#spooky-courthouse

[drbackseat]

[littlesmartart]

DRAWTOBER #31 - A Turnabout Carol by poodlepunk

While working late in the courthouse on Christmas Eve, Miles Edgeworth is visited by three ghosts.

the final fic of drawtober combines spooky and goofy in a way that only A Christmas Carol can, and this time it's edgeworth experiencing the three ghosts on christmas eve! can they convince him to own up to his shortcomings and embrace his feelings before it's too late to repair his relationships??

[boxeom]

• When Judgement Day Comes •

🌻[The Failure of Truth and the Success of Lies]🌻

Synopsis: Hiromi gets yet another guilty verdict, but luckily, you are there to pick up his stray pieces.

Contains: Higuruma Hiromi/gn!reader, heavy angst, hurt comfort, a lil spooky (:3), (cw.) heavy intrusive thoughts, (cw.) suicidal ideation, (cw.) heavy dissociation, non-sexual intimacy, acts of service, bird facts (it's symbolism, I promise/I also just know way too much about birds and must share my knowledge), disgusting amounts of soft and emotional fluff.

Wc. 5k+

[Message from the Box]: Uhhhh…first time actually posting my writing. A bit nervous. I have literally been writing so much stuff in my personal life and have literally finished stories I've just been a wee scared to post so they've just been sitting in my drive for like…three years??? Maybe there will be more to come if I actually hype myself up enough- I'm proud of my writings, I think I'm an okay writer (I think), but posting them always makes me feel urrg. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it! (IF YOU SAW THE UNCOMPLETED VERSION OF THIS, NO YOU DIDN'T. 🫵🏽)

-Boxe in the Box

Hiromi's eyes peel open slowly to meet the dark roof of his car. He blinks a few times, head lifting from his headrest to stare ahead at the dark and practically empty parking lot just outside the courthouse. The sun was up when he had gotten into his car- how long was he sitting here? A nearby lamppost flickers. Harsh pale yellow light flashes in rapid patterns- straining Hiromi's eyes and painting his skin ghostly white for only mere seconds before plunging him back into shadow. Hiromi chuckles without a hint of amusement. Those really were the only two sides of the coin, weren't they? The head is too bright- too harsh, it leaves you squinting in wait to adjust- to have to eventually hope that you can one day comfortably live in the exposure the light paints you in. Meanwhile, the tail is too dark to even tell whether or not you are conscious as everything passes by right in front of you- leaving you to blindly stumble your way through uncertainty. You can flip that coin as much as you want. But was the hope for heads every time really worth it? Was this worth it?

Was life worth it?

The intrusively dark thought comes creeping its way out unexpectedly- forcing Hiromi to look it right in the face and come to terms with his subconscious questioning the idea of living. It isn't new, not at all. Hiromi has always had thoughts like that, but he's never given them his attention in favor of pursuing his passion to redeem the world of justice and honor. Right now, though? Hiromi finds himself not countering this consideration of life with his usual optimism. He's too tired. He's so tired. Hiromi takes a deep breath and slightly shakes his head, starting his car, flicking on his lights, and leaving that damned parking lot he's had too many moments of defeat in. He doesn't see the dark figure flickering in and out of existence just beneath the light of that lamppost in his rearview mirror watching his retreat- nor does he see the bulb begin to surge with power, shining too brightly until it shatters with an unheard pop! and litters glass onto the asphalt below. He doesn't see that whatever had been watching him was now gone.

•••

Driving has always been something that Hiromi has come to appreciate. Despite the unfortunate impact careening around in a highly flammable steel box at speeds humans were not meant to move at pouring gray smog into the air from every hole had on the environment, Hiromi finds himself comfortable in the mindless routine of turning the steering wheel, pressing or easing off the acceleration or brake, using the appropriate signals when it was time to use them, and everything else that came with such a common act. His windows are down- wind whipping in his ears and face as he naturally drives the speed limit right at its number, blank eyes staring ahead and occasionally glancing to the left or right. Today, though, something is...different.

He finds himself disassociating from the world around him- from the other cars sharing the road and forgetting that living, breathing people reside inside them. He wonders what would happen if he just pivoted into the black Mercedes Benz he saw littering a styrofoam cup full of cigarette butts a couple miles back. He wonders what would happen if he got on the ass of the rundown truck blaring bass and shit with its driver who blatantly has his eyes glued to his phone. Hiromi can feel the upper half of his dress shoe continue to press down on the acceleration, his vehicle revving along with the action as if to egg him on to go faster. He finds himself not caring when he cuts someone off or doesn't use his turning signal. His chest feels positively hollow. Just like before, he doesn't see the dark figure lounging in his backseat just behind him.

It's like he snaps awake when he finds himself in the elevator of his penthouse, the default cheery tune of elevator music making his clear exhaustion look almost comical in the mirrors paneled to the walls surrounding him. His heavy eyes blink. Hiromi's head swivels to the wall to his right suddenly- eyebrows drawn together in puzzlement. He could have sworn, in the corner of his eye, someone was just with him in the elevator. There had been a flash of long black hair and uncomfortably pale skin, donned in a dark robe of some kind. Before he can give what he just saw much thought, the elevator dings and the steel doors slide open. Hiromi blinks a few times and lightly shakes his head. He lifts his free hand, pinching the bridge of his nose before his palm drags down the rest of his face and he sighs deeply while leaving the elevator. Hiromi's shoulders slouch and his feet are heavy against the floor below him. He slips off his shoes, toeing them in the corner before stepping further into his home.

"Hiromi?"

And just like that, the lead in his muscles and fatigue weighing him down just melts away as you peek around the corner to meet his eyes. You meet him halfway. It doesn't go unnoticed by Hiromi how your eyes look him up and down in clear concern and what he really thinks is pity. "...Guilty again, huh?" He doesn't even need to explain it to you anymore. Hiromi feels every single ounce of negativity cursing his mind, body, and soul simply disappear as he steps into your open and warm embrace. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him flush against your body as a hand cradles the back of his head and welcomes his heaviness. Hiromi's forehead drops to your shoulder and his eyes slide close in relief to be with you. "I made dinner. Hungry?" He shakes his head to decline your offer. There's a moment of guilt in the pit of his stomach that he selfishly turns down your effort in caring for him, but that feeling is soon washed away as you nod instantly. You understood. You always understood. "C'mon," you give a soft kiss to his temple, "let's get this suit off."

With your hand in his, you lead Hiromi into your shared bedroom and take his suitcase to put aside on his desk. You sit Hiromi down on the edge of your bed gently and go about grabbing some more comfortable clothes for him to wear. Hiromi watches you with the softest gaze as you return to him, setting a fresh pair of boxers and one of his old college shirts beside him. You start loosening his tie, “Wanna get washed off? We can lay down afterwards.”

“Yes, please."

“Want me to join?”

Hiromi's heart swells to a point where his chest aches. He leans forward into you, head resting on your chest to listen to your steady heartbeat as he hugs your waist and draws you close between his legs. He just needs a moment to take you in- to feel you in his arms. You let him, return his embrace without question. His heavy eyes close slowly.

He's home.

•••

Hiromi lets out a long sigh as he sinks into the hot embrace of the lavender scented water filling the master bathroom’s spacious tub, resting his arms along the porcelain edges. His eyes peel open when you pass by- pulling your shirt up over your head and tossing it into the wicker laundry bin against the wall. He tilts his head, taking you in from head to toe as you slip your shorts down your legs. Hiromi’s eyebrows knit slightly.

“Where'd you get that bruise from?” He asks in concern, sitting up and reaching out for you- palm smoothing along the back of your bare thigh where a large, dark bruise welts against your skin. “Hm?” You peer over your shoulder at Hiromi with a frown of surprise, “I have a bruise?” “Yeah- it looks horrible. Did this happen recently?” “Oh, right,” Hiromi’s thumb gently rubs small circles against your flesh as you chuckle sheepishly, “I slipped and fell while running late to a meeting the other day, but it didn't hurt or anything.” Hiromi lets out an exasperated sigh, “How do you always manage to hurt yourself? Please be more careful, you have enough scars and bruises as it is.”

You raise your hands in playful surrender as you step into the bath, “I know, I know, I'm sorry.” Hiromi just shakes his head with a smile and welcomes your body against his when you join him within the water. You hum out in satisfaction, your back pressed to Hiromi's chest- your skin warm and pleasant flushed to his. Hiromi noses at the crook of your neck before leaving a fond trail of kisses down the gentle slope. Your hand reaches back as you tilt your head to give him more room, fingers threading through Hiromi's dark hair and scratching his scalp just the way he likes as his lips linger on the scar that curls at your left shoulder. Hiromi closes his eyes and wraps his arms around your waist to pull you closer still. “How was your day?” He asks against your skin. “You don't want to talk about yours?” You shift slightly in his arms to peer at him where his chin is tucked into your shoulder. “No,” Hiromi tilts his head to gently bump yours, your temples resting against each other's, “I just want to hear about you.”

You don't respond, but Hiromi can feel the way your cheek rises just a bit with your smile.

The next thirty minutes or so are filled with you telling Hiromi how you've spent your uneventful but peaceful day off (“boring is best”, you always say) as the two of you bathe together. It's a routine that you're both familiar with- one that Hiromi holds very dear (and he knows you do as well). You always insist on washing him first, working soap against his skin with a delicate touch and melting away the stress and tension of his day. When it's your turn, Hiromi is never not thorough. He finds it oddly relaxing- cleaning another person's body for them (though, he'd never done such intimate acts with anyone before meeting you so maybe he finds it so comforting because it's you).

His favorite part, though, is when you coax him to rest back into your chest and wash his hair. Tonight is no different.

Your hands do wonders. How you aren't the most famous massage therapist in the world, Hiromi has no idea (but he's more than happy to keep your talents for himself, anyways). Your fingers work through his hair with a touch that could rival that of an angel's. The clean and woodsy smell of Hiromi's shampoo fills the air as you knead his sensitive scalp, the heavenly combination nearly causing him to doze off in the water the two of you sit in. Hiromi's head lulls whichever direction your hands work in and his eyes have long since fluttered shut at the sound of your voice very seriously recounting a nature documentary you'd been absolutely appalled by earlier this evening.

"-and the mother bird won't realize that she's been taking care of a baby that isn't hers! The cuckoo hatches along with her babies and she'll feed them all, but the thing is that the cuckoo is much larger than the others so the mother will focus on feeding them more than her own." You tell him, disturbed by the information you've learned, "The other babies will either starve to death because they aren't getting enough food or be pushed out of the nest by the cuckoo because it needs more room. It's called...oh, what was it?"

"Parasitic brooding..." Hiromi finishes for you, having remembered seeing the term in a book he'd read once.

"Parasitic brooding! That's it!" You frown deeply, "It was really...sad. I know it's just nature, the cuckoo is just doing what its instinct is, but still...I can't help but feel bad for all the birds involved. The baby cuckoo especially."

"The baby cuckoo? How come?"

"...I'm not sure. It's just...the idea of a baby that's planted into a family it's meant to destroy without even knowing..." You trail off long enough for Hiromi's eyes to open and tilt his head back against your chest to see your face. "...It's a scary thought." He correctly words your feelings aloud. "Very." You agree solemnly, absentmindedly shaping Hiromi's hair into spikes. It's a bit surprising to him- how affected you seem by this concept. He's sure there's something there, something complex within you he's yet to uncover. Your relationship was founded and built on patience and trust- both of your backgrounds are complicated enough to have shaped who you are today significantly. And you've both mutually confided in one another about your pasts with time.

Hiromi knows there is still more about your life before him that you haven't told him about. However, he would never dream of trying to push that information out of you. Whatever it is, whenever you are ready to tell him about it, he'll be there for you the whole way. It's a silent promise he'd made to you early on into your friendship that he has no intention of breaking now after three years of being together.

He slowly sits up, turning in the water to face you and cup your face in his wet hand. You lean into his touch with an apologetic and sheepish smile. "Sorry...I was getting too into my head."

"You have nothing to apologize for."

"But I'm supposed to be taking care of you today, not the other way around."

"We can take care of each other at the same time, you know." Hiromi reasons, his response being a trill of your lips and a playfully dismissive wave. "Impossible."

With a shake of his head, he kisses your forehead and chuckles against your skin as you snicker along with him. When he leans back, you're beaming up at Hiromi with a smile that will never fail to make the rest of the world just disappear. He breathes your name. "I love you." "I love you, too."

"Keep telling me about the documentary. What else did it talk about?"

"Oh! Did you know that there are families of lesbian lizards?"

•••

Hiromi climbs into bed beside you, letting out the hundredth sigh of the day when he flops face first into the sanctuary of his fluffy pillow. He hears you snicker and coo with sympathy to the side and he can't help but smile. You pull the cool duvet over him before settling in, your hand resting on the nape of his neck and absentmindedly playing with the short dark tufts of hair there. Hiromi turns his head to meet your eyes. The two of you simply stare at each other for a moment. His mind wanders back to the failure of his day- to the look of pure contempt on his client's face when the verdict was given. Will the next time be the same? And the time after that? What about the inevitable case he'd take a year from now? Will he ever make a difference? Is he the kind of person that can even make a difference...?

"What're you thinking about, Hiro?"

“...Do you think I'll ever change anything?”

Your expression is hard for Hiromi to read, even after these years of being with you, but he can see the sympathy in your eyes. There's something else he catches just in the subtle downturn of your thoughtful frown. It's complicated and deep and almost devastating. It's like you've heard these words or asked yourself the same question before, but in a way Hiromi can't seem to grasp. Your palm glides to cup his cheek, thumb stroking the corner of his eye rhythmically. Before he can think any further on it though, the brief glaze to your stare disappears to something he can actually recognize. Love.

“I do.”

There isn't a hint of doubt in your whisper. You continue;

“You are…a righteous, beautiful, and passionate soul with the mind to accomplish anything and everything you want. You're always learning, always watching, always adapting. And I wish- every single day- I wish I could be even half as strong as you are. You're unshakeable, Hiromi.”

Hiromi has never been a very outwardly emotional man. It takes a lot for his heart to bare itself so clearly. Even so, you are easily able to sway him as if it was as simple as breathing- like he is a book with its pages ready and waiting to be read and analyzed by your eyes and your eyes alone. It's a terrifying and exhilarating experience. To be seen, known, and cherished.

“You won't just change anything, Hiromi.” You smile so softly, finger brushing away the tear Hiromi hadn't noticed was falling until your touch. He lifts his hand to cover your own and weaves your fingers together. “You'll change everything. I know it.”

“...How?” His voice is so quiet, he almost doesn't hear it himself…but you hear him.

“Because you're Higuruma Hiromi. And I love you.”

There's such a serene silence that falls between the two of you, Hiromi almost feels like he's caught in a dream. Your skin is painted by the loving strokes of the rising moon’s brush- your eyes sparkle brighter than any mere shooting star that's ever streaked across the night sky. You're ethereal. Hiromi has to question- has to wonder what it is he did in his past lives to have earned the grace that is you. What he does know, though, is that you're here. With him.

And that is more than enough.

The shadows of your and Hiromi's bedroom shift, something darker than the black blanket of night slinking silently across the ceiling. It moves slowly and deliberately- spindly and twisted limbs like the branches of a dying tree moving the bulbous, swollen trunk they are attached to. The damnable thing crawls down the wall the headboard of the bed presses against, making its way closest to Hiromi's side. Its pencil thin neck stretches and cranes with the accompanied sound of crackles and pops (as if stretching bones it does not possess), two wide bloodshot eyes that are much too human yet far too large leer unblinkingly down at the soundly sleeping man just within its reach. Its face holds no features- just a silhouette of a head that is too small compared to its sac-like body. It's like a child's rendition of a giant spider they saw in their nightmares has peeled off paper and grew the size of a car. It stares, drinking in the face of the human who's woe it bore from. His desperation, his sorrow, his guilt, his regrets- all a delectable ambrosia that fills its fat gut. But it is not enough.

There's a soft, almost undetectable sound from it. Like the slow inhale of a dying man that draws on and on and on and on and on, hollow and wheezing and infinite. The space where its mouth should be begins to fall cartoonishly from the upper half of its face, a cacophony of ripping tendons and snapping cartilage growing more and more frequent the more its gaping maw yawns open. It draws closer to Hiromi, jaw unhinging and stretching to the size of Hiromi's upper torso.

Closer. Closer. Closer. Closer.

Creak.

The creature's mouth snaps closed, head shooting up to the sudden sound of something just barely moving to the right. Its wide eyes widen further when it meets the subtly glowing gaze of you. You stare into its very core- shaking the foundation of its being. Your expression is void, yet the unbridled wrath storming in your eyes and lashing through your energy strikes something into the newborn curse. Something so horrible, it cannot truly comprehend how or why you make it feel.

It feels fear.

The curse is fleeing before it realizes, scattering with uncanny speed across the floor and heading straight towards the glass doors leading to the connecting balcony. It crashes through the glass, pieces digging into its fleshy body but it is undeterred. Gnarly fingers wrap around the railing as it heaves its body up, ready to jump over the edge and escape into the night. It watches as its own body suddenly hurdles over the edge of the railing unceremoniously- plunging silently over the edge and disappearing. Its eyes shake as it slowly peers to the side.

"The next time you are born," your voice is soft and even as your fist tightens around its severed neck with a strength that has the curse's eyes about to pop out of its head, your free hand resting over its face, "make sure it isn't by him."

There's a sick, wet, tearing sound- purple residue spraying across the floor of the balcony as you reduce the curse’s head into a ball of meat, raw cursed energy rushing through both parts of its body before exploding in a display of churning blue flame. Any evidence of its existence is instantly eradicated. You look back just as Hiromi is startled awake from the shattering glass, snapping your fingers as the ruined glass door flashes and is fixed in the blink of an eye. Hiromi bolts upright and his head snaps to where you're re-entering the bedroom. "Sorry," you whisper, "did I wake you?"

"Wh-What the hell was that?!" Hiromi asks in panic, eyes flickering around your bedroom to find whatever it was that had awoken him. Guilt picks at your bones as you tilt your head and furrow your brow in feigned confusion. "What was what?" Your boyfriend stares at you like he's trying to decide if he's gone crazy or if you've gone crazy. "Th-That...that sound! It sounded like glass was breaking!" "...Glass? I didn't hear anything, Hiro."

Hiromi blinks a few times, processing your words- his mind running. You can see him thinking. You know that he definitely knows he didn't dream that up, but your reaction clearly makes him question himself. “You're stressed, baby. It was probably just a nightmare.” To ease (and distract) him, you move back into bed, your hand gently cupping his face to turn Hiromi towards you and meet him in a soft kiss. He relaxes with a slow exhale through his nose- you can feel his rapid heart beat calming where you rest your hand over his chest. “C’mere, let's go back to sleep, hm?” You murmur when you pull away, your answer a quiet nod. Hiromi moves with you- your hands gently holding his shoulders to guide him to rest on top of you.

Hiromi sighs as he lays his head on your chest, your fingers threading through his hair and running through his hair to tempt his eyes to fall closed. It's not long until you feel Hiromi's breathing slowly even out like it always does when he sleeps. You glance to the balcony door, releasing your hold on the illusion to assess the damage. There's a giant hole punched right through the now ruined glass door, pieces scattered across the ground (but luckily it's far enough that Hiromi won't accidentally step on the pieces when he wakes up tomorrow). You inwardly groan before setting the false image back into place and shut your eyes.

You'll need to get that fixed tomorrow.

[volvolts]

honestly i just wanna ramble about the wittebane brother legends in the human world (also tw: brief mention of suicide during the theories)

the brothers' disappearances was the talk of the town for years during their time. it became embellished gossip to a cautionary tale about doing what you're told to a scary folk tale that was kept alive through word of mouth in gravesfield

no one even knew they were real people until someone found documents found in the old courthouse that mentions a philip wittebane and his brother caleb. these were found in the 1960s

years later someone also found a diary owned by philip hidden in the floorboards of the old house during a renovation

from what the people could decipher from the old writing, this diary details his life after caleb's disappearance as well as some drawings of the brothers and evelyn

this sparked the brothers' legend anew now that they can put names to faces

philip's diary is in the gravesfield historical society but kept in the archives until halloween time since that was when the brothers' legend was most popular

to honor the legend, the town erected a statue of the brothers in the 70s. they also added tombstones of caleb and philip in the old cemetery with their estimated birthdates but not death dates

there are two theories about what "really" happened to brothers (mention of suicide in next two bullet points)

theory one: philip killed caleb over a girl and lied that he was taken by a witch to cover his tracks. years later, he walked into the river after the guilt became too much (often debunked as in philip's diary, he speaks fondly of his brother and is clearly grief stricken about caleb's disappearance. after all why would someone who loves his brother so much kill him in cold blood?)

theory two: caleb eloped with a girl and left his brother and the settlement behind to start a new life. philip, after years of denial, drowned himself in the river once he realized his only family abandoned him

people often assumed philip died by drowning because his last written words were about checking the waters "one last time."

however the "spooky" aspect of the tale is that philip's and caleb's bodies were never found and so their disappearance remains unsolved

[kristen-chin]

It's Spooky Tabletop Games Time!!

Hello all - it is September 1st which means....

It is Spooky Season (or at least the beginning of Spooky Season) so in advance of the pumpkin carving and the Halloween-ness of the occasion - I want to shoutout this tabletop games bundle

For $20 you can experience a wide range of supernatural themed tabletop experiences like ....

Hell Holes - where you golf through hell

Pie-lent Hill - where you, an unfortunate pizza deliveryperson, are stuck delivering pizza in mental purgatory

Unhaunt This House - where you and your group of ghost-busting oddballs go into distorted buildings and figure out what went wrong (anything can be haunted - courthouses, aquariums etc.)

Alongside these are an assortment of cool systems and adventures featuring spooky theatres, haunted music, selkies and so forth - it's eclectic mix but I am sure there's something for everyone - check out the link here !!

[ignisgayentia]

happy pride y'all! world's (still) a bit fucked but I'm hoping there's at least a tiny bit of good we can hang onto!

I'm celebrating with some exciting news!!! I'M ENGAGED!!!! it's so wild to think that meeting one of my favorite artists would eventually lead to marrying him. I couldn't ask for a more caring, thoughtful, sweet, and funny partner and I'm soooo excited to spend the rest of our lives continuing the home we've built together 😭 we've been so close, together for four years, so an engagement doesn't really Change anything, but allow me to be a cheeseball during pride month at least 🤣

We're a little nontraditional in a marriage sense, so we're just getting courthouse married in October (yes, because of spooky month LMAO). We also are nontraditional in terms of rings, so we chose some matching custom engagement rings, can't wait to show them off when they get here! I was agonizing for at least a year trying to decide how to propose 😭 and it eventually just happened with both of us kinda going, 'hey would you wanna get married?' lol 😭 I couldn't ask for anything more. tho I will do a cheesy proposal once those rings come in 👌

Anyway, I can't fuckin wait to marry my best friend @ldefix I LOVE U

[url-is-url]

Okay so in the US, at least where I've lived, courthouses are for the whole county and they're located in the county seat.

I want a courtroom drama set in/around Amity Park. Imagine the shenanigans.

Option A: Amity Park is the county seat. Out of towners have to deal with ghost fights closing the courthouse. You show up to fight a traffic ticket and the guy in front of you argues that he HAD to make that illegal left turn to avoid somebody named Johnny 13's magical bad luck aura AND THE JUDGE IS TAKING HIM SERIOUSLY?! You're convicted of a crime and two weeks into your sentence, your lawyer informs you that you get a free appeal because the judge was possessed by a ghost while sentencing you. When you go do your appeal, there’s a scary glowing guy in a pinstripe suit with a skull face, and the bailiff informs you that the spooky guy is the ghost bailiff, to prevent any more possessed judges. You're a defense attorney and you think you have a rock solid case for why your client didn't murder that person, and then THE VICTIM'S GHOST is called to testify. You just want to schedule a custody hearing but a ghost is suing their own grandchild for not adhering to their will.

Option B: Amity Park is not the county seat. You're a judge in a medium-large town and you have a very normal boring caseload, unless anybody involved is from Amity Park, then you ask your secretary for an extra pot of coffee. Defense attorneys argue that actually their client was possessed by a ghost and cannot be held responsible for a crime someone else committed using their body. Prosecuting attorneys perform seances when their witnesses are called to testify. The lawyers glow a little when they get really into it. Jury selection is a nightmare, because can people from Amity Park really count as "peers" in the sense of "jury of your peers" to everybody else? An orphaned child and their dead single parent are both insisting to you that the parent can still, well, parent despite being dead. If the spooky guy with the skull face shows up you break into the secret alcohol stash, because you need a drink to get through whatever case requires a ghost bailiff.

Tbh the presence of Phantom and Walker could lead to some interesting cultural differences around law enforcement. Amity Park might be the one city in America where the cops aren't bastards, because Phantom and Walker can and will kick their asses for the slightest abuse of power, and if that doesn't work Phantom's goth friend has enough money to eviscerate the police in court.

[bullet-prooflove]

Hallmark!Series Part Six: Compromise: Mike Duarte x Reader

Tagging: @resonmalvo @@littleone65 @thesandbeneathmytoes @mydarkestsecretlol @evee87 @wooshwastaken @hearthockey @justreblogginfics @rosaliedepp @thatesqcrush @storiesofsvu @whateversomethingbruh @burningpeachpuppy @legit9thlunaticwarrior @kiwiithecrazybird @spooky-pomegranate @telepathay @weiwei0210 @spaghettificationandpretzels @plaidbooks @misscharlielulu @witches-unruly-heart @magic-multicolored-miracle @cycat4077 @deekaag @cixrosie @upsteadlogic @imaginecrushes @anime-weeb-4-life @hey-dw @alwaysachorusgirl @telepathay @nu1freakshow

Hallmark (feat: Mike Duarte) - Joe watches you fall in love with another man.

Be With Me (feat: Mike Duarte) - Joe tells you how he feels.

Placeholder (feat: Mike Duarte) ��- Mike fears he’s a placeholder.

Think About It (feat: Mike Duarte) - Joe recalls what happened the night of Fin's engagement party.

Positive - Mike finds out about what happened between you and Joe.

You’re five months pregnant when Mike next lays eyes on you. You look radiant, your skin is glowing, and you have a small baby bump that your palm rests on as you order a decaf tea from the coffee kiosk by the courthouse. It’s a sign that you’re taking your pregnancy seriously because he’s never known you to drink a decaf anything.

“Let me get that.” Mike says handing over a folded bill after he submits his own order.

He’s coming off an overnight stakeout, running on fumes. There’s a bail hearing you’re both attending in an hour, and he hasn’t had time to run home. He wished he’d at least taken the time to shave before travelling over to Manhattan.

“Can we talk?” He asks you, handing you your drink before gesturing towards the bench opposite the kiosk.

“You did buy me a drink, so I figure I owe you a couple of minutes.” You say with a small smile.

You take a seat alongside of Mike, your hip bumping lightly against his. You miss being in his proximity, the security that comes with being in his presence. You miss him. His smile, his laugh, the way he used to touch you like you were the most precious thing in his world.

“How’s the baby?” He asks you, his thumb playing over the lid of his takeaway cup.

“She is happy and healthy.” You say placing a hand upon your bump. “She’s started kicking recently so that’s fun at three in the morning.”

“You’re having a girl.” Mike says, his lips pursed together into a firm line. “Velasco must be happy.”

“He is and he isn’t.” You say softly, you palm smoothing over your stomach. “I think he thought that once you were out of the picture we’d get together and play happy families…”

“It didn’t work out that way?” Mike asks, taking a sip from his coffee.

“I don’t love him.” You say, cradling your drink to your chest. “Not the way he wants me too. We’ve decided to co-parent instead.”

“How is that going to work?” Mike says, his thumb skimming over the ridges of the cardboard cup.

“We’re still figuring things out.” You tell Mike, with a sigh. “He wants to be involved as much as possible and he has a right to that.”

“But…” Mike prompts because this man knows you better than anyone else, he can sense there’s something else, it sits just bennet the surface of the conversation.

“I draw the line at letting him move in when the baby comes.” You tell Mike. “He read on a website it’s the best thing to do if both parents are amicable.”

Mike laughs bitterly, tilting his head up towards the sky.

“Of course, he did.”

“He’s not wrong.” You explain. “It is recommended for the first few months so that the father has the same opportunity to bond with the baby. I just didn’t envision that I’d end up with a baby and a roommate.”

There’s silence between the two of you before Mike swallows hard against the ache in his chest.

“We really fucked things up, didn’t we?” He says with a mirthless smile.

“No, I did.” You correct him, popping the plastic lid off your cup. “I was insecure, I heard a rumour you were seeing someone else; I should have come to you about it, I was going to, but you got that call out…”

It’s not an excuse, you know it isn’t. You had been hurt at the time because you’d thought things between the two of you were getting serious, only to find out he was supposedly fucking someone else. Then Joe had looked into your eyes, someone who wanted you unconditionally and you’d ended up fucking him in the bathroom, conceiving his baby.

“You know it’s been three months, and I still can’t get you out of my head.” Mike says quietly, toying with his empty cup. “I still love you, I’m still in love with you…I know it’s complicated, that I told you I didn’t want children but she’s your daughter, she’s a part of you and I know if we decide to give this another shot, I will love her like she’s my own.”

“What about Joe?” You ask him, tilting your head so that you can study the profile of his face. “He’s her father, he’s going to be in our lives. If you want us to move forward, you need to get on board with that. I can’t have any animosity around the baby, she’ll pick up on it.”

“I will find a way to make peace.” Mike says, his voice tight because when he thinks about Velasco’s hands on you, he still wants to murder the other man.

“It’s going to be a lot of compromising and it’s not just us anymore. Are you sure this is what you want?” You ask him softly.

Mike reaches over and takes your hand. His thumb traces over your ring finger and he smiles to himself because this isn’t the way he saw the relationship going but the two of you are anything but conventional.

“I love you.” He tells you. “It doesn’t get much simpler than that.”

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[yougotthat-write]

Oui(ji) Had One Hell of a Party (Rafael Barba x Reader)

Word Count: 2,758

Warnings: Ouiji board, spirits, demons, language, alcohol consumption, dumb costumes for all yo faves lmao 

Summary: You and Rafael host a Halloween party and it takes a demonic turn.

Author’s Note: This was started probably almost 3 years ago (big oof). I've lost the writing bug so I'm posting what was written and promptly unfinished, lol. Apologies but I still hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3 here!

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Rafael Barba wouldn’t call himself a superstitious person.

He didn’t believe in ghouls, ghosts, and monsters in the typical way that small children would. He was an A.D.A. for Manhattan so he obviously came across fellow humans who did gruesome and unforgivable things, but when you had pulled out that stupid ten dollar Ouiji board that you had bought at the stupid Halloween store, Rafael may had sent a quick prayer up to whichever Lord was occupying the skies above him at that very moment. 

His Catholic upbringing was trying to pound its way out of him and it made him down the rest of his scotch in one swallow before stepping over to his bar area to pour himself another drink. The low hum of your Halloween playlist mixed with the chatter of Rafael’s friends from the courthouse and your friends from the 16th precinct.

You sat on your living room floor, hunched over your coffee table, setting up the toy that would allow you to talk to those who had passed on. Sonny shifted on his feet as he stood next to Rafael. Remembering that Sonny was raised very Catholic as well, Rafael figured that this was making Sonny feel stupid for being uncomfortable with a children’s toy just as much as him.

The sound of your hands connecting together in a singular clap made Rafael’s grip tighten around his glass. He looked over at you and saw the “spooky” smile you were trying to give to everyone. The party had died down in the past couple of hours. Olivia Benson and Nick Amaro had gone home because of their kids. Fin Tutuola had gone home because “Halloween is whack! I don’t even like candy.” The rest of the guests had filed out after them in the passing hours.

Now, Sonny Carisi, Amanda Rollins, Rita Calhoun, and Trevor Langan were scattered around the living room. Sonny was next to Rafael, both of the boys standing farthest away from the direct line to demons. Sonny started to get so nervous that his fake mustache for his Sonny Bono costume wouldn’t stick to his upper lip. His counterpart and designated Cher was Amanda. She sat on the floor on the opposite side of you at the coffee table. She held the planchette in her hand, looking at the object with a smirk. Her long brunette wig was tossed to the side next to her.

Rita Calhoun downed another orange Jell-O shot before falling back onto the couch behind Amanda with a sigh. She pulled her long and obnoxious Devil tail from under her and held it in her fingers as she watched you read the directions for the Ouija board. Her Devil horns were slightly crooked on her head but she didn’t seem to notice or care.

Trevor Langan had ditched his obnoxious black cape twenty minutes into the party. He ditched the phony plastic fangs even sooner. His hair was quaffed upwards and if it wasn’t for the dark liner around his eyes and the fake blood on the corner of his mouth, he would look like he was ready for a day at work with his dress shirt, black slacks, and polished shoes.

Rafael would be lying if he said that he didn’t feel a bit authoritative in his twenty dollar policeman costume, but he mainly did it to see the annoyed reactions of the 16th precinct detectives. Fin Tutuola had quipped, “Your badge is so cute and tiny, Barba. You got a fake gun too?” Nick Amaro had rolled his eyes so hard at the fellow Latino man that you thought they would roll right out of his pretty little head. Despite you being a fellow 16th precinct detective, you happily supported your boyfriend with finding the policeman outfit that fit his body in all the right places.

Trevor had rolled his eyes when you suggested pulling out the Ouija board but didn’t outwardly object to it like Sonny had. Trevor made his way over to Rafael and Sonny, grabbing a deep red Jell-O shot. He shot it back and then chuckled at Sonny’s uneasy face. But Trevor didn’t miss the uneasiness that was coming from Rafael.

“Scared boys?” The defense lawyer asked with a grin. Sonny scowled over at Langan.

“Shut up,” Sonny muttered. Feeling hot, Sonny pulled the brunette wig off his head. “I just don’t think we should mess with Lucifer and his minions.” Sonny’s Adam apple bobbed. “If Ma finds out about this, she’ll have the church exorcize me.”

Trevor stifled his snort with his hand. “It’s a kids game, Carisi. The box says ages six and up.”

Sonny grumbled under his breath before making his way over to the couch and plopping down next to Rita with a sigh. Rita pouted over at the detective, reaching up and pinching his pink cheek. “Don’t worry Sonny, the Devil is already here and she’s feeling pretty tipsy.” Sonny let out a nervous laugh before leaning out of Rita’s grip and rubbing his sore cheek. 

Trevor’s attention was drawn back to the quiet prosecutor next to him. Rafael felt Trevor’s gaze as he lifted his newly poured drink to his lips.

One gulp. Two gulps. Three gulps.

Trevor leaned towards Rafael, “What are you so scared of Barba?” Rafael shot a look over to Trevor. 

“There’s nothing to be scared of.”

“Exactly.” Trevor slapped a hand onto Rafael’s shoulder and pushed him over towards the coffee table. 

Looking up from the directions, you smiled at Rafael as he was ushered into the living room by Trevor. The pair of fake handcuffs that hung off Rafael’s belt jingled when Trevor’s large hands pushed Rafael down next to you. Rafael swore under his breath in Spanish to the man before Trevor went and perched himself onto the arm of the couch next to Sonny. 

“I think we have it set up,” you say over to your boyfriend. Rafael nods subtlety before catching the gaze of Amanda sitting across from him. She watched Rafael from under her lashes and the corner of her mouth twitched up. Looking more head on at the two of you, she slid the planchette onto the board.

The intricate piece of wood was shaped in a triangle with rounded edges. In the center, a small dome of glass made it easy to see whatever was under the planchette when it would be slid around the board. 

Rafael wouldn’t tell you — or anyone in the room for that matter — that he did not and would not touch that thing willingly. You grabbed the planchette and placed it in the middle of the board. The intricate letters and numbers were bold and taunting. Rafael swallowed the jumble of nerves trying to push their way up his throat.

He jumped slightly when you touched his arm to motion him to place his fingers next to yours. Taking a moment too long, Trevor cupped a hand around one corner of his mouth and boomed, “Scared of some ghosts, Barba?” Rafael shot another look over to Langan before you grabbed his hands.

Your hands brought comfort to him. They were warm as you guided his fingers over to the planchette and when you lightly knocked your shoulder into his, you whispered out, “Don’t be scared, hon. I’ll protect you,” your left eye dropped down into a wink and while Rafael rolled his own at your retort, it did make him more relaxed.

You motioned for Amanda to do the same. She reached out both of her pointer and middle fingers and found a spot on one of the planchette sides. Amanda spoke quietly, “What should we ask first?”

Carisi’s mouth twisted as he bit down on the inside of his cheek. Rita let out a loud hum, twirling the end of her tail in her hand. “Don’t you have to ask if there’s anyone here in the first place?”

“Yeah, let’s see what we’re cooking with,” Trevor jumped in. He was able to reach over to the side table to grab another Jello-O shot, passing one over the top of Carisi’s head over to Rita who grinned devilishly.

You let out a shaky breath — which threw off Rafael for a split second — and said, “Is there a spirit with us?” While a silence fell over the group, waiting for something, Sonny’s lips moved quickly and quietly as he mouthed a prayer. 

You spoke again, more firmly, “Is there anyone who would like to speak with us today?” Amanda’s eyes went from the planchette, to you, to Rafael, back to you, and then back to the planchette. Rafael’s fingers twitched on the planchette, wanting to bring them back close to him, to his body. Or even to intertwine with your own fingers.

Despite the mellow hum of your playlist, there was a long and still silence between everyone in the room. Rita had stilled her tail twirling. Trevor’s mouth straightened into a thin line, eyebrow arched up. Sonny’s hands were clasped together in between his thighs. Amanda had squared her shoulders and she could feel the hair on the back of her neck trickle. Rafael’s mouth opened to say something — he wasn’t sure what he was going to say — but then he felt it in his fingers.

Rafael’s eyes are hard and locked onto the planchette. His fingers twitched as he felt the piece of wood slightly move diagonally away from him and over to the corner of the board where an intricately drawn YES was. When the word made itself at home under the glass dome in the middle of the planchette, Carisi’s voice was shaking, “That’s not funny Amanda,” the Brooklyn man scolded his coworker.

A noise came from Amanda in regards to Sonny’s accusation and when Rafael’s looked over at you under his lashes, you were already looking over at Amanda with a furrowed brow. Amanda felt your gaze on her and when she finally looked up from the planchette, she rolled her eyes, “Fine…fine.” Her hands lifted up in surrender and she scrunched her nose.

“See, nothing to be scared of Sonny,” Trevor snickered, fingers coming to pinch the top of Sonny’s ear. Sonny shouldered the brunette away, brows furrowed in annoyance and mouth lopsided into a frown. 

“Bite me, Langan.”

“Be careful what you wish for, Carisi,” Trevor shot back just before shooting back another Jello shot. This one was green.

Rafael was silently thanking Amanda from across the table. Hands brought back close to his being, Rafael let out the breath he was holding. He shivered when you scolded Amanda, “Gimme your fingers and don’t joke about, Amanda.”

Amanda let out a huff of air at your tone. “Alright, okay. Calm down.”

Amanda reached out her fingers again and settled them onto her designated spot on the planchette. You copied her and when Rafael didn’t follow suit, you and Amanda looked over at the lawyer. Rafael felt the room shift over to his attention. He felt stuffy in his cheap police uniform. Glancing over at you, he caught your eyes and he silently pleaded.

You didn’t react for a moment until finally, you silently let him off the hook with the smooth transition of reeling in Langan to put his money where his mouth is. Rafael got up from his spot, maybe a bit too quickly, and went over to where Langan was previously heckling from on the couch. Rafael’s legs were jelly and he was happy to plop down onto the couch, grabbing a Jello shot. He swallowed it down too fast to even acknowledge the color of it.

Trevor Langan dramatically rolled his eyes when you beckon him to substitute in for the demon summoning. But he gladly strolled his way over and sat down next to you on the floor. You had to scooch over a bit to make room for Trevor’s long legs and overall more lankier body. He rubbed his hands together and gave a grin before planting his fingers onto the planchette. “Let’s get this show on the road, ladies!”

Amanda and you exchanged looks before your fingers found their spots. The room went quiet again. Nobody noticed it, but the music had stopped in the middle of a song. Rita found herself needing to rest her eyes as playing with a Ouiji board doesn’t really help overly drunk people stay awake. Her head rested against the shoulder of a rigid Carisi. He didn’t seem to notice the extra weight on him.

“I’ll ask the questions this time since cops aren’t too good with questioning suspects,” Trevor quipped. Amanda glared over at the lawyer. You ignored Trevor and shifted your gaze over to the board. “Hello spirits, demons, and devils–” Rita mumbled out a noise of acknowledgement, eyes still closed, snuggling more into Carisi’s shoulder. Carisi fought the urge to shrug her off because he didn’t want to be rude but he wasn’t in a particular cuddly mood. Trevor continued, “Are you here with us?”

Rafael felt a coldness in the apartment. He noticed the lack of music as the group stayed quiet. Sonny felt his neck get prickly, the hair standing up and a shiver rolled up his back. If Rita was more sober, she probably could have felt it. 

“Spir—“ Trevor’s voice started but it was cut off by a yelp from someone as the room went dark, the snap of electricity confirming so. 

“Oh, Mother Theresa!” Sonny’s voice was sharp and trembling. Rita let out a hum in question before opening her eyes. The air was rigid and cold. Rafael was quick to jump onto his feet in one swift motion. You blinked quickly, trying to get your eyes to adjust to the darkness. 

Slowly but surely, you were able to make out shapes in the room. You were about to call out to Rafael when there was a sharp shriek. It started out high in its caliber but then it morphed into something gruesome and growling. 

“What the fuck–” That was Trevor. Then a small light shone in the middle of the room, like a little slice of heaven from above. Rafael’s blood ran cold. Carisi stood abruptly, stumbling over his large feet towards Rafael. Rita curled her legs up onto your couch, hugging the back of the furniture, as if she was using it to ground herself not only physically, but mentally.

Trevor’s hand shook, making the light shive as it shined over onto the blonde detective. You couldn’t believe your eyes. You were sure nobody in the room could.

Across from you, on the other side of your thifted coffee table that took you thirty minutes to convince Rafael to get with you, was Detective Amanda Rollins possessed by something. All of her fingers were bent harshly and weirdly, each one of them touching the planchette in some way. Her shoulders were stiff, but her chin was lifted slightly, mouth slightly agape as she moaned and groaned inhumanely.

Her hair seemed electric. The ends of her blonde strands were lifting at the ends very slightly, strands engulfing around her head. The part that made your eyes water and your heart pound heavily were her eyes. They were wide open and black.

“A-amanda.. This i-isn’t funny!”

Sonny’s voice seemed to shake to the same rhythm as Trevor Langan’s hand. You heard the lawyer mutter more curses under his breath as he stood. Rita was able to swing her legs over the back of the couch and her feet stepped softly towards the front door of your apartment. She paused when Amanda let out another shriek that morphed into a muffled, pained groan.

In the dull phone flashlight, Amanda’s head began to turn, peeking over her shoulder at Sonny. Sonny backed up towards Rafael more, shivering as the two men touched. Sonny’s hand grabbed Rafael’s wrist tightly.  “Amanda?” The voice was crackly and harsh, like Amanda had spent her last thirty years smoking two packs a day straight. Her teeth snapped together and her tongue swiped over her lips. She let out a giggle. “Amanda’s not here to play, Dominick.”

[wordingg]

The Ghost of Wayne Manor

Summary: Even death can't stop Alfred from watching over Bruce Wayne.

Note: This fic was previously called 'Monsters Need Family Too'. I sort of abandoned this fic a while ago, but it's been stuck in my head. So, I reworked a bunch of stuff and have decided to post it as a series instead of a chaptered fic. So, this is now just the first chapter as a one shot. I've edited it a little, but if you've read it before, you don't need to reread it. I hope to do a whole series of oneshots exploring various Bat-people as cryptids and monsters for spooky season, so stay tuned if you're interested in seeing more!

Gotham is one of the worst cities in the world. Everyone in the city knows it. Everyone in the state knows it. Everyone in the country knows it. Even the low level consciousness that thrums beneath the city streets knows it. It basks in its well earned reputation and preens every time Gotham lands at the top of lists like "Worst Places In The World to Live".

Not only is Gotham one of the most violent and crime ridden cities in the world, it is also home to more strange and supernatural occurrences than anywhere on the globe. If people weren't so afraid of being shot or stabbed, it would probably be the paranormal capital of the world and a hub for paranormal investigators.

There are a lot of places in Gotham that purport to be haunted. Most of them are even legitimate. After all, murders and grisly deaths are common place, which makes the creation of ghosts pretty commonplace. But, nowhere in Gotham is more feared or haunted than Wayne Manor.

Wayne Manor sits in the middle of historic downtown Gotham. It's a huge gothic structure made out of sandstone bricks and arched stained glass windows and huge heavy wooden doors with slate roofs topped with parapets. It looks like someone dropped Dracula's castle smack into Philadelphia's oldest street. Despite being in the middle of downtown and surrounded by the ancient courthouse with huge columns and wide sweeping steps and a historic market building just down the street made of ancient red brick, Wayne Manor manages to have a small measure of green yard on all four sides. The small pop of green in the maze of concrete that is Gotham grows riotous with green vines and gnarled oak trees all fenced in with high rock walls topped with wickedly sharp black iron fencing to make climbing over them nearly impossible.

Officially, the extremely wealthy and extremely reclusive Bruce Wayne is the only person who lives inside. The only son of Thomas and Martha Wayne and their only surviving kin, Bruce is rumored to be strange, eccentric and terrified of the world outside his parent's mansion. He very rarely ventures outside and is treated like a ghost story already by the young people who live in the city.

He’s part of what makes Wayne Manor so terrifying. The other part is the rumors of the ghosts that can sometimes be seen from the windows that face the street.

People say they see an old man in old fashioned clothing in the yard or on the front porch or looking out the front facing windows. They say that he has a thin mustache and a fading hairline and that he is usually dressed in a bow tie and tailcoat. People only ever see him for a second before he disappears. But, it’s impossible for him to really be there. The only person who lives in the Manor is Bruce Wayne and he’s nowhere near that old.

The other bigger rumor is of a strange creature sometimes seen haunting the parapets and slanted roof of the Manor. Its huge hulking form merges well with the shadows, but sometimes photographs catch its supernaturally glowing red eyes or the hunch of huge wings extending from its back. They call it the Mothman of Gotham City and it's often seen gliding over the dark cloudy skies to and from the Manor. No one knows what it is or what it wants, but the rumor is that if it ever comes for you that death or madness are soon to follow it.

Nobody knows why it’s so often seen on or near Wayne Manor, but it’s more than enough to keep the natives of the city far away from the old crumbling building.

That’s what the people outside the Manor know of it. But, that’s not the whole story of Wayne Manor or its master, Bruce Wayne.

Bruce Wayne was never a normal boy. There was no chance that he would ever be one even from the start.

After a wedding that was so huge and magnificent that people still talk about it to this day, Thomas and Martha Wayne left on a year long tour of the world. When they returned at the end of that year it was with a tiny squealing baby wrapped in their arms. Alfred had been surprised by the little addition, as neither of them had mentioned anything during their weekly phone calls. When Alfred had asked if the baby was hers, Martha had smiled and only said that he was now. Everyone in Gotham assumed that Martha must have gotten pregnant and gave birth while on their world tour and that Bruce was their child together. Neither Martha nor Thomas ever said anything to the contrary.

Alfred never asked either of the Wayne's where the baby had come from and they never volunteered any information. It wasn't his place to pry into his employers' private affairs. Alfred was always very aware of his place and how to mind it.

Bruce was a strange baby who only grew to be a stranger with each passing day. He barely ate and had little interest in any food that was placed before him. Sweets and chicken and crackers were barely picked at, dinners were often left largely untouched and yet the boy was always on track with his growth. Thomas especially fussed and worried over Bruce, but every time he was weighed and measured he was on track for his age.

He was a quiet baby that never cried and barely babbled and grew into a quiet boy who didn't run or play or get into trouble. He was always watching and listening, absorbing and remembering everything that anyone ever said in front of him. Alfred was shocked many times by the boy's sudden appearance in a dark corner or behind a cracked door. Alfred considered himself very aware of his surroundings, but little Bruce seemed to be able to appear anywhere that a shadow was cast. More than that, sometimes it seemed like the shadows enveloped the boy and blurred his edges in a way that Alfred could not always blame on his old and fading eyesight.

Despite how unnerving Bruce could be, it was hard for Alfred not to fall in love with him. Whenever his parents were away at a gala or dinner party, Bruce would trail after Alfred with big pale blue eyes and curious looks until Alfred explained to him what he was doing and why. Bruce would listen quietly and ask thoughtful questions and continue to trot along after him quietly, always watching, always listening.

School was a disaster. Bruce was incredibly intelligent and his parents were part of one of the founding families of Gotham, so getting Bruce registered with Gotham Academy was not a problem. But, as soon as he began attending, things went downhill quickly.

Both Bruce's classmates and teachers found him unnerving. It didn't matter how gentle or quiet he was, by the end of the month they were all terrified of him. The administration, frustrated with the teachers who couldn't explain exactly what it was about Bruce that was so upsetting, moved him to their only other kindergarten class. Before the next month was out, the new teachers and students were also terrified of Bruce.

Before Bruce could be expelled from the most prestigious school in Gotham, his parents took him out. Unfortunately, it was too late to contain the fallout.

The teachers might have signed contracts agreeing to never discuss their students with the press, but the students and their parents signed no such documents. They went to the local newspapers with their tales of how Bruce could sit completely still and not move and not speak for hours. The students talked about how they were hounded nightly by awful nightmares with little Bruce always haunting the edges of their dreams. The parents told of how their children would cry and beg not to go to school, how they stopped eating, stopped sleeping.

The press went wild with stories of the creepy child of Gotham's royal family. It was the beginning of Bruce Wayne’s urban legend, but it certainly wouldn't be the end. To protect Bruce, his parents squirreled him away in the manor, paying exorbitant prices for the best teachers from around the world to come to the Manor and teach him there.

And then, Thomas and Martha Wayne were gunned down after leaving a late night movie (a special treat for their reclusive child) just a few blocks away from their home. Bruce was eight years old.

They left the care of Bruce to Alfred in their will, likely because he was the only person other than themselves who obviously loved the boy. The other staff were all terrified of him. Thomas and Martha's family members had barely shown any interest in him at all. Though, they sure kicked up a fuss when they realized they weren't getting a dime from Thomas and Martha's estate. It was all Bruce's, or rather it belonged to Alfred until Bruce was old enough to take ownership of the home and the bank accounts. It was the social scandal of the year, all the Wayne wealth left in the hands of a butler of all things.

Alfred paid all the press and interviews with Bruce’s distant relatives with very little mind. He suspected they wouldn’t be kicking up such a fuss about being the boy’s real family if they saw how Bruce had been changed by his parents' death. He would have been no easy child to care for.

He was wild, broken in a way that Alfred didn't know how to deal with. He was still quiet and reclusive, but now that silence simmered with barely controlled anger. He stopped eating completely. Alfred even inventoried the pantry and refrigerator to see if Bruce was sneaking food when he wasn't looking, but if Bruce was eating he wasn't getting food from the Manor kitchen. Bruce should have starved many times over, but he seemed unaffected by his own self imposed fast.

He barely spoke and when he did it was by screaming and railing. Bruce could go days without moving or speaking, no matter how gently Alfred spoke to him or begged him to. Then, as suddenly as lightning striking, he would explode in a frenzy of screaming and destruction, ripping curtains off the walls, smashing tables to bits, shattering any glassware within reach. And then, like a storm passing, he would collapse back into passivity.

Alfred would patch up Bruce's little cut and bruised hands, splint his broken fingers, and carry him to bed. Then, he would clean up the mess and order replacements for the things that Bruce had destroyed.

And, he would worry. It seemed all he could do.

One night, almost a month after Thomas and Martha Wayne had died, Alfred caught Bruce sneaking out of an upstairs window. The fight they had when Alfred stopped him was one for the history books.

"You don't understand!" a tiny Bruce Wayne screamed at Alfred, his voice ringing through the dark wood paneled halls. "I have to do something!" he shouted before choking off a sob.

Alfred knelt down on his aching knees and pressed his hands to Bruce's little trembling shoulders. His bones were sharp and the pale skin around his eyes looked bruised and red. "I can't imagine what you're going through, dear boy," Alfred said as gently as he could.

"You don't understand!" Bruce wailed again, his pale eyes welling with big heavy tears that overflowed and ran down his sallow hollowed cheeks. "I could have done something. I should have done something!"

"Dear child, there was nothing you could have done," Alfred soothed, attempting to pull Bruce into an embrace that he rejected forcefully.

"I mean it!" he shouted. "I'm not normal! I could have stopped it! I could have saved them," Bruce said before collapsing into tears and Alfred's arms at the same time.

Alfred did his best to comfort Bruce as he screamed and cried and railed against the world. His small fists beat against his chest and his teeth dug into his coat. The tears ran and ran and Bruce gasped and cried and sobbed for almost an hour before finally going limp and drained in Alfred's arms.

It was the first time Bruce had cried since his parent's death. Alfred hoped it would be a breakthrough, that maybe Bruce would soon be able to get back to what passed for normal life for him.

He carried the boy as gently as he could back to bed and tucked him in. He always looked so small in the huge four poster bed.

"I could tell something was wrong," Bruce murmured as Alfred tucked the blankets against him tighter. "I could feel something coming for weeks. I tried to tell Mom, but I didn't know how to explain it. I've never felt something like that before."

Alfred stopped with a hand pressed over Bruce's chest and felt the steady rise and fall of his rib cage under his palm. Bruce’s eyelids were drooping and he looked like he would pass out any moment.

"I should have known it meant something bad would happen. I should have known to look harder and find the bad thing before it could happen. I'm a bad son," Bruce whispered with a wet wobble of his lower lip. But, there were no more tears to cry.

"Oh, Bruce," Alfred sighed. "Nothing could be further from the truth."

"You know I'm not a real boy, right, Alfred?" little Bruce turned big tortured eyes up at the old butler. "I'm strange. I’m not normal. Sometimes, I think I'm probably not human," he whispered.

Alfred pressed the hand not on Bruce's chest to his cheek. He stared into his charge's haunted eyes. Eyes so pale blue they were almost white, ringed in red skin and thick dark eyelashes.

"I know that you are a kind and gentle boy. I know that you loved your parents and were loved by them in turn. I know that I loved you hardly before I even knew it. You are smart and strong and even if you could have prevented the death of your parents, that was not your responsibility. It is the responsibility of parents to protect their children, not the other way around, certainly not while those children are still young," Alfred said all this very sternly. "Whatever you are or are not, these things will always be true."

Despite what must be a good bit of dehydration, a final silent tear slipped from Bruce's eye to land in the crevice between Alfred's wrinkled hand and Bruce's soft cheek.

"I love you too Alfred," Bruce choked out, lunging up to throw his arms around Alfred's neck in a brutal hug.

Alfred was startled for a moment before warming and wrapping his arms around the small precious boy in his arms. They embraced for a long time and when they finally disentangled Bruce dropped off to sleep within seconds.

Alfred stayed for a long time, long after Bruce finally fell asleep.

Alfred felt very old just then.

He was perfectly aware that he was old, of course. He had served the Wayne family for years, ever since he was a young man just out of MI5. When he first started working for the Wayne's, he had worked for Thomas' father and Thomas was just a boy himself still in short pants. Now Thomas was dead, a fact that still felt untrue while everything else about the Manor felt normal and familiar. Now, Alfred was in control of a huge manor and held a controlling stake in an even bigger company as well as being the only family and guardian of a strange heartbroken little boy.

At that moment, Alfred felt the weight of the world on his shoulders and sagged beneath it.

But, he only let his grief overwhelm him for a short while. There was nothing for it, really. Things needed to be done and Alfred had to be the one to do it. That was all there was to it.

So, after allowing himself a quiet little crisis in Bruce's dark silent bedroom, Alfred struggled to his feet and made his slow ponderous way out into the hall. The bedroom door clicked shut quietly behind him.

Though his worn body called for bed, Alfred didn't think his mind would be able to rest just yet. Not after all of little Bruce's talk of his own inhumanity. No, maybe a cup of tea would calm him down enough to finally rest.

Bruce's room was on the third floor, two sets of curving staircases led down to the open atrium at the bottom floor. There was also a narrow hidden staircase at the opposite end of the hall that led up into the small claustrophobic rooms of the servant quarters located in the attic and also down into the kitchen. When he was a younger man, Alfred had used the servant stairs in the back of the house most of the time. Though narrow, the steps were worn and uneven and unusually high. They were more direct than the the beautifully curving staircases in the front of the house, but in his old age the servant steps were too treacherous and Alfred rarely used them.

Alfred made his cautious way toward the tall carpeted steps which would lead down to the bottom floor. He was only a few steps down toward the first staircase when his knee gave out. It was an old war injury, one that usually only bothered him when he had been on his feet too long. But, it had never chosen such an inopportune time to make itself known.

Tumbling down the steps, Alfred did his best to tuck himself into a ball. Unfortunately, that meant that when he hit the first landing where the steps turned, he kept rolling into the banister which cracked and gave way under the force of the hit.

And then Alfred was falling.

And then, he was standing looking down at his own broken body crumpled in the middle of the atrium.

He looked incredibly frail, limbs tossed all akimbo on the polished parquet floors. A tiny trickle of blood made its way between his pale lips, probably from biting his tongue or maybe from a few loose teeth. His head was bent the wrong way, a snapped neck that would have been quick and painless.

Remembering his young charge slumbering above, Alfred quickly looked up but there was no movement from the floors above. It was only he and Bruce in the manor at night, the other servants much too terrified of the boy to sleep in the attic right above him. Alfred knew his tumble must have been very loud indeed, but Bruce was likely also very tired from his breakdown. He must have slept through it all.

Alfred thought of how devastated Bruce still was from the death of his parents. He thought of how he was the only person who knew and loved the strange boy sleeping one floor above him. He thought of how much it would destroy him to wake on his own and come downstairs to find Alfred's crumpled corpse. He wished that there was something he could do.

Well, maybe there was something he could do? There certainly was no harm in trying.

So, Alfred reached down and tried to pick up his body. He found that he could. Easily, in fact. He felt strong and young and the weight of his own corpse felt like hardly more than an unwieldy rug. He gathered the body up and carried it down into the basement and dropped it on the cracked cement in front of the furnace. Something to deal with later.

He returned to the atrium with a mop and bucket, though there was really very little to clean. Still it felt better to be sure there was no evidence on the floor for the observant little boy to find in the morning.

After the floor was clean, he briefly washed out the mop and bucket and stored them in their appropriate cleaning closet. He gathered up the bits of broken railing and frowned when he had them gathered in a heap. He was no carpenter and wouldn't be able to fix the banister himself. Shrugging, he gathered up the splintered bits of polished wood and tossed them into the small garden by the kitchen door. Something else to deal with later.

He made himself a cup of tea and drank it. No adverse effects there either.

Then, he went upstairs and got changed for bed. He laid in his bed and stared at the ceiling of his small room and wondered what was happening to him. It didn't seem possible that he could die and then clean up his own death as easily as he might chuck a German soldier into a hotel basement incinerator. If his body was in the basement, then how was he upstairs lying in bed? Or was the whole thing some kind of traumatic episode? It really just defied explanation from every angle.

The next morning, Alfred woke to his alarm going off. He couldn't say he really slept, per se. More like he blinked and it was morning.

He went through his normal routine of preparing breakfast and greeting the staff as they came in and making sure they had what they needed. He took a small detour to check the basement and yes there was his body just where he left it propped up against the old furnace. No time to panic, though, it was nearly breakfast. He roused Bruce at his normal time and tried to prepare himself for the real test.

Alfred wanted to say he believed with 100% certainty that Bruce was a normal human boy. But, there were just too many strange things to account for. The way he survived without eating or drinking, the way he seemed to appear suddenly in rooms that he couldn't possibly have snuck into, the strange wavering of his image when he was cast in shadow. It was too much to dismiss as mere eccentricity.

If Bruce really was something more than human, then there was a chance that he would take one look at Alfred and know what happened. If anything had happened. Alfred still wasn't sure if it wasn't just a strange hallucination.

But, Bruce was just quiet and exhausted the next day. If something was different about Alfred, Bruce didn't seem to notice.

Death was certainly a bit over exaggerated in the old butler’s estimation. If Bruce was fine with him the way he was and he could do his job just as easily as before, he saw no reason not to just continue with things as they were. After all, Bruce needed him. And, so long as he did, Alfred would endeavor to be of service.

[felidaefatigue]

more silly things abt me n my bfs vague plans for gettin hitched; he wants it here

which is just a big stick sculpture on a hill that makes spooky sounds when the wind blows.

Its also in a man made wetland for storm water cleanup so its kinda nice. but also funny. we went on a date there once it and u can rent out the building's roof or big rooms for events cause it does water education and events n stuff. But yea. beyond just. courthouse eloping. which also might happen.

it makes me chuckle cause its such a him thing to be like yep. weird ominous sticks. wedding material right there.

[skelavender]

mulder and scully’s wedding rings and scully in her wedding dress to celebrate their super platonic, just bros wedding in kind of perfect! read chapter 3 here, or below the cut!

Mulder is more excited then he’s let himself be since Scully proposed. He’s buzzing out of his skin, and hoping that it doesn’t show. He doesn’t want Scully to think he’s nervous.

“Are you nervous?” she asks from her seat in their office. They’re both still in their suits, acting as if it’s a normal workday, and not the fifth Wednesday since they got engaged. As if it’s not their wedding day. 

“Hmm?”

“Are you nervous?” She repeats, “You’re all jittery. It’s not too late to call it off if you don't want to do it.”

“I do,” he says quickly, “I’m just finding it hard to focus. I mean, we’re getting married in less than an hour, Scully, don’t tell me your attention is entirely on that autopsy report.”

She smiles, “It’s not.” She closes the folder and puts it to the side. “Do you want to get going early?”

He rises, “Absolutely.” At the door, he offers her his elbow and she places her hand in the bend, familiar. “You ready for this, Mrs. Spooky?”

She gives a full laugh, “Yes, I am.”

They both grab garment bags from their cars and walk the three blocks to the courthouse. Mulder hadn’t mentioned anything about the tux, but Scully isn’t entirely surprised. He’s treated this with the same weight she is. It’s no small thing. 

They change quickly in the public restrooms and meet back in the lobby. When they tell the clerk they are there for their civil ceremony appointment, she asked about their witness.

“Do we… need one?”

“I mean, technically someone here could do it? But people tend to prefer a friend or family member to sign their marriage licenses.”

Mulder and Scully share a look. 

“Should we…” She starts.

“Probably.”

“I mean, he’s the only other one who is supposed to know.”

“I’ll call him.” He nods.

“It’s really no trouble for someone here–” the girl says, but Mulder cuts her off.

“It’s fine, as long as it’s okay for us to wait ten minutes?”

“Of course.” She says. 

He and Scully step outside as he dials Skinner’s office.

“Skinner,” the man says when Mulder goes through.

“Sir, I need you to meet me and Agent Scully at the courthouse and to not ask questions.”

“Agent Mulder, I can not bail you out of jail.” Skinner replies immediately.

“Is that really your first thought?”

“With you? Yes.”

“Well neither off us have been arrested, we just… need a favor. It’ll only take half an hour.”

“And what’s the nature of this favor?”

“It’s… personal. Just a signature. Nothing big.”

Against his better judgment, Skinner agrees. 

***

Walter Skinner is not an idiot. He knows they're in love. He also knows that both of them are too damn stupid and too damn professional to do anything about it. He hears the whispers, knows that everyone else in violent crimes is so sure that they spend their days in the basement office in a haze of sex. But Skinner knows better. He sees the hesitance in Mulder's touches, as if he's afraid that the contact could be rejected at any moment. He sees how Scully soaks his touch in like she doesn’t know if or when she’ll get the next drop. He sees how they gaze at each other when the other is looking away. Or, sometimes, when they’re looking directly at them. 

So, when he arrives at the courthouse to see Scully in a white dress and Mulder in a tux, he shouldn’t be surprised. 

“What is this, Agents?” He asks, despite knowing exactly what it is.

“We’re getting married.” Scully says, “As a contingency. We need a witness, if you would be willing, sir.”

“A contingency? For what? Is there a threat you haven’t told me about?”

“A lot of things,” Scully says, “It started because of hospital visitations, medical decisions. The more we thought about it, the more sense it made.”

“You realize that if you’re in a relationship, you can’t be partners anymore?”

“We aren’t in a relationship, sir,” Mulder interjects, “It’s just paperwork. Less than changing wills, and next of kin, and power of attorney, and everything else.”

The look on Skinner’s face can only be described as long-suffering resignation. “You know what, sure.”

Scully looks mildly surprised and looks up at Mulder, “I thought that would take more convincing.”

“I don’t have the time or energy to ask all the questions I have, Agent Scully.”

***

Bartlett, as an officiant at the Moultrie Courthouse, has overseen many marriages. He loves his job. He loves seeing the looks people share when they bind themselves to their love. Loves seeing the happiness spread across their faces. 

This couple is no different. 

They walk in side by side, not touching, with their witness following close behind. Bartlett introduces himself by first name, and begins the ceremony when they confirm that they are ready. He says the same words he always does. They forego vows, saying that it would take too long.

He believes them. He’s seen couples take upwards of half an hour each. He saw them a couple months later for a divorce. Long vows do not a happy relationship make. 

But these two aren’t like that. They’re the type he would imagine said everything they needed to in private, not wanting to spend anyone else’s time on it, or to let them see that intimacy. Where they hold hands, the woman’s pointer finger reaches out to play with the hair tie on the man’s wrist. 

By the time they get to the important part, they haven't broken eye contact once. 

Bartlett focuses on the woman, “Do you, Dana Scully, take Fox Mulder to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.” She says, with a peaceful smile. She slips the ring onto Fox’s finger. 

Bartlett turns to the man, “And do you, Fox Mulder, take Dana Scully to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.” He replies, "All that and more." His voice is rough with withheld emotion. He places the ring on her finger in turn.

Bartlett smiles, and says his favorite line. “By the power vested in me by the city of DC, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

The man takes his now-wife in his arms and lays a kiss on her forehead. In comparison to other ceremonies Bartlett has performed, this is odd, but when he sees the smile on her face and the tears brimming her eyes when she looks up at him and kisses his cheek, any spot of concern is wiped from his mind.

These two really, really love each other. 

***

After signing the final paperwork, the trio heads back to the Hoover building. Mulder and Scully have changed back into their work clothes, the sound of their half enthusiastic, half exasperated back-and-forth just as it usually is. Mulder’s looking into some possible sex demon in Nevada. Scully emphasizes that it’s in Vegas.

Skinner wouldn’t be able to tell it had ever happened, if it weren’t for the glow. 

As they part ways in the lobby, Skinner turns to them. “Have a good day, Agents. And a word of advice? If you don’t want anyone to know, perhaps take the rings off in the building?”

As the elevator closes, the last thing Skinner sees of them is mutual surprise, and Scully quickly working the ring off her finger and opening her jacket to place it in the inside pocket, a spot he’s seen her pat absently the past couple months. He huffs a laugh once the doors close. 

Mulder, slightly delayed, only starts to remove his ring when Skinner leaves his sights. Scully’s hand on his stops him just after it passes his first knuckle. 

“If just one of us wears it for now, it’ll probably be safe. We could stagger it, no one will notice. If… you want to.”

Mulder meets her eyes. She just looks… vulnerable. As if giving him permission to publicly wear his promise to her would be a favor to her, and not one of his deepest desires.

He slips the ring back onto his finger. “I do.”

She smirks, “I’m getting the strangest sense of deja vu. Have you said that to me recently, Mulder?”

“You know, I think I might have.”

With poorly restrained smiles, they make their way back down to the basement. 

***

A week passes, and every day Scully shows up to work with the ring burning a hole in her pocket. Mulder wears his proudly. When it catches the light, she looks at it with jealousy. 

She’s terrified of it. Not being married to Mulder, there’s no part of her that could ever regret or fear that, but of being found out. Wearing rings is an unnecessary risk, one that could lead to an end of their formal partnership, but it’s one that would feel disingenuous not to take. She wants to wear his ring. She just wants to remain partners with him more. 

Her fear comes true about a week into their marriage. She’s in the bathroom when Agent Driscoll approaches her as she’s washing her hands. 

“So Agent Scully,” She says, “Your partner has been the talk of the office recently. He has a wedding ring now.”

Scully’s heart skips a beat. She schools her expression the same way she does when talking to a particularly skeevy suspect. Nothing can bother her. 

“Yes he does, Agent Driscoll.”

“No one in the office seems to know anything. None of us were at the wedding. No one even knew he was seeing somebody.”

“Are you close enough to Agent Mulder to expect to be invited to his wedding?”

“Well, no.” She admits, “But you are. Were you there?”

Inside, Scully is screaming. Outside, she is fixing the swoop of her hair with a damp finger. She decides to tell the vaguest possible truth, “I was.”

“Well?”

She looks at Driscoll now, “Well what?”

“Who did he marry? Do you know her?”

“Yes, quite well.” Scully says. Better than anyone, as a matter of fact.

“Oh, come on, Scully. Spill. Everyone’s wondering.”

“My partner’s private life isn’t mine to discuss.” Scully clears a final nonexistent smudge of makeup from under eye. She sweeps out of the bathroom, managing to avoid any more of Agent Driscoll’s questions, and does her best not to sprint back to the basement office. 

When she makes it back, she leans against the closed door and tilts her head to the ceiling, eyes closed, waiting for her heart to stop thumping in her ears. 

“Scully, you alright?”

She opens her eyes and stares at the dimpled drop ceiling. “I just got cornered by Agent Driscoll in the bathroom.”

“About what?”

“You.” 

His eyebrows shoot up, “Me?”

Scully pushes off the door and moves to lean against the edge of Mulder’s desk. “You and your wife. People have noticed your ring.”

“My… oh. Shit.”

“Mhmm.” Scully agrees.

“Do you think I should stop wearing it?” His voice is small, soft.

“No. It’d be more suspicious to stop wearing it now. I’m just not sure when it’ll be safe for me to start wearing mine.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry.” She grabs his hand, runs her thumb along it. “I would if I could. It feels… unbalanced this way.”

“It’s alright, Scully.”

She disagrees.

***

When Mulder gets home that evening, he finds a large envelope with “Do Not Bend” crammed into his mailbox. In his apartment, he inspects the contents, and immediately calls Scully. 

“Hello?” 

“Scully, I need you to get over here.”

“What’s wrong?” 

“I need you to make sure I’m not hallucinating.”

“I’m on my way.” The call clicks to a close. 

She opens his door without knocking a mere 15 minutes later. When she steps in, she does so like she’s approaching a wild animal. 

“Mulder?”

“Scully look at this,” he says from his spot at the table, “tell me this doesn’t say what I think it does.” He holds the paper out to her. 

“Our marriage certificate? Mulder, we planned this in advance, you can’t act as if we did it while drunk in Vegas.”

“No, here.” He points to the line with the officiant’s signature. “Scully, tell me we weren’t married by a man named Bartlett Tiddlywinks.”

“Oh, my god.”

“Yeah.”

Their eyes meet, and they simultaneously burst into uncontrollable laughter. 

***

The following Monday, Mulder jumps up from his desk as soon as Scully opens the door. “I have something for you.” He trips in his haste to round the desk and approach her.

“Good morning to you too, Mulder. I had a wonderful weekend, thank you for asking, quite relaxing.” She stops her ribbing when she sees his closed fist, fingers down, held out  to drop something into her own hand. She places an open palm beneath his, and he drops a gold chain into it. When she picks it up, it’s long. Much longer than her usual necklace, or any others she owns. 

“It’s for your ring.”

Scully’s eyes snap to Mulder’s. Her mouth forms a surprised O.

“I was thinking about it over the weekend, and it makes sense, doesn’t it? You can still wear it, but this way you don’t have to worry about taking it off for autopsies. It’s long enough that it’ll lay under your shirt, no one will notice.”

“Thank you, Mulder.” She says absently. He’s right, it does make absolute sense. She doesn’t know why she didn’t think of it earlier. “That’s… very thoughtful. Thank you.”

“Of course, Scully.” He rests his hand on her arm, and she places her own on top. She reaches into the inside pocket of her jacket and withdraws the ring from its usual home to place it on the chain.

It’s Mulder’s turn to be surprised, “I didn’t realize you had been carrying it around.”

“I kept the old one in me too, in case I… needed to use it. Unexpectedly.” She slips the ring into its new home and holds it out to him. “Help me put it on?” She requests, even though the chain is long enough for her to clasp before slipping it over her head. She wants him to place the ring where it’s going to stay, so sue her. 

He takes the necklace and she turns around. He brushes her hair off her neck uselessly, and Scully does her best not to shiver at his light touch. He lifts the chain around her head and clasps it. When it’s on, the length of the chain places her wedding ring squarely between her breasts, in the perfect spot to hide from prying eyes. She turns back around to look up to Mulder, and leans into him for an embrace. He holds her tight, and presses a kiss into the top of her head. 

The stress and fear of potentially being separated melts away from her in his arms. It’s her favorite form of peace. 

<- previous chapter next chapter ->

[fervency-if]

*Screeches like a banshee* Author, you should not have reposted the bloody bridal gown because I'm now experiencing an intense brainrot for ROs and weddings.

So hypothetically, the talk comes (I assume the anemiacs don't really combust in churches and wedding ceremonies) which ROs are initially okay with marriage and which RO does not?

If they do get married, where would they want it? On a beach? On a traditional church? In a garden? In a luxury villa? Or they just slap on some courthouse papers?

Finally, which RO will let MC eat the officiants and other guests? And potentially join in on the fun? 🤭

Oops... I didn't consider the risks at hand, haha! And yes, very true - buildings such as churches are perfectly safe for them.

The Physician isn't really interested in marriage, but if the main character was, and it was important to them, she would say yes for their sake, to make them happy since she doesn't care much either way - she's neutral. She would want a small wedding, quite private; very few guests, and in a beautiful, location - outdoors, somewhere in nature preferably. Somewhere near a running brook, perhaps, so one could hear it's relaxing little noises in the background. She would actually be very excited when it comes to dressing up - she would want to wear a beautiful and quite extravagant dress and lovely jewelry. She would prefer the occasion to be calm... so no eating/drinking people, let's get married when already well-fed.

Aubrey feels similar to the Physician when it comes to this; he isn't really interested, he's also neutral, but if his partner really wanted to marry him? He would say yes to make them happy - but they would have to be the one to propose. He wouldn't want an extravagant wedding; he would just want his and his partner's close friends and/or family there. He wouldn't want the wedding to be very traditional; he would want to keep it all quite casual and not too 'sentimental' - but he wouldn't mind a nice location; you mentioned 'a luxury villa' as one of the suggestions, and he would like that idea. Especially if there were rumours that the aforementioned villa was haunted, or otherwise spooky in one way or the other. He would be most excited for the wedding party - dressing up all nice and dapper, celebrate with his beloved and their friends, getting tipsy... Oh, and he wouldn't mind a little bit of chaos either. Officiants taste so much better than wedding cake, he's sure of that.

Vesa would absolutely love to marry the main character in the future, and she would be very excited about it all. It's highly possible that she's the one who proposed, but she would love getting proposed to just as much. She would like something extravagant and lavish - a big feast with a lot of guests; and she would be extremely excited when it came to dressing up and looking pretty - she would spend hours on her dress (not white!) and make-up, hair, and accessoires. She wouldn't want it to be very traditional - she would prefer it to be a bit decadent and odd, but romantic at the same time - and the same goes for the location. And... yes. People might get eaten. Absolutely!

Narciso doesn't want to get married - he never will. He wouldn't mind something small and completely private, such as exchanging a symbol (like a ring, for example,) or something, but not a marriage.

Roswhen would absolutely love to get married in the future - they're quite romantic in that sense, and would get very excited. They would listen a lot to their partner's suggestions and ideas, but they would hope that their partner agreed with them that a beautiful garden would be the perfect place for a wedding. It wouldn't matter much if the wedding was big or small, as long as it was romantic. They would prefer to get married on a full belly, though - they wouldn't want things to become too chaotic... They can eat people the next day. Oh, but the main character really wants to... Fine, dear spouse. Fine.

Elan would like to get married very, very much - and he would prefer to get proposed to. He would definitely prefer the day to be quite calm, with somewhat few guests - a big wedding would feel a bit stressful and overwhelming. He doesn't have any real preference - a traditional church would be nice, but so would basically any other place. He would let the main character decide a lot of the things surrounding it, because he isn't exactly used to planning events at all. He would feel like Roswhen regarding feeding - they can do that the next day... But he wouldn't stop his spouse from doing it if they really wished.

[dicebound]

Day 20 - Amazing Adventure

I've mentioned a lot of fun adventures in this series, but I'm gonna highlight one more.

It's been many years now since I've played Pathfinder 1e, but I absolutely loved and still love the Hangman's Noose. It's an excellent closed space mystery adventure with fun twists and a spooky premise. The players are trapped inside this a crumbling courthouse with an angry spirit of a wrongfully condemned man. One of the people trapped with them is responsible, and its up to the party to uncover who - or hang. Play it. It's great. My only recommendation is to prehaps, not have the two NPCs that come in half way through arrive so late and just have them with the group from the beginning.

[99orphans]

i can't tell this to anyone i know but i NEED to tell someone so i'm putting it here

my girlfriend and i are planning on eloping next year as a bit

we're doing a courthouse wedding and telling no one. But after that, we're having an engagement party to celebrate and pretend like we're only engaged instead of married; burying the secret and ensuring that even if someone talks about it, everyone else will just assume they were confused.

then, however many years down, we'll host a costume party. The guests MUST come in costume or at least very spooky dress. Then they see seats? And an altar? and realize they've been duped into going to a wedding.

so we have our proper wedding, but we look absolutely killer and everyone else is a hot dog or whatever. (also it's a victorian haunted manor theme)

but i love psychological games so it doesn't stop there; i start telling people the truth, that we got married years ago and that they sat through a wedding service for no reason because it actually was just a costume party and watch them flip shit

so yeah, i'm gonna get married just to mess with my mom and friends in like 8 years

[fromthedeskof-darkiplier]

Hi Dark!

It’s Ozzy again. I’ve moved! Got my own blog and everything. Host is still at the old one but we’re separate now so I figured I’d stop in and say hi from here. How business going? Excited for spooky season?

-Oz the Author (@author-of-dangerous-fiction)

Good afternoon, Ozzy. I thank you for your patience with my response, I've been up to my neck in work.

Business is business. The courthouse has needed me there more frequently than I'd like to be lately, as it's been getting in the way of the MarkTV festivities. I had to call in sick so I could attend the board meeting where we discussed the October program lineup.

I have indeed been anticipating this time of year. Now that I have a moment to breathe, I can really indulge in decoration plans. Wilford, the dear he is, suggested I needed this chair, and the inspiration has only been snowballing from there:

But enough about me. How have you been?

-D