task or another that Elam left for them.  Afterall, with Mil only being able to sort of writhe and flop around, it’s not like they were going to be able to get themself home, so may as well just sleep it off here.

Unprompted, Leolani input eir contact info into Mil’s phone before leaving them in there.  Being able to exchange text messages made lying there barely able to move in the dimly lit room for the remaining hours until closing time considerably more tolerable.  Almost pleasant even, despite how exhausting trying to type with the neurolink for extended periods of got to be.  The white noise of the nearby weavers’ chitters and skitters helped.

And then, as the store’s closing time was approaching and the last customer left for the night, Leolani offered to take Mil home instead of leaving them in the store overnight.  Mil could keenly feel the spike in their heart rate at the question rippling through their not-quite liquefied form.  The added clarification that Leolani had realized about an hour ago that the two of them both lived roughly the same part of town with the same tram stop so it wouldn’t be much of a detour for eir to drop them off at their place quickly dispelled the wilder fantasies (terrifying and idealistic alike) that Mil’s mind had started jumping to.

Mil was aware, objectively speaking, that they didn’t really know Leolani all that well outside of the off-and-on conversations about hobbies and interests they’d been having most of the day and that letting someone like that know your address and handing them your keys wasn’t really the smartest idea.  Subjectively speaking however, Mil was tired, young, and platonically infatuated with their cool coworker whom they seemed to be hitting it off well with.

A few minutes later Mil heard Leolani‘s and Baroft‘s voices outside the backroom’s curtain and caught snippets of Leolani offering to close up the store for the night and lying that Baroft had just missed Mil leave a minute ago.  Another minute or two of silence followed before Leolani pushed aside the curtain and strutted over to Mil carrying a large bucket.  It took some doing, but ei got them to fit.  The melts made flesh as compressible as it made it elastic.

Somehow being scooped up, poured into a bucket, and pressed on until they fit was not the most embarrassing experience Mil had been through that day.

Leolani was able to lift Mil’s bucket with relative ease.  Surprising at first, but on second thought, Leolani must have had some manner of musculoskeletal reinforcements for strength and balance if ei was walking around with all that extra weight from eir neck sitting on eir shoulders all the time.

The conversation on the way back home was fairly one-sided.  It was simply too hard to concentrate on typing through the neurolink with all the novel sensations going on.  Sloshing slightly in the bucket as it swung with Leolani‘s gait.  Staring straight up into the night sky (or eir face) while moving.  The uncomfortable warmth generated from being their own folded blanket stuffed in a tight space.  The rumbling of the tram transferred through the floor and sides of the bucket making their whole body quiver and vision blur.  It was fine though.  Mil had never been a big talker and Leolani seemed more than willing to fill the space.  Or was ei intentionally trying to keep Mil distracted from all those other less pleasant aspects of their current situation?  If ei was, it was working.  And it turned out Mil hadn’t even needed to ask about the band patches; Leolani had started talking at length about them all on eir own.  Best of all, stuck looking out of the bucket up at the ceiling like this, Mil couldn’t see anyone else staring at them and could almost pretend it was just the eir and them without the eyes of strangers that had always made them uncomfortable.

And then Leolani was standing at the door to Mil’s apartment, holding their keys.  Ei let eirself inside, carrying Mil’s bucket with eir, found their bed, lifted them from the bucket, and laid them out flat on top of the sheets.  Being exposed to cool air again was a blessed relief.  They would absolutely need a shower in the morning, but for right now they were too exhausted to care.  They tried not to think too hard about how being rather literal putty in Leolani‘s hands felt.

Duty done and aid rendered, Leolani left the neurolink on Mil’s face in case anything came up in the night before they solidified, left the keys on the bedside table, left the lights off, and left the apartment.

On eir way out, ei suggested hanging out together sometime when they weren’t sick.

*******

Mil’s hand made a perfectly normal pap sound upon palming their alarm clock’s snooze button.  Their hand was hand-shaped and none of their bones wobbled.  And why wouldn’t that be the case after a good night’s sleep?

It had only been the melts.

[carnivorousghouls]

From The Perspective of a Monster

You’re different.

You scrub your skin rough, digging into yourself, hoping to see blood. You bathe yourself in different, pungent, floral-scented soaps. People hold their breath when they pass you.

Your face is a mass of repugnant bumps, expansive blotches of burgundy creeping beyond them, swallowing your features. No one even knows the colour of your eyes.

You were born from grime, the kind you find caking the cracks of shame and repulsion. 

There is a river that passes through the city and makes its way, twisting and churning, until it reaches your neighbourhood. It flows past open septic drains reeking of rot and disease and under bridges blocked by lines of traffic, motors running and oil tanks leaking. It flows alongside peak hour traffic filled with bleary-eyed, early morning road rage and empty, dark-stained coffee cups flying from windows.

Stretching beyond where it should end, as though it gurgles and rolls to spite those who must look upon it. An ugly, jagged scar across the map. Even when sight of it is lost you can be certain it is still there, running beneath your feet along uncleaned sewage pipes, long discarded by government services. There is a spot, three blocks from your house, where the river expands, creating a soft, squishy, acrid bank. Scummy, parasite infested water meanders under a sheen of foul smelling muck, ribbons of algae dance against the rise, intertwining themselves into dark clumps creeping up the rocky incline, threatening to infest the world beyond the river. Folks of nearing homes often request council services to do something about the ill-favoured bank. They never do.

It is here, where it is as though you were created.

Someone had scooped up the mud, muck and scum and had tried their unskilled hand at sculpting. You are their unsightly, malformed creation. They wrapped you in tight cloth, binding you together, holding you steady, to hold you as you rose from the disgust that birthed you. That creates you. You pathetically limp your way through what could be considered a life, just dull enough, adequately unassuming, that no one notices you’re not like them, that you don’t belong.

It is when they touch you, their hand clasping you in what they intend to be a comforting gesture, they notice. Their fingertips pressing into your flesh, nails tearing through the fragile, deliberately placed cloth. 

Cloth gives way. 

You begin to seep through the tearing, bubbling up to the surface. Beads of nauseating black filth swell and grow. Their fingers sink into you.

You are devouring them - they fear. You are contaminating them.

Their face contorts, there is no flurry of emotions, no confusion or hesitation. Their wide eyes lock with yours. The eyes that once looked at you with familiarity, with friendship look back at you, disgust painting the space in their mind where you once occupied. 

Apologies rush by the hundreds, hammering at the walls of your mind, begging to be heard, threatening to tumble out. You won’t let them. You cannot apologise. 

You will not.

They pull away, taking hurried steps back as the rest of what once held you together falls away, you having seeped through, your bulging, distended form only growing. There is no turning back, they know what you are.

A monster.

[gummiix]

I’m almost done with my biiig ol comic page :3333 can’t wait for you guys to see it. I’ll prolly show it in pencil and not pen though because I’m not too confident in my inking skills (and don’t know if it’ll be ruined)

[lamuradex]

Short Story: Mercenaries

(Thought I'd start with a spookier one because it's Spooky Month)

Title: Mercenaries

Wordcount: 3000 Words

Commander Aberdeen must lead his men through the jungle after a mission left them with a lot of loot and a long way to carry it home.

But when something starts whistling out in the woods, they realise they might not be as alone out here as they thought.

Mercenaries

Entry 1: Day 1                                                                         03/04/08

Personal log of Commander Aberdeen of Wraith Company. Honestly, it feels strange to report my own name. Strange even hearing it. Most people I know just call me Commander. Mercs know their place and know respect when someone’s paying for it. I’m keeping a log here because I’ve always found it safer to have a record, in case there are issues later or inquiries, and because it’s something to do in the evenings. We’re here in the jungle, I won’t specify where, to raid a supply convoy of some rather vital and expensive things aboard. I won’t specify what either. If someone captures us and reads this, they can just ask our employers, whoever they are.

The raid went off without a hitch. Well, almost. We had intended to capture the trucks and drive them out, but Everett got a bit trigger happy and one of the gas tanks went up. We lost all three trucks, but saved the cargo. It was a steal or destroy op anyway. Just as long as this stuff doesn’t get where it’s going. Still, this stuff should be worth something, so we’re heading back with it.

It’ll take a while though. Between dodging local authorities, militia, and having to heft this stuff through the jungle, we’re estimating two months before we reach the airstrip. Not a problem. We’re in no hurry. Supplies are on sleds, and we’ve got a couple of ATVs to drag them. Six of us, including me. That’s me, Everett, Michaels, Cally, Gorman and Jameson. Those are just my codenames for all of them, by the way, in case we’re captured.

Two months to go. Just need to keep a low profile.

Entry 2: Day 3                                                                                 05/04/08

Been a little while since the first entry. Everyone’s staying well behaved. Almost throttled Michaels earlier today though when I thought he was whistling. Was about to call him out when I realised he wasn’t making a sound.

It’s coming from the jungle. Might be a bird or something, but now I’m not so sure. Thought I saw someone out there. Just a glimpse of something moving in the green. Thought I saw some eyes. Maybe just some locals, but we’ll keep watch. If they report to someone, we could be in trouble.

Entry 3: Day 7                                                                               09/04/08

Four days now, but the whistling finally stopped. It warbled like a bird, but then Everett whistled back. He always was our little musician. Moment after he did, the whistling stopped. Whatever was calling got its answer. Glad it’s gone.

Nonetheless, I had Cally double back to check. He says he found tracks. Couldn’t say if they were animal or human. Not really a concern. We’re armed to the teeth and in the middle of nowhere. Who’d hear a gunshot out here?

Entry 4: Day 14                                                                                16/04/08

Jesus Christ. Something happened today. It’s been about a week since my last entry, but I’ve got to get this on record.

We’re down a man and one bullet. Jonathan “Cally” Wilks, deceased. At least, we hope he is.

A couple of days ago, Gorman started to get a bit jumpy. He thought we were being followed. We kept an eye out, and others agreed. Then this morning, before we could pack up, something came running through the treeline. Gorman jumped and opened fired. The intruder fell dead.

It was bloody Cally. Gorman almost fell apart when he realised. But when we looked at him, Cally was a wreck. He was mud soaked, covered in scratches, and looked like he hadn’t shaved in a week.

Thing is though, he didn’t look like that yesterday. Cally slept in the tent next to mine. I heard him snoring. One of the men saw him that morning, clean shaven and fine. Everyone’s wondering if we’ve had an imposter with us this whole time, or if maybe the dead man’s the imposter. Either way, the “other” Cally is nowhere to be found. His stuff’s still here, but he isn’t.

The men are pretty shaken. They boxed up Cally and put him on the sled. Best thing is we take him home. He was a good man.

On another note, that whistling started again.

Entry 5: Day 19                                                                                21/04/08

 That damned whistling. It’s driving the men mad. Still, everyone knows to keep a cool head. We’ve already lost one out here. We don’t want another.

Thing is, I don’t think we’re alone out here. I was on patrol, shorthanded with Cally dead, when I saw something. A figure in the trees. It was pretty far out, but there was definitely something. A dark figure, peering at me.

Now, I’m not some idiot who’s scared of black tribal villagers. You work in jungles enough, you meet your fair share. Even traded with a few. So when I say this man was dark, know that I mean it. Skin like charcoal and piercing white eyes.

Then he was gone. I sent Gorman and Michaels to look and they found a boot print in the mud. It’s the same brand that’s part of our uniform. I had Jameson check the supplies, but we’re not missing any, and Cally still has both of his. Gorman says the boot print was messy. Says there was viscera in it, that’s how Gorman put it. We’ll be more careful with our night guards from now on.

Entry 6: Day 23                                                                               25/04/08

The whistling stopped again. No more sightings of the man with bloody boots. There is certainly someone out there though.

We keep coming across strange totems. Hanging off trees, buried in the ground. They’re made with animal bones, most still covered in blood. Might explain the boot print. Jameson says this region is uninhabited, but the rest of us are worried we’re walking into tribal territory. Even so, I think we can handle ourselves. So far we’ve seen one guy, at most. We can deal with a lot more than one guy.

Entry 7: Day 27                                                                              29/04/08

We found another boot print today, bloody as the first. Gorman almost stepped on it. I know we’re moving slow, but the idea they’re in front of us is unsettling. Still, it’s not my current concern. My current concern is Michaels.

When we found the footprint, everyone gathered round like it was a spectacle. But Michaels is silent. Now, I know I haven’t described him, but Michaels is a bloody chatterbox. It’s why I thought he was the man whistling, him or Everett. Everyone else is having their say about the footprint, but Michaels is just quiet.

He just got back to work without saying anything. I’m gonna find out what’s bothering him. I’ll beat the information out of him if I have to. Now’s no time to be keeping secrets.

Entry 8: Day 28                                                                             30/04/08

I’m not sure what to make of today.

I confronted Michaels, but he refused to talk till we were alone. Then he finally told me, and I wished he hadn’t. He’d recognised the boot print.

The most recent one was different to the others. There was a cut across the heel. I’d just thought a twig or insect had crawled through it, but then Michaels tells me this story about Everett. The idiot stepped on a serrated blade two tours back, and only missed losing his heel because Michaels kicked his foot. Still has the boot to prove it though.

First I was unnerved by this, then I was angry. I decided to confront Everett. I marched up to him and called him out in front of everyone, thinking this was some big prank. Turns out the others had words to say too. Everett had been acting strange. One man said he’d been staring at Cally’s coffin.

Everett never answered. Something changed in him. Even now, I couldn’t put a finger on what, but suddenly it wasn’t Everett anymore. It was just something that looked like Everett. “Everett” then opened its mouth, screeched like a goddamned banshee, then sprinted off into the jungle. Michaels drew his gun and took a shot, but we’re sure he missed.

A couple of hours later, the real Everett appeared, battered and muddy, like he’d been missing for a week. He was also missing an eye.

While Jameson, our medic, looked him over, Everett told us what he remembered. He’d heard one of us calling him in the woods, and stepped away to see. After a few minutes he couldn’t find anyone, so turned back. We were mid transit, so he wasn’t too alarmed when he couldn’t immediately catch up. When he couldn’t catch up after a day, he started to get worried. When he finally had to rest and fell asleep, he woke up the next morning with an eye missing, not bleeding a drop. Then he found us later that day.

He doesn’t remember finding his boot print. He even still has his scarred boot. By his report, he vanished sometime after we’d seen the first one. He’s been missing for about a week, but swears up and down it couldn’t have been more than three days.

On top of everything, Jameson gave his report. Everett’s eye wasn’t removed surgically. It was torn out. Until we can get to proper hospital, Jameson has taken a sports team badge off his uniform and given it to him for an eyepatch. For all the horror of the situation, Everett doesn’t half look silly with a Bolton Wanderers patch tied to his face.

Entry 9: Day 30                                                                            02/05/08

I’m glad I’m keeping this record, or I might think I was going mad. The whistling started again, and I’ll admit I felt goddamned scared. I’ve given a standing order to the men. No one leaves the camp without a direct order from me, given eye to eye. Not that they would. More and more, they’re reporting seeing the dark figure. Charcoal skin and watching us. It only occurred to me earlier today that the whistling could be multiple of them communicating. We just need to get out of this jungle.

Entry 10: Day 36                                                                            08/05/08

The whistling stopped. I don’t know if that’s more unnerving. Either way, I gave the men a new order today. No one travels alone. Not for a second. I don’t care if you need to use the bathroom, you have another man watch you do it. I’m not having any “I only turned my back for a second, then he was gone.” We are not losing anyone else.

Entry 11: Day 40                                                                             12/05/08

We found more boot prints today, with a noticeable bit missing near the left toe. Everyone hurriedly checked their shoes to see if they matched. None did. Then Jameson decided to check Cally’s in his coffin. It was a perfect match.

Entry 12: Day 43                                                                              15/05/08

We found a body. It was barely recognisable and at first we thought it was another totem. Then we saw its face. It was Jameson. This was doubly strange, as Jameson was standing beside me at the time.

Immediately guns were drawn. We all expected to hear that same banshee scream, but “Jameson” just pleaded with us, so we put up one of the tents and dragged him in. This one is talking, and we’re getting answers. The tent is so the others don’t have to watch.

I’ve only briefly stopped to write this. I need it in case I start to question myself. Jameson is an old friend. It’ll hurt torturing something that looks like him.

Entry 13: Day 43                                                                             15/05/08

Another man is dead. Eric “Gorman” Jenkins, deceased.

It’s a good thing I forgot to write that for Jameson.

Me and Everett set to getting information out of “Jameson”. He never broke. He kept saying he was the real deal. I wished I’d believed him.

Then we heard this godawful noise. Screaming and gunfire. We ran out and found Gorman ripped in half. Michaels was sitting nearby, bloodied, terrified, and clutching his gun. Jameson’s body was gone. When we finally got some sense out of Michaels, he told us what happened.

Him and Gorman had been listening to us work, when one of them realised they better box up Jameson’s body. It had been sat out there in the heat, and neither was looking forward to it, but it needed to be done. When they got there, they both saw something odd. A wild dog had found the corpse in their absence, but it just walked up, sniffed, then snarled and ran away. When they looked closer, there wasn’t a fly or a maggot on the corpse. Not a worm or a beetle. Lines of ants seemed to be threading their way around it.

They found this strange, but blamed whatever had killed him. They set to move the body when Gorman suddenly froze and went damned pale. He just pointed and Michaels moved to look. He was pointing at a Bolton Wanderers patch on the corpse’s shoulder. The same one Everett had been using as an eyepatch for the last week.

Gorman tried to radio us. Before he could, the corpse moved. It got up and turned into something. Michaels describes it as looking like one of those totems, just bigger and with more teeth. It grabbed Gorman and ripped him along the middle, then turned on Michaels, but he shot it twice and it ran off into the trees. Then we arrived.

We’ve let Jameson out of his restraints and boxed up what was left of Gorman. There are only four of us left.

Entry 14: Day 45                                                                              17/05/08

Michaels is not doing well. He’s doing his job, but he is not well. He keeps grabbing a patch on his arm, as if to remind himself he’s still him. It’s a logo of some indie band he follows. Told me once he met his girlfriend during one of their concerts. I’ve always like the logo honestly. Looks military enough for a uniform. Better than Bolton Wanderers, anyhow. It’s a pair of arrows crossing each other with a plane behind them. Maybe if we get through this, I’ll make sure to buy them both tickets. Whatever the case, I think this might be Michaels’ last tour.

Entry 15: Day 46                                                                              18/05/08

I saw the dark figure again. He was in our camp this time.

After everything, I was loathed to sleep. Everyone else was wired, but with two standing guard, two of us could sleep. I had to. The last few weeks have been more than I could bear. I slept fitfully, but got a few hours. I awoke in the middle of the night and decided to trade off with someone.

And there he was. Charcoal black skin that almost looked burnt, crouching on the balls of his feet by the fire. He was staring at Michaels’ tent, eyes wide open, unblinking.

It took me longer than I’d like, but I drew my gun. Before I could get it out of my holster, he turned, looked me in the eyes, and sprinted off into the trees. I raised hell, but no one else saw hide nor hair of him. Where he had been crouched, there were two footprints in the mud. They were both caked with long dried blood.

Entry 16: Day 50                                                                             22/05/08

We are finally through. We reached the airfield yesterday and we’re finally going home. No one is comfortable though. We’re all looking at each other with uneasy glances. I think everyone is thinking the same as me.

I’m scared it’s still with us. I’m scared of what might happen if it follows us back to civilisation. I’m scared of how little we understand about what happened.

Entry 17: Day 50 – Final                                                               02/05/08

I’m writing this from the plane. Just as the plane arrived to take us and the cargo home, I turned for one last look at the jungle. Then I saw him. The dark figure, standing barely behind a tree. He stood watching me from the treeline, then he smiled. A mouth filled with huge, pointed teeth. He grinned, then carved an image in the tree bark with his fingertips. When he was done, he pointed one finger at the plane.

He’d drawn two arrows crossing one another with a plane underneath. I remembered that it had been Michaels and Gorman alone who had seen what happened with the fake Jameson’s corpse. Only Michaels had survived to tell it. I turned and saw my men boarding the plane. I followed.

I’m not scared anymore. I know what needs to be done.

Accident and Recovery Report: Mountain Rescue                                    Dated: 04/05/08

Investigator: Edward Palmer

Two days ago, we received a report of a plane crash in the mountains. Mid-flight, the pilot was communicating with local stations when there was the sound of gunfire and the line went dead.

The plane was located, crashed in the snow. There’s presently believed to be a single survivor from a crew of eight. Evidence indicates two or more may have been dead before the crash.

Reports indicate Commander Aberdeen and his men were travelling home, when Aberdeen drew his pistol and shot one his men and the pilot, causing the plane to crash. Many of the bodies are burned beyond recognition, and their identities mostly unknown. Recovered pages from a damaged mission log name the individuals by codenames, and it is believed that “Michaels” and pilot Walter Philips were shot. The body of “Michaels” cannot be recovered, having apparently been jettisoned from the vehicle during the initial landing, and is currently lost in the snow. Commander Aberdeen refuses to explain his actions, and has been remanded to police custody.

There are reports that there may be another survivor however, possibly injured. Rescue workers reported seeing an unknown figure standing in the snow some distance from the crash. When they pursued to try and talk to them, the person fled, leaving behind a trail of bloody footprints.

End Report.

[shironoegakite]

And so it begins...

Next

[akinosenoragami]

Illustration in question. I busted my ass for 3 days. It's a spotify album jacket for my first ever original song [Flying skeletons and cookie nights.]

Vocals, lyrics done by me and instrumental done by K3NN, who is a fellow member of my uni's music club and also on the cover of this jacket. this has been in the works for a very long time. and hopefully I can put it out soon. Damn mv is gonna take even longer. I'd estimate around 2 weeks.

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Andrew Gold - Spooky, Scary Skeletons 1996

Andrew Maurice Gold was an American multi-instrumentalist, singer, songwriter, and record producer who influenced much of the Los Angeles-dominated pop/soft rock sound in the 1970s. Gold performed on scores of records by other artists, especially Linda Ronstadt, and had his own success with the US top 40 hits "Lonely Boy" (1977) and "Thank You for Being a Friend" (1978) (which was later used as the opening theme for The Golden Girls), as well as the UK top five hit "Never Let Her Slip Away" (1978). In the 1980s, he had further international chart success as one half of the new wave duo Wax. During the 1990s, Gold produced, composed, performed on and wrote tracks for films, commercials, and television soundtracks.

"Spooky, Scary Skeletons" is a Halloween song, first released on Gold's 1996 album Halloween Howls: Fun & Scary Music. It was one of nine original songs on the album, released to fill a void of availability of fun and scary Halloween original songs according to Gold on his 1996 liner notes. He produced, mixed, sang and played all the instruments on the track. It prominently features a xylophone to represent the sound of skeletal bones rattling.

In 1998, Disney included the song on their VHS tape Disney's Sing-Along Songs: Happy Haunting: Party at Disneyland! (which was released on DVD as Disney's Sing-Along Songs: Happy Haunting in 2006). They paired the song with the 1929 animated short film The Skeleton Dance by Ub Iwerks. The video has garnered over 31 million views since it was recreated and uploaded by a Youtube user. On October 31, 2013, the Youtube band The Living Tombstone created an electronic dance-like remix of the song with a faster tempo than the original. Their upload of the remix to YouTube has garnered over 102 million views. By 2022, there were over 5 million TikTok videos featuring the song. “Spooky, Scary Skeletons” was adapted into a children's picture book by Random House Children's Books featuring the lyrics to the song on August 27, 2024.

"Spooky, Scary Skeletons" received a total of 90% yes votes!

[nightmarenova-writer]

Entry #2: A Drop

A drop of water,

A drop of tears,

A drop of never ending fears.

A drop of red,

A drop of dread,

A drop of knowing you are dead.

A drop of rain,

A drop of unceasing pain,

A drop upon your shallow grave.

[angelbarelywrites]

♡ slashers scenarios | first meeting

info;

♡ fandoms; The Boy, House of Wax, Halloween, Hannibal, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, slashers (general), DBD

♡ characters; Brahms Heelshire, Vincent Sinclair, Micheal Myers, Hannibal Lecter, Thomas Hewitt

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡ cw; mentions of blood/violence

The most random array of characters. All 5 are my bfs tho. Also this is written very very informally because it was originally just for myself lol.

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Brahms Heelshire//

> approximateplotofthe movie. jpeg

> honestly you mind your own business once you realize it’s a doll but assume there’s cameras so mostly behave

> you find yourself naturally coddling his doll like a real child when you’re bored, speaking to him constantly

> even though you’re not doing much to upset him, weird things do start happening around the house

> he mostly wants attention

> you leave a note one day

> “dear brahm’s ghost; i’m sorry if i’m not doing a good job as a nanny. i’m really trying my best. I hope we can be friends”

> he scribbles a smiley face on it and you’re a little freaked out / excited

> when he finally shows himself you’re really stunned. but it makes more sense than a genuine ghost

> you’re in such shock that you just. keep going with the evening and make dinner.

> but even once you come to your senses, you end up more sad than scared

> “…they left you all alone. I’m so sorry.”

> he gives you puppy eyes

> “…I won’t do that to you. I promise. I’m staying.”

> he’s even more in love with you than he first thought. even if you’re going to make him shower six times before bed.

> to his chagrin you don’t help him bathe

> but you do kiss him goodnight

Vincent Sinclair//

> bo brings you to him

> at first he’s making some big deal, “special delivery” and all that

> you’re cute

> really cute

> and bo clearly knew you’re the kind of person vincent would like

> but he’s still got a job to do

> damn it

> “h-hey- wait- i can help you—?”

> that makes him hesitate

> “i’m an artist too. i can help with the sculptures. “

> …

>“i’ll be good. promise.”

> he didn’t need much more convincing than that

> bo is surprised he kept you but makes damn sure you’re not escaping

> but you don’t even try because you just feel so deeply for vincent, and he’s so gentle

> you weren’t lying about being an artist so you’re genuinely helpful

> he falls madly in love when you help him resculpt his mask

Micheal Myers //

> Meet because you wrote letters to him

> Not to interview him or as an obsessive fan

> At first out of curiosity, then as a sort of way to vent, because he never responds

> But as it turns out your letters are the only ones he keeps or even opens at this point

> So his psychologist wants you to meet him to see if you can get him to open up- of course there’s a cash incentive

> He doesn’t say a word from the other side of the glass.

> Obviously.

> But you treat it like a normal visit to a friend and just chat mindlessly a while

> And you’re so much tinier and cuter in person

> He wants to stab you so much

> But realizes that if he killed you, he might miss you

> Ew that’s a scary thought

> Still wants to make you scream tho uwu

> He escapes

> Because he’s Micheal Myers that’s what he does

> After his spree he finds himself in your house, bloodsoaked and honestly not all that sure what he’ll do when he sees you

> You don’t even scream, just give a tiny ‘eep’

> “…Micheal?”

> He regrips his knife so he can get it over with. You’ll just tattle

> “Oh gosh- you’re soaked from the rain. And all that blood-let’s get you a shower? I can get you some fresh clothes too,”

> He’s staring down at you in disbelief

> “…what? You thought I’d try and call the cops? I like talking to you.”

> There’s something very wrong with you

> It’s kind of hot

> He puts him knife away and follows you

Hannibal Lecter//

> you’re his patient lol

> at first he doesn’t have much interest in you outside of work

> but god, you’d be such a perfect subject to manipulate with that little authority figure problem you have

> and even though you’re young

> you do recognize some of the finer things in life

> mostly his artwork and cooking. you’re really good at inadvertently stroking his ego

> he starts diving into darker subjects in therapy

> you’re a bit of a morbid person under the sunshine-y exterior

> perfect

> he’s still chipping away at something big you’re keeping from him

> he could do some digging online and through your files but where’s the fun in that

> he gets you tipsy and then starts with the psycho babble

> you finally crack

> you killed some guy that was stalking you years ago

> god that’s hot

> you liked it, at least a little bit

> even hotter

> you licked the blood off your hands and it tasted good

> he’s in love ; good luck leaving

Thomas Hewitt //

> car trouble! it’s always car trouble

> honestly when you rock up to the gas station alone Luda Mae is thinking that it’s a shame the fridge at home is already full

> but you’re the sweetest little customer

> “your name is really pretty ma’am. ever since i was little i decided if i had a daughter, her name would be Audrey Mae”

> new plan, she’s playing matchmaker

> there’s just something about you that’s so gentle

> and mildly off-putting, like the rest of the family

> she brings you out to the farm to see if they have the car parts you need

> and to stay the night, if you really need to

> you run smack dab into Thomas in his old half mask walking in- even Luda expects you to recoil at the least

> instead you turn a bit pink

> “oh gosh- I’m so so sorry sir-“

> Thomas stares at you

> You just shyly introduce yourself, talking enough for both of you

> Luda Mae is already planning the wedding

> “That’s my youngest Tommy- why don’t you show em around? Alright baby?”

> Thomas is a bit hesitant but you’re so little and cute and smell so good—

> He’s already obsessed oops

[snickerdoodlles]

one of my most formative fandom experiences was a comment i had gotten on a fic i wrote for a halloween themed fandom event.

this was for a manga/anime, so the fic was a general ghost story obviously set in Japan. the beginning of it involved a pizza delivery and while writing it, i had spent like 30 minutes just double checking tipping customs and the types of pizza they serve and even fell down a wikipedia rabbit hole looking up the history of pizza in Japan.

now, i just like the research part of writing, i do stuff like this because i have fun doing it. and while i was writing this particular fic, i had laughed at myself for my 30 minutes of googling that amounted to 2.5 offhand lines in a 3500 word fic. i didn't think anyone would care about or even notice those particular details except for me, especially since none of them were relevant to the ghost part of this ghost story.

except, when i had sent this fic to a Japanese friend, the first thing she said to me about it was "OH MY GOD YOU GOT THE PIZZA RIGHT"

and that was the moment when it had really clicked for me. what had just been 30 minutes of effort on my part had become a moment of relief for her. my friend was far more used to reading ethnocentric fic that ranged from unintentional ignorance to outright superiority against part of her culture (the original story's culture no less). and even with the "innocent" ignorance (heavy quotes on that) far outstripping any outright maliciousness, that's still so many people saying her culture was not worth learning about. the pizza in my story was a small detail, but i had cared enough to put in some effort to check it. and for her, coming from a fic experience where her norm was bracing for hundreds of inaccuracies born of ignorance, especially at that time after a flood of stories centered around "Halloween as a cultural holiday in the US" premises instead of the "Halloween is a commercial gimmick in Japan" reality, seeing someone put in some effort even for minor story details meant something to her.

this also throws me back to the discourse that arose in a french show fandom a few years ago because there were a lot of fic authors that wrote 'dollars' instead of 'euros'-- but when people brought this up as a prevalent issue across the fandom but an easy one to fic/watch out for, many of these writers instead pushed back to complain that they were posting stories for free and it wasn't that big of a deal. which really upset a lot of people, but then this upset was met with a new wave of indignation that people needed to 'get over it' because they're writing fic ~just as a hobby~. but, even if 'dollars' instead of 'euros' wasn't a big deal, by digging in their heels about the issue, they were saying "your culture isn't worth even five minutes of my time or effort."

I've been thinking about these things lately because the ethnocentrism in Thai drama fandoms is...staggering. just over the turn of the year, there were waves of Christmas fic for Buddhist characters. and just. Christmas in Thailand is a tourist thing at best. sometimes a pop culture gimmick for international audiences or maybe an offhand high school thing to blow off steam between midterms. it's not a cultural thing. and even if a character is a part of the Christian minority, a Christian Thai's holiday customs and culture are going to be vastly different than a Christian's customs in the Americas or Europe. and while the Christmas fic is at least finished for now, I'm already bracing myself for the Easter fic wave that also seems to pop up for Thai dramas. it's so frustrating to see this sort of cultural overwrite all the time, especially since most Thai drama holiday works aren't about Thai holidays.

but the thing that really got me bristling about all of this again was i saw a post the other day where op said that they weren't going to write [thai drama] fic because they don't know much about thailand.

what an absolutely appalling statement to make.

google is right there. wikipedia is free. you don't even have to leave tumblr or AO3 to learn more because there are Thai natives in fandom who write essays to explain common elements of their culture. hell, even just watching these Thai stories and considering the values and messages imparted by the narrative framework and story lens tells you something about that culture. the audacity to look at a culture different from your own and say "this is not worth my effort or time to learn anything more about," are you kidding me?!?

the messages and values of a story tell you about the writer's values, which are going to carry their cultural values, beliefs, and biases. Thai culture is going to be heavily relevant to any Thai story, even the ones that aren't explicitly about Thai culture/customs/etc. (hell, Thai bl/gl as a genre alone-- just the fact that queer Thai writers are making these stories in Thailand's current political climate is highly political, even the "fluffy" ones that don't seem to make outright political statements.) to approach any story like it was made in a vacuum is to remove the writer(s)' culture and values and to overwrite them with your own.

especially because this is fandom. these are the lowest stakes to learn! it sucks to see people say things like "but i'm scared i'll get something wrong" and hold up that fear as a shield to justify their ignorance. no one's expecting anyone to get every detail right, especially not for a culture that isn't theirs, just make an effort to learn something new about it. pick out something that caught your eye as different to learn more about and see where it leads you.

and for the record--making a mistake trying to broaden your horizons is a far, far better thing to do than to superimpose your culture on everyone else's because you're scared to confront your ignorance.

edit: check out this reblog thanks

[sweetiecutie]

🖤Fuck or die🖤

Paring: slasher! König x fem! Reader

Warnings: NSFW, mdni, dead dove do not eat, non-con so rape, cuckolding, unwilling cheating, oral, facefuck, dick piercing bc I know y’all like it, unprotected sex, blood, murder, gore in the end. This is only fiction, don’t take any of this too seriously! If you feel triggered by any of these tags - just scroll past!

Word count: 4k, holy fucking shit

A/n: not me writing this in one day, jesus fucking christ😮‍💨 It’s first time I wrote something so violent, but I think I did pretty good! Originally planned to post it on halloween night but I’m too eager to share!! Also, I tried my best to fix all mistakes by proofreading it 4 times, I really did, but I’m pretty sure that I left out some still

It’s been very uneasy in a small town where you lived - series of blatant murders shook up all inhabitants with their brutality. Cruelly butchered corpses gave a hint of culprit’s strength, so cops guessed it was a man. And the most terrifying thing about this whole situation was that this maniac was still on loose - he never left any evidences, not a damn thing - nothing that could give a clue of who he was. The only trace he’s ever left wasn’t an accident or his mistake, but a well-planned thing - after appearing nameless in numerous news reports and articles he finally decided to introduce himself, writing KÖNIG with his victim’s blood on white flooring, said victim’s two bloody teeth serving as umlaut.

And his motives behind picking out victims were just as unclear - there was nothing in common between all these people: he didn’t have any preferences in victim’s sex or age, their profession nor appearance - as long as they lived in one family house, to avoid anyone hearing their screams, you figured. It seemed that he simply loved killing, who that was - didn’t matter.

You can’t say how exactly it all happened. It was another evening that you were spending at your boyfriend’s place - Paul’s parents were out of town for a few days for anniversary of their wedding, leaving a huge house for their only son. You felt uneasy - there weren’t any new murders in over a month, people were scared that maniac will go “haunting” very soon, which meant that no one was safe.

Paul only cooed at you soothingly when you shared your worries with him, promising to “protect you from all weirdos out there”, placing a comforting kiss on your forehead. So to distract yourselves you decided to throw a movie night - stacking up with snacks and beer, Netflix window opened on a large tv-screen, ready to serve its purpose as you made last preparations.

Cuddled up on the comfy couch, your boyfriend’s comforting warmth slowly seeped into your tense muscles, you watched some corny comedy, groaning in tandem at poorly-made jokes. When suddenly a sound of shattered glass jolted you both up, staring tensely at each other.

- I’ll go check it, - Paul said, getting up and heading to the living room from where the noise came. Everything was quiet for a few long minutes, your fingers fiddled with loose string on the corner of fluffy blanket as you heard some crashing and your boyfriend’s angry shouting:

- Y/n, get out of here!

Then everything was as if in a blur; tall figure clad in all black stepped into the living room, white scream mask contrasting starkly, huge knife covered in thin layer of blood was shining in blue tv-light. Your heart dropped to your stomach as you stared at the man in front of you - sticky feeling of fear seemed to fill every muscle in your body with heavy lead, making it impossibly hard to move even an inch. And then something in your head snapped, you threw yourself off the couch and towards the door opposite from killer, but he was way quicker - huge hands gripped you by your shoulders, rising you off your feet easily and dragging you back towards living room, your struggling and screaming did nothing to help.

You were now kneeling in front of this psycho, hands tied up tightly with coarse rope that dug painfully into your soft skin, surely leaving deep indents and dark bruises. Your boyfriend was laying on his side a few meters afar - bound by his wrists and ankles with same rope, crimson blood oozed out of deep stabbing wound in his stomach, nose obviously broken and bleeding - all these a result of his grapple with intruder, which obviously didn’t end in Paul’s favour.

- Please, - you weeped, tears and snot covered all of your face, whole body trembled with fear and adrenaline. - Please, I’ll do anything you want, just don’t kill me, - you managed to choke out, silent cries tore through your chest, their intensity made it hard for you to breathe - you were hysterical.

- Oh, I know you will, sweetheart, - mechanical voice said in mock sympathy. One huge glowed hand came up to cup your chin, causing you to jolt violently upon feeling the contact; murderer tilted your head upwards, your insides churning upon laying your eyes on white plastic of his mask.

His thumb rubbed soft circles on your wet cheek - it was almost ridiculous how gently he touched you. This made you sob even more, but you didn’t dare to turn away, too scared to anger him.

- That would be a shame to kill such a pretty little thing, after all, - maniac said, glove-clad pad of his thumb swiped over your trembling bottom lip, soft cotton absorbing the mixture of your tears and saliva glazing it. - I may have an idea. Wanna hear it?

Silence set in for a few long gut-wrenching seconds which was interrupted only by your quiet sobbing and sounds of your boyfriend struggling against tight ropes. Quiet squeal tore through your chest as huge hand squeezed your cheeks harshly, yanking your face upward, forcing you to look up at König. Your bleary from tears eyes fixed upon two black holes in his mask, where man’s eyes supposedly were.

- I said “wanna hear it”? - slasher gritted out, his tone harsh as he put heavy emphasis on every syllable he uttered, making you shrink even further into yourself. You nodded your head hastily, not wanting to try out your luck any more.

- Y-yes, - you stammered, your voice giving out making your response sound more like a kitten’s squealing rather than human speech. König stared at you for a few long silent seconds, your knees beginning to tremble from both fear and painful exposure to hard flooring, which soon irradiated onto the whole of your body.

- I’ve been watching you guys, you know? For a few weeks now, - he said nonchalantly, his grip on your face loosened, long fingers tracing intricate shapes on your cheeks and temples, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ears, getting it out of your eyes. A wave of hysterical cries threatened to tear through your throat upon hearing his words, but you tried to suppress them as much as you physically could, staying still before him.

- Yes, - his voice sounded delicate - as if one of those passionate lovers who proclaimed their tender feelings. - Seen you guys do stuff… kiss, cuddle, fuck. A pathetic view, to be honest, - as he said so, his fingers came to tangle in your messy hair, massaging your scalp with soft movements. You felt sick. This man with a dagger bigger than your forearm clasped tightly in one hand, was caressing you so tenderly with another one - his unpredictable behaviour was making your guts churn.

He turned toward your boyfriend who was still thrashing harshly, struggling with all his might against secure confines of tight rope. Your gaze shifted towards your lover as well - the sight made your heart ache - his blood - some already caked and some fresh and shiny - covered the whole bottom of Paul’s face, a makeshift gag out of piece of some fabric was tied skilfully around his head - by the looks of it not to be untied by itself. His eyes met murderer’s, you could make out his muffled promises of killing the bastard, threats to not touch you and to get the fuck out of here. Murderer didn’t look impressed at all, staring silently at your man lying at his feet.

- Look at this pathetic scumbag - I tied your hands loosely, hoped for a bit of a fight, - harsh noise came from the speaker behind the mask, which you figured to be a sigh. König then turned back towards you, his head tilting to the side slightly, you could practically feel his intense gaze prickling on your skin. - Why are you even wasting your time on this piece of shit? He can’t even fuck you right, and you expected this piece of shit to actually protect you from danger? Provide for you?

Hot tears rushed down your cheeks at his words, as you stayed silent, not knowing what to say. König sighed again, rolling his shoulders to rid himself of the tension in sore muscles, his neck popping loudly, making you jolt at the sound.

- Now, my plan is - how about I show you what a real man is like? Set the bar high for you, hm? - he said, a cool glimmer of blood-stained blade caught your eye as König twirled his knife skilfully in between thick fingers barely twenty centimetres away from your face. He noticed your attention shifting from him to his little tool, softly nudging your chin up to look back at him. - Oh, don’t worry darling. If you’re being a good girl that thing won’t touch you, deal?

You nodded your head frantically, swallowing a thick lump in your throat. - Anything, - you choked out, voice hoarse and barely audible but it was enough for him to hear.

- I like the eagerness, - murderer chuckled, straightening his back from semi-crouching position to stand to his full height. His hand left your face with a small pinch on your tear-stained cheek, tossing his knife from one hand to another as if he was juggling; finally gripping the handle tight König pointed the tip of sharp blade towards your boyfriend: - I want you to watch. You dare closing your eyes and she’s dead.

Your eyes widened in panic, staring fearfully at Paul, mouthing silent “please” at him. Maniac shifted his attention back to you; he put his knife into its holster which was attached to his thigh with tight leather straps, you noted that he didn’t secure the handle, making it easier to pull the knife out in one move if needed.

You watched as if in slow motion how his hands came to the waistband of his black jeans, undoing the button and tugging zipper down, pulling front pants pieces apart. Your gaze darted up towards his mask-covered face, confusion mixed with terror written on your face - your insides dropped as you finally realised what he actually meant.

- What? Doll, I promised to show you what a real man is like, - one big hand came to rest on the crown of your head, not pushing nor pulling, just staying there securely. - Now I warn you, you dare using your teeth - I’ll pluck every single one of them before gutting you like a fucking pig, you get it?

Your breath stopped upon hearing his words, shoulders started shaking as strong bout of adrenaline rushed through your veins, making your poor heart pound crazily, threatening to break your ribs from the inside. You nodded your head vigorously, all of a sudden extremely aware of the tight rope binding your wrists together, how your fingers prickled from constricted blood flow, how much your shoulders ached from being pulled back for so long.

- Good girl. Now, go on, - König said, lightly pushing your head towards his clothed crotch. You had to crane your head up painfully because of the height difference between you two in order to even reach König’s private parts. You gazed up at him, unsure of what exactly he wanted you to do, but he just stared down at you silently, not offering any instructions nor comments.

You darted your tongue out, licking a noticeable bulge showing through his boxers, soaking black fabric in your spit. You did it again, and again, fear and adrenaline subduing feelings of humiliation and shame, you could hear your boyfriend’s muffled “get your fucking hands off her”, but König didn’t seem to pay slightest attention to the other male. You tilted your head to the side, pressing your opened mouth to the thick shaft that was trapped between man’s v-line and his tight underwear, sucking on it softly. That made slasher heave a deep sigh, hand on your head tangled deeper in your hair, holding you firmly in place, indicating for you to keep going.

- Now pull my boxers down, - psycho ordered a few seconds later; his voice, though contorted by voice changer, now sounded deeper. You looked frightfully up at him, your hands still bound tightly behind your back.

- But… how? - you asked, a spark of hope igniting in your chest as thought of him untying your hands popped up in your head. But it was extinguished just as quickly as it appeared with his next words:

- Well, think about it, - he shrugged his broad shoulders ever so slightly, your mind racing at the speed of light as you tried to figure out the problem.

You opened your mouth, moving as slowly as you could to indicate that you didn’t mean to do anything reckless - baring your teeth and gently hooking the elastic of his boxers, your canines grazing slightly against warm skin of murderer’s lower stomach. Once you secured your hold on elastic you pulled down on it, managing to slide it down slightly. König’s hard cock sprung right out, standing tall and thick against his clothed stomach - tip was concealed by brownish foreskin, and your eyes widened at the sheer size of him. Your attention was caught by two symmetrical rows of shiny silver balls running along mighty shaft, glistening coldly is white light of living room’s chandelier.

- Now, doll, that’s what a real good cock looks like, - man said, his free hand came to wrap around thick shaft, pumping it a few times to reveal pink head, a shiny bead of precum sitting in the middle of it. - Open wide, princess. And mind your teeth.

You let your mouth fall open, sticking your tongue out; his cock was standing too high for you to reach it in your kneeling position so König had to guide his length down to your lips, your mouth managing to only take his tip and a little bit more inside.

With your mouth full of other man’s cock your eyes wandered in the direction of your boyfriend; thrashing around seemed to finally exhaust him, crimson blood oozed out of the wound in his stomach. His chest was heaving in tandem with his wheezing breath, angry tears streamed down his temples as he stared with fierce anger at your abuser, the sight made your throat clench, causing you to gag on killer’s hefty length.

- Aw, poor girl is not used to a decent cock, huh? Tell me, did the even reach down to your throat? Lemme guess - he was cumming a few minutes after shoving his pathetic ten centimetres in this precious mouth, wasn’t he? - König chuckled darkly, suddenly pushing down onto your head, forcing you to take half his length down your tight throat, keeping you in place as you choked around his thickness, metal balls were rubbing painfully against the softness of your tongue, irritating sensitive buds of it.

Murderer’s free hand joined the one resting on your nape, gathering your hair in a makeshift ponytail, fixating your head in one position. Tears of pain and humiliation rushed down your reddened cheeks as man fucked his massive cock into your tight throat; his pace was erratic, without certain rhythm, making it hard for you to synchronise your breathing with his irregular thrusts. Your lungs burned with lack of air, dainty kneecaps ached from standing for so long on hard flooring, surely bruising your tender skin.

He let go of you only when you actually started to choke, your whole face reddening with exertion; thick strings of spit mixed with precum connected your swollen lips to glistening pink tip, fat tears rolled down your cheeks, dripping down your chin onto the floor below. A choked cry tore through your chest as massive hands manhandled you around, forcing your head down so that your wet cheek was pressed against cold hardwood facing your boyfriend, your back arched and ass up high in the air. König kneeled down behind you, backs of your thighs were touching coarse denim sitting snugly around his legs, cold metal rivets of his holster contrasting brutally with warmth of your skin. Broad palms kneaded on soft pudge of your ass, delivering a strong smack to the swell of your buttcheek, impact softened slightly by the fabric of your shorts and his glove.

Your boyfriend started thrashing as hard as ever, grunting and screaming as much as he could as König pulled your shorts along with your underwear down to your knees, huge hands resting on the bottom part of your ass, thumbs spreading your pussy open. Silent tears ran down from your eyes, gathering in a small puddle on the floor; you heard maniac tut behind your back, a pad of thumb swiped up and down your slit, making you jolt from sudden contact.

- What a shame, - he heaved a deep sigh, straightening his shoulders and looking up at your boyfriend. - She’s wet, dude.

A few small sobs left you upon his words. Paul tried talking back, but a horrible bubbling sound came out of his throat - gag in his mouth was completely red with absorbed blood, some of it oozed down the corners of his mouth, adding to the bloody mess on his face. You sobbed at the sight, squeezing your eyes shut to avoid looking at horrible picture.

- Turns out our little slut likes it rough, yeah? - König mocked, leaning over your frail form, one meaty forearm rested next to your head, huge chest pressed tightly against your back, overstimulating your thus on age senses. Terrifying mask was barely a few centimetres afar from your face as man whispered right next to your ear: - Did he ever fuck you rough?

His heavy gaze was fixed expectantly upon you, huge hand that still rested on your ass squeezed your flesh painfully, causing you to cringe. - No, - you mouthed, but that was more than enough for him. Slasher hummed in acknowledgment, straightening back into his kneeling position.

- Don’t worry love, I’ll give this pretty pussy what she needs, - psycho said, fisting his leaking cock a few times before aligning swollen tip against your tight entrance. With slow but persistent push of his hips König forced one third of his length inside your poor cunt, fresh dose of hot tears rushed from your eyes, pain of penetration adding to the ache all over your body.

With a sharp snap of his massive hips man forced as much of his cock as it’d go into you. Loud yelp tore through your throat, scratching it painfully; stretch of his girthy cock was too much for your pussy to take, ladder of piercings adding to unpleasant feeling. Tender walls fought against his thick length, such sudden stretch caused your muscles to reflexively constrict around him more, drawing a throaty groan to tumbling out of killer’s broad chest.

- There there, dearie. Poor pussy so used to pathetic cocks, can’t even take me whole, - König said in fake compassion, you felt his length throb within you, twitching a few times. Strong hands held you in place tightly, preventing you from moving your hips even for a millimetre.

Murderer generously allowed you a minute or so for your poor cunny to accommodate to his size before beginning to move his hips in shallow but quick thrusts. Soon enough König was full on fucking into you on rapid pace, your whole body jolting forward with intensity of his mighty thrusts, strong arms yanking you back in place every so often.

One of his deadly hands slithered around your ridiculously smaller form, index and middle fingers danced across your spread around his dick folds, causing your stomach to tense at sudden contact. Free hand yanked you up by the rope binding your wrists, urging you to raise your torso; your shoulder blades were pressed tightly against his heaving chest, warmth emitted off him like a fucking radiator.

Clothed fingertips rubbed tight relentless circles on your clit, causing thick pleasure to rush up and down your spine and your back arch uncontrollably. Your teeth clenched to suppress all the small sounds threatening to spill out of your lips; you felt König’s massive form shift behind you, cold plastic of horrendous mask pressed against the side of your face - he was whispering right into your ear, soft voice real and unchanged:

- I’m gonna slit your fucking throat if you’re not using it, - that caused a shiver to rush down your spine, arising goosebumps in its wake. You moaned out, doing as the murderer wanted, letting all the small sighs and moans flow freely from your lips, your voice lower than usual from all the crying and throatfucking.

Your breathing became shallow; your head just wasn’t working anymore - emotional shock along with physical abuse drained you out of all strength - you were a mere rug doll in psycho’s tight grip, and he could do whatever he pleased with you, you were too exhausted to fight back anyway.

Consciousness started to slip out of your grasp, vision blurred out with tears, dark spots appearing in the corners; König’s throbbing dick pounded your poor pussy mercilessly, thick cockhead nudged against all the sweet spots inside of you, his piercings stimulating you even further as if in spite of all your attempts to resist pleasure psycho was forcing onto you. A tight coil curled in the pit of your stomach, threatening to explode with every harsh snap of mighty hips against your reddened ass. Soaked with your slick fabric of König’s gloves felt overbearing against your clit, his fingers never once stopping to rub your sensitive nub.

A few moments later something deep within you snapped, like a rubber band stretched to its limit - suddenly the world around you turned white, ringing noise filled your ears as you had the most painful orgasm of your life being wrung out of you; your body quivered and thrashed in serial killer’s strong grip, unintelligible sounds and words poured out of your lips, barely louder than a whisper. And then everything became quiet. Soft velvet of darkness enveloped your bruised and exhausted body; you were drowning in warm waves of sleep, not finding it in yourself to try and fight them off. You gave in happily, trusting yourself in welcoming hands of darkness and quiet, afar from horrible reality, afar from fear and danger.

It felt as if your head was splitting in two - horrible ache settled somewhere deep inside of your brain, pain irradiated from within to the outsides of both hemispheres, causing you to groan in agony quietly in. Your whole body hurt, eyelids felt swollen and heavy even as they were closed; and then suddenly your eyes snapped open.

You were lying on cold hardwood flooring in your boyfriend’s living room, shorts and underwear still pulled down to your knees, but your hands now free from rope. You pulled your bottoms back up, hot tears pooling in your eyes as you let out a choked sob. You felt wretched, disgusting, dirty.

- Paul? - you called out to your boyfriend, the sound of your own voice startling you - hoarse and scratchy, total opposite from your usual octave.

As you turned around your breath got caught up in your chest, bitter ball of bile got stuck in your throat - you felt like you were about to throw up.

Here lay Paul - pale and lifeless, dull eyes staring blankly into nothingness, gag still fixed tightly around his head, now brown with dried out blood. Some of his insides spilled out of the gaping cut across his stomach, lying on the floor in a small heap right next to him, huge puddle of blood spread out on the floor, getting into all small cracks and gapes in wooden flooring.

And on the wall behind, in strange brownish color that looked all too similar to the caked blood on your boyfriend’s face, in sprawling handwriting were words:

SEE YOU SOON ♡

Slasher! König Masterlist

Another a/n: I’m planning on making it a series - let me know what you guys think<3 Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Give writes some love - we live off feedback<3