#spooktober special

[pb-dot]

Spooktober Sunday Special: The Clockwork Monster Part I

Good Spooky Season everybody. This fine October I'm doing a little something for my followers, mutuals, and anyone else who would like to get a load of the spooky proceedings. As you may be aware, I just finished a draft of my novel The Clockwork Boy, and particularly eager readers may also remember that I've toyed with making a horror AU for the story to try out some new ideas. Friends, today the first part of this AU sees the light of day, with the remaining parts being released on Sundays during October.

Some quick notes: I'm experimenting a bit with form here, so I apologize if some of this gets a bit wacky. As one might expect from an AU this isn't canon to The Clockwork Boy, but I may borrow world-building ideas that I come up with for this one later. Probably won't make 13 quite so... like he is in this one, but well, you never know.

Part 1 below the cut:

05.09.552 From the diary of Jake, Clockmaker Apprentice at Barker Automatics. Recovered after the incident.

Another dull gray day filled with moderately gainful employment. Mr Barker showed me how to disassemble a gear walker actuator today, and I got the chance to inspect some gears in the process. Not the most interesting thing, but considering how often the damn things break, at least there’s a living to be made in repair if I can stand the tedium of it.

After his brief bout of pedagogy, Barker set me to oversee the Apprentices. As usual, they’re a rude unruly lot, at least to me. I’m decently sure one or two are gunning for my position as Journeyman, but they’d have to kill me to get me away from this place before I deliver my Masterwork to certification. Some of them are likely to try, but I calm myself with the knowledge that there’d certainly be a fight, and one I'm likely to win at that.

As usual when I’m left herding Novices, it was dark by the time I could close up shop, and I hadn’t even gotten to work on my clockwork limb project. I was disappointed, but not enough to give my wards grief over it. Tomorrow will be a better day I'm sure. On my way home, a strange fright came over me, but I am sure it was merely the stress from dealing with the greenhorns.

06.09.552 From the diary of Jake, Clockmaker Apprentice at Barker Automatics. Recovered after the incident. Try as I might, I can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching me. I have no idea who it’d be. The novices wouldn’t mind catching me slipping up I’m sure, but I find it hard to imagine any of them have enough energy left after a long day of work to stalk me from the shadows. I know I didn’t back in the day.

To back up a step, the strange fright from last night subsided as I came home, yes, but it didn't go away. Instead, I found myself strangely paranoid as I left for work the following morning. In retrospect, I am reasonably certain I didn't stand out from the crowd, and fairly sure I wasn't followed by a tail of whispers and rumors through the crowd of commuting workers, but at the time it sure felt like it.

The feeling didn’t subside as I went to get some lunch from a corner cart, if anything it expanded. I no longer feared the people around me, which was a mercy I suppose, but the fear had, again, not disappeared. Someone out there was watching me, no, that's not quite it. Watching feels too passive, too neutral in tone. If anything, I'm sure I'm being Observed. Usually, there’s nothing that’ll tear my mind away from the taste of fresh-off-the-grill corncakes with spice paste, but the persistent cold weight of ill intent sure did it.

I’m not too proud to say I all but ran back to the workshop as soon as I had finished my meal. My phantom pursuer did not strike, but neither did its presence fade in any way as I hurried my way through the throngs of sweaty workshoppers and harried couriers. This, I surmised, could mean one of two things. Either, my pursuer is a subtle beast, able to keep pace with me through a crowd, or, more worryingly, he is so phantom as to be immaterial.

As much as this pains me, I’m going to have to go to the Enforcers with my concerns. They’ll probably listen to me because Mr. Baker’s boss is in The Spire, but odds are good they’ll just brutalize some street rat over it and call it a day. Still, getting some eyes and some truncheons on the situation must surely discourage my stalker, whoever they may be.

Tomorrow morning I’ll seek out the Enforcer Liaison Office and submit my concern. Mr. Barker won’t be thrilled about me calling in his clout to deal with this, but I figure he owes me for all the overtime I've been doing.

10.09.552? Recovered from Site A after the Incident. I have no idea what date it is. He keeps me somewhere underground. No daylight.

No idea if he'll notice me hiding this document under my blanket, but I have to risk it. I have to believe I’ll make it out of here, but even if I don’t, I have to make sure someone, anyone knows. He’s incredible. Terrible? Yes, but incredible.

My time draws short. He will be here soon. More tomorrow, if the fates will.

Tag List @ettawritesnstudies @mrbexwrites @teacupsandstarlight @anonymousfoz @wrenofthewords @sm-writes-chaos @dyrewrites @owlsandwich @olive-riggzey @athenswrites

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[hauntedautumnwhispers]

getting closer everyday

[hotluncheddie]

For the @steddie-spooktober day 18 prompt : candy

rated: M | cw: none | tags: college AU, pining, d/s undertones

🍬🍬🍬🍬

Eddie near enough growls. He’s pricked his finger again trying to sew the finishing touches of his stupid costume, but at this point he’s almost ready to throw it all in the trash.

And it might all be for a stupid Halloween contest that the college is putting on, which really shouldn’t matter, and doesn’t, not to Eddie. His focus is his music and his DnD society, the rest of the college bullshit can go fuck itself as far as he’s concerned.

But.

It’s Halloween.

It’s his favourite time of year. And all his friends are going and he wants to make an impression okay?

So he’s sewing his stupid costume and he’s going to finish it and his going to win the stupid damn prize. And, if his stupidity hot and nice roommate Steve is there to watch and it causes him to fall madly in love with Eddie, well, that’s just icing on the cake.

‘Fuck!’ Eddie shouts, sticking his throbbing finger in his mouth and blinking angry tears from his eyes.

He throws the costume onto the bed beside him, burying his head in his hands, trying to just breathe for a sec.

Something taps him on the head.

He looks up to find Steve, who’s materialised out of nowhere.

He holds a piece of candy corn up to Eddie’s lips. Opens his mouth with a little ‘ah’; prompting Eddie to do the same.

Eddie feels his cheeks heat. Eyes locked upward, on Steve’s calm, pretty, too gorgeous for this world face.

Eddie opens his mouth slowly. Lets the candy be place on his tongue.

‘Good, relax a bit yeah?’ Steve says softly, smiling down at him.

Eddie closes his mouth. Lets the sugar flood his tongue. He nods. His brain gone all fuzzy quiet.

Later. Once he’s finished his costume for tomorrow and is brushing his teeth ready for bed. He stops. ‘What the fuck.’ He squeaks, confused and more than a little aroused.

🍬🍬🍬🍬

Tag list (lmk to be added / removed) : @scoops-aboy86 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @pearynice @marvel-ous-m @thecatkingsthrone

@cheesedoctor @chickensinrainboots

[stevebuscemieyes]

The Simpsons: Treehouse Of Horror

[solarmorrigan]

Movie Nights

For the @steddie-spooktober day 25 prompt: Frankenstein Friday Rated: T | Words: 1514 | CW: None | Tags: established relationship, outsider POV, I know the movie is over 90 years old but I didn't actually watch it myself until a month ago, so just in case there's anyone else out there who hasn't seen it, Frankenstein (1931) spoilers Divider credit: @steddiecameraroll-graphics

Part 3 of the Good Neighbors series

Gladys can appreciate new things. Books, television, music – the little joys to be found in new discoveries are what make life worth living. She isn’t as set in her ways as some people her age can be, but she does have her favorites.

She loves her mysteries and her thrillers above all else; the likes of Agatha Christie, Elizabeth Peters, and Arthur Conan Doyle line her shelves. She’s dipped into the genre of spies and intrigue, digging into Ian Fleming and John Le Carré. She’s even been known to appreciate a good horror film now and then.

Emphasis on “good.”

“So this is what passes for horror these days?” Gladys asks as a young man on the TV screen is sucked down into his bed, only to be spat back out as an absolute geyser of blood.

Eddie chuckles, glancing up from the screen. “Not your cup of tea?”

Gladys leans on the back of the couch, resting her arms there. She’d only come over to the boys’ apartment to see if they had a spare baking dish she could borrow; they certainly hadn’t invited her in to critique their choice of entertainment. But all the same–

“I just think they should try a little harder to really scare people. These days, it’s all shock and gore. All they have to do is shower people in blood and call it a day,” Gladys says. “I remember a time when they put real effort in.”

“Back in your day?” Eddie teases, grinning at her.

Gladys tsks, cuffing him upside the head – not hard, barely more than a tap, but he still falls sideways onto the couch with a gasp, clutching his head, and then rolls right off and onto the floor with a thump. Gladys rolls her eyes, but doesn’t bother to hide her smile at his antics.

“Hey, will this work for–” Steve exits the kitchen, a glass baking dish in his hands, and stops as his attention is almost immediately diverted to Eddie. “Why are you on the floor?”

“Gladys attacked me,” Eddie replies.

“Oh. Good for her,” Steve decides, holding up the dish again. “Will this work for you?”

“That would be fine,” Gladys says, accepting it as Steve passes it over.

“She also thinks my movie is trash,” Eddie says brightly as he levers himself back up onto the couch.

“I did not say it was trash,” Gladys says. “At worst, I said it was cheap.”

“Okay, but that’s not better,” Eddie says.

“I’m not a huge fan, either,” Steve leans in to stage whisper to Gladys, “but it makes him happy.”

“Yeah, yeah, everyone’s a critic.” Eddie rolls his eyes, then leans back a bit so he can look up at Gladys. “What would you call a good horror movie, if not the genius of Wes Craven?”

Gladys purses her lips, thinking for a moment. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen the classics? Dracula, The Creature from the Black Lagoon?”

Eddie lets out a thoughtful little noise, shaking his head. “Can’t say I have.”

“Well, you ought to. You’ll see where it all began, then,” Gladys says.

“And I get the feeling you’d enjoy showing us,” Eddie says, wiggling his eyebrows up at Gladys.

“’Us’? Who’s ‘us’? When did I get roped into this?” Steve asks, and Eddie reaches out to take one of his hands.

“We’re a package deal, baby, everyone knows that,” Eddie says.

“No one around here but Gladys knows that,” Steve reminds him.

“Everyone important knows that,” Eddie amends. “Anyway, what do you say, Gladys? Feel like educating a couple of horror philistines such as ourselves?”

“Well,” Gladys says slowly, “I’m sure I could come up with something.”

This is how she ends up in her armchair the following Friday night, the boys both sitting on the loveseat, all watching as the audience is warned of the frightening nature of the upcoming film playing out on the television.

“Now, this wasn’t Universal’s first horror film, and it wasn’t even the first movie adaptation of Frankenstein,” Gladys says when the opening credits come on, “but it is a bit iconic. I thought you might get a kick out of it.”

“But is it scary?” Eddie teases.

“Well, I don’t know about scary, but maybe a bit shocking. Look at it this way:” Gladys says, “it was 1931. Graverobbing and murder might seem mundane to you, but we weren’t quite as desensitized to seeing it on the screen back then.”

Steve glances over at her. “Do you remember when this came out?”

“Oh, barely.” Gladys wiggles her hand back and forth in a so-so gesture. “I certainly didn’t go to see it in the theater, I was only six or seven at the time.”

“Still, that’s pretty cool,” Steve says, and Gladys favors him with a smile.

If they aren’t altogether horrified by the movie, the boys are at least engaged, keeping up a running commentary that has even Gladys laughing. (“He had that coming,” Steve says when the monster finally catches Frankenstein’s assistant. “Yep. Rest in pieces, Fritz,” Eddie adds.) However, as they reach the midway point, the father onscreen bidding his daughter to go play with her cat while he works, Steve shifts uneasily in his seat.

“Wait, they’re not going to do anything to the cat, are they?” he asks, cutting a worried glance at Gladys.

As if the thought hadn’t occurred to him until Steve voiced it, Eddie sits up straight in his own seat. “Gladys,” he says, pointing an accusing finger at the screen, “you’re not showing us a movie where they kill a cat, are you?”

One brow raised, Gladys regards the pair of them. “You’re worried about the cat, but not the child?”

Steve scoffs. “It’s 1931, they’re not gonna kill a kid,” he says, while Eddie nods in agreement.

Both brows raised now, Gladys only gives them a little “hm,” and turns back to the screen. With some suspicion, Eddie and Steve do the same, watching as the scene unfolds.

“Oh, shit,” Steve says, taken aback as the monster tosses the little girl into the lake.

“Damn. Guess we should’ve worried about the kid, after all,” Eddie says.

“You have to have some idea of how this movie ends,” Gladys says, shaking her head. “Did you really think they’d form an angry mob over a dead cat?”

“I would,” Eddie declares, then looks down at Steve, who at some point in the last half hour had ended up tucked into Eddie’s side (when, Gladys isn’t sure, but it’s sweet; it’s a pleasant feeling knowing how comfortable the two of them are here). “Steve, would you form an angry mob with me if someone killed our cat?”

“We don’t have a cat,” Steve says.

“That’s not the point,” Eddie insists, and Steve relents.

“I would come with you if only to make sure you didn’t get yourself killed,” he decides.

“I’ll take it,” Eddie says with a shrug.

The rest of the movie plays out on the screen – the forming of the mob, the confrontation with the monster, the burning windmill, and, at last, the peaceful conclusion.

“Wait,” Eddie says, brows furrowed as he watches the end credits play, “that’s it? That’s how it ends? A toast to the house of Frankenstein, the end?”

“Yes…” Gladys says slowly. “Why? How should it end?”

“Oh, I don’t know, how about a little restitution for the guy whose daughter got murdered?” Eddie demands, shooting up out of his seat so quickly that Steve has no time to brace himself and falls sideways onto the loveseat with a little ‘oof.’ “How about a little accountability? I mean, seriously, this is just typical; some rich, entitled asshole plays around with things he can’t control, creates a problem he refuses to solve, and the poor end up being the ones to pay the price!”

“Now you’ve got him started,” Steve mutters to Gladys as he sits himself back up.

“Is there any way to get him to stop?” Gladys asks, though she’s a little fascinated with the theatrical way Eddie throws himself around the living room as he rants.

“Uh.” Steve glances over at Eddie and back away again, and there actually seems to be a little color rising in his cheeks. “Not, um…”

“Take him home first, if you’re planning to do something like that,” Gladys says primly, only to lose the fight to her laughter when Steve looks over at her, aghast.

“I wouldn’t–!” he protests indignantly, his face going redder.

“Are you guys even listening to me?” Eddie demands, turning back to face the pair of them.

Gladys declines to answer, asking instead, “Eddie, dear, how did you like the movie?”

“Oh. Aside from the ending, it was great.” Eddie drops back onto the loveseat, reaching out absently to tug Steve back over to his side. “What else ya got?”

“Well,” Gladys says, picking through the stack of tapes she’d managed to dig up at the video store. “If you like entitled rich people, let’s see how you feel about Dracula.”

[aventurineswife]

Temptation Awaits... Or Not?

Summary: After rescuing a strange man entangled in a fishing net on the shore, you find yourself drawn to his mysterious allure. A cunning siren, initially tries to manipulate you into joining him in the ocean with dark intentions, hoping to lure you in as his next meal. However, your oblivious kindness and unwavering curiosity surprise him.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Siren AU, Slow Burn, Enemies to Friends (to lovers hinted), Unrequited Manipulation, Emotional Attachment.

Warnings: Mentions of manipulation and implied predatory behavior, Minor dark themes (His initial intent to consume Reader).

A/N: thinking to do a Medusa x Ratio AU 🤔

Inspired by: (1), (2), (3), c.ai

The evening waves brushed gently against the shore, and you squinted through the dimming light. There was something caught in the fishing net, tangled among seaweed and driftwood. As you got closer, your heart skipped — it wasn’t a fish or some ocean debris, but a man.

Or at least, something like a man. He had sandy-blond hair plastered to his skin, faint glimmers of scales across his arms, and the most mesmerizing eyes you’d ever seen — deep magenta and an eerie cyan, holding a dangerous allure. His gaze fixed on you, intense yet unreadable, and a shiver ran through you.

"Are you alright?" You called, pulling the net away from his arm. "How did you get tangled like this?"

He didn’t answer right away, his eyes flicking over you with a calculating sharpness. He had that charm about him, like something out of a dream.

Finally, he smirked, a hint of danger in it. “I suppose I owe you my thanks, human.” he purred, voice smooth like velvet, laced with a strange rhythm that drew you closer.

You blinked at the formal tone, still kneeling as you tried to pull more of the net off his finned tail, which you now noticed was covered in shimmering green-gold scales. Beautiful, you thought absently, captivated by the creature you were freeing. He watched you, head tilted just slightly, perhaps in wonderment, perhaps in mockery.

“You could repay me by… inviting me out for coffee sometime?” you joked, still feeling his eyes on you.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips. “Come with me to the ocean,” he murmured, voice silken. His gaze drifted to the horizon, then back to you, almost hypnotic in its intensity. “You’ve freed me, and the ocean has wonders far beyond your world, dear human. If you come with me, you’ll know things mortals have only dreamed of.”

You laughed, a sound that startled him slightly. “Sorry, I think I’d drown.” you said, brushing your hands off after the net finally slid away.

His eyes darkened, a small frown forming on his perfect face, as if he hadn’t expected you to resist so easily. But he let the expression slip away, eyes returning to a languid charm. “Perhaps another time, then.”

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

The days after, you couldn’t get him out of your head. You found yourself returning to that same shore, sometimes in the morning, sometimes just as the sun would set. And, to your quiet joy, you’d see him there — the strange, entrancing siren with the colorful eyes, lounging on the rocks, waiting.

At first, he merely observed you with a slight smirk, as if always planning something, but your idle chatter, your laughter — these things seemed to chip away at whatever distance he tried to maintain.

“So… you’re not joining me today, either?” he’d ask with a mocking sigh each time you saw him. He’d run his fingers through his hair, feigning impatience. “Perhaps you’re afraid of what I might show you.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “If it weren’t for the whole breathing underwater thing, maybe I would!”

He sighed, a little defeated but strangely amused, his head tilted as he continued to study you. It had been so easy in the beginning — the humans who wandered to the shore were always so fascinated by him, so eager to listen, to obey. But you, with your quick, kind smiles and seemingly endless curiosity, had somehow slipped past his charms.

“Are you always so… dense?” he asked one evening, a flicker of frustration behind his words.

You grinned, shrugging. “Or maybe I’m just smart enough to know when someone’s trying to lure me into the ocean.”

The siren huffed, trying to mask the faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Despite himself, he was fascinated by you, drawn to the way you spoke with him so freely, so kindly. You laughed easily, never shying away from the piercing looks he gave you.

One evening, after a particularly lengthy conversation, he found himself speaking without thinking. “If I weren’t trying to eat you, I’d probably find you quite… tolerable.”

“Oh, well, that’s just charming,” you snorted, shaking your head as you stood to leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Before he could even stop himself, he nodded.

Day by day, he waited for you on the shore, always with the same intentions, though lately they’d softened. You had the same smile every time you saw him, that same laugh that had become strangely precious to him. The allure of his song had faltered, and he was left wondering why it was you, this human, who had broken it so easily.

Then one day, he asked, almost hesitantly, “You don’t ever feel scared… knowing what I am?”

You looked at him, a gentle smile spreading across your face. “Not really. If anything, I feel sorry for you. You’ve probably never had a real friend before, huh?”

He flinched, the words hitting deeper than they should have. You were right. And perhaps, for the first time, he understood why he waited on the shore for you.

So, on the days that followed, he didn’t try to lure you into the ocean or convince you to stay. Instead, he listened to your laughter and let your warmth keep him company, feeling that strange, unfamiliar comfort of being wanted for something beyond his power.

[cuddlybats]

Happy October 1st! ^^ Let the spooky season begin <3

© 2024 Cuddly Bats  

WEBSITE - INSTAGRAM - KO-FI

[bloomingkyras]

It's time for a Spooky Seasons!! 💀🎃

THE DAR' FAMILY: Dar'leen as Witch ┃ Charlotte as The Ghotic Bones

Globetrotter CH: Mona Allen as The Mask Killer

NSBextended: Sienna Evans as The Glitch Alien

🎃 Tq to all cc creator .. Happy Halloween! 🎃

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

I hope you like this @asianbutnotjapanese

“Prosperity”

Pairings: Finrod (Findaráto) & Bëor

Prompts: “Unwilling Sacrifice" & "Ritual"

Rating: E

Themes: Dark    

Warnings: Human sacrifices | Bloodletting | Death 

Wordcount: 1.7K words

Summary: Bëor accompanies Finrod for the first sacrifice involving one of his own people.

Minors DNI | 18+ | Original image is from Unsplash

A/n: AU for Prosperity of Nargothrond and Bio for Faeldor, the headcanons and OC that came about because of this story, can be found here and here.  

“And this all came about by sheer happenstance, you say?” Bëor followed his elven friend as they walked deeper into the bowels of Nargothrond. He held his lamp aloft as they tread narrow, winding steps fashioned for the nimble feet of elves. “You did not know what would come to pass until the dwarf’s blood had seeped into the very roots of this city?”

“Indeed,” Findaráto said. He paid no heed to the shadows that took shape and danced along the walls and the engraved scenes that embellished them. They could not harm him or anyone else who was in his presence. “Three days after we performed the final rights, we struck good fortune and found veins of Mithril just beyond these very halls. I did not give it much thought, truly. Then, after a full turn of the moon, another dwarf was slain after he quarreled fiercely with one of his own and they came to blows. The one he quarreled with followed him not long after. The storm that plagued us for days and kept us confined behind the doors of the city died down, and our next battle with orcs succeeded even beyond our wildest imaginings.”

Bëor shivered when a cold breeze swept over the stairs toward them. He looked at the shadows. They reached out to him like thin, bony hands crawling out of the dark.

“Dwarves are diligent in their labors,” he said at length. “They can also be quite prideful and quick to anger.” Findaráto was not afraid, and he was determined not to, as well. He had little desire to show fear and disgrace himself in the presence of his companion. “I am not surprised to learn of those among their kindred quarreling and coming to dreadful blows even in a place like this.” The shadows slowly took other shapes. Bëor returned his thoughts to the present subject, thinking what he saw before were the figments of a ripe imagination, nothing more. “Did you become suspicious, my lord, after the third blessing?”

“I did,” Findaráto began, leading his companion through an open, arched doorway half again as tall as a Balrog. They stepped into a cavernous chamber with towering columns carved to look like ancient trees. Their leaves were edged with emeralds, and their flowers were gilded with gold. Bëor looked up at them, unable to comprehend the skill that went into their making. “And so did my council. But we could not put our assertion to the test by offering the blood of more dwarves. Their abrupt ends would have raised too many questions, and any plea for sacrifices would have caused us too many troubles. Besides, the dwarves are too faithful to the Great Smith; they would not agree to sacrifice their own in such a way. So, we decided to offer the living blood of orcs instead. They were unwilling sacrifices, to be sure, but it was better than us having to contend with the enraged Children of Aulë.”

“A wise choice, my lord, offering orcs instead of dwarves,” Bëor agreed, his curiosity aroused. His boots clicked as he walked over a floor hewn out of polished cavestone. “Pray tell me more about this being who demands blood in exchange for blessings. Will he reveal himself to me if you ask it of him?”

“Faeldor is a primordial being,” Findaráto revealed, halting. He turned to face the mortal, his eyes glinting with the light of one who had beheld the light of the Two Trees. “He was one of the many who emerged long before this world was even a dream in the thoughts of the one who wished to create it. But he does not appear to others unless he desires to, and I will not compel him to do so for you. The punishment that would fall upon our heads for such impertinence would be severe.”

Bëor nodded. “I understand all too well the consequences of angering those greater than myself.” His skin prickled. It was as if an unseen pair of eyes followed his every step. Nevertheless, he kept his gaze fixed on the elf ahead of him. He did not wish this divine being to take him as a coward. “Enough of such talk, my lord. Show me where the ritual will take place.”

Findaráto smiled and urged him to follow. They walked around the splendid columns, silent and respectful, until they reached a high altar in the center. It was hewn from the finest marble and adorned with ornate scrollwork of gold and silver inlay that created a mesmerizing display. Resting on top of it was a dagger crafted especially for such rituals, and beside it lay a young maiden garbed in robes of white. A golden circlet rested around her brow, and a crimson stripe ran around her eyes. It made her clear green eyes more vivid than before.

“Is she willing?” Findaráto whispered. “Does she do this with a free and willing heart?”

“She does, my lord.” Bëor gave his lamp for one of his attendants to take. He stepped over the candles arranged around the altar in a perfect circle and came to her. He rested his hand over hers. “Are you willing, my lady?”

“I am, my lord,” the maiden said without hesitation. She had prepared herself for this moment after Bëor spoke to his people about the bargain he struck with the elven lord of Nargothrond and the many promises made. The opportunity to engender the goodwill of the elves and, in turn, enjoy the same fabled prosperity they bathed in was not something they were ready to refuse. “I go to my death very willingly.” She looked at him with questioning eyes. “Will there be much pain?”

“There will be very little pain, my lady,” Findaráto promised. Edrahil came to him and relieved him of the lamp he carried. He returned to the others after that, for no one but his lord and the lord of the Edain could step over the circle of candles. “The dagger is sharp and the cut will be quick and clean. A moment is all that will take, then you will pass on to the world the One has prepared for your kind without torment.”

“Close your eyes, sweetling,” Bëor urged softly. He gave her hand a tender squeeze. “It will be over soon.”

She did as she was bid as elven and mortal attendants occupied themselves by lighting the candles. They were clothed in robes of white and crimson, and stripes of crimson paint ran around their eyes. It was a custom born after the first proper ritual, for it seemed the sight of them dressed in such a fashion pleased the divine being they offered living blood as a sacrifice. Findaráto joined Bëor within the circle, and the last candles were lit. He took the dagger left beside the maiden into his hands. Then he began to chant. 

It, too, was born after the first true sacrifice, a song that was both an invitation and a plea. It brought a sense of peace over those who had gathered and appeased the being that would soon feast upon the blood offered as tribute. Findaráto sang in the tongue of his kin, his voice seeping into the air the others breathed. They sang also, their voices forming an eerie and hypnotic spell full of power.

Bëor closed his eyes and swayed rhythmically, having discovered himself being swept away by silver and gold waves that pulled him further from the world of waking. He, too, began to sing, his voice joining the others in a sweet euphony that drew them into dreamlike states. They all raised their arms, imploring the one who watched over them to come to them, join them, and partake in the gift that would soon be offered.

Findaráto lifted the anointed blade into the air. He had acquired a taste for wielding it after bringing it down many times on many screaming orcs. There were no cries now, no animal-like shrieking that could have driven the most steadfast of minds to madness. All he heard was singing—the sweet singing of others, the worshipful singing of his own. With the Edain, he told himself, the elves would no longer have to endanger their lives seeking fresh offerings to ensure their continued wealth and protection. The trials of both kindreds were now at an end, and all it took was one chance meeting during a hunt.

“With the greatest humility,” he declared for all to hear, “we deliver this offering to you!”

The blade glittered even as it was dragged across a naked throat with skill and speed. Flesh parted around it with a soft, wet, tearing sound. Findaráto heard a strangled gasp, gurgled breaths, and the rattle of death spilling into the room. The sharp smell of copper followed it. He opened his eyes after taking a deep, steadying breath to compose himself, and drew back his blade.

“It is finished,” he pronounced and looked down on the maiden lying on the altar. Her cheeks and throat were now tainted with an ever-growing stain of deep red, and her eyes had clouded over like milk. Her final moment was near. “You have done so well, my lady,” he praised. “Our kindreds are forever grateful to you for your sacrifice. Go now. Be forever at peace.”

She smiled weakly and took her final breath even as her blood ceased to pulse out of her earthly vessel and into the little basin carved beneath the back of her neck. Her head rolled to the side after her soul departed her body.

“We must now leave,” Findaráto said. He cleaned his dagger with a square cloth of white silk he carried at his belt and returned it to its place by the maiden's side. “Faeldor prefers to sate himself without us bearing witness to it.”

“Is Lord Faeldor pleased with our offering? Will he agree to honor our agreement?” said Bëor. He trembled when, suddenly, a strange wind swept through the chamber and snuffed out the flames of the candles. The place abruptly grew darker because of it.  

“It will be honored,” Findaráto said. His head tilted to his left. It was as if he was listening to an unheard voice. “Now come. Our benefactor desires to feast. We must return to the chambers above us and feast also."

[kuroiyoungart]

In the bittersweet Halloween special, we have our little succubus tempting our mother, if you pay close attention to candy she says: "gay, gay, homoxessual, very lesbian!" in spicy's ear. UuU✨

[narumi-gens]

Mel’s Spooktober 31 for 31

October 20

16 for 31

Spooktober Bonus: Best Letterboxd Review

[pb-dot]

Spooktober Sunday Special: The Clockwork Monster Part II

Another Sunday, another Spooktober Special. In this installment, we learn a little more about what landed our intrepid hero, if he is not a victim, in his current predicament.

11.09.552? Recovered from Site A after the Incident. My captor’s absence has grown lengthy, and so I have taken the chance to spend a little time to collect my thoughts and regroup. I will still attempt to be brief, as I have no guarantees his absence will be lengthy. Luckily, the vertical coal chute that he uses to access this hidey-hole is a noisy old thing, and scuttling down it as he does makes ample noise of forewarning. I suppose he could always use the one door to my one-room prison, but considering how heavily it is barred, I severely doubt that’d take less time or make less noise.

I suppose I should start with how I got to wherever and whatever this is. It all started the afternoon of the day after my entry about contacting the Enforcers. I skipped lunch and headed for one of the beer halls they tend to hang out in. I did not relish the thought of seeking out one of those dark, noisy places, stinking of stale beer and violence, but it was the price I paid for getting the Enforcers involved, part of the price at any rate.

The first block of my journey went without incident, although I could still feel that strange tingle in my blood that someone, somewhere, was watching me. I hadn’t exactly tuned it out, but I was working my way to a state where I could, at least for the duration of my stroll, pretend that I was not worried. This all came to an end when I heard the second clang. The first time I heard the muted, yet unmistakably resonant sound of bronze on cobblestone, I assumed a workshop had left their doors open. It wasn’t that uncommon of a thing, the bane of floor managers everywhere. When I heard it again, though, a sliver of doubt twined with fear started digging into my mind. Had it sounded almost exactly as close as last time? That would mean the source of the sound was moving.

I upped my pace. Not into a run, of course, but a more brisk walk. Like a man who comes to remember he has pressing matters to attend to, or who catches a glimpse of one of the large shift clocks in the intersections between streets in the Foundry District and realizes his break grows short indeed. Much to my terror, the clanging seemed to pick up the pace, confirming what I feared. This clanging was from some sort of footstep. I didn’t want to imagine what sort of a being walked around in town with one armored boot, but it wasn’t really the kind of thing I could stop myself from. I tried a casual peak behind me, but what I saw did not assuage me.

In the crowds, rapidly thinning as the change of the hour meant the start of a new shift, I could see my pursuer, or rather, I could see his caped and cowled form. It would be considered gauche to walk around in such garb, so whatever else I could say about my pursuer, he was not vain. The thought of what he looked like to prefer the total anonymity of this disguise briefly crossed my mind, and I decided not to dwell on it as I again upped my pace, now being only a slight change of posture away from breaking into a jog.

The streets wouldn’t be empty enough for any footpad with at least an ounce of self-preservation to harm me right out in public. This wasn’t to say I was safe, though. In the rapid onset dark of early fall, it wouldn’t be too hard for an experienced throat-slitter to pull me into an alley with nary a one of the tired souls marching homewards after a long day of work even noticing. I’m a pretty strong man, but I didn’t like my odds if it came to such a gambit. A knife in the ribs cares little for the muscles of your chest and shoulders, after all.

My pursuer kept pace with me. Somehow, the ease with which he did so seemed unnatural to me, like he had merely accelerated rather than putting in more effort to match my speed. His gait was uneven, I spotted when first noticing him, but it did not seem to slow him down any. If anything, the foot he favored seemed to propel him forward faster than the other.

I thought I’d beat him to the next intersection, but it was difficult to be sure. With the blood pumping in my ears from stress and the exertion of the brief aerobic exercise, I could no longer hear the tell-tale ring of my pursuer’s steps, and I could not find the courage to turn my head again. He would be right there, I told myself as my body, entirely without my input, decided to prepare for a mad dash as soon as I could chose directions freely.

It was a desperate gambit, and ultimately a futile one. Something hard and cold closed around my neck, not a crushing pressure, but certainly enough to make me stop cold in my tracks.

I could hear him behind me now, his breath uneven but measured. I stood still, petrified by this new development. Whatever was latched around my neck pinched the skin, but otherwise didn’t harm me. I raised a hand to touch whatever it was, but a quick squeeze dissuaded me with haste.

“What do you want from me?” I asked, casting my eyes around in an attempt to sneak a glance at my attacker. It was no good, my phantom stalker remained in my blind zone, as silent as death. “Why aren’t you saying anything? What do you want?” I pleaded, but to no avail.

The contraption around my neck tugged at me, digging into the flesh of my neck with tiny prickling teeth. I took it as a command to move, and so I did start walking towards the little alley that my captor had apparently chosen for whatever fate awaited me.

“I don’t have much money,” I told him as I walked. “I have some scrip saved up, a stock or two I think? It’s not much but it’s yours if you let me go. Won’t even tell the enforcers or nothing.” I was admittedly getting desperate, but it got me nowhere. Once we were well into the alley, he threw the bag over my head. As of today, that’s the last time I saw natural light. I must end my narrative here, for I hear the shaking of the coal chute that heralds my captor’s arrival. I still don't understand what he wants with me, but if he wants to kill me, he’s had many a chance to do so.

[gatoinside]

Spooky Halloween!

[bbybearcubbs]

Due to unforseen circumstances the 2023 Spooktober Special has now been CANCELLED. I do strongly apologize.

⁀↘‿↗⁀↘‿↗⁀↘‿↗⁀↘‿↗⁀↘‿↗⁀

✧ ˚·₊•𝐶��𝑏𝑏𝑠' 2023 𝑆𝑝𝑜𝑜𝑘𝑡𝑜𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝑆𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑙•˚·₊✧

𝑊𝑒𝑙𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝐺ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐺ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝐶𝑢𝑏𝑏𝑠' 𝑺𝒑𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒕𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝑺𝒑𝒆𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍!! 𝐵𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑙𝑙 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑆𝑝𝑜𝑜𝑘𝑦, 𝐻𝑜𝑙𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝐻𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑟𝑠!! 𝐴 𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼'𝑣𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑐𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑯𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏🎃 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑒𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚 𝑎𝑠 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑎𝑠 𝐼 𝑒𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚!!

[ Networks: @kflixnet @k-films @k-labels ]

⚠️𝕎𝔸ℝℕ𝕀ℕ𝔾⚠️ - Majority of these stories contain graphic depictions of Blood, Death, Murder, Psychological Torture, Betrayal, Gore and Angst.

⚠Proceed with caution⚠

╭───────ೋ 🕸️ 🎃 🕸️ ೋ───────╮

【 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 】

✰ It Was Never Meant To Be - K.Sunoo | 6/10

✰ We Trusted You - Skz OT8 | 7/10

【 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 】

✰ [To Be Added] - Skz Member | 13/10

✰ [To Be Added] - TxT OT5 | 14/10

【 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 】

✰ [To Be Added] - TxT Member | 20/10

✰ [To Be Added] - BND OT6 | 21/10

【 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 】

✰ [To Be Added] - BND Member | 27/10

✰ [To Be Added] - Enhypen OT7 | 28/10

【 BONUS 】

𖤐 [To Be Added] - Group | 30/10

╰───────ೋ 🕸️ 🎃 🕸️ ೋ───────╯

[ Taglist ] 🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤

@myboyfriendjake @afelia-123 @wonillaa @jinhyun

[stevebuscemieyes]

The Simpsons: Treehouse Of Horror VI

Nightmare On Evergreen Terrace

October 29 1995

[duranduratulsa]

GHOST TOWN

Spooktober Duran Duran song 🎵 of the day: Ghost 👻 Town (2023) from Danse Macabre #duranduran #ghosttown #dansemacabre #thespecials #SimonLeBon #nickrhodes #johntaylor #rogertaylor #rogertaylorduranduran #andytaylor #2020s #spooktober #halloween #october