#solitary halloween

[fairy-magick]

[icewindandboringhorror]

Obligatory fancier outfit that must be present anytime I post outfits 

[moe-broey]

DEVASTATING. Guy who was born to hang out can't even do that right

[mattdeeryradio-blog]

This was a package I did around Halloween. The Eastern State Penitentiary Historic Site, Inc was an awesome experience, both in a historic sense, as well as an amusement sense, with their program around the fall Holiday called Beyond the Veil/Halloween Nights. My colleague Jacob Snyder reported on this piece. I want to thank Kiani Lozada for showing Jake and I around the event/amusement, as well as giving us an extensive tour/knowledge of this amazing City of Philadelphia Landmark. I also want to thank Evan Z. Kushin for letting us interview him, as well as telling us the creative process of the lore of the event/show for Halloween Nights that he created with his expertise in storytelling/writing talents. This package was created for Temple Update for Temple University television station TUTV at Klein College of Media and Communication. The package aired live on Thursday, October 24th, 2024 at both 10am and rebroadcast at 6pm that day respectively. Fun fact Kiani told me, Steve Buscemi did the audio narration for the historic site tour/listening tapes. Another fun fact was that Al Capone had a brief stay, with his own "suite" as it were. This package was aired on channels Comcast 50/Verizon 45 for Philadelphia.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

poem

[radicalrascal]

My Favorite Craft is Witchcraft ✨

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Check it out here

[incognitopolls]

Uh oh! You're being transformed into a solitary system of the human body. Thankfully, at least you get to pick which one. The transformation is painless and permanent, and much like a Halloween skeleton, you can still interact with the world around you (regardless of things like "physics" and "logic").

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♰ ₥ØĐɆⱤ₦ ĐɆ₥Ø₦₴ ♰

♰ Pairing: slasher!yunho x chubby!fem!slasher fucker!reader

♰ Genre: smut/dark romance/horror

♰ Summary: With a ruthless, brutal killer on the loose the safe thing to do would be to stay as far away from dangerous men as possible. But you've never been the kind of girl to play it safe and when danger comes in the form of a man like Yunho, how's a girl to stay away?

♰ Word Count: 3.4k-ish

♰ Warnings: Yunho's a literal serial killer, neither of you die but someone does, sorta vivid description of a limb being chopped off, voyeruism in a way, slasher fetish, sadism, masochism, dom daddy Yunho, choking, restriction of movement, a lil nipple play, penetrative sex, sex covered in blood, dirty talk, scratching, hickeys, other forms of marking, creampie, manhandling, pet names (baby, princess, good girl), you're both kinda psychos...obviously.

♰ A/N: I'd like to say, "Oh, I wrote this because Halloween is coming up!" but, no, I didn't. I'm just a slasher fucker, okay? A part of this was inspired by one of my favorite horror movies and if you can guess it then let's get married. Love you forever.

On a side note, thank you @dawn-iscozy for suggesting Yunho for this. I didn't regret that decision for a solitary minute.

There’s a killer on the loose. A brutal, wicked man who stalks the night preying upon unsuspecting victims. Some say he only goes after those he perceives as having done something wrong. His own perverse way of balancing the scales, righting the wrongs that the cops don’t have the balls to fix.

Others say it doesn’t matter who you are or what you do. Your chances of being butchered are all the same, sinner or saint. One thing’s for sure, once he has his sights set on you not even god himself can save you from the fate that awaits. You’re gone in the blink of an eye, never to be seen again. At least not in one piece. 

You’ve heard the warnings a thousand times over but none of them struck fear into your heart. On the contrary, you have quite the erotic fascination with his art as he calls it in the letters he leaves behind. There’s something about what he does that taps into a fetish for danger that you dare not tell another living soul about. You want to play with fire, scorch the tips of your fingers in his flames. That’s how you ended up here, straddling the lap of a man who claims to be the killer your sick little heart yearns for. 

You met at a club. The kind where people go to indulge their wildest fantasies, no matter how depraved. You were wandering around alone in a tight latex mini dress that fit the richness of your curves like a glove. You had your hair pinned up the way you do now, waterfalls of curls spilling down to frame your face. Expertly applied black lipstick adorned your kissable lips, drawing men in enough that they’d lose their minds thinking of all the things that pretty mouth could do. The man beneath you was among them. 

He spotted you from across the room, your figure bathed in red neon light as you sat at the bar plotting your next move. You let him buy you a few drinks, loosening you both up enough that secrets began to spill as freely as the vodka in your glass. “I wanna know if I tell you a secret, will you keep it?” the dark haired man whispered in your ear, a hand hovering dangerously close to your inner thigh. You swore that you would, hand over your heart. And that’s when he confessed. Your clear fascination with the man known as the Seoul Slasher had prompted him to reveal himself to you. 

You couldn’t believe it. A real live serial killer, an absolute monster, so hypnotized by you he was nearly drooling down your cleavage. Going against every self preservation tactic they taught you in school, you invited him back to your place for a bit of fun. An offer he excitedly accepted. For a man whose entire modus operandi is control, he was more than happy to relinquish it to you. In no time you had him spread out on your bed, arms and legs handcuffed to the bed frame. 

The entire room’s dark save for the flickering wicks of a few candles sprinkled about the room. You run a hand down his bare chest, sharp nails nicking at his tattooed flesh. He hisses at the sting, grinding his hips up against your core to add some pleasure to the pain.

You let out a giggle, fingers teasing the waist of his pants, “Tell me how you did it.” You flash your doe eyes, tightening your plush thighs around his hips. 

“How’d I do what?” he asks, far too preoccupied with your body to hone in on your words. 

“Those last two guys you killed. I wanna know every gory detail. You can tell me while I ride your cock.”

Your words certainly aren’t falling on deaf ears. He heard you loud and clear. He takes a calculated pause before providing you with a less than satisfying answer. “I used a butcher knife. Chopped them up real easy. Some of my best work I’d say.”

“Oh” you pout, shoulders dropping. You fold your arms across your chest, your disappointment hanging heavy in the air. “You really shouldn’t lie, you know? It’s a nasty habit.”

“Lie?” he scoffs, a nervous smile creeping across his face. His deception has failed and he doesn’t have enough brain cells to save this sinking ship. “I’m not lying, babe. I’m telling you. I used a butcher knife.”

You point an accusatory finger at him, applying pressure right between his eyes. “Dirty, dirty, liar” you sing, “You aren’t the Seoul Slasher.”

“And how would you know?” he asks, unjustly offended at the fact that you aren’t stupid enough to buy his bullshit. 

You lean in close, the warm flames of the candles reflecting in your eyes like hellfire. “Because I’m already fucking him and he’s not too happy about you going around pretending to be him. It’s just bad manners.” 

His smile grows more strained, his nervous laughter tickling the tip of your nose. He can’t tell if you’re serious or not but this is getting a little weird. Even for him. You watch him for a moment before erupting in soft, sweet laughter that mocks him. Reaching underneath your pillow you pull out a gag and shove it right into his mouth, shutting him up for the first time tonight. 

“Baby, I’m done playing now!” you call out like a housewife announcing that dinner’s ready. 

You sit back up, climbing off of him, and skip your way over to the dresser on the other side of the room. You hop up, feet giddily swinging back and forth to the tune of heavy footsteps descending the hallway. The man’s eyes dart over to the closed bedroom door, his heart thumping out of his chest. You can make out a few muffled protests but you dare not take it out. There’s nothing he can say that interests you now. Not that it ever did. 

When your best friend first told you that a guy at the club was going around claiming to be the Slasher, you couldn’t believe your ears. Especially not when the real one was sleeping peacefully beside you. Further investigation proved that your best friend had been telling the truth so he had to be dealt with. Then another popped up and another. This one will make for the 4th and you must admit, as annoying as identity theft is for your boyfriend, you get a kick out of luring them here. 

They always start out so cocky but once the gag’s in and those footsteps come, getting closer and closer at an agonizing pace, they’re not so confident anymore. At first they freeze up just like the corpse they’re soon to be. The shock does need a few seconds to set in. And then they panic, screaming through the gag and tugging at their bindings, their bodies writhing like a fish out of water. This one’s no different than the others. You can guess his next move like a film you’ve watched a dozen times and all of it’s in vain. 

Sweat slicks his brow as the door creaks open and your face lights up like the Fourth of July. You breathe a sigh of relief. There he is. You’ve only been apart for hours but it feels like an eternity. A tall figure steps out of the shadows into the candlelight, revealing a handsome man in tailored black pants and a black button up you pressed yourself. His sleeves are rolled up, tucked just below the elbow where a pair of long black latex gloves begin. He spares the unfortunate soul strapped to the bed a passing glance before approaching you. He leans forward, palms flat on the dresser, caging you in. 

“Did I do okay?” you question innocently, always hungry for the praise he never fails to feed you. 

Yunho nods, gloved fingers stroking your soft cheek, “Oh, my good girl. You did more than okay. What would I do without you?”

Taking your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, he tilts your head up, capturing your lips in a kiss that would soak your panties if you were wearing any. He takes a deep breath as he pulls away, not wanting to but knowing that time is of the essence.

“Did he touch you?” Yunho’s jaw tenses, gloved hands flexing to warm up for the night’s events. 

You peek around him to check in on the dark haired man. His face is wet with tears and he’s sobbing all over your new gag. You pray he hasn’t pissed himself. You’re not in the mood to have to buy a new mattress again.

You look back to your boyfriend and nod. “In the car he put his hand on my thigh.” 

“Thank you for telling me, baby,” Yunho says, kissing you on the forehead. He turns around, eyes darkening as he approaches the foot of the bed. “I’ll start with his hands.” 

Kneeling down, he slides a large case from underneath the bed and pops it open to reveal his tools. The spread is a pristine assortment of autopsy tools, not a lowly butcher knife in sight. He delicately runs his fingers over them, settling on the fine toothed bone saw. Your gaze never leaves him as he rounds the bed, aligning the sharp teeth of the saw with what you’ve come to know as the ulna. The bone right on his inner forearm. 

Yunho grinds the saw against it and the man’s arm tears open, tattered pieces of flesh splintering off to the side as he carves his way through tough tendons. Blood gushes from the man’s arm, drenching the brand new sheets in a river of crimson. Yunho’s movements are precise and purposeful. The saw taps bone as the body below him convulses violently, the pain beyond anything you can imagine or ever care to. 

Your boyfriend pauses, glancing over at you, and you know it’s about that time. You open one of the drawers beside you, fishing out your phone and a pair of over ear headphones. You sync them up, hitting play on your favorite song, and smile lovingly back at him.

He can’t be as brutal when he knows you’re listening. It’s one of few things about his profession he’s never quite been able to bring himself to expose you to. Even with the man’s cries muffled, being dismantled brings sounds out of someone that could give the most vile person nightmares. You can watch all you want but you won’t hear them.

It’d be easy to say that you weren’t like this before you met him. You were a sweet, delicate flower and this charming psychopath came along, corrupting your young soul. But a girl doesn’t get wet watching her boyfriend dismember people because she had her purity corrupted.

You were never innocent, you’d simply presented yourself as such. Yunho just freed you from the prison of feeling guilty about what got you off. Power. Not being at the mercy of anyone. Yunho treats you like a princess. You’re never left wanting for anything. Your every desire is satisfied. So what if your Prince Charming comes with a body count? Nobody’s perfect. 

Yunho makes quick work of the body. After the slice to his second arm the man’s already at death’s door and the severing of his knees puts the final nail in the coffin. Yunho tosses the body parts to the ground like the limbs of an old doll. Breathless and blood soaked as he licks splatters of scarlet from his lip, he goes in for another cut.

You’re the only other thing he looks at like he does his work. The excitement of the kill is borderline orgasmic, dopamine coursing through his veins with every gruesome cut. Once he starts he has to keep going, chasing his high until it’s finished and the body’s nothing more than scattered pieces of an impossible puzzle. 

Shoving the torso to the floor, he steps back to catch his breath, waving to get your attention. You slip your headphones off, setting them down to navigate the landmine of limbs and entrails to reach your love. 

“You need some water, Yunie?” you ask, throwing your arms around him. The blood weighing down his clothes sticks to your arms, cool against your skin. It used to feel a bit strange but after a few times you’ve come to find it refreshing like a cool shower on a hot day. 

Yunho shakes his head, a dazed look in his eyes. Usually the adrenaline begins to die down after that final cut but it’s only getting more intense. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he salivates over you like a man on the brink of starvation. “No, I need you. Right now.” 

His lips crash into yours at a thousand miles per hour and you don’t even attempt to stop him. Why would you? Bloody gloves cling to your dress, stripping you of the material. You rip his shirt open, sending buttons raining down onto the slippery hardwood floor. Yunho’s hands ravenously explore your body as you rid him of his pants, painting your plush figure in blood like a canvas. 

Attempting to feast upon your body through gloves is as close to torture as he’s ever come so he tears them off, groaning in delight as his bare hands sink into your pillowy ass. He picks you up, tossing you back on the bed, your breasts bouncing marvelously as you land.

You grin watching your boyfriend stare down at you like an absolute animal. His body’s everything dreams are made of, his flawless, rigid cock already leaking in anticipation. You spread your thighs, teasing him with the arousal dripping from your entrance. Bringing two fingers between your legs, you stroke them between your lips, spreading yourself open for him.

“You want it?” you moan, back arching as you pinch your sensitive clit. 

Yunho positions himself between your legs, palming his cock above a pussy that’s clenching wildly at the ghost of what could be. He places a hand on your thigh, admiring the view. You in a sea of blood toying with yourself for his pleasure. What a sight to behold.

“You aren’t teasing me are you?” he asks, gripping your thigh tighter. His voice is low and rough, feral in every way. 

You bring your slick fingers up to the head of his cock, coating it on your juices. “And what if I am?”

You motion to get up, your brain set on tasting his cock on your tongue, but Yunho’s quicker than you, grabbing your wrists and pinning your arms over your head. His free hand wraps around your neck, the veins of his arms pulsing as he applies the right amount of pressure to leave you breathless but not in pain. 

“Do you want it?” He bumps his cock against your slit, missing on purpose to drag it between your folds. Your body shudders as much as it can with his full weight on you. 

“Mmhmm” you hum, knowing he won’t hurt you but loving that you’re completely at his mercy. 

“You know that’s not enough, baby” he smiles, squeezing your throat tighter, “I need to hear it, princess. Tell me you want it. Beg for daddy’s cock.”

He presses his throbbing tip to your entrance but this time he arches into you, giving you the head and nothing more. The stretch of that alone is disorienting, a wave of heat rushing through you. Releasing his hold on  your throat, he brings his lips to yours, parting them to taste the desperate pleas that spill out. 

“I want you to fuck me, Yunie. I’m so needy for your cock. I have been all night” you whine and his tongue traces your lips. You taste delicious. He inches into you, feeding you a little more then stopping. A little more then stopping. And your body jumps with every motion, pitiful sounds pouring from your lips onto his. 

“Fuck me” you beg, an undeniable brokeness in your tone, “Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck…” Your voice trails off, eyes rolling back as he bottoms out. He lifts off of you, still holding your arms in place above your head, and thrusts into you ever so gently. You clamp down around him tightly enough that it’s hard to move, your pussy's too needy to let go. 

Yunho grins, cupping one of your breasts, “I didn’t know watching me kill got you so hot. You’re sick, you know that?” He pinches your nipple harshly and you squeal, twisting in his hold. 

“I know” you moan, blowing him a kiss, “But so are you.”

“Fuck, I love you” he growls, pulling you under with another dizzying kiss.

His thrusts grow harsher, your warm, spongy walls drawing him in impossibly deeper. His fingers knead the tender flesh of your breast as he brings his tongue down to soak your bud in equal parts blood and spit. Taking the bud between his teeth, he wraps his lip around it, suckling at it without losing his rhythm between your legs. 

“Yunie. So good. So, mmph, aah…” you’re moaning but he gives one particularly hard thrust to your cunt, knocking the words right out of your mouth. 

You want to touch him so badly. To dig your nails into his back while he fucks into you. To run your fingers through his hair, tugging at the deep brown strands as his tongue swirls around your bud.

“Touch” you pout, wiggling your hands. 

Yunho pops your bud free of his lips, licking his way up your breasts, across your heated skin, along your neck, until you’re eye to eye. “Use your words, baby. Tell me what you want.”

“Wanna touch you. Please, daddy” you plead. You’re so helpless. So beautiful.

Yunho watches you squirm, feigning indecision. After an agonizingly long contemplation, he turns your arms loose, the redness on your wrists marking where he held you. Your hands are drawn to him like magnets, scouring every inch of him they can reach just to feel him.

Your nails find his back, digging into the flesh. Yunho buries his face in your neck, moaning at the sensation. “Harder” he whispers, fingers knotting in the sheets beneath you. You dig your nails in deeper, breaking skin, and he’s on the edge of a whimper, the sensation nearly too much for him. 

Slipping an arm around your back, he keeps you flush against him, sinking into you over and over. Your mouth falls open, eyes squeezed closed. You’re saying something but nothing’s coming out. Only whines and moans, the occasional fractured piece of his name.

There’s no bracing yourself for a cock this long and thick. You just have to take it, let it destroy every bit of you until there’s nothing left. A sense of euphoria surges through you and your legs instinctively lock around his waist. 

“That’s it” he coos, fawning over the string of hickeys he’s left on your neck, “Be a good girl and cum for me.” Yunho grabs for your wrists one last time, locking them above your head. He pounds into you so hard the bed creaks, maybe even moves a few inches. “I wanna feel you gushing around this cock.”

Suddenly your breath hitches and your body feels weightless. It’s as if you’re floating above yourself. Watching this gorgeous man fuck you into the mattress like his own personal whore. And you are. You’re more than happy to be. Your senses come back to you in a rush of ecstasy and you’re trembling, crying out as you do exactly as he said. Creaming, gushing, dripping down his length. 

Yunho pulls back, kneeling between your legs to drag his cock out and glide it back in. He goes all starry eyed at the sight of his cock glistening in your cum and soon he’s spilling inside of you. Your needy walls milking his cock of the warm, white liquid that overflows from your delicious pussy.

His hand comes down on your plush belly, enjoying its softness as he feeds you those last few strokes. You’re still moaning weakly when he finishes, laying back on the bed and pulling you on top of him. 

Curled up safe and warm in his arms, you bask in the afterglow, thoughts of the man your boyfriend dismantled little more than a distant thought now. But ultimately it’s difficult to ignore. Especially when your eyes drift up and you notice something dangling in the corner of your eye. 

“Yunie” you say, lightly petting his shoulder. 

Yunho strokes your hair, looking down at you lovingly, “Yes, baby?”

“I think his hand’s still attached to the handcuff.”

[crystallizedtwilight]

Nightmare Before Christmas AU Overview:

🎃🦇🍂

OVERVIEW: This AU follows the events of the movie The Nightmare Before Christmas. Taking place a few years in the future, it focuses on the adventures of Lock, Shock, and Barrel as young adults. The trio has since been welcomed into the town by Pumpkin King and Queen Jack and Sally, though they still live happily in their treehouse on the outskirts. They enjoy life under their own command, free from the now-deceased Oogie Boogie, causing mischief and pulling pranks on the good folk of Halloween Town. Throughout their continued adventures together they discover that growing means learning about themselves, each other, and dealing with change. But one thing remains constant—they'll always be birds of a feather, now and forever.

BACKSTORIES: The trio came to Halloween Town under unfortunate circumstances. Each of their families had lived in the human world, as many monsters do, either nomadically, elusively in the wilderness, or by masquerading. The trio were all born in different parts of the the world during the height of monster hunting. They were three fortunate cases who were found by other monsters and taken to Halloween Town as orphans.

Once in Halloween Town, the trio often ditched school, feeling they weren’t as accepted as the local kids, and deliberately caused trouble which earned them a bad reputation. The three bonded over a love of mischief and the feeling of being outcasts, so when Oogie offered them a life free of rules, they were easily convinced to leave the town entirely to become his henchmen.

Unbeknownst to them, the reason monster hunting took place during that time was because Oogie was rampantly devouring human children. Essentially, they were orphaned because their boss had given humans in several towns desperate cause to hunt the supernatural.

They would not come to learn this until after Boogie’s death. They grew up resenting humans for orphaning them and were horrified to learn that they'd worked for the monster who forced humans to defend themselves as well as let their parents take the fall. Nowadays, they choose to give the human world a chance by regularly traveling all over the world.

LOCK:

Lock is an imp, which is a type of devil. He has nocturnal vision, speed, and a natural desire to climb to very high places. He can often be found on the roof of the treehouse or up a tree when he needs to think. In the human world, imps are stealth hunters in deep forests, preying on deer and other local fauna. However, Lock has a diet of junk food and candy since he was raised without these hunting skills in Halloween Town.

Imps are naturally solitary creatures and dislike group settings, so no imp has ever come through Halloween Town. This, unfortunately, gave Lock a subconscious sense of loneliness and doubt. This is why he tries the hardest to keep the trio together by rejecting any change, which at one point resulted in a huge argument with Shock when she wanted to start attending coven studies a few days a week.

Of the three, Oogie’s abuse rooted itself mostly deeply within him, as Oogie played into the “who else would want you” angle Lock already felt as the only imp in town. He often overcompensates for his insecurities with arrogance and acts childishly, selfishly, and even meanly at times. However, under it all, he has a good heart and just wants to know that his friends aren’t going to leave him.

Lock and Shock are rivals who motivate each other, constantly bickering over which one of them is actually the leader of the trio. At the end of the day, they respect each other's skills and would do anything to keep their friend safe, but you'll never hear them say that.

Eventually, Lock begins a casual fwb relationship with Barrel, under the terms "as long as it doesn’t change anything”—worried that if they labeled themselves and it went sour, he could lose his friend. Barrel, who had always been in love with him, happily agreed to these terms. However, despite insisting that they were only friends, Lock finds himself extremely jealous when another ghoul, Belladonna, takes an interest in Barrel.

Lock is overwhelmed to realize that he actually does have feelings for Barrel but has likely missed his chance with him by insisting they weren't together, and Belladonna is probably better for him anyway. In an emotional confrontation where Lock accidentally scars Barrel’s arm with a bite, the two finally confess their true feelings.

SHOCK:

Shock is a witch, which is a type of magical entity. Of the three, she is the most confident and intelligent. Most witches will start coven studies at a young age to learn how to harness their magic, however, growing up under Oogie, she was discouraged from doing so. After Oogie’s demise Shock found herself determined to pursue her dreams of magic. Unlike how it had affected Lock, Oogie’s vicious words of “you’re not good enough” were only fuel to her fire, and she took all that anger and turned in into passion for her studies. 

She demanded that Halloween Town’s coven mentor her, even though she was older than the typical witch who was just starting her studies. The coven saw her passion and agreed. The studying has three phases: master flying, master potions, and master hexes, and one cannot be learned until the previous is mastered. The process takes years but Shock is currently deep in her potions phase and can often be found nose-deep in a book or foraging for herbs. Mastering hexes is her dream and she is eagerly chasing it.

One night, while out for a flight, Shock encounters a banshee crying in the moonlight. Shock learns that her name is Calliope and the human family’s line that she watched over had comes to an end. Shock instantly feels drawn to her and they quickly become friends. Shock secretly makes it her mission help Calliope feel happy again. Eventually, the two develop romantic feelings for each other as well.

BARREL:

Barrel is a ghoul, which is a type of demon that feasts on the flesh of cold, buried humans. Like Lock, Barrel was raised on junk food and candy in Halloween Town so that’s the diet he prefers today. Ghouls are naturally nomadic due to their diet, needing to find different graveyards to dig in to avoid being caught. However, many ghoul packs often breeze through Halloween Town for events, and are genuinely regarded fondly by the locals since they’re always polite and up for a fun time.

Of the three, Barrel is the most easygoing. He wants to hang out with his friends more than he wants to prank people, but is always up for fun nonetheless. He also keeps scorpions as pets. Regarding Oogie, Barrel walked away the least scathed because Shock and Lock intentionally took the brunt of his anger to protect him since he was the youngest. This left Barrel with a sense of guilt for not being strong enough to protect his friends back then. However he’s worked through that by deciding he would never let either of them be hurt again now that he could hold his own.

Barrel always had a crush on Lock since the moment he met him. The feeling was not mutual, and it wasn’t until Barrel kissed him much later in life that Lock even entertained the idea. Despite this, Barrel continues to love him timelessly and patiently, despite Lock still having a lot to work through and trouble recognizing his own feelings.

CALLIOPE:

Calliope is a banshee, which is a type of fairy that heralds death. She is sweet-natured and very new to the ways of Halloween Town, having grown up in the human world. She loves dogs since, like her, they also warn humans of danger. She has taken a liking to Zero in particular.

Calliope develops feelings for Shock who not only helped her feel at home in Halloween Town, but also helped her find her happiness when she never thought she'd smile again. Nowadays, Calliope is happier than ever before.

BELLADONNA:

Belladonna is a ghoul who lives in the human world with a pack of other ghouls. They masquerade as a human band/roadies, live nomadically, and actually put on some good concerts. Ghouls don’t kill or cause any harm to humans (they love their audiences!) but they do eat corpses by raiding graves at night. They breeze through Halloween Town once or twice a year for big events.

Belladonna is instantly attracted to Barrel when they meet at one of Halloween Town's formal parties. She is fun, good-natured, and helps Barrel learn about what his kind is up to in the human world.

JACK:

Jack still reigns as Pumpkin King, alongside Sally whom he recently wed. Regarding the trio, Jack feels guilt for overlooking them when they were children. Jack had a no-kill policy when it came to humans and Oogie Boogie did not—due to this conflict, Jack banished Oogie to the outskirts, and he is the reason the town has a guarded gate.

Jack was especially bitter about this rivalry, since he used to be friends with Oogie, and declared that Oogie would never be allowed into town again. Moreover, anyone associated with Oogie needed a by-name invitation from Jack himself before they’d be allowed into town. Even though the trio were just children at that time, Jack declared there would be no exceptions, and ignored the fact that the trio were actually in real danger with Oogie, which he found easy to overlook since they were so ill-behaved and rude to him.

At the end of the movie the trio have a change of heart and warn the townsfolk that Jack, Sally, and Sandy are trapped in Oogie's lair. Even though Jack was able to defeat Oogie before needing the town's assistance, this helped him see that the trio are actually good kids and he was wrong to ignore their circumstances for so long.

Nowadays, Jack tries very hard to make up for his mistake. He has declared that they are welcome inside the town, removed the gate, and regularly defends them when they prank the townsfolk (and Jack himself). Sometimes, Jack tries too hard, requiring their attendance at Town celebrations which the trio roll their eyes at. They regard Jack as a nerd, but know he is well-meaning. The mayor still dislikes them, but trusts Jack’s judgement.

SALLY:

Sally, now Pumpkin Queen, gets along quite well with the trio. Because she is so clever, she’s the only person in town they’ve never managed to prank, and she even managed to prank them once. Though Queen is her title, sewing is her passion and she happily has taken up the job as town seamstress, eagerly designing clothes for all the wonderful shapes that call Halloween Town home, trio included.

Shock actually enjoys Sally’s company and thinks of her like an older sister, even confiding in or asking her for advice at times. Lock is still a bit skeptical and cold with her since he is forever done with authority figures, though Sally finds him funny. Barrel likes Sally just fine, and really enjoys how soft and comfortable she makes all his clothes.

OTHER KIDS:

Growing up, the trio didn’t like the inner-town kids (Corpse Kid, Mummy Boy, and Winged Demon, as they’re referred to in the movie). The trio saw them as “goody-two-shoes” who grew up nice and cushy inside the town gate, happy to follow Jack’s ever order, and going home to loving families every night. However, the inner-town trio prove to not actually be so bad and take earnest steps to make the trio feel welcome in town after Oogie’s demise.

MISC FACTS: ▪️ The trio regularly utilize the towns tomb portals to travel all over the human world. They're particularly interested in celebrations or festivals that are similar to Halloween. They're technically not supposed to interact with human festivities so openly, as fear of the unknown gives monsters more mystery and therefore more fright factors on Halloween, but Sally knows they do so and keeps their secret: [1] [2] [3] [4]

▪️ They upgraded their treehouse to be more spacious: [1] [2] [3]

▪️ They gave each other piercings to signify them being friends forever

▪️ The three of them were brought to Halloween Town just days apart. They were then named as a unit after the merism. However, they did have other names before they arrived, though they no longer want to use them.

▪️ None of them know how old or when their birthdays are. They mark time in a very general sense by how many Halloweens it feels like they've had together.

▪️ This AU began as sketches in 2018 and I posted my first art of them publicly in 2020. I was inspired by the Photo Booth pin. I thought it would be fun if the trio took pictures in the more modern sense, capturing their shenanigans with selfies and documenting their mischief, which is why the first couple drawings are framed that way.

The second thing that inspired me was the screenshot of Oogie saying he’ll decide which of the trio to eat when they displease him, and the general theory that the masks in the treehouse are from previous victims whom he had eaten. I thought since Jack destroys Oogie at the end of the movie, maybe the trio gets the chance to grow up, hence an AU about their happy, older years.

ART TAGS:

🎃 Entire Nightmare Before Christmas Tag

💘 Lock/Barrel Tag

🩵 Calliope Tag

💚 Belladonna Tag

🤩 Fan Art of My AU Tag (THANK YOU!!)

INSTAGRAM:

best_trickortreaters

[jenniferspet]

Happy Halloween!!👻

Unedited

OrcxReader

TW Oral fem receiving, slight belly bulge, Size kink.

"You're not supposed to be out here, little one," the gruff voice said, a hint of concern underlying its harshness. The girl looked up, her eyes wide with fear, as she took in the towering figure standing over her.

Her name was Y/N, a human girl who had been separated from her group during a hiking trip in the dense, mysterious forest. She had stumbled and fallen, twisting her ankle. The pain was intense, and she was lost, with no sign of civilization in sight.

The orc, named Azuk, studied her with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. He had seen humans before, but they had always been fleeing from him or his kind. The sight of this vulnerable creature stirred something within him that was foreign yet comforting.

He bent down, his massive hand reaching out to gently scoop her up. She flinched at first, but the warmth of his touch was surprisingly reassuring. He lifted her with ease, and she felt a strange sense of safety in his arms. He carried her to his cabin, a modest wooden structure nestled in the heart of the forest, hidden from the prying eyes of the world.

The interior was surprisingly cozy, with a roaring fireplace and a collection of various herbs and potions hanging from the ceiling. The scent of burning wood and earthy aromas filled the space, creating an oddly comforting atmosphere. He laid her down on a fur-covered bed and began to examine her ankle. His touch was surprisingly gentle for someone of his size, and she could feel his concern radiating from his calloused fingers.

"You need rest," Azuk said, his deep voice rumbling through the cabin. "Your ankle is swollen. I will make a poultice to help with the pain."

Y/N nodded, her eyes already beginning to droop. The pain was making her dizzy, and the warmth of the fire was lulling her into a sense of security she hadn't felt since she'd been lost. As Azuk moved around the room, gathering herbs and supplies, she took the opportunity to study him. His green skin was rough and scarred, but his eyes held a softness that defied his intimidating exterior.

He returned to her side and carefully applied the cool, damp mixture to her ankle. The relief was instant, and she couldn't help but let out a sigh of contentment. The tension in her body began to ease as the pain receded. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

For several days, Azuk tended to Y/N, bringing her food and water, and keeping the fire burning through the night. They didn't speak much at first, but the silence grew comfortable, filled with the crackling of the fire and the occasional sound of an animal outside. The girl observed the orc as he went about his daily routines, noticing the care and precision he put into every task, from skinning a rabbit to mending his armor.

As the swelling in her ankle began to subside and the pain dulled, Y/N grew restless. She watched Azuk with keen interest as he moved about the cabin, and eventually she asked if she could help with the chores. He looked at her, surprised by her offer but also touched by her willingness to contribute. He hesitated for a moment before handing her a small pile of berries to sort through.

Her small hands deftly picked through the berries, separating the ripe ones from the unripe and the rotten. The task was simple, but it helped pass the time and allowed her to feel useful. Over the next few days, she took on more responsibilities, learning to cook over the open flame and clean the cabin. The orc showed her how to mend clothing with thick, sturdy threads, and she was surprised to find that she enjoyed the rhythmic task.

Each time she offered to help, Azuk would look at her with a mix of amazement and gratitude. It was clear that he was not used to having someone to share his burdens with. His cabin, while sparse, was meticulously clean, and it was evident that he took pride in his solitary life. Y/N found herself drawn to his quiet strength and his surprisingly tender nature.

One evening, as they sat beside the fire, she began to ask him questions about his life. He spoke slowly at first, his deep voice rumbling through the cabin as he recounted tales of his youth and the battles he had fought. She listened intently, her curiosity piqued by his stories of adventure and camaraderie. His words painted a picture of a life filled with danger and valor, but also one of solitude.

As the days turned into weeks, their bond grew stronger. Y/N noticed the subtle changes in Azuk's demeanor as he grew more comfortable around her. He would smile more often, and his eyes would light up when she asked him about his past or the creatures that roamed the woods. He taught her the names of the plants he used for healing and the tracks of the animals that called the forest home. In return, she shared stories of her own world, of cities and people, of love and friendship.

Their conversations grew deeper, and she found herself sharing her fears and dreams with him. He listened without judgment, his expression thoughtful as he tried to understand her human perspective. His curiosity about her world was insatiable, and she found herself enjoying the role of teacher, explaining the complexities of human emotions and societies.

One morning, as the first light of dawn pierced the cabin windows, Y/N woke up to find Azuk already up and preparing breakfast. The smell of roasting venison and freshly baked bread filled the cabin, and her stomach growled in response. He turned to her with a toothy smile, holding out a plate.

"You're up," he said, his voice a gentle rumble. "Your ankle should be healed enough for you to walk today."

Y/N nodded, pushing herself to a sitting position. She tentatively placed her weight on her injured foot, and while it was still a bit tender, she could feel the strength returning. She took the plate gratefully, her eyes widening at the sight of the perfectly roasted meat and steaming bread. The simple meal looked like a feast compared to the bland rations she had been subsisting on before."Thank you," Y/N said, her voice genuine. "For everything."

Azuk nodded in response, his gaze lingering on her. "You've been here a while, little one," he began, his voice gentle. "Do you miss your people?"

Y/N took a moment to consider his question, the warmth of the fire playing across her face. "Yes," she admitted, "but I've... I've come to enjoy it here."

The orc looked at her with understanding. "I know it's not your world," he said, his eyes filled with a sadness she hadn't seen before. "But I've grown accustomed to your company."

Y/N felt a pang of something in her chest. "I don't want to leave," she said softly, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

Azuk looked at her, his expression unreadable. "You can't stay here forever," he said, his voice low.

Y/N knew he was right, but the thought of returning to her own world filled her with a sense of dread she couldn't quite explain. She had grown attached to the orc, who had shown her nothing but kindness and care. "Could I...could I stay a little longer?" she asked, her voice hopeful.

The orc paused, his hand hovering over the fire as he stirred the pot. He looked at her for a long moment before finally nodding. "If you wish," he said. "But you must understand, my life here is simple. Different."

Y/N nodded. "I know," she said, her voice earnest. "But I think I can handle it."

The days stretched into weeks, and the bond between the human girl and the orc grew deeper. They spent their time together exploring the woods, foraging for food, and learning from each other. Y/N discovered that Azuk had a gentle touch with animals, and she watched in awe as he communicated with the creatures of the forest in a way she never thought possible. They would return to the cabin with their findings, and she would help him prepare meals with ingredients she had never seen before.

One evening, as they sat on the cabin porch watching the stars emerge, Y/N felt a warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the fire beside them. She looked up at Azuk, her eyes filled with unspoken questions. He met her gaze, his own eyes glowing with a soft light she hadn't seen before. Without a word, he reached out and took her hand in his, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a gesture that spoke of comfort and protection.

Her heart hammered in her chest, and she felt the air between them thicken with a tension she didn't understand. Slowly, almost tentatively, she leaned closer to him. He didn't pull away, and she took that as an invitation. Y/N tilted her head up and closed her eyes, her breath catching in her throat.

The moment their lips met, it was like the first bloom of spring after a harsh winter. Warmth and sweetness melded together, and she could feel the gentle throb of his heart beating in time with hers. The kiss was soft, tentative at first, but grew in intensity as they both gave in to the feelings that had been simmering just beneath the surface. His calloused thumb continued to stroke her hand, grounding her in the reality of the moment.

Y/N's hand moved up to his face, her fingertips tracing the contours of his cheek, the roughness of his skin a stark contrast to the tenderness of their shared embrace. The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, and she felt a thrill of something new and unexplored pass through her. It was a strange, exhilarating feeling, one she had never experienced with the boys from her village.

Breaking away, she looked up at Azuk, her eyes searching his. He studied her face, his gaze lingering on her lips before meeting her eyes again. He was so much larger than her, and she knew that he was holding himself back, afraid to hurt her with his size and strength. But she didn't feel scared; she felt safe, cherished.

He leaned in again, taking his time to kiss her, his movements deliberate and careful. His touch was gentle, as if she were made of the most delicate glass. His massive hands cradled her face with a tenderness that belied his rough exterior. Y/N melted into him, her arms wrapping around his broad shoulders, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her chest.

The kiss grew more passionate, and she could feel his body tense with restrained power. He was so much larger than any human man she had ever known, and the realization of his strength was both thrilling and comforting. She knew he could crush her with a single careless gesture, but he was holding himself back, treating her with a reverence that was almost sacred.

Her own hands explored the contours of his muscular arms, feeling the power coiled beneath his skin. His breath was warm against her face, and she could hear the low rumble of his pleasure. He pulled away, his eyes searching hers for any sign of fear or rejection. All he saw was the mirror of his own feelings, a mix of awe and longing.

With a gentle nod, she communicated her desire for more. He took this as his cue and leaned in again, kissing her more deeply. This time, she didn't hold back. Y/N pressed herself against him, her body arching upward, seeking to be closer. His arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly, and she felt a sense of completeness she had never known before.

His hands began to roam over her body, exploring her curves with a gentle touch that sent shivers down her spine. She gasped into his mouth as his thumb traced the line of her jaw, his other hand sliding down to rest at the small of her back, pulling her even closer. She could feel his heart racing, matching the tempo of her own.

Her hands slid over the firm planes of his chest, feeling the rapid beat beneath his leather tunic. The desire within her grew stronger, and she found herself craving the feel of his skin against hers. Y/N reached for the laces of his shirt, her trembling fingers fumbling with the knots. He paused, giving her a questioning look, and she nodded, her eyes never leaving his.

With a soft growl, Azuk lifted her effortlessly, cradling her in his arms. His movements were surprisingly graceful as he carried her to his room, a space she hadn't yet ventured into. The walls were adorned with weapons and trophies of his past, a stark reminder of the warrior he was. Yet the bed was large and inviting, with more furs piled high, creating a soft cocoon of warmth.

He gently set her down, and she couldn't help but stare at the sheer size of the bed. It was easily twice the size of any human-made bed she had ever seen. The sight was both intimidating and thrilling. He moved closer, his eyes never leaving hers, and she could see the hunger in them, a mirror to her own.

With trembling hands, she helped him remove his tunic, revealing a chest riddled with scars from past battles. Each one told a story she longed to hear, a story of survival and valor. He looked at her, his eyes dark with desire, and she felt her heart race even faster. He reached out, his fingers brushing the soft skin of her neck before tracing a line down to the hem of her shirt.

Her own hands trembled as she lifted the fabric over her head, exposing her to his gaze. The firelight danced across her skin, casting warm shadows that played with the contours of her body. For a moment, they just stood there, taking in the sight of each other. The air grew thick with anticipation as their eyes locked, a silent conversation of want and need passing between them.

With a gentle touch, Azuk lowered himself to his knees, his gaze never leaving hers. His calloused hands slid along her thighs, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. Y/N's breath hitched as he reached the apex of her legs, his gaze dropping to the juncture of her thighs. He was so close, and she could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin.

He leaned in, his nose brushing against the fabric of her undergarments, and she could feel her heart racing in anticipation. With a soft growl, he pulled them aside, revealing her to him. His eyes took in the sight of her, and she felt a thrill of vulnerability mixed with desire. He was so large, so powerful, yet he handled her with a tenderness that took her breath away.

As he kissed her stomach, his tongue tracing a slow, sensual pattern downward, she couldn't help but arch her back, offering herself to him. His hands were strong and gentle as they held her in place, his thumbs caressing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. When his mouth reached the apex of her legs, she let out a gasp, her body tightening with anticipation.

The first touch of his tongue sent shockwaves through her body. It was rough yet soft, a delicious contrast that had her biting her lower lip to stifle a moan. He took his time, exploring her with a hunger that was both thrilling and terrifying. His every movement spoke of a deep yearning, as if he had been waiting for this moment his entire life.

Y/N's hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as his tongue found the most sensitive parts of her. The sensations were overwhelming, and she could feel her body responding, her legs shaking with the effort to stay upright. Azuk's hands held her steady, his arms a bastion of strength she hadn't realized she needed until that moment.

The orc's mouth was insistent, his movements growing more deliberate as he tasted her. She was lost in the sensation, her moans growing louder with each passing second. The heat from the fire was nothing compared to the inferno burning within her. Her breaths grew ragged, and she could feel her climax building, a crescendo that threatened to shatter her into a million pieces.

He must have felt it too because his pace quickened, his tongue delving deeper, teasing and stroking with an expert touch. Her body tightened around him, and with a cry, she shattered, her legs giving out from beneath her. He caught her, his strong arms wrapping around her waist to keep her upright.

Pulling away, he looked up at her, his eyes dark with passion. "Are you sure, little one?" he rumbled, his voice thick with need. "This is your choice."

Y/N nodded, her breath coming in pants. "Yes," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I want this."

With a low growl of satisfaction, Azuk stood, lifting her into his arms once more. He laid her on the fur-covered bed, his eyes never leaving hers. His movements were slow and deliberate as he removed the rest of her clothing, revealing her to him completely. She felt no shame under his gaze, only a deep, all-consuming need.

He climbed onto the bed, his massive body looming over hers. Despite his size, he was careful not to crush her, his weight distributed evenly as he lowered himself down. His hands explored her body with a gentle touch, learning her curves and the softness of her skin. His thumbs grazed the sensitive peaks of her breasts, drawing a gasp from her lips.

Y/N felt a blend of fear and excitement as she reached out to touch him in return. His skin was warm and rough, a stark contrast to the soft fur beneath her. Her hands trailed over the scars that adorned his chest and arms, each one a story she longed to hear. He leaned down to kiss her again, his tongue delving into her mouth, mimicking the rhythm of his hips.

The size of his hands was overwhelming, enveloping her completely as he touched her. Every stroke, every caress, was like a declaration of ownership, a promise that she was his and his alone. His fingers danced over her skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He was so much larger than any man she had ever been with, and she felt like a delicate doll in his arms.

But she didn't feel overwhelmed; instead, she felt safe, protected. His movements were deliberate and precise, as if he had studied her body for years, learning every curve and contour. She moaned against his mouth as he slid his hand between her legs, his thick fingers parting her folds to find the swollen nub at her center. He rubbed her in slow circles, the pressure building with every pass.

The sensations grew more intense, and she could feel her body climbing towards another peak. She clung to him, her nails digging into his broad shoulders as she arched her back. His touch was firm but gentle, a contradiction that only added to the pleasure. He knew exactly when to push her over the edge, and when she came again, it was with a scream that echoed through the cabin.

Her body was trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure when Azuk finally pulled away, his eyes dark with hunger. He reached down, his hand fumbling with the laces of his trousers. With a swift movement, he pulled his dick out, and Y/N couldn't help but stare. It was massive, a thick, veined length that made her feel both intimidated and excited. She had never seen anything like it before, and the thought of it inside her made her feel both scared and incredibly aroused.

He must have noticed her apprehension because he leaned down, his forehead resting against hers. "I'll be gentle," he murmured, his breath warm against her skin. "I'll never hurt you."

Her eyes searched his, looking for reassurance, and she found it in the softness of his gaze. With a nod, she allowed him to position himself between her legs, his cock pressing against her slick entrance. He paused for a moment, giving her time to adjust to the feeling of his weight. Then, with a slow, steady pressure, he pushed inside.

The sensation was unlike anything she had ever felt before. His size stretched her, filling her completely in a way that made her feel both vulnerable and powerful. She watched in amazement as the outline of him grew more pronounced in her stomach, his every inch a testament to their connection. It was a strange, almost surreal sight, yet it only served to heighten her arousal.

The initial penetration was a shock, a feeling of fullness she hadn't anticipated, but she quickly grew to crave it. He pushed in further, inch by inch, watching her face for any signs of pain. When she gave a nod of encouragement, he sank into her fully, his hips pressing into hers. The sight of his large, powerful body joined with her own was both awe-inspiring and terrifying, but she didn't look away.

Her eyes never left his as he began to move, his strokes long and slow. The friction sent sparks of pleasure through her body, and she found herself matching his rhythm, her legs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper. The cabin was filled with the sounds of their lovemaking, the slap of their bodies and the harsh rasp of their breaths.

The pressure inside her grew, building with every thrust. And when he reached down to press his thumb against her clit, she moaned, the sensation almost too much to handle. His eyes locked onto hers, watching her face contort with pleasure. He knew exactly what he was doing to her, and the knowledge only made her want him more.

With each movement, he pushed a little harder, his thumb rubbing in circles as his cock filled her completely. She could feel her orgasm approaching, a storm on the horizon. Her nails dug into his back, her legs tightening around his waist as she urged him faster. His grunts grew louder, his hips moving with a primal force that she couldn't resist.

And then, as the wave of pleasure crested, he whispered the words she never thought she would hear from the lips of an orc: "I love you, little one." The declaration was as unexpected as it was sincere, and it hit her like a bolt of lightning, sending a jolt of emotion through her body. Her eyes widened, and she felt her heart swell with a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire beside them.

Y/N didn't know what to say, the words catching in her throat. She had grown to care for Azuk, but love? That was a feeling she hadn't dared to explore, not in this strange and unpredictable world. Yet, as she looked into his eyes, she knew that she felt something deep and profound for this creature who had become her protector, her confidant, and now her lover.

Her response was a whisper, almost lost to the crackling fire. "I...I love you too, Azuk."

The orc's eyes widened in surprise, and a fierce, beautiful smile broke out across his face. He kissed her again, his movements growing more urgent, as if to seal their bond with every stroke of his tongue. The love he felt for her was a revelation, a feeling as surprising as it was overwhelming. He had never imagined himself capable of such tenderness, especially not for a creature so different from him.

Yet, as he made love to her, every touch and caress spoke of a deep, unshakable affection that grew stronger with each passing moment. Her legs tightened around his waist, urging him closer, and he responded in kind, his hips moving with an instinctual rhythm that seemed to resonate with the very beat of the earth beneath them.

Their love grew like a wildfire, consuming them both in its flames. Every touch, every kiss, was a declaration of a bond that transcended the boundaries of their species. The room was filled with the scent of their passion, a heady mix of sweat and desire that only served to fuel their need for one another.

Y/N felt her walls crumbling, her fears of the unknown giving way to a burning desire to be one with this creature who had saved her, who had shown her a different kind of love. As Azuk's cock slammed into her, she could feel the barriers between them dissolving, leaving only raw, primal need.

Their eyes remained locked, the fire in the hearth casting a warm, flickering glow over their intertwined bodies. The intensity of their gaze grew with every thrust, speaking volumes of the love and trust that had blossomed in the cabin's embrace. His hands gripped her hips, guiding her movements, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he sought to bring her to the brink of ecstasy once more.

Her nails dug into his broad shoulders, leaving shallow grooves as she held on tightly, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The feeling of his cock inside her was unlike anything she had ever experienced, a mix of pleasure and pain that only heightened her arousal. She could feel his muscles tense as he approached his own release, the veins in his neck standing out in stark relief against his dark skin.

With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, and she felt the warm flood of his seed fill her. The sensation was overwhelming, sending her spiraling over the edge into her own climax. Her body convulsed around him, her inner walls tightening as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her.

Their bodies stilled, joined in the most intimate way possible, as the last of their shared ecstasy pulsed through them. Y/N's eyes fluttered shut, a contented sigh escaping her lips as Azuk's cock twitched within her, his warm seed spilling out to mix with the slickness between her thighs. The feeling of being so completely filled by him was foreign and yet incredibly satisfying, leaving her feeling more connected to him than ever before.

Slowly, he pulled out, his cock glistening with their combined juices. He looked down at her, his eyes filled with a softness she had never seen. The fierce warrior had been tamed by love, his expression one of pure adoration as he brushed a lock of hair from her sweat-dampened forehead. She reached up, her hand trembling slightly as she cupped his cheek, her thumb tracing the rough contours of his jaw.

The fire had died down to embers, casting a soft glow over the room. They lay together, their bodies tangled in the warm furs, the heat of their passion slowly fading into the gentle warmth of their embrace. His heartbeat was a soothing lullaby, a steady rhythm that lulled her into a doze. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek, the warmth of his breath against her skin.

Y/N felt a sense of peace settle over her, a feeling she hadn't known in weeks. Her mind drifted back to her village, the people she had left behind. Yet, here in this cabin with Azuk, she felt more at home than she ever had. His presence was a comfort she had grown to crave, his gentle strength a balm to her fears.

As the warmth of their love-making faded into the night, she could feel the weight of sleep tugging at her eyelids. Her breath grew deep and even, matching the steady rhythm of Azuk's beside her. His arms remained wrapped around her, holding her close, as if afraid she would vanish into the night like a figment of his imagination.

But she was real, all too real, and the warmth of his embrace was a stark reminder of the new reality they had created together. Her hand lay flat on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath her palm, a gentle reminder that she was safe. His breath rumbled in his chest, a comforting sound that seemed to say everything she needed to hear without words.

[kitnjon]

Jonsa Halloween 2024 - Day 03 - The Dreadful AU

Sansa lives a solitary life with her mother-in-law on the outskirts of society, until a man from her past comes back...

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

No idea if this is a spoiler (feel free to delete if it is)

Leona calls Skully a badger. Don’t know if it’s because he is ‘badgering them’ or something else 👀

Rook and Floyd aren't in this Halloween event, so Leona's filling in for the lack of nicknames/j

I don't know much about badgers, so I conducted a little research to see if there's perhaps any traits shared between them and Skully. Of course, there's the obvious black and white coloration, but badgers are also nocturnal and solitary creatures, spending most of their time underground. This fits with Skully being a loner at his school, as well as his interests being so spooky/Halloween-related.

I do find it interesting that Leona calls Skully an omnivorous animal... In Playful Land, Leona calls Fellow an outright omnivore, owing to the fact that Fellow is the type of person to change sides depending on whatever is most convenient to him at the time. So is Leona also indirectly implying here that Skully is also that type of person???? Normally Leona is so spot-on with his judgments of people's true characters (including sensing that Jamil has ill intent toward Kalim), so that has me a little anxious about how Skully will behave later in this event.

[writingoddess1125]

hiya!

Could you do Prince Nuada from Hellboy 2 and reader?

This one has taken me a while- Also thank you for reigniting the LOVE I had for Prince Nuada! Ugh! So sexy!!

I do hope this is to your liking since it did take some warping.

1. I gotta keep Nuada and Nuala alive so the ending didn't happen

2. Introduce elements from the comics aka Hellboy had adopted siblings.

OKAY ENJOY! I TRIED HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Half Breed

Prince Nuada x FemReader

Support me on Ko-Fi I'm poor!

After the fortunately failed suicide attempt from Nuala which had horribly injured both twins- Nuafa had been captured and the two rushed back to the Bureau for emergency treatment, Which fortunately allowed the Elves to survive the whole ordeal.

Nuada had been placed in custody of B.P.R.D first as a high level prisoner for many months after his attempt to wipe out humanity.

After being in solitary confinement for far too long a deal was struck with him to work for the organization due to his knowlege of the world and to get out of solitary help all that had been damaged.

He had agreed- begrudgingly and because Nuala insisted.. it had been nearly a year of this all- When something interesting took place.

Nuala and Abe walked down the corridors together, talking about recent books they had shared before Abe paused.

"Oh?-" He looked around calmly before seeing the warning lights come down shining blue instead of the normal red for emergencies.

"Is there an emergancy?" Nuala questioned, a bit nervous of what it could mean, But Abe gently touched her shoulder with his gloved hand.

"No no- Just a old friend. Everytime she visits her and Red play a.. Game of sorts like tag" Abe explained, Nuala smiling at hearing this. Nuada who had just returned from a mission turned the corner seeing his sister and the fish man, frowning but looking to the lights.

"Whats this?" He asked shortly, Abe repeating his answer from before.

"Warning lights for a Game?" He questioned, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Well they are only allowed to have this game once a year and for 5 minutes- mainly due to the property damage that always happens" Abe said truthfully as the elven twins looked surprised by this. A childish game causing property damage?

As if right on cue there was a loud crash the trio turning to see Hellboy running full force in their direction like a train.

"MOVE MOVE!" He yelled loudly, as he ran past them. This was the fastest any of them had seen him run even in a life or death situation, right as he was about to turn the corner a black boot came barrowing down on the side of his cheek, knocking him to the ground hard before the smaller figure ran down the hall Red had just gone through.

"You're it!" She yelled and the trio watched- There running past was a women. Dressed in all black leather tactical gear with her silver hair in a long braid, the ends a sunset gold- (Y/S/C) skin with unique etchings found in only elvish culture paired with amber eyes. It didn't take a genius to figure see what she was-

"Timer Abe!" She yelled, Abe looking to the small watch he carried.

"4 minutes and 26 seconds left- Also happy youve returned safely" He called out to (Y/N) who dashed down the hallway.

Nuada eyes widened as he couldnt help but follower her with his gaze, something about her drew him in. The trio sticking to the walls as they tried to follow the action- it was like a massive battle taking black between a giant and a tiny titan. While Red was slamming into walls cracking cement with his weight and arm- (Y/N) was doing flips and hung to the light fixtures above to keep an advantage.

"Happy to see you too!!!"

He could only describe himself as being mesmerized by her.. Every turn, giggle and jump just seemed to bewitch him and it terrified him.. It wasn't till a loud alarm snapped him his gaze making him jump a bit in surprise- the game was over it seemed and Hellboy returned with his sister, the demon clearly glum from losing.

Nuala eyes widened as she watched (Y/N) jump around Hellboy with a happy smile at winning the game. Figuring what she was but disbelieving of course even after this entire endeavor. A leath-fola. A Half-Blood Actually existed in this world? The embodiment of a union between a human and one of his own kind-

"I win Red! So that's 28 for me and 25 for you. Best luck next you!" She said cheerfully as Hellboy grumbled and pushed her head away with his small hand.

"Yada Yada short stack-"

She noticed the looks of the two meeting their gazes and Nuada immediately felt his heart beat pick up- Confused by the sensation he glanced to Nuala assuming it must be her however she seemed calm and relaxed.

"New Agents?" She questioned looking at the twins, Abe nodding with a 'smile'

"Prince Nuada of the Bethmora clan.. This here is my sister Princess Nuala" He introduced both formally, watching how her smile seemed to radiate as he spoke. It made him feel like he had had stepped into the sun for the first time in years..

"It's lovely to meet you both! It's so lovely to have new faces here in the facility" She said cheerfully, reaching out in a friendly matter and patting both twins on the shoulders.

It felt like Nuada had been shocked by the most pleasant bit of electricity that left him flustered and confused. His sister finally glancing at him as she felt his emotions and gaze a smile, a twinkle of what could only be described as mischief in her golden gaze.

"Yes.. new faces... now if you'll excuse me" Nuada said quickly before dismissing himself- trying to control the panic that was eating him on the inside and the warmth that bloomed in his body. He practically ran back to the space he was forced to call a room and lock himself inside. Nuada stood in his room pacing back and forth. His mind racing and heart uneasy- unknowingly for hours as he tried to calm himself from the sudden feelings that seemed to slam into him.

A knock on the door bringing him from his thoughts as he quickly opened the door, surprised to see his sister standing there in a evening gown.

"Sister, what are you doing up? You should be resting.." He said softly, allowing Nuala into the room.

"I can not rest with you so worked up brother" Nuala said softly. The prince sighing as he realized he had kept her up and took a seat on the corner of the bed, Nuala sitting next to him as well.

"Well- It sounds like she is your fated partner" She pointed out and Nuada immediately felt anger in his blood.

"You're thinking about the leath-fola (Y/N)? Right?" Nuala said softly as she rubbed her brothers shoulder to comfort him. He frowned at being so obvious and also for the form of comfort.

"Yes- She... makes me uneasy" He says, lying a bit to avoid the words he wanted to use. Nuala smiling at this.

"Do not speak such foolish things-" He hissed, Nuala flinching at his harsh words.

"I am not fated to a mortal of all beings" He started but Nuala held up a hand.

"She is not a mortal however brother.. You saw" Nuada was ready to argue but couldnt- his face twisting up.. The damn half-breed was not his fated partner NOR was it going to be the siblings of the demon.

He would prove it...

For the first few weeks that (Y/N) was there, Nuada had been rude and snide. Hissing insults about her mixed blood, shoving past her or even straight up ignoring her. He expected she would take the abuse since she didnt say anything about it but he had been wrong- so terribly wrong.

It took only one time calling her "Dirty" in terms of her blood to get the hardest punch he had ever taken to the nose- It made his eyes water and fall to a knee infront of her..

She grabbed his silver hair and pulled him close so they were eye to eye-

"Listen here- Keep insulting me like this and I'm going to tear your ass a new one. I don't give a Flying fuck if your a price or whatever- I will fuck you up" She hissed at him-

Nuada felt more confused then he ever had before- The pain seemingly going with the fluttering warmth he felt in his face and blatant arousal that was Damm near impossible to miss- (Y/N) seeing his widened eyes and the flush of color on his pale face, like he was frozen and her own golden eyes traveled down at noticing some new movement.

"O-Oh-" Was all she said- Clearly just as surprised as Nuada was at this point. Her fingers carefully releasing his silver hair as warmth went to her own cheeks.

Nuada wanted a blade to the heart at this point...

[sweetaprilbutterfly]

Jonsa Halloween 2024: The Dreadful -Pumpkin

Sansa and her mother-in-law Lysa, who live a solitary, harsh life on the outskirts of society. But when Jon returns, he will set off a sequence of events that become a turning point for Sansa

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

This, my greatest masterpiece (this, a curse unmatched)

Day 2 of The Long Halloween - event masterlist here

pairing: bruce wayne x reader (gender neutral)

length: 7.2k

genre: horror, fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: gargoyle bruce, vague religious imagery, pretentious artist but I write it with love, reader falls off of the tallest building in Gotham so I hope you're not afraid of heights

a/n: me ??? write a bruce wayne fic ??? ig finally

"You know they said," you murmur mostly to yourself, smoothing over the block of marble with your palm, "that you're to be my greatest masterpiece. What do you think, hm? Will you live up to it?" Your hand raises, hammer held tightly in your palm as your other hand presses a chisel against the solid stone.

And then you let your arm swing down. The chisel chips away fragments of marble in flying flashes. The project begins. 

It will be a gargoyle, one day, much like all of your other pieces. That is the name that you've carved for yourself in this city - that is the fame that you've sculpted. You're commissioned quite often to build these creatures, to twist them and warp them into something akin to art, having them placed on top of buildings like solitary statues of the night. Monsters twisted out of blocks of stone.

"You know," you continue on as you carve, your breath coming out in a heavy sigh as you sniff and tip your head back, your arms already beginning to feel the weight of the chisel in your hand. "The Mayor, when he asked me for this, I mean - he asked why I choose to do this." 

You readjust your grip, running a thumb over the work that you've done. You'd never carved out of marble before. Other stones, yes - limestone, mainly. It's cheaper and softer - easier to break, easier to bend to your will. But marble? Marble seems to take on a life of its own.

And you will have to break it, you know. You will have to bend nature to your impossible will.

"I told him," you continue, your voice echoing through your studio as you stare at the block of marble, at the creation to be. "But I don't think he listened. They never really do, do they?"

Gargoyles, you'd reminded the Mayor as he'd signed your cheque, are purveyors of evil, creatures that drip malice and violence onto the darkened city below. However, it has also been believed that gargoyles are protectors against evil, that they act as great guardians that watch over cities and towns to keep the evil away. It's been thought that they hold curses at bay.

It's always seemed to be a bit of a mystery, then, that Gotham has so many gargoyles dotted along its rooftops and lining its skyline. Because Gotham is where curses are born. It's where they fester and breed. 

"Sometimes," you continue on, stepping back to stare at one of your sketches and chewing on your lip in thought. "I think that you just… Well, it's that you sort of just catch all of the evil in this world. Someone has to shoulder it. Someone has to swallow it." You glance around, then, at the various sketches and designs and photographs of old pieces that are scattered around the studio. Every gargoyle, every face - they all have their mouths open, snarling and snapping. 

"That's why I make you," you say easily, raising the hammer again. "Someone has to be the villain. Someone has to take the fall."

But it's not quite fair, you think, for Gotham to swallow all of the evil in this world. It's not quite fair, you consider, for you to be the one cursed with creating that evil. It's not quite right, you feel, to create these creatures over and over as they swallow endlessly, a hunger living within them that cannot be satiated.

"You're going to be alone, though, you know," you point out, running your hand along the veins of the marble. "That makes you different, I suppose. City Hall only wants one." But maybe you get it, you think, as you stand back and stare. 

It's to be your greatest masterpiece, they told you. One creature, alone, looming on the rooftop and looking out onto the city.

It's to be your greatest masterpiece, they'd reminded you as you'd taken the cheque, folding it and tucking it into your pocket. It's to be the city's pride and joy. 

"May I ask?" you'd said at the time. "Why me? There are plenty of artists in this place who'd kill for something like this."

"I'm sure you know why," the Mayor had huffed. "And this is important, so don't blow it."

"That's why I'm asking," you'd pressed. "Why me, to create something so holy?" The Mayor rolls his eyes at the question, crossing his arms over his chest and grumbling, but he humours you nonetheless.

"People talk about your work," he explains, like the words are being pulled from him against his better judgement. "They love to say that… well, I'm sure you've heard it. People say that your statues come to life at night."

"It's just a figure of speech," you soothe, but your grin makes him scowl.

"Of course it is," he snaps. "They're not real, they're not alive. But… but…" he begins to search for the words, struggling as you laugh.

"It's the soul, of course," you murmur to the block of marble, brushing away stray debris and dust. "You have to carve a soul into things to make people feel for them. And I… want that. I need that." Your chisel chips away more of the stone and you grip onto it tighter. You need it, you think. You need to make people swear that your creatures stand and stretch their wings and come alive by the light of the moon.

The days begin to feel endless after that, and the work continues on and on and on. There are much smaller carvings, busts and faces and hands - little elements of practice and failure scattered around countless tables that sit in your studio. But the floor has a large spot cleared in the centre, now, for the huge, looming block of marble to sit.  

The work is hard. It makes your arms ache and your muscles burn as you spend neverending days chipping away at the stone. It takes much longer than it had for any of your other carvings for this one to begin to finally become something. It feels like time stretches endlessly before the figure of a man is finally apparent, rough and undetailed and jagged, with two shapes that will soon be huge wings sprouting from his back. 

But that's how you leave him, one night, a white sheet thrown over him. You pause on your way out of the studio, one of your hands rubbing at your shoulder as it aches under the constant work. The calluses on your palms have begun to throb, the skin ripping and bleeding in places. Your head pounds, as well, the tension in your arms and shoulders twisting and clenching your muscles until the pain radiates through you.

He'll be worth it, you tell yourself. He'll be your greatest masterpiece.

You find yourself more than slightly unprepared, however, for your return to your studio in the morning. You find yourself more than a bit taken aback by the sight that awaits you. You're just pushing open the door, rubbing at your forehead and grumbling about your poor night's sleep to yourself when you step on something just inside the doorway of the great room.

When you lift your foot, you realize that it's a small piece of stone, broken and jagged and crumbling.

Something, you think immediately, is wrong. Your skin pricks in alarm as your heartbeat hammers in your ears and you look to your sides, finally seeing the state that your studio is in. 

The entire room has been turned in on itself. Faces and busts have been smashed and the pieces are strewn across the floor. Sketches that you'd made painstakingly in preparation and had pinned up are torn and shredded. A table by the window has been knocked over and crumpled pieces of stone are strewn around. 

And then there's the marble. In the barest shape of a man, he's not in the crouching position that he'd been in when you'd left him. He's not in the shape that you'd designed him to be. He's caught, instead, lunging toward the door of your studio with the white sheet that had been draped over him now tangled around his torso and legs. There's a desperation in his unmoving form, as if he was trying to escape, to flee this place that's brought him into creation. The breath leaves your lungs in one freezing gasp at the sight, and your eyes widen as your hands tremble and your mind begins to spin.

There's a crumpled piece of paper clenched in his closed fist, you realize, as you take the smallest step forward. Your legs are beginning to feel numb, waves of shock rolling over you in painful rhythms as you take in the sight before you. It takes a fair bit of slow stepping and trembling before you finally pry the scrunched-up paper from his stiff marble hand and unravel it, smoothing it out so that you can see what it is.

It's him. It's the finalized sketch that you'd done of the piece. It's the face that you're going to give him, snarling and violent and cruel, fangs bared like a bat while he spreads his wings out behind him. Your thumb smooths over the writing at the bottom of the page and you breathe out a heavy sigh.

You always name them, of course. Every gargoyle that you've carved, you've given a name. You've breathed life into them in that way. In this finalized sketch, you have his name written across the bottom of the design in scrawling, messy writing.

Bruce.

But he shouldn't be alive, you think desperately as you shove the sketch into your pocket and begin to circle the statue, tapping your knuckles against the solid marble. He's not, you think. He's not, he's not, he's not. He's unmoving, unbreathing, unwaking. He's not alive. He's not alive. He's not alive.

But he was, you suppose, breathing deeply as an eerie sort of calm begins to wash over you. Morning's light begins to stream in through the tall, narrow windows of your studio. The rays of the early sun shine down in beams to shimmer against the cold stone and dance across the rough, half-finished surface.

This is to be your greatest creation, they'd told you. This is to be a curse unmatched. 

The Mayor comes to visit eventually, curious to see how it's taking shape - curious to see how the city's money is being spent. Your studio is in disarray, although if it's again or still, you're not quite sure at this point. You'd cleaned and tidied it at first, putting everything back in its rightful place and sweeping up the debris. 

But when you'd come in the next morning, the space had been destroyed again. Bruce, the gargoyle, had been twisted into a new position once more. You'd cleaned up again, admittedly less so than the first time, and then moved along.

The next day, when you flicked the lights on and were greeted by shredded paper and smashed limestone once more, you'd mostly given up on trying to wrangle it into anything other than the mess that it has now become.

The Mayor steps over small piles of rubble, eyeing you and the way that you roll your shoulders and wince. By now, Bruce has moved again, of course. He's turned his back to the door and is reaching endlessly up toward the light streaming in from the windows, the white sheet clutched tightly in his other hand as if he's ripped it off of himself.

It's like he doesn't know, you think, that gargoyles cannot live in the light of day. It's like he's trying desperately to become something that he is not.

"I'm not sure this is quite what we had discussed," the Mayor grumbles, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at the figure. You peek your head around the marble torso to look at him, shrugging in an unbothered sort of way.

"It's art, Mr. Mayor," you say slowly, like you're explaining it for the first time. "It takes on a life of its own. That's sort of the whole idea."

"Don't get smug," he snaps back. "If you were only half as talented as this, you wouldn't be getting away with speaking to any of us in this way." You laugh at his words, leaning closer to the gargoyle to work on his face and neck, carving the veins and tendons into his smooth, stone skin. 

One of his massive hands is curled near your waist as you work, his claws brushing against you as you step closer. It's a coincidence, of course, the way that his fingers are nearly wrapped around your waist. It's serendipitous fate, the way that it seems like he's pulling you closer. He's not alive, after all.

"You never know," you say easily, glancing at the Mayor past Bruce's cold, defined bicep. "Maybe it will turn into something completely different again before the end."

"I don't want that," he says shortly. You pout a bit mockingly and put your hand on the gargoyle's chest as you lean up to examine the work that you'd just done on his neck. "I want what I paid for."

"You paid for me," you snap back, a wild sort of grin flashing across your face. "This is exactly that." The Mayor shuffles on his feet, muttering and grumbling as he stares up at the towering figure of marble and the stepladders that you've left scattered around as you've begun to need the height to reach his face.

"What's his name?" he asks eventually.

"Hm?"

"I know you always name them," the Mayor says stiffly. "What's his name?"

"…Bruce," you say eventually, and as you step back one of his claws catches on the fabric of your shirt, momentarily making you stumble as if he's tugged you closer to him.

"Why name him a thing like that?" the Mayor huffs. You roll your eyes and untangle your shirt from the gargoyle's grip, patting his bicep as you step away from him fully to face the Mayor.

"The name Bruce," you explain with a laborious sigh, "is connected to the willow tree."

"So?"

"So," you continue, exasperation seeping into your tone, "the willow tree symbolizes life. New life, rebirth, morphing into something different."

"It's just a statue," the Mayor says dully. "There's no need to act like it's anything more."

"If he's just a statue," you challenge, and when you stand in front of Bruce, his wings spread out behind you like some kind of omen, "then why do you want him so badly?"

There's no response to that, you suppose, as the Mayor just huffs and grumbles and says something about upcoming meetings as he makes a hasty departure. Not that you care much, too preoccupied with staring up at the gargoyle's face and watching him take shape. 

It's to be your greatest masterpiece, right? You may as well make it something grand then, right?

It takes months for the creation to be completed enough for it to be transferred to the rooftop of City Hall. The weather has begun to turn by now, your breath coming out in foggy clouds and your fingers freezing in your pockets as you watch the movers gently adjust the giant sculpture into his new home.

It's here that you're supposed to do the final touches on him, smooth him out and polish him and perfect him. It's here that your art is meant to come to life. As the movers are bickering back and forth about the weight of the thing and how to make sure that it's placed safely, you begin to ignore them and choose to look out toward the city, instead. From here, you can see glimpses of everything - every statue, every carving. You can see every part of Gotham that you've left your mark on, every crack and crevice where you've carved yourself into the lifeblood of the city.

When you look beside you once more, your newest creation stands tall and proud, his marble glimmering under the sun and shining through the everlasting fog of the frantic city. He's to be your greatest masterpiece, you remember as you pull off your gloves and smooth your hand over him. He's to be the protector that bears the weight of the entire city on his shoulders. 

What a burden, you think, as you're handed your kit and you begin to dig around for your tools. What a burden to be built as such a thing.

What a burden, you think, to be the thing that always builds this.

But it is on this day, nonetheless, that he's finished. With a chisel and a hammer, you carve life into marble. You mould and sculpt, like something holy creating something damned. The day wears on until the sun begins to dip below the horizon once more and the two of you are bathed in hues of pink and violet and deep, deep blue. 

It's when the sun finally drops low enough that darkness reigns that you finally drop your chisel, your hands throbbing and your head pounding and your face frozen from the cold. You wonder, as you stare up at the gargoyle's looming form and feel a panic start to fester within you, what on earth you're supposed to do, now that you've fulfilled your only purpose.

That hollowness, you find, sort of sticks with you, clinging to your soul and wrapping around you as you make your way home in the depths of the night. The buildings of Gotham tower around you, your own statues leering down at you from rooftops with vicious snarls, as if they're mocking you for your own hubris… as if they're cackling at the sick karma of it all.

Like Icarus falling from the sun, you wander through the twisting, winding streets and back roads, the darkness blanketing over you and crushing you under the weight of it all, under the curse of this city. 

A shadow flickers overhead and you keep your eyes trained on the ground, almost afraid to look up. It's as if you've become afraid of your own creations, terrified of them outgrowing you and leaving you behind.

You can't even bring yourself to return home, you realize, turning instead to head to your studio and sit in the silence of the now-empty room. There's a large, empty patch of floor in the middle where Bruce had stood for so long, and as you walk through the space, crumbled stone and torn-up paper crunch under your shoes and you feel something hollow eating at you from the inside out.

That was to be your greatest masterpiece, you think. And now he's gone.

When you wake the next morning, it's on the floor of your studio, your jacket rolled up under your head as a makeshift sort of pillow and light streaming in from the windows. The notifications on your phone, though, as you grumble and rub at your sore neck and check the news, have you shooting upright to a stumbling stand. 

News has broken out all over the city of destruction, some kind of vandalism having taken place overnight. Gargoyles all across the city have been destroyed, smashed and battered and knocked from their posts.

You scroll through the news feeds frantically, something akin to dread curling in your gut as you sift through photographs of your creations, crumbled and attacked and lying in pieces across rooftops. 

There are rumours spreading across the news outlets of people having seen a dark, flying shape swooping over the city. Some, mainly a few of the rather less reputable news sources, claim that it was the Mothman.

But you just shake your head and scoff at that. People will believe anything these days, you think.  No one knows who could've done it. No one knows how it really could've happened.

But as you stare at the wall of your studio, finished photographs of Bruce on the night before he was transported out of this space hang on the wall and mock you. You stare at them and something settles deep in your gut, a knowing sort of pain stabbing into you there. 

You know what happened. You're sure of it.

It doesn't take long to weasel your way into getting roof access at City Hall - something about needing to make final touches on the gargoyle and how you're sure the Mayor wouldn't be happy if you weren't allowed to work. You just claim that you need to see the carving again - you need to fix something, need to put your hands on it one more time.

Sure enough, when you get up there you're faced with the evidence of it all. There are chips and gouges in Bruce's fingers, his claws dulled and broken - like he had spent the night clawing and breaking and destroying across the city. 

He looks… like a protector, you suppose, with his scars and his dents and his looming wings spread wide. And you… you are his creator, after all. So you sit in front of him, trying to rub the cold from your fingers before taking his huge, freezing hands in yours so that you can polish and smooth and repair the damage that he's done to himself and you. 

You're trying to rub the feeling back into your fingers, your hands trembling from the cold and the pressure of your work, when the sun finally begins to dip below the horizon. You'd finished your fixing and your polishing hours ago, leaving Bruce to, instead, sit by the edge of the roof and simply wait. You sit with your back to him, staring out toward the endless, cursed city and you wonder if this is what it's like to be one of your creations - if this is what it's like to wait for something holy to happen.

When the sun finally does disappear beyond the skyline, the impossible wall of fog hazing the colours of dusk, you begin to hear him behind you. It's a creaking sort of noise, marble grinding and crunching against itself as he begins to move, as he begins to breathe life into himself.

So it's true, you think weakly, standing ever so slowly and keeping your back to him. He's alive, he's alive, he's alive.

Still, knowing it in theory and seeing it with your waking eyes are two different things, and when you turn to face him it's like all of the air has been punched out of your lungs. Bruce stands in front of you now, huge and powerful and terrifying, with razor-sharp claws that gleam in the darkness and wings that spread so far that they black out the horizon behind him and around you.

You stand frozen and you watch him and you wonder in a dizzying, endless sort of way what sort of a thing you are for creating a creature like him. It's a bit like staring god in the face, you think nauseously, when he stares down at you with his towering, imposing gaze. 

And you can't really help it - it just makes you wonder… are you anything like a god for making him? Or is it all… him? Can you claim responsibility for bringing something like this to life?

You're beginning to spiral, your heart hammering so loudly in your chest that if you had a bit of rational thinking left, perhaps you'd be concerned about it bursting from you. But then Bruce reaches for you, wrapping one giant, clawed hand around your waist and lifting you up as you shriek and he spreads his wings to bring the two of you into the sky.

He soars up and up and up, keeping you in a firm grip with one hand and pressing your back against his chest to keep you steady. Not that that comforts you much as you cling onto his bicep and forearm, digging your nails impossibly into the marble as the tangled, twisting streets of Gotham flash by underneath the two of you. 

He brings you to the clock tower eventually, dropping you ever so gently and letting you steady yourself with gasping breaths and shaking knees. It's the tallest building in the city, and your head spins as you look out and can see the whole of Gotham sprawling out at your feet. 

"Oh my god…" you murmur as you stare out with wide eyes, able to see, from this vantage point, all of the destruction that he'd caused the night before. "Bruce… what have you done?"

"What have you done?" he says in response, his voice rumbling from behind you in a deep bass. "You are what made me, after all."

"No!" you shout as you whirl on him, glaring up at him with panicked eyes. "I didn't make you into this. I didn't make you do this."

"You created a monster," he responds calmly, reaching for you. You let him, your breath held as you tremble. But he's gentle, brushing a stone knuckle across your cheek and wiping away a tear that you hadn't realized had fallen. "You cannot be upset when monstrous things follow."

"You were… you were supposed to protect the city," you respond quietly, your brows furrowing as you look up at him. "That's what you were made for. I… I gave you life, perhaps, yes. But - why use it for this?"

"You are my creator," Bruce responds simply, and his massive hand trails down to wrap around your throat with a delicate, barely-there touch. "I am made of you. My weight is on your shoulders."

"No!" you shout again, pulling away from him and stepping back. "I have made you, yes, but I've… I've released you out into the world. You've taken on a life of your own, have you not? You are made of yourself now, aren't you? You… you brought yourself to life… didn't you?"

"Did I?" he muses, but there's an uncertainty in the stone rumble of his voice. "I'd always thought that it was you. You drew me, after all. Carved me from a block of stone."

"You… I - what?" you ask desperately. "Bruce, I… you remember all of that?"

"Of course," he says simply, and when you clutch your chest and make a panicked sort of noise, he steps toward you. "I was there when you built me. I was there when you carved me out of nothing and turned me into this. And I have to wonder…" He steps further, still, until you have to crane your head back to look up at him, at his stormy eyes and furrowed brows and snarling face. "I wonder… if you made me, why… why turn me into something evil?"

"I didn't," you say weakly, stepping away from him and glancing back as the edge of the roof gets precariously close. "I didn't… who brought you to life, really, Bruce? Are you sure it was me? Are you sure it wasn't you?"

"Are you saying that you didn't?" he questions, stepping toward you for every step that you take back.

"I'm saying that I don't know," you answer desperately, an edge to your voice. "I'm saying that maybe - it's… it doesn't matter, Bruce."

"What?"

"It doesn't matter who built you. Can you not just belong to yourself now? You belong to yourself, don't you?" He frowns at your words, stepping closer still. When you step back this time, your heel catches the edge of the roof and your heart lurches painfully in terror at the drop behind you. 

"You made me," he says, pressing further.

"You belong to yourself," you repeat. "Learn… learn to live for yourself, Bruce. You are not mine anymore. You belong to yourself." He snarls a bit more at that, taking another step forward. This time, though, you have nowhere left to go, and when you step back there's only open air and the crisp fog of night to catch you.

So you fall… from the impossible height of the clock tower and toward the city that writhes with malice, you fall. And you think, as you feel the air rush past your ears, that perhaps this is the only way that it should be - death by your own creation, by your greatest masterpiece, thrown off of the highest point in a city that you helped to build. Perhaps this is how it feels to really, truly take a fall.

But it's not the ground that meets you. It's the feeling of cold, solid marble, instead, that wraps around you and hauls you up and up and up again. It's Bruce, with his arms keeping you pressed against his chest until he has you safely back on the top of the clock tower, this time with him standing between you and the edge of the roof. 

"You… saved me," you say slowly, your words coming out in halting gasps as your teeth chatter from the cold and the shock of it all. 

"How could I not?" he responds easily, and he reaches forward to smooth a large palm over your cheek gently. "How could I not come for you? How could I not follow wherever you go?"

"You don't have to," you say quietly.

"But I will," he responds in that sturdy, solid way of his. You lean against the solid wall of the large clock face and sigh, your knees buckling slightly at the weight of it all as you look up at him with anguish.

"Is that what it was all about?" you whisper. "The… the studio, the… the things you did there?" You think back to it all, to the destruction of your space, to the ripping up of the sketches and the smashing of the practice busts. You think back to him, frozen mid-movement, always clawing at himself, trying to rip himself from your grasp. 

A tear rolls down your cheek and your bottom lip trembles. Bruce just shushes you gently, brushing his clawed thumb against the frozen, bluish tint of your lip and stroking your cheek.

"You created me," he says lowly. "So why did you turn me into something evil?"

"I didn't…" you say, your voice catching and warbling. "I didn't know. I didn't know I could create anything that wasn't that. I didn't know that my hands could shape anything other than malice."

"How foolish," Bruce murmurs gently, cupping your face in both of his hands now so that he can wipe away the tears that have started streaming down your cheeks, "to think such a thing when you made me with this love. How foolish to think… when you made me love you like this." His face is close to yours now, so close that your noses brush together and his eyes bore into yours.

"Can you?" you say quietly. "Can you really love someone like me? Can you fall in love with the thing that made you?"

"That depends," he responds simply, so close to you now that your lips brush against his. "Can you ever really love me back?" The way he kisses you, then, probably proves that you both can. He presses you against the clock face, hard marble leaning against you and keeping you steady as your head spins and you grab onto his biceps. Around you, the city rages on, swirling and moving and tangling in on itself as night blankets the two of you and he wraps his wings around you, shielding you from the outside world.

"Bruce," you say quietly, parting from him just enough to speak. "Why did you destroy all of the others? They aren't - they weren't even alive. Not like you. You're… you're the only one like this. Why did you do it?"

"Because," he offers honestly, trailing his lips across your cheek and down the side of your neck. "I didn't want you to ever love them more than you love me."

"How foolish," you quip back, but its effect is dimmed by the breathless quality of your voice as Bruce presses further against you and tightens his grip on your waist, "to think that I could ever love anything more than I love my greatest masterpiece." Bruce laughs at that, an action so carefree that it feels almost holy as he throws his head back and lets his wings spread wide.

You look past him as he moves, staring back out towards the endless, mangled streets of Gotham and the curses that fester within them. Bruce smoothes a hand over your back and sobers as you look out with furrowed brows, glancing over the rooftops and the crumbled remains of your work. The past spirals endlessly before you and behind you and a need takes hold, a burning drive to move forward, to reach further.

"Have I…" you begin quietly, still looking past him. "Have I been protecting it? Or have I just been… feeding it?" You look up at Bruce again, then, something desperate and imploring in your gaze. "You belong to yourself, now, Bruce. You have to move forward. I - we both do."

"What am I supposed to do?" he asks somberly. "What am I supposed to do with a life that I did not choose?"

"Anything," you answer simply, spreading your arms wide with the city at your back now. "You own the night, Bruce. You own Gotham City. You can do anything."

"But," he begins, frowning. You just shake your head and continue, the freezing night air making your breath fog between the two of you.

"It doesn't matter, Bruce… It doesn't matter how you were created. It doesn't matter what you were made to be. It only matters what you choose." 

"What…" he begins slowly. "What am I to choose?"

"Anything," you stress. "The night belongs to you, Bruce. Choose what you want to do with it." He blinks, then, rolling his shoulders back and he stares past you and out toward the shining city. 

"It's beautiful, you know," he says, his voice a smooth, pleasant rumble.

"What?" you respond, a bit distracted as you try to rub warmth back into your fingers. He looks down at you rather fondly, then, before he gestures to you with one of his massive hands. And that's all that it takes, really, to have you closing the distance between the two of you. He wraps his giant arm around you, tucking you into the safety of his side as he wraps a wing around you, blocking the frigid wind and letting you shiver. 

"Gotham," he clarifies, and you look up at him while he looks out, his eyes shining with something that looks suspiciously close to love as he stares at the city. "It's beautiful."

"You know," you muse, letting one of your hands rest against his chest as the other searches for his own hand so that you can curl your fingers around his, "I'd never really… I don't know. I guess I've just never really looked at it that way."

"How could you not?" he questions, but there's no bite to his voice and when you look up with your nose wrinkled, he laughs once more.

"It's easy, I think," you explain with a shrug. "It's easy to just… get lost in it. All these years I spent being paid to build this city into something more, I… I guess I never really stopped to look at it." Bruce hums in confirmation, rubbing his hand up and down your arm as he continues to shield you from the cold.

"You know," you continue thoughtfully. "Someone really does need to look out for the city."

"What?"

"Gotham… Gotham needs a protector. I'm - I'm not saying you have to. It's… it's your life, Bruce, it's your choice. But I just - I don't know, you…"

"Go on," Bruce says gently, tearing his eyes away from the city to look down at you just as fondly. "Say it."

"I… I made you," you say slowly, a heaviness to your words. "I breathed life into you - I didn't know that I was doing it at the time but - I did. And I can't take that back. You were built to be Gotham's protector, to keep it safe and watch over it through the night. I want you to do that - if you want to. I think… I think you're good at what you're made to be. I think that, maybe, we both are." Bruce sighs at your words, a contented sort of thing as he reaches to smooth a thumb between your furrowed, anxious brows. 

"So I was right," he says easily. "We really are just the things that we were made to be, at the end of it all."

"Maybe it's just… not so bad?" you offer waveringly. He smiles down at you, a monster making peace with the malice that drips from his bared teeth, and something feels like it sort of just… settles into place.

"It doesn't have to be bad at all, I don't think," he offers gently. You sigh and let your forehead thump forward against the cool marble of his chest.

"Where would I be without you?" you murmur. A laugh rumbles through him, jostling you as you lean against him. 

"Victim of the Mayor's wrath, no doubt," he jokes. You lift your head to glare up at him, flicking his solid marble chest. 

"The Mayor loves me," you say haughtily.

"He does not," Bruce responds easily, but when you begin to splutter out protests he's quick to silence you with another kiss, bringing you closer to him with a tight grip.

"What will you do now?" he whispers against your lips. Something in you lurches painfully, a panic stirring.

"Oh," you say hollowly. "Right. I…" But then you look out toward the city, toward the ruin and the failure. Your greatest masterpiece having already outgrown you, you can feel yourself begin to spiral endlessly, your hands itching to bring life to something, to do something that makes you worth it. 

But then your fingers twitch, the calluses on your palms burning from the cold air, and you feel a sort of calmness overtake you as you look out toward the crumbling statues with new light. 

"I think," you say carefully, "that I have some things to rebuild. I think I have a new life to make for myself." Bruce hums in understanding, a hand stroking over the back of your head. "But," you continue, tipping your head back to look up at him with big, round eyes. "I certainly wouldn't mind working more often at night now. What do you say?"

"How could I say anything but yes," he rumbles back, "to my creator?"

"You're an awful distraction," you murmur as you work, chisel in hand as you feel a razor-sharp claw trace delicately up the length of your spine underneath your shirt. You're on the rooftop of the Bank of Gotham, night wrapping around you and Bruce as you work at recarving and smoothing out the mistakes of the past, buffing them out with new stone and new hope. If only there wasn't a slinking, skulking gargoyle who doesn't know how to keep his hands to himself. 

"I'm not sure what you mean," Bruce muses as he curls around you, his wings churning the night air. It's warmer these days, the cold front having passed months ago to make way for hotter, stickier nights. 

"Yes you do," you quip back, but your smile gives away your lack of real annoyance. He's an awful distraction, yes, but it's so worth it to be intertwined with him, you think. The artist and the muse, tangled endlessly just like the city that created them.

"I'm helping," Bruce murmurs stubbornly, burying his head in your shoulder and wrapping his arms tightly around your waist. 

"You've already helped plenty," you say slyly, but the way that he hums in confirmation and presses closer has heat rising to your cheeks.

"I could always help again -"

"No," you splutter out. "Bruce, the sun is going to come up soon. You need to be back at City Hall before the night is over."

"I'll make it in time," he says distractedly, training his lips over your neck and slipping his massive, clawed hands under your shirt.

"You will," you laugh at him as you squirm away from him, standing and teetering on the edge of the rooftop. Bruce frowns and reaches for you, wrapping a secure arm around your waist to keep you steady. "You will," you repeat calmly, "because you're going to leave now. I'll come up and sit with you in the morning if you'd like. I have some sketches to work on."

"It's not the same," he says, a frown still tugging at his lips.

"I know," you soothe. "But it's only during the day."

"Promise me something, then," he whispers as he draws you in to wrap around you one last time before daybreak.

"Anything," you respond honestly.

"Come back for me," he says lowly, pressing a final kiss to your lips. "Come back to put your hands on me again when night falls. Come back to turn me into something good."

"You've already done most of that for yourself, you know," you murmur back, your lips brushing against his. "But… always. I'll always come back for you." And you mean it, of course, as you reach for him one last time before he has to flee. You'll always stand next to him while he moulds himself into something new, day after day after day. Just as he will always do the same for you.

Morning really has begun by the time you're making your way out of the bank, trying yet again to roll the everlasting tension out of your shoulders as you walk outside. The sun is cresting over the city, making the buildings shimmer as the newer gargoyles shine with flecked limestone on top of the towering rooftops. 

But there's still only one of them that's made of marble, and he stands, now, on top of City Hall. You stop outside of the bank to look up at Bruce, staring at the way that his wings splay out as he snarls. The sun is rising up from behind him and it begins to bathe the gargoyle in a holy, glowing halo of endless golden light that fights through the constant fog of Gotham.

He looks sort of like an angel, you think as you giggle to yourself, the calluses on your palms burning with the memory of carving him. He looks like something holy. 

But really, you know… you know that you did not tell him to stand like that - that you did not carve him in that pose. You know that you did not lift the sun to shine down onto him. He did that for himself. 

As the sun crests even further, shining past him and onto your face, breaking through the murky, polluted air just enough to breathe warmth onto your skin, you know that you've done it for yourself, too.

[mellifiedprincess]

This was wrote very quickly, sooo not really sure if it’s good or not :/

“Good morning campers! I’m your host Nick Sturniolo.” There’s a slight pause before your eyes drift over to your boyfriend. “Matthew Sturniolo here.”

“Chrizzz.”

“And welcome back to the Cut the Camera podcast.” You can hear the joy in Nicks voice as he continues the intro. Your head is placed in Nicks shoulder, arms wrapped around one of his, in search of comfort.

Usually, you find comfort in the arms of your boyfriend. But not today. Today he and Chris have betrayed your trust, and therefore you are forced to cling to Nick against his free will.

“Of course I can’t continue without explaining why Y/N is glued to my side. For those who are not watching this on youtube, normally Y/N and Matt would be sitting together. Being gross and all that, but not today.” Nick pauses, looking at you before switching his eyes from Matt to Chris.

“Would anyone like to explain?” Before either of the boys can even think about speaking, your body lunges forward to grab Nicks mic. “Matt and Chris are evil spawns of satan and deserve to be put in solitary confinement.” You glare at the stupid laughing idiots sitting across from you and sink back down next to Nick.

“JESUS Y/N/N!” Chris can barely get words out from laughing at your outburst. “Kids wanting us locked up.”

“Nick! Make him shut up before I punch his stupid face.”

“Alright sweetheart.” Nick laughs and gives your arm an affectionate rub.

“Chris cut it out. Leave her alone.” Matt finally speaks up, his lopsided grin giving away the fact he finds the current scared state his girlfriend is in to be amusing. His eyes meet yours and even though he knows you’re not seriously upset with him, he still wants to apologize profusely and shower you with affection.

“Will you please come over here and sit by me?” He pleads with you, but you’re not having it. “No!” You huff out and squeeze Nicks arm even tighter.

“Ohhhkay, moving on.” Nick interrupts before things escalate. “The reason Y/N and Matt are mad at each other-“

“I’m not mad at my girlfriend. I miss her and want her over here with me!” Matt cuts Nick off with a tone one could only describe as…pouty. “Maybe if you didn’t try to paralyze me with fear and send me into cardiac arrest, I wouldn’t be over here with Nicky praying on your downfall.” With that you cross your arms and purse your lips, that same glare from earlier back.

An audible whine leaves your boyfriend’s lips. A whine. He was actually trying to kill you.

“Can I tell the viewers what happened? Or am I gonna keep getting interrupted?” After everyone finally quiets down, Nick continues.

“So, many of you may not know this about our angel of a friend Y/N, but one of her biggest fears is things/people running at her.” You can clearly see the amusement on the triplets faces, because of how ridiculously funny the situation is to them. It wasn’t to you though. “It could literally be a baby crawling towards her super fast and the girl is screaming and frozen with fear.”

Before Nick starts to speak again, Chris starts laughing uncontrollably once again. “Remember when we went to that haunted house thing for halloween and at the end, like after you make it back outside, there was that guy holding a chainsaw-“ You already knew what he was talking about, one of the scariest moments of your life.

“Christopher don’t!” Your tone is one of warning, and your eyes widen at the memory that haunts you daily. (Dramatic much?)

Of course, that fucker continues anyway. “No wait, this is one of my favorite Y/N/N stories. Chris has to tell it.”

“You traitor!” You point an accusing finger at Nick, who only laughs at you. “I can’t trust any of you!” You quickly move to sit by Matt after that, a satisfied grin makes its way onto his face and he wraps his arms around you as soon as you’re next to him.

And as soon as your body falls into his, any fear you had diminishes instantly. Like your body knew the safest you would ever feel was anywhere in his proximity. You feel his lips press against your temple, before making its way across your cheek, and then finally turning your head a little to give you a proper kiss on your lips.

“And the barf mobile has arrived.” Nick deadpans. “Fuck off.” You and Matt deadpan in unison.

“Alright when I come running at you with a chainsaw, don’t say shit.”

The image of Nick running at you makes you curl into Matt’s side even more. “Alright, stop scaring her. She literally won’t sleep tonight and will probably make me go with her to the bathroom every time she has to use it.”

“You’re funny if you think I’m not making you go with me to the bathroom after the shit you and Chris pulled.”

Matt can only grin down at you, he was just happy that you were back beside him. Codependency is a bitch <3

“Alright, back to what Matt and Chris did to Y/N. Y/N, you wanna start the story off?” Nick directs the attention on to you and you start playing with Matt’s fingers as an anxious habit.

“Let’s start off with the fact, I was in the middle of cooking dinner for these idiots and I thought I was still the only one home.” You watch Chris cover his mouth to try to hide his smile, ultimately failing.

“I heard something from downstairs and thought maybe Chris left his patio doors open and an animal got in. Wouldn’t be the first time. So, I put my investigation skills to the test and went to see what it was. Anyone want to guess what it was?” You pause for dramatic effect, looking around the table for a moment.

“It was my lovely boyfriend and dumbass best friend standing at the bottom of the staircase with creepy ass masks on. And as soon as they saw me they start running up the stairs towards me!” A shiver of fright runs through your body at the scene replaying in your head.

“And what did your fight or flight instincts tell you to do?” Matt asks, already knowing the answer since he saw it firsthand. “I don’t have fight or flight instincts. I have freeze instincts. BECAUSE I WAS FROZEN FROM FEAR!”

And at your outburst, the three brothers start laughing uncontrollably, Matt earning a slap to his chest as his body shakes from how hard he was laughing.

“And what makes it even worse is when my body finally registered I needed to move my fucking ass, I ran to our room and immediately called Matt.”

“Awe baby, I’m so sorry.” He’s quietly laughing now, pulling you even closer to his body. “I promise I won’t scare you like that ever again.” You cut your eyes at him and plants a kiss to your cheek, trying to convince you.

“Maybe not intentionally, but Y/N/N literally gets scared if you look at her for too long.”

Chris was right, but he didn’t have to call you out like that.

“I will hide every can of pepsi you bring into this house.” You threaten and watch as his mouth drops open in shock, before he fucking. starts. staring. you. down.

“CHRIS! Cut it out!” Matt yells at his younger brother when he realizes he’s trying to scare you again.

“You are all very bizarre.” Nick shakes his head and gets ready to move on to the next topic.