#warning: little bit of blood. it is the HEADLESS horseman after all…

[heyyesimtrash-whatofit]

Hey J!

Because it’s Halloween I had a good request idea…what if we drew The Headless Horseman chasing Marty on a horse in 1820?

(sorry I was rewriting the story, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow)

just a request

I apologize for the time it took to get this done but I couldn’t just doodle this idea. No no no, I had to do a little more…

Just a quick trip to 1820, they said. The Headless Horseman isn’t real, they said. After this trip, Marty would argue otherwise…

Okay no but actually I meant to do this ask a whole lot sooner because it’s so good but ofc I couldn’t just leave it at a sketch lol. I am. So damn proud of this silly thing. From the horse, to the rendering, to all the small details, I am so incredibly proud of this Halloween piece. It might have taken a week longer than intended because of rehearsals and my seeing Beetlejuice the Musical (10/10 btw) but I have done it! Hopefully I can get back to silly sketches now I say, pointedly ignoring the other full out piece sitting in my program.

Anyway, I hope I did your idea justice! Thanks for the amazing little spooky idea

[blackypanther9]

Spooky stories Avengers (with Loki) x Reader

WARNING!: Blood, gore, deaths, spooky, dark, Creepypasta,  Laughing Jack’s uprising, the headless horseman and a forest is talked about !! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED !!!

Two words… Halloween stories… Yup. The Avengers decided to camp inside a forest and tell each other spooky stories at camping fire.

“Who wants to start ?”, Tony asked smugly.

Y/n lifted her hand.

“Start Y/n.”, Tony said smugly, thinking she has no scary stories.

“Ever heard of ‘The Headless Horseman’ ?”, she asked.

They all shook their heads.

“Rumors say that the headless horseman was once a German mercenary. He filed his teeth down to appear more frightening, which worked. He rode a giant black horse, called Daredevil, and chopped off heads. You could have always found him were war and fights raged on. Then he chopped off as many heads as he could.”

Loki gulped.

“That butcher didn’t get ended until years later. In a forest, near a little village. Soldiers sighted him and shot his horse, then made him flee into the woods, where they got him and he fought them all, until he wasn’t watching out and got beheaded with his very own sword. They buried him in those woods and since then, it is a seed of evil. He got buried by a tree and that tree is a Gateway to hell.”

Everyone, besides Tony gulped in horror.

“But he never rose up from the dead…”, Tony said bored.

“Wrong, Tony.”, Y/n chuckled darkly.

“In the late 19th century he came back from his grave. A woman knew where his grave was and took his head, hoping he will rise up again. And he did. The woman, that had his head, controlled him and told him to kill certain people, even parents and kids. She wanted everyone out of her way that would have been witness of something, she wanted. She wanted revenge and she pretty much got it. She even killed a Mother, to get into her man’s bed, then she murdered the man and she tried to kill her stepdaughter, but someone saved her before the horseman could kill her too.”

They listened intently.

“The horseman only chopped off their heads and took them with himself to the portal. Ichabod Crane found the tree and opened it a bit, only to find blood and the missing heads. Then the horseman left the portal as he found out that the skull of his skeleton was gone. Surprisingly he never killed Ichabod. The only thing he did was injure him lightly. He even gave others warnings to not get into his way, those who didn’t listen after the 3rd warning, got killed.”

“Wow…stupid people…”, Loki mumbled.

Everyone hummed in agreement.

“In the end Ichabod got his head back and gave it the Horseman in last second. He let the girl go and took his skull. After he put it back onto his neck, his flesh, muscles and blood came back, making him look human again. The woman behind all of this was knocked out on the floor as his dead horse came to him. The Horseman was grateful for what Ichabod did for him and others, so he left them alone and took the pest that took his skull, with him, to hell. She screamed and it is said that you can still see her skeleton arm inside the tree trunk, looking out.”

They all gulped.

“That is scary.”, Clint admitted.

“Oh ! I want to try !”, Thor yelled.

“Go on then.”

“I once had that weird dream that Loki was a Demon. End !”

Everyone stared at Thor.

“That wasn’t a horror story…”

“Have you heard about the ‘Devil’s tramping ground’ ?”, Natasha asked.

“I did.”, Y/n said.

“Nope never heard of it..”, the rest said.

“It is said that it is in a forest, a big circle where nothing ever grows. And at night you can hear evil, demonic laughter from there and heavy footsteps. A lot of people even said that they saw the Devil there. Since then they all say that the Devil has a portal made there and goes there to think of making humanity suffer and die out.”

Everyone, besides Y/n, gulped.

“I heard about a place where a lot of soldiers died in war and every night you can hear them screaming, crying, howling and shooting. No one ever went back there since then.”, Steve told.

“The screaming woods…”, Y/n said smugly.

Steve stared at Y/n.

“You creep me out, Y/n. From where do you know that ?”

“I was always drawn to the paranormal… I legit read and listened to everything the internet had for me.”

“Not creepy at all…”, Bruce said.

“The most interesting are the Creepypastas.”, Y/n said darkly.

“Tell us about it.”, Tony said.

“Oi ! I didn’t even get my turn !”, Bruce yelled.

“Do you even have a story ?”, Tony asked.

“No…”

“Welp, Loki won’t have something to spook us with and I have no spooks to tell too, so let us give Y/n the lead.”

They all agreed and listened to her.

“Well, there once was a boy in the 19th century. His Father was an alcoholic and beated his Mother on a daily routine, Issac always hid in his room and his Mother taught him strictly. He was 7 or so years old and had no friends. An angel created Issac something, out of sympathy. It was a colorful Clown. His name was Laughing Jack in the box. He was a being and he learned, what Issac learned. LJ got so created that what Issac feels and knows, LJ will too. They were the best of friends, until they played a game one day… A cat came onto the property and their playground. Issac told LJ to capture the cat, but he squeezed her too hard and killed it.”

Everyone gasped.

“That poor cat !”, Thor yelled.

“Issac’s Mother never saw Laughing Jack. Parents weren’t allowed to see him, so Issac was being blamed. He got sent to boarding school. The day before he left, he told Laughing Jack to go back into his box. But once he was in there, he had to wait for Issac to let him back out. With time Issac forgot about him and Laughing Jack lost his colors. He went insane all alone and became monochrome. No colors left.”

Loki stared at Y/n in horror, while the rest listened even closer.

“Issac went insane, thanks to his abusive Father and the school. They beated him up and made him go crazy, just because everyone said that Issac’s friend was imaginary, but he never was. LJ always had to hear Issac’s parents fight, until the Father went too far and beated his wife to death. As she was reported dead and he sent to jail, Issac was already having a job. He got the house and threw a lot away. Laughing Jack could still see everything through his box, so he knew his friend was back, but he knew that Issac forgot about him.”

They all had sympathy on their faces.

“One night he was drunk and came home with a drunk woman. He tried to fuck her, but she was sober enough to push him away. He didn’t get the hint and she slapped him, the next thing that happened was that he killed her and in his panic created acids to make everything of her disappear, besides her bones, skin and blonde hair. He made a throne out of her skeleton, her hair was the filling of the cushions and he made her skin to leather. With that he created a whole throne out of her corpse.”

They all looked at her with disturbed faces. Loki even grew a bit sick.

“The worst was, Laughing Jack saw it all happening and it made him want to ‘Play’ that ‘game’ with Issac.”

“Oh no…”, Tony mumbled.

“Issac didn’t stop. He killed more. Elderly people and then even kids. He tortured a boy to death. Tore out his nails and broke his bones. He did a lot more brutal things to him, just because he was a little boy and a bit immature. That was the day when karma came for Issac. The shelf broke and LJ in his box fell down. As Issac cleaned up he found the box and accidently freed Laughing Jack.”

“Oh shit…”, Bruce wheezed.

Loki looked really sick to his stomach.

“What happened then ?”, Natasha asked.

“Laughing Jack chained Issac on his little torture table and then started his own game. He did a lot to him. Pulled nails out, cut out his tongue and then shoved a pipe into the side of Issac’s neck, so he stays alive, then cut him open and pulled out organs and even blew them up like balloons and made things out of them, splashed adrenaline rush syringes into him, by his eye ball and even pulled it out of his socket and lastly filled his body with a lot of bugs that ate him alive. Many said that, as they found his dead body, he was happy. LJ is killing kids since then.”

Loki stood up, like a few others too, and they ran to bushes and puked.

“Holy shit…”, was all that Steve got out.

Y/n chuckled darkly.

“I love the creepy things, never challenge me.”

“This will haunt me in my dreams now !”, Tony announced from the bushes.

Y/n only stood up, laughing and went to her tent. The rest soon did too and Loki had night terrors of the story Y/n told them, but he was too scared to get out of his tent and to hers. He was silently crying.

Suddenly his tent opened and Loki wanted to scream, but he saw that it was only Y/n. She came inside and smiled at him softly.

“Hey…”

Loki was quiet.

“Come here, let’s cuddle. You are shaken up, Loki…”

She sat next to him and he crawled over to her, hugging her tightly. She shushed him gently and rubbed his back.

“A-are they real ?”, Loki asked her.

“No one knows… But because I never met one, I would say they don’t exist, Love.”

“Can you stay over ?”

“Sure.”

After a few hours Loki fell asleep again and Y/n smiled. She also fell asleep soon after. What no one knew was that a monochrome Clown listened to her story and smiled.

‘She remembered…’

Then he left.

Masterlist Halloween !!!

[creepsmcstuffins]

Living with a Irish Fae

I live with a Dullahan. No, it's not some grotesque headless horseman that throws its head at you or takes its spine whip and snatches you up into a skeletal wagon. Nor does it throw a bucket of blood on you when you get too close to it.

Sorry, if you think that, but its.... Rather HE is just an asshole. Who eats all my food, leaves the lights on, terrorizes (not really though) my dogs and shits with the door open to the bathroom. He's am Irish bloke, with a smart damn mouth. And yes he does, indeed, own a horse. His horse is better company than the loud asshole that lives with me. His horse is a black stallion that goes by the name of Caboose. A friendly boy, and I even get to ride him, when the dullahan isn't working.

Cullen O'Houlihan. That's his full name. He's a bastard man. But I'm sure your wondering how we met. Well, I'll take you back a bit.

My name is Ebonie Brown. And I was driving home one morning after working a long 10 hours. The old country roads that I drive are usually empty. Save for the occasional deer or possum in or on the side of the road. And maybe if a neighbor, I say that lightly, left one of the gates open and a cow might be grazing along the road. In the early hours of the morning, the sun could be seen peeking over the mountains. I live in a heavily mountainous area, where a lot of agriculture is farmed. Mostly corn, if I'm honest. The sun was leaving the sky pink and red, lovely hues that I enjoyed seeing.

Without warning, a horse was in the middle of the road, barely smashing into the animal, I turned the steering wheel, swerving away from the horse. Not completely hitting it, but not missing it either. I hit its rear, or what seemed like a hit. Spinning out and luckily not going into a ditch or being bent around a tree, I got out.

"What the hell!? I could-" the horse still stood. Like nothing happened! Though it... It shimmered like a... Phantom of some sort... it... looked at me, with... Big black eyes... Empty hollowed eyes, black as night. It snorted at me, black smoke pooling out from its nostrils. I took a glance at the rest of it, like it's head, the body shimmered. Black shadows enveloped it, shifting at the horse moved his neck to look at me better. I shivered as it moved.

"Uh... nice horsey?" I asked, more of a whimper, and holding my hands up. In defense, hoping this... Nightmare wouldn't decide I was food... or something... Jumping at a rustling sound, coming from the tree line near where I was standing. The horse let out another snort. And a... A man came out. Tall... tall as shit. Im a 5ft 2in woman, a little overweight, if I'm honest. And he was a giant! At least 6ft... He was wearing black armor, accompanied by an obsidian sword and a spine whip.

I know. I know, I said that he doesn't use the whip, but let me continue.

This man... He didnt have a fucking head. Scratch that, he had a head, he was just holding it in his arms. The head looked at me. At my eye level. He had brown thick hair, and golden eyes. The eyes were shimmering like the horse's eyes and body. The head had gold light flowing from it and the body had a purple aura pouring from it. Power, dark power came from both, the horse and its rider. I stepped back, and stared at the head.

"The fok you starin' at?" It spoke, thick Irish accent prominent, "You ever seen a man at night like this, ya idiot!?"

I was speechless, frozen. I didn't expect the head to talk. It frowned at me,

"Well!? Don't stand there gapin' like a fish! SPEAK!!" His voice rang out loud and even made some sleeping birds flutter past us. The horse snorted, pawing at the ground. The head looked at the horse then back at me.

"You hi't 'em?!" He barked at me, snapping me out of my stupor,

"N-no? I.. I mean... he... i..." I stuttered, still not moving. The head huffed and the body moved, reattaching the head to itself.

"Whats your name?" He crossed his arms, and leaned his weight off to one side, the sword swinging as he shifted his weight.

"Ebonie... Brown." I spoke slowly, eyeing the sword more than the whip. Then looked back up at him.

"Well I'm Cullen O'Houlihan. And you hit Caboose. You hurt his feelings. Now. You owe us." He smiled evilly at me. I frown, starting to drown in whatever shitty possibilities he had in mind. The male bent down and smiled at me,

"Well Miss Brown. Where ya live at? I'm gonna need a place to rest m' weary 'ead." I shutter, and nod, getting back into my car. He mounted his horse and followed me home. We arrived at my mother's home... Thankfully she and my sister were sleep still. I parked and got out.

"Uh... what are you gonna do with... Your horse? He-"

"He'll be fine out here." Cullan yawned and dismounted. And strode up to me.

"Cute lil' house. Your Ma?" He nodded at the house. I nodded,

"Yeah. Come on... I only have one bed so..." I walked to my door, and unlocked it.

"Oh?" I could hear the smug look and smile on his face,

"Care to have a night with an Irish lad then?" He bent close to my cheek. I could feel Cullen's breath. It was cold, like a frozen wind, on a snowy December night. I hit him with the screen door.

"You can sleep on my dogs bed. I don-" Cullen barked out a yelp of surprise, rather than pain. I smirked and walked into the door. Slipping my shoes off. He followed, having to bend a bit to get through the door.

"Well. This is... not what-"

"Shut up. If your staying the night-" He threw a bag of money, gold rather at my head. And shot me a look, that said "that aught to be enough." I rolled my eyes. His armor melted, and transformed into comfy pajamas. Cullen gave a stretch and looked at me.

"Bed? I'm quite tired." I nodded, pointing at my room. Walking through the doorway, he plopped, face first into the bed. Snoring before I could walk in after him. I sighed, stupid bastard was supposed to sleep elsewhere. It's fine I guess... just for one night. I slipped in next to him, careful not to get to close to him. I pulled my plaid blanket close and then reached over pulling another blanket over Cullen. I huffed and fell asleep.

I woke up to clattering and a scream, I shot out of my bed. Cullen was looking for whatever, not stopping to look at him I rushed outside, snatching my gun and pulling the slide, loading a bullet into the chamber. My mom was screeching at the black (non shimmering) horse standing in the garden. Caboose was eating her cucumbers... I lowered my gun.

"Shit...." Cullen followed me out, spoon in hand, eating out of my applesauce jar. He was snickering.

"WHO ARE THEY!?" my mom yelled at me, pointing at Cullen and Caboose. I held my hand up and she stopped panicking.

"This is..." I paused... I didn't know what to say! What was I supposed to say!? As if reading my mind, Cullen stepped forward, pushing the jar into my hands.

"Hello!" His voice clear and friendly, he stepped forward and extended his hand,

"Im Cullen! Cullen O'Houlihan! Pleasure to finally meet you Miss Boyd! I'm your daughter's boyfriend." He smiled widely and as charming he could.

My mom took his hand and her eyes grew clear, as if I had mentioned this random ass man before.

"Oh! Cullen! I remember Eb saying something about you! Wonderful to finally meet you!" She smiled at the man, then scolded him,

"You need to move your horse though! He's eating my garden!" At a snap of Cullen's fingers, Caboose, the nightmare horse moved.

"So sorry about the inconvenience. I'll make sure he stays out of the plants Miss." He walked back over to me, flashing me a look. And he plucked the applesauce jar from my hand, and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. And pressing our cheeks together.

"I hope you don't mind me crashin' here! I've got rent money for us." He pulled out a stack of money from his pocket and held it out to my mother. She gratefully took it and nodded. Leaving us alone outside to stare at Caboose who was eating the weeds next to my old red Chevy. Cullen didn't move, but stood still smirking at me, and gave me a pointed look.

"Well, Darlin'," he drew out the word, "Darlin'", "I guess your stuck with me." He kissed my cheek, his lips cold. And walked off. I sighed, now I have a.... I realized I didn't know what the hell he was. I turned and followed him inside,

"What-"

"A Fae. Specifically a Dullahan." He mused. Ok so he could read my mind. Cullen looked at me and smiled, sitting in my spinning computer chair. I opened my mouth again, he spoke, this time in my head, smiling that stupid ass Cheshire cat grin,

"I'm here cause I'm curious. Tired living in the fuckin forests and meadows of Ireland. But the civilization was a bit much for me and Caboose, so I opted for a cooler area. The mountains was what he and I agreed on. You just happened to be unlucky to come across us. I found a dead dog in the road where you "hit" Cabose. And I wanted to give the poor thing a decent burial." Cullen finished his story and plopped the empty applesauce jar on my computer desk.

"This is my new home.... But if you move, I'll move with you."

So... I guess that'd the first thing? To write about... for now. My new boyfriend is a Dullahan. A legit one... his... head is floating over here now. I gotta go... I'll write again soon.

[wickedsrest-rp-archive]

Happy Halloween! We’re excited to announce our huge Halloween event, which is not one plot, but FIVE! Everyone is welcome to choose what they want to be involved in and the extent of it. Just make sure to message us regarding any questions or to get approval for a large character injury/death! 

Heads Will Roll 

Timing: From Halloween until mid-November.

Five amateur witches were in the process of preparing for their celebration; practicing their spells, making sure everything was good to go by sundown of the 24th. Magic is a tricky thing, though, and sometimes— especially in the hands of the inexperienced— it becomes unwieldy.

And so forth comes the evil.

A reckless run through, a few misspoken words, and a mythical darkness arose to claim their lives. A story, an urban legend, spread in hushed whispers throughout the centuries from Dublin to Galway. A Dullahan, a headless horseman, all black steed and disembodied smile, whip made of spine, killing mortals with every stop he makes. It has been said that he thunders about in the shadows of the night, throwing blood on his future victims.

And so the old rhyme goes:

First the blood, a warning to all;. That soon the Dullahan will come to call. No use in hiding, pointless to fret; For your head is forfeit… your lot is set. On All Hallow’s Eve will the horseman arise, To claim your soul, your life his prize.

Don’t lose your heads.

Dullahan writeup. 

Please contact the main blog if you’d like for your character to be marked by the Dullahan! If you don’t want your character to die as a result, you’re encouraged to plot with fellow players (hunters, spellcasters, exorcists, and scribes will be of particular use) on ways for the Dullahan to be deterred or defeated before they can reach your character.

If you want to use the Dullahan in another way (not having your character be marked), then you don’t need to ask. A few ideas: having your character see the Dullahan mark or kill someone who has been marked, having them narrowly escape, researching Dullahan sightings, hearing rumors of the ritual that was done, etc.

Spellcaster characters may have been involved in the accidental summoning of the Dullahan… oops. If you want your magic-practitioner to have been involved, let us know!

Costume As You Are

Timing: From now until Halloween (or after, if there are Halloween parties).

It’s that time of year, when people want to dress to scare rather than impress. Unfortunately, one little costume shop took things a bit too far. People who’ve been dressing up have found themselves changed. Putting in a pair of fake vampire fangs stirs a sudden craving for blood, and a long, flowing wizard robe makes the wearer feel more than just a little magical. 

People are literally turning into their costumes. Characters will develop abilities or characteristics based on the costume they’re wearing. The effects can vary, most people will retain at least some sense of themselves, but it might get a bit overshadowed by the costume.

This can occur before Halloween -- people may want to try on their costumes, after all.

A few of the costumes have taken on a life of their own, literally. Exorcists might find that a pesky ghost is really just a floating bedsheet.

All of the enchanted costumes originated from the same place, Ethan’s Costume Shop. Strangely enough, just a week before, the lot had been abandoned. After Halloween, it might be just as hard to find again. 

Hunter’s Moon  

Timing: October 29th - November 1st.

Each full moon is more than enough cause for hunters and wolves to take up arms and bare their teeth, but this Halloween, the rising moon is a hunter itself. Those who spill blood beneath the glow of the Hunter’s Moon will find themselves stronger, faster, and more likely to continue spilling. For hunters (the species), they might find themselves sharper, their eyes keener, and their righteous pursuit all the more justified as wolves and other creatures grow ever more violent and difficult to manage. Still, once the Hunter’s Moon sets, deep in every set of bones lies the knowledge that in a few months time, when the Wolf Moon rises, the threat of retribution will be that much stronger. 

Faetober Fest  

Timing: From now until the end of November.

Now that White Crest has entered the heart of Autumn, fairy rings have sprung up all over the place. All fae may feel more impetuous and silly than they usually do, but those who come too close or go inside of the rings will lose themselves to them. For any creature who is not fae, entering the ring while a faerie is near is punishable by being held captive and forced to do as they say for as long as the ring is there. It’s probably best to avoid those rings. Also, don’t compliment any short, naked, blue people on their creepy Halloween costume. It’s not a costume, but you’ll be leprechaun lunch.

Fruit of the Doom 

Timing: From now until mid-November.

Pumpkins are synonymous with Halloween and Fall. As the holiday rapidly approaches, there’s not a doorstep left in White Crest that doesn’t have a pumpkin or two on it. But what happened to the pumpkins before they got there? Every decade or so, White Crest has an outbreak of vampire pumpkins– and it just so happens this is the lucky year. A contaminated shipment rolled into town and made its way to half the homes. A few of them were even shoved into local produce markets so they can turn more fruit and overrun the town. And just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse: the supernatural energy ebbing out of the White Crest is giving the pumpkins a speed and power boost.

Several locations in town have been particularly infested. You’re likely to run into vampire pumpkins on the college campus, Wheekly Special, and Misery Manor (an especially popular time for them). 

They’ve also overtaken The Ring. Some of the audience is even betting on the pumpkins instead of the fighters.

If you see vampire pumpkins, make sure you keep them away from each other. When they’re particularly hungry, they can bunch together and link up to form a gigantic pumpkin monster. Yes, this is something to take seriously.

The local elementary school will be hosting a pumpkin carving contest (date flexible for plotting purposes and can be after Halloween). The pumpkins being used in the contest? You guessed it. Vampire pumpkins. Hopefully someone stops that from happening before the carvers become the carved.

[the-roanoke-society]

now i have a story that i’d like to tell...

about this guy you all know him, he had me scared as hell! / he comes to me at night after i crawl into bed / he's burnt up like a weenie and his name is fred!

horror aus part trois. part one can be found here, and two, here. all warnings and disclaimers still apply--as does the love.

do you dare dare journey below the cut...?

it’s a long way down, a long way down - a holy hell au inspired by the creep series

there are stories are stories on stories on stories about matches made in heaven. about two pure souls destined for the other, finally reaching a ‘happily ever after’ after going through trials and tribulations that, honestly, are played out and boring.

that’s exactly what fergus macleod would tell you, anway.

he’s been inhabiting his mortal coil for a few decades now, engaging in his favorite activity--serial murder.

but lately, something has--gone out.

he’s lost his light. his passion for killing.

so he gets an idea, and puts out an ad for a videographer.

he’ll make a documentary, he decides. a magnum opus to relight the blood and the violence that had brought him so much joy over the years.

what he didn’t expect was andi.

not her beauty. not her courage. not her wit, sharp enough to make a god bleed.

and not her fangs, and a thirst to rival his--even if her moral compass was a bit more lawful.

enough of stories about matches made in heaven.

talk to me about a match made in hell.

(these--particular films are not easy watches, though i personally enjoy them. the sequel is my favorite, but remember when i said ‘explicit sexuality’ in the first warning post? the especially applies to creep 2. when i imagined this au it was less in-line with the main narrative of the movies and more, say, a meet-cute story you’d overhear at an addams’ family function.)

mini soundtrack sampler includes: lovelytheband, ‘buzz cut’ + catfish & the bottlemen, ‘longshot’ + albert natural, ‘sara loves her juicy fruit’

red sun rises like an early warning - an ancient cares au inspired by sleepy hollow

sleepy hollow was often called a “sleepy” village, in the way that meant that nothing ever happened there. marie van tassel, daughter of the richest man in town--and immediately intrigued by the arrival of one police constable walter vaughn, sent all the way from new york city--would disagree. especially in recent years.

the headless horseman had returned.

and marie, for all the occult studying she’d done far from the gaze of her father’s watchful eyes, still so haunted after her mother’s brutal and untimely passing--couldn’t figure out why.

she knew exactly who he was. what he was. but why had he returned? what had woken him?

and could see really be that mournful, when it had sprung start the machinations of fate that brought walter right to her doorstep?

“i have shed my tears for boom... and yet my heart is not broken. do you think me wicked?”

“no... but perhaps there is a little bit of witch in you, marie.”

“walter, why do you say that?”

“because you have bewitched me.”

mini soundtrack sampler includes: frank sinatra, ‘witchcraft’ + creedence clearwater revival, ‘i put a spell on you’ + the rolling stones, ‘sympathy for the devil’

drunk and driven by a devil’s hunger - a safety nets au inspired by apostle, co-starring @agent-thorn​

it was only five years into the birth of an entirely new century, and her twin brother had been taken; her father, lost in his grief, was utterly useless.

it was all up to parker jensen.

she found a fake pass easy enough, slyly dancing her way through conversations with began with “you know, i don’t remember seeing you at any of the prayer meetings...” until finally, finally, they reached that accursed island.

she’d never been to wales before.

she had no idea what to expect.

what are you supposed to expect, when you’re all alone on a solo rescue mission going toe-to-toe with what can only be described as a cult?

but ivar--son of the enigmatic priest of the island, malcolm--was a nice surprise.

the only nice surprise that she’d find.

it wasn’t until she caught jeremy, sneaking home after what she could only guess had something to do with ffion, that she got her first flash of what would be a more and more grisly truth.

this island had its own god.

and something much more sinister than genesis had happened on this soil.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: bakar, ‘hell n back’ + mumford & sons, ‘little lion man’ + neil reid, ‘mother of mine’

let that fever make the water rise - a grace & choice au inspired by the ritual

it was supposed to be like a vacation. diana hadn’t had one in at least fifteen years. vida, even longer.

so why not hiking? why not the kungsleden--the king’s trail--in northern sweden?

the first two days were bliss. nothing but rolling hills, clear skies. up until:

“ah fuck!”

“vida--shit, vida, are you okay?”

“yeah, i’m--urk!”

“all right, that was not a reassuring noise, let’s have a look at that--”

vida’s left knee went from pink to a swollen blue to an agonized, deep purple tinged with green over the course of next day. diana couldn’t bear to watch her struggle to keep up, especially when this was supposed to be a romantic break, nothing as taxing as the fieldwork happening back home.

by the light of a campfire, diana studied their map, humming. “what if we just cut through the forest?” she asked. “if we just went as the crow flies... it cuts the time in half. and you need medical attention, vida, we can’t keep going on like this.”

“has the battalion cleared this area?” vida returned her question with one of her own, eyes shining. the reflection of the fire made them look like stones polished by a river. “we wouldn’t run into anything, would we?”

diana smiled. “nothing we couldn’t handle, love, i’m sure.”

and diana didn’t change her mind when they set off the next morning... up until they found the disembowled carcass of an elk, placed up high in a tree like a religious icon.

she thought of morgan.

“diana, what--what put that up there? something had to have put that up there!”

mini soundtrack sampler includes: billie eilish, ‘bury a friend’ + two feet, ‘i feel like i’m drowning’ + coldplay, ‘paradise’

you can hear the river from my burial bed - a secret gardens au inspired by the legends of slenderman & mercy black, co-starring @agent-hood​

she wouldn’t say she wouldn’t remember. she did.

it was just that caroline janson had been in therapy for so long... she was no longer sure what of shards of her memories were real, and what would be, as dr. ward would say, hallucinations.

but she knew one thing: she was glad to be coming home.

“i hope chicken’s okay for your first night back,” parker began gently. “i’m just now realizing i forgot to ask--”

caroline smiled at her, “chicken would be great.”

she watched parker’s profile, as she opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. finally, she inhaled, then began, “you know... carter’s missed you since you’ve been gone...”

caroline rolled her eyes. “parker. it’s been a decade and a half. i seriously doubt it.”

“hey, who knows my brother better right now, me or you?”

that earned a huff... and a grin. subdued, but still there. “... okay. fine. but... maybe not tonight.” parker glanced at her once, and nodded.

“i understand. besides, maybe i want you all to myself for the first few days, anybody think about that?”

and caroline laughed.

and she wished that it felt like she wasn’t still being haunted.

mini soundtrack sampler includes:  oingo boingo, ‘dead man’s party’ + shaed, ‘trampoline’ + corrina repp, ‘only a beat’

don’t let it shake your steady thread-cutting hand - a royals & robots au inspired by kristy

it was hardly tilde’s idea to spend thanksgiving alone harvard. but between the pandemic, the weather, and her own growing agitation at her father’s behavior...

it just seemed easier.

and it wasn’t all bad. she still had prudence, who opted to stay with her out of love (and perhaps a lack of family--but she didn’t ask). and they had run of essentially the entire campus--there were several buildings that stayed opened, even over the holiday. the library being one.

but it wasn’t until one night, when they made a late night trip to a convenience store not far from tilde’s housing that things became... strange.

“pru. ... pru!” she whispered, snacks in one hand, the other on pru’s elbow. “... i think she’s following us.”

“she?” pru asked, lowly, careful to keep her eyes down, as if they were just having a very, very difficult time decided on what kind of poptarts they wanted.

tilde, face oddly blanched, couldn’t find her voice, so she just nodded.

at the end of the aisle, a figure in dark hoodie and skinny jeans passed out of view.

one of pru’s arms went around tilde’s waist. “don’t worry. i’m sure she’s just here at the same time as us. it’s a small store.”

tilde would remember that when she got home in time to find a snuff film loaded onto her laptop.

“oh shit--oh shit, oh god--!”

this is why she preferred halloween.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: yeah yeah yeahs, ‘heads will roll’ + rihanna, ‘disturbia’ + nonono, ‘pumpin’ blood’

[theromnempire]

The Dead of Night

Title: The Dead of Night Word Count: 1,346 Pairings: Intrulogical, platonic DLAMP, (Platonic Prinxiety or Rociet if you look hard enough) Warnings: blood, kind of gore, ghosts, ouija board, cemetery, Halloween Summary: Logan didn’t believe in the supernatural the way his friends did, but with their luck, he should have known to expect even his precious science to betray him.

Logan knew better than to mess around with a Ouija board, or at least he should have.

He didn’t particularly believe in ghosts—he was a man of science, after all—but with his friends, the uncanny was to be expected.

“Come on, Lo, not scared, are you?” Roman teased, tossing the football that was part of his costume his way and chuckling when Logan fumbled it.

“Hardly,” he countered, tossing the ball back but misjudging it so it instead bounced off Roman’s knees. “I just think there are better things to do on Halloween.”

“Like give out candy to sugar-rushed fiends? Re-watch pathetic ‘horror’ movies while Patton complains about a stomach ache because he had too much chocolate? Where’s the thrill in that, the adventure?”

Roman grinned at his friend, clasping D’s shoulder while saying, “At last, someone is speaking my language.”

“And Logan, what of a new discovery? The damn scientific method?”

“Ghosts aren’t real,” Logan replied stubbornly, glancing to Virgil—the second most logical in the group—for support.

“Don’t know,” he shrugged, “could be fun.”

Surprisingly, Patton was the one to interject, “Maybe . . . maybe we shouldn’t. This is the one night a year the ghosts have off because everyone is too busy doing other things to summon them. They might get angry.”

“We’ll be quick,” Roman affirmed, offering both Patton and Virgil—dressed as Peter Pan and the headless horseman respectively—a hand to pull them to their feet. Then he took the lead, opening the front door with Dee following close behind. “Come on now, Geek Squad.”

What we’ll be is dead, he thought, shaking his head before pulling up the rear, picking up the Ouija board that the others had almost forgotten and closing the door behind him.

The cemetery wasn’t far, just down the street, so they went on foot. The sidewalks were packed with kids cloaked in fabrics of every shade from ghost-white to pure midnight black. Princesses, pirates, heroes, villains, and monsters ruled the night, running from house to house as their parents tiredly followed at a distance. They paid the teenagers no mind and likewise, Logan and his friends ignored them.

But he remained cautious, apprehensive because, really, there was no scientific explanation for why his skin crawled. They were surrounded by people and the lights of their flashlights led the way, remaining on even as they slipped into the woods—leaves crunching beneath their sneakers—and towards the front gates of the cemetery.

The erected tombstones were silent thrones, marking corpses that have been decomposing for centuries and blocking out the hush of the wind as they all sat on the cold, hard ground.

“Did you remember the board, Roman?”

“I have it,” Logan said, placing it in the middle of the circle the others had created before taking a step back.

“Too scared to join, Lo?”

“There’s only enough room for a few of us and I am the least inclined to participate . . . so unless you are too scared and want me to join in, I’ll sacrifice my spot for you,” he countered, the banter almost too easy between him and his best friend. Roman scrunched his nose in response before turning back to the board, fingers brushing against his friends’ as he placed two of his on the eye.

Patton hesitated, eyes flickering back to Logan with his arms crossed and back leaning against a tombstone so old that the name was no longer distinguishable. He looked genuinely frightened.

“Don’t worry,” Logan assured in a quiet voice so that the others wouldn’t be able to hear, “there’s nothing to fear because it isn’t real. There’s no place after our world and, frankly, I don’t believe in the existence of souls because there is no proof and therefore, no way for the living to return as a ghost or anything of that nature.”

But Roman, Virgil, and Dee had already begun, Patton now unable to join as they moved their hands around clockwise and recited a phrase in hushed voices that Logan could barely hear. They were hesitant despite their earlier excitement. Something was amiss.

“Is there anyone here?” Dee called, voice rising to a normal tone. “If so, speak to us.”

Silence, not even the wind dared to breathe.

He repeated, “Is there anyone-”

At once, the flashlights from their phones went out, all dying as a cloud raced to conceal the moon, plunging them into an impregnable darkness.

Roman and Patton screamed, Virgil bit the inside of his cheek, and Dee’s breath hitched. Logan glanced down at his phone, brows furrowing as he tried to turn it back on, but not even the red bar flickered onto the dark screen. Not dead, tampered with, then.

Dee tried again, “Is there any-”

“YES, NOW SHUT UP!”

The five boys turned towards the disembodied voice, paling as a translucent figure floated inches above the ground with something that looked like blood dripping down from both its eyes and its mouth.

Logan tried to speak but found himself unable to, payalyzed as Virgil—in a moment of fight or flight—grabbed Roman by the wrist and took off, Patton on their heels.

Finding his voice but not looking away, he said to Dee, “How did you-”

“I didn’t.”

He was silent for a moment, feeling his heart race and beg him to follow it out of the cemetery. “Oh.”

The ghost—a boy that must’ve been about their age—grinned wider at the exchange, eyes almost horrifically wide and drawing attention away from the stitches adorning his neck and cheeks. He moved closer and Dee abandoned the board, Logan, and the ghost without a second thought. But even in his cowardly flight, he seemed to glide with purpose more than run for his life like the others had.

Logan stayed, unable to look away.

“Why don’t you run?”

Without missing a beat, and speaking without thinking much of it, he said, “Because there’s nothing to be afraid of.” And you’re somehow the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

He left that last part out, not sure exactly where it had even come from. Hell, he wasn’t even sure what it was, maybe just the beauty of scientific discovery and realizing just how mysterious and incredible the world he lived in was. But when the ghost took a step forward (would they be considered steps? he was floating, after all—a question for Logan to ponder later), his chest constricted. He concluded that it wasn’t that, not at all.

“What’s your name?”

“Names have power,” the ghost countered, smirking as he moved closer still, until they were less than a foot away. “And I won’t tell you mine unless you tell me yours.”

“Logan,” he said, feeling that there was no need to lie about it.

“Logan, Logan, Logan . . . I knew a Logan in life.”

“I’m sure, we are far from a minority.”

“Funnier than the others, aren’t we?”

“Your name,” Logan insisted, watching as the other’s head turned all the way around his body, hands reaching up to grab his head and straighten it as if it had moved on its own accord.

“And you’re sure you want to know, Logan, one of many? Finding out means creating a bond and . . . well, I’d have no reason to ever leave your side.”

The corners of Logan’s mouth flickered upward, the first hint of emotion other than shock he had revealed the entire night. “Perfect, a man can’t run experiments on an absent test subject.”

“Remus,” he said, looking away after and Logan’s phone sprang to life. He glanced down for a second, the bright light surrounded by the dark apple logo catching his attention, and when he looked up, Remus was gone.

Logan’s flashlight had turned back on and was directed to the ouija board where the eye was moving on its own accord. He crouched down beside it, silently recording the letters as the ghost, Remus, communicated.

You should be scared, I could kill you.

“Please,” Logan snorted, picking up the board and the eye before carrying it out of the cemetery, “I’d like to see you try.”

-

Author’s Note

just a quick little thing i wrote in one sitting in order to get over writer’s block. i was just going to make it a headcanon but thought why not write a fic to get the juice’s flowing?

thanks for reading and happy halloween! ronnie

[magpiemorality]

Are We Into It?! pt.7

Sometimes fixing old hurts brings them back.

Warnings for this chapter: Blood, injury, fighting. Described but not serious.

First | Previous 

***

It was never going to be half as easy as that. Very much a case of easier said than done...

Remus and Roman started arguing again so fast Patton nearly dived for cover, and no one- least of all them- even knew what they were howling at each other but the weapons came out and that was far enough.

Logan threw himself to wrestle the sword from Roman as Deceit grabbed Remus by the face and tried to quickly talk him down, petting his anger-flushed cheek to soothe him.

"This won't work," Virgil hissed from the bed, curled back up like a frightened hedgehog. "We're never going to just talk things through!"

"We already have!" Logan protested. "You and I have discussed and I rightly apologised. And Deceit-" Deceit looked up from Remus with a raised eyebrow. "I think the willingness to try counts for a lot."

Virgil snorted, and not nicely. "Sure. And Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee are so willing to sort out their issues..."

The silence fell so suddenly over the room that Deceit had to try and subtly pop his ears to double check he could still hear. It was broken by a little sniff from Patton, clearly already overwhelmed. Deceit felt a rush of anger towards him. Why did he  get to be overwhelmed and sorry and have that be it? Why didn't he have a splitting headache and have to grit his teeth and push on through every crisis they'd ever had? He was probably only here to be absolved of all his sins so he could go on living his pretty perfect Patton life, and he ought to be the one with his head split into two perfect pieces-

He let go of Remus abruptly, looking at him sharply in betrayal. "You mojoed me!" Remus looked faintly ashamed but didn't deny it, raising his chin. "You-" Deceit couldn't stop blinking. His eyes hurt, maybe they were too dry in the hotel room air or something, so he rubbed them and it got worse, matching the increasing weight in his chest.

"I just wanted you to let go, Dee..." Remus mumbled. Deceit stood up. "Dee?"

"You and Roman are going somewhere else and you two can fight each other to the damn death until one of you emerges victorious or you sort your shit out, for all I care!" He shouted, hands balling into fists.

Remus did look ashamed then. "Dee I'm so-"

"Don't! Don't say that. Just go, please. Leave the grown ups here to sort the real issues out." It was hurtful, but it was meant to be. He turned away from Remus's stricken face, not watching as Logan took Roman aside and murmured to him. A new door opened up and Roman hurried through, followed by a more reticent Remus, who kept looking over his shoulder to see if Deceit would acknowledge him. He didn't.

Deceit sat back down heavily on the edge of the bed, gripping it tightly. "We should- we should get on with it. Who knows how long they'll be?" He muttered.

"Maybe we should talk about this first, kiddo-"

"I am not your kiddo, Patton," Deceit snapped. "Don't call me that."

Morality blinked, looking to Logan for help before acquiescing. "Oh-okay, Deceit. Sorry. Is there, um, anything else that you'd like u- me to change?"

Everything? The past, maybe? Deceit rubbed his hands over his eyes, leaving them there while he tried to organise his thoughts into something coherent. The sensation of weight dipping the mattress next to him caught him by surprise, and he uncovered an eye to see Virgil sitting next to him with a nervous expression, hand halfway out towards his shoulder. It paused there under the scrutiny, but Deceit swallowed down his bitter immediate response and nodded.

It felt nice, the warmth of anxiety leaving him and the small gesture of support from someone he'd thought he may have lost it from forever. It was just enough to topple the weight he'd been feeling and he sniffed.

Just once.

But once was all it took for the barriers to be overwhelmed by the flood building up behind them. He cried into Virgil's waiting arms, uncaring of who might be watching.

The door shut behind Remus and Roman with a definite thump, signalling the start of their mandated alone time. It was hard to feel the same burning anger and bitterness when he felt so damn guilty though. Dee had looked... heartbroken. Like Remus had taken the last of his hope from him somehow, and so when Roman's sword came towards his head he didn't move but waited. Maybe being beheaded would be fun and he could just pretend to be the headless horseman and the cheshire cat all at once? Maybe it wouldn't work and he'd turn out like Nearly Headless Nick, which was even cooler...

But Roman stopped in time, scowling at his estranged twin. "Why aren't you fighting back?!" He demanded. "You wanted this! You wanted to pick a damn fight and now here we are. So fight!"

"Ugh, you're so dramatic. And honourable. Why are you so damn honourable?" Remus scowled right back at him.

"Uh, I don't know, probably because I got all the goodness?" Roman taunted him. "And you don't even try not to be stinky and gross and a monster, so you can't talk!"

There was a clang when the morning star hit the sword, only just blocked by Roman as Remus swung at him out of the blue, face twisted. "I don't try?! I tried every day for years! I tried to be different, to be good! To be allowed to come back! I even tried to join back with you, to split again, but there's not anything left in me that's not bad so I couldn't!" He shouted, forcing Roman back and back and back with heavy swings of his weapon, ringing out on the strong but significantly more delicate katana Roman wielded. "I can't be different."

The morning star dropped just as Roman swung and Remus closed his eyes, waiting for the glorious wet thunk of impact against his side.

Somehow Roman managed to pull the blow at the last second, enough that even with momentum it only grazed a hot, thin line at an angle crossing his chest, cutting through his clothes and leaving a pink mark that darkened rapidly as it began to bleed. Remus cackled, wiping his finger through it and dropping to his knees in triumph. At last! Roman had been the one to hurt him! He wasn't perfect after all!

The laughter startled Roman out of his haze, frozen by the captivating sight of the injury. He jumped forwards, dropping his sword and pressing his hand to the wound. It was shallow and not bleeding too heavily, but he still only ended up with red on his hands, hands that Remus caught by the wrists and twisted to show to him with a blissful smile as Roman tried to breathe. "Look, we're not so different." Remus whispered, a single inky black tear rolling down from pure joy. He let go of Roman's hands to press his own to them, palm to palm, their fingers matching perfectly. "We're not so different-"

Roman threw himself backwards, glaring at Remus hotly. He nearly ran a hand over his face before he remembered, conjuring a cloth to quickly scrub the blood off and not looking at his brother. "We are not the same. You want to hurt me because it makes you feel good. I just want to stop you. And that was an accident- you wanted to be hit!"

"And you still did it! You can't-"

"I am not like you! I am better and kinder and good!"

Remus finally fell quiet, the manic energy fading. He stood up, waving a hand to repair his clothes, even though the dark stain could be seen through them. "There's no point to this, is there," he said quietly. "When they broke us they really broke us. You know, I often wonder if I'm even Creativity anymore. Maybe we were always more and then you got all that, and I got... something else. Meanness, probably. Ugliness, inside. Maybe I really could be Duke of Trash..."

"Stop trying to get me to pity you!" Roman yelled, throwing the cloth. "I don't!"

"Oh that is abundantly clear, thank you," Remus hissed.

Roman fought the childish urge to stick out his tongue. "I want to go home. And I want everything to go back to normal. I don't like this. I don't like feeling bad like this."

"Guilt, such a fu-"

"No, bad. Like I'm the bad guy." That caught Remus's attention and he turned around to look at his brother. "I made people hurt and I didn't mean to. I make you hurt and I say these things and I- I'm not supposed to be like this, Remus! I'm supposed to be the good guy!" He hid his face in his knees.

Remus sighed and sat down where he was, keeping some distance between them. "I'm supposed to be the bad guy. But I hurt someone... and I didn't mean to do that either. That's not the kind of bad guy I want to be. I just want- Roman I just want to do my job. I want Thomas to be amazing and free and wildly passionate about everything. I don't want him to be scared of anything. And I don't want to be bad because I do that. I think it's the same for D- for Dee."

"But that's the opposite of what Patton and Virgil want, and what Logan would say is good!"

Remus snorted, clicking his fingers so an extra large pair of glasses appeared on his face. "And Logan would say something silly like," he affected a serious voice, "'Homo Sapiens are supposed to function in a balance in all aspects of life with a conscious effort towards shades of grey thinking'. Or would it be 50 shades of grey thinking..."

Without thinking Roman giggled. He clapped a hand over his mouth quickly to hide it but the damage was done. "I don't think that's what it should be. Patton would pitch a fit if Thomas started thinking like that..."

"Oh I know, wouldn't it be hilarious?" Remus grinned. His smile fell. "But... I don't want you to feel like the bad guy either, okay Ro? It's not a nice way to feel. Not that kind of bad, anyway. But can you... maybe stop making me feel that way too?" Roman groaned. "I know, it's not easy. But can't we just... duel it out when we need to instead of being really actually mean?"

"It would be better for Thomas..." Roman said slowly. "We could try it out a bit? Have a temporary bad guy-good guy team up to defeat the worst villain of all... um... uh..." He struggled to think of what that might be and Remus rolled his eyes.

"The Dragon Witch still around?"

"Oh yes! The Dragon Witch! We'll stay teamed up until then. And you can be the... antihero. Maybe. If that works."

Remus didn't go to hug his brother but it was a strong impulse. He did offer his hand though, and they stood up, the room fading out as they walked to the door. "You think they're done in there?"

"There's only one way to find out."

– Next

[thecleverdame]

Sleepy Hollow - Chapter Eight

Series Master List

Pairings: Sam x Reader, mentions of Dean x Jo

Summary: In 1799, specialized police constables Sam and Dean Winchester are sent from New York City to a small town called Sleepy Hollow to investigate a series of murders. Approached by the town’s council, the Winchesters discover the local residents believe that the murders are the work of a deadly Hessian horseman whose head has been mysteriously chopped off. With help from the beautiful Y/N Van Tassel, Sam Winchester’s investigation takes him further through the dark wood where more murders have been occurring. What Sam does not realize is that the mysterious Horseman is being controlled by someone in a sinister plot to kill the most suitable men in the village.

Warnings: Canon-level violence, murder, smut, horror, gore and a little fluff for good measure.

Words: 40k

Beta:  ilikaicalie

This series is completed. You can read it on my Patreon for a monthly pledge of 2.50. This pledge includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

-

Western Woods

No one, indeed. Sam, Dean and Young Masbath ride alone, their horses loaded up for the expedition. The three ride through the dark and gnarled woods keeping a watchful eye.

“The Van Garretts, the Widow Winship, Jonathan Masbath, and now Magistrate Philipse...something must connect them. Can you think of anything Young Masbath?” Sam asks.

“We had no dealings with the magistrate that I know of.” The boy shrugs. “And the widow?” Dean pulls his horse beside him. “Your father knew her?”

“Everyone knew Widow Winship,” he confirms.   “In a manner of speaking I trust.” Sam glances to Dean.

“She would bring old Mr. Van Garrett a basket of eggs every week.” A crow screeches in the distance and all three riders nearly jump in their saddle.

“Did your father have dealings with the Van Garretts?” Sam inquires.

Young Masbath look between the brothers. “He worked for them, we lived in the coach house.”

“You didn’t think to mention this?” Dean presses. “It’s nothing, there were many servants. All dismissed now, of course...But there was something that happened one night, a week before the murder. An argument upstairs between father and son, and my father was later sent for by Mr. Van Garrett.” Sam nods, “An argument between father and son?” “After which, the elder Van Garrett summoned his servant, my father.”

“Stop.” Dean snaps, putting his hand up. “Listen.” “I hear nothing.” Young Masbath looks around.

“Nor do I, no birds, no crickets.” Sam keeps his eyes on the horizon, fingers grazing over the grip of his pistol.

“Everything has gone quiet,” Dean notes. “We need to keep moving.”

“This way,” Sam nods. They reach a hill crest, stopping to take stock of the surroundings. Below there is a cave with a rock archway over two ill-fitting doors that look to be coming off the hinges. Above is a chimney, smoke pouring out into the gray sky. “This is a bad idea.” Young Masbath pulls his horse back several steps.

“Bad ideas are what we do best.” Sam grins, dismounting his horse. “He’s right. Don’t be scared, boy. You’re safe with us.” Dean jumps to the ground, helping Young Masbath down.

They tie their horses to a tree and head toward the cave, stalking carefully on the approach.

“Do we...knock?” Sam whispers, looking at his brother.

Dean shrugs, hand on the butt of his pistol. “Sure.” Sam taps on the door twice, and it flops to and fro, clearly ajar.

Looking back at his two companions, Sam raises his eyebrows and ducks down to prowl inside. The walls are covered with skins and skeletons. Sam freezes when he spots her, across the cave is an old crone, facing away from them, motionless. Everything about her is gray, from her hair to her rotting skin. They all share a look as Sam clears his throat lightly. “Pardon our intrusion…”

There’s no response, so Sam edges forward.

“Are you from the Hollow?” Her voice is broken, fractured sounds only held together by the rasping of her throat. “In a way,” Dean affirms, leaving Young Masbath behind him to join Sam. Dean taps his brother’s arm, bringing his attention to the table beside them. It’s littered with gourd bowls of dead insects, dried leaves, acorns, knives, scissors, and yellowed bones. “I would like to say,” Sam inches closer. “We make no assumptions about your occupation, rather, your ways witch-which are nothing new to us. To each their own.” The Crone places something on a table beside her, a dead bird, a bright red cardinal. Sam begins to back away, but Dean stops him. “Do you know of the Horseman, ma'am? The Hessian?” Dean finds his voice.

The Crone draws her finger across her neck. “That'll be him, miss.” The elder Winchester snickers.

Around her neck is a cord on which is threaded a carved stone, a mystic bauble, they both notice. The Crone stands tall and faces them, pointing to Sam.

“You, follow me.” She curls her finger. “Get out, child,” she instructs Young Masbath. “Keep away. No matter what you hear, keep away.” Sam looks back to Dean who’s standing his ground. “She wants you, not me.” The crone takes a candle and heads deeper into the cave and Sam follows her through the passage,terrified and bent under the low ceiling. “Um, what might he hear that he must keep away from?” “Sit here,” she instructs. Sam sits on a crooked stool. The Crone kneels with her back to him, grasping two metal cuffs with chains attached, sliding them onto her wrists, testing them. “He rides to the Hollow and back. I hear him. I smell the blood on him,” she grits.

“Do you,” he stops trying to find the right question. “We’re here to find him, to make him stop.”

“You want to see into the netherworld? I can show you.”

She gathers straw in a pile on the floor, then bowls, putting grass and powder on the pile, fussing over it. Then takes a jar from a table. “What are you doing?” Sam watches intently, he’s scared but even more entranced. This is old magic he didn’t believe existed in these modern times.

The Crone shakes one jar, pulling the lid off and upends it. A baby bat squirms, dazed. The Crone grips the bat using a knife to cut off its head, soaking the straw with blood. “Do not move or speak. When the other comes, I will hold him.” She explains calmly and Sam bows his head in confirmation. Using her candle, the Crone lights the straw pile. “The Other?” He asks softly.

“Silence,” she hisses, bending over to inhale the smoke. “He comes now.” The Crone slumps forward to the floor, suddenly immobile with her back to Sam. Wind howls through a hole somewhere in the wall of the cave. Sam looks around, uncertain. “Excuse me...ma'am?” The Crone remains motionless. The wind intensifies, candles blow out. Sam inches closer... “Do you hear me?” he asks again, a bit louder this time.

The Crone jumps erect, spinning - a half-human, half-demon creature, black clawed hands reaching out to Sam. He cries out, leaping backward. The chain on the restraining cuffs around its hands goes taut, yanking the creature back. Sam knocks over a table of bones, hits the floor. The creature is chained, but still wants Sam. It shrieks. Its face still seethes from transformation. “You seek the warrior bathed in blood, the Headless Horseman.” Sam scrambles to his feet as the creature claws the rock floor, yearning. “Follow the Indian trail to where the sun dies. Follow to the Tree of the Dead.”  The creature yanks, testing the chains. Behind, the bolt holding the chains slips, the wall cracking. “Climb down to the Horseman's resting place. Do you hear?” Sam nods, quaking, aghast. He glances back, wishing Dean were here to witness this horrific display. The chain bolt gives more,  it’s coming loose. Sam flees toward the door. The creature howls, leaping when the chain bolt breaks. Sam shouts as he's tackled to the floor. But when he looks up it’s only the crone lying on him. She’s returned to her human form, semi-conscious as Sam shoves her off him and to the floor. Sam sprints out from the cave, past Dean and Young Masbath. “We are leaving.”

“What happened?” Dean asks, watching Sam mount his horse.

“We are leaving, now.” Sam offers no room for dissent.

“Stop and talk to me, brother.” Dean claps a hand on Sam’s saddle horn.

“I cannot pretend to understand what’s happening in this place. But a spirit spoke to me.” Sam’s face is ashen. Dean stares at him a moment longer, then wordlessly mounts his own horse.

Sam, Dean, and Young Masbath ride side by side. "Take the Indian trail...to the Tree of the Dead.” Sam repeats, scanning the trees around him. “How will we recognize it?” Young Masbath asks. “Without difficulty, I rather fear,” Dean snorts.

“And climb down to the Horseman's resting place, she said.” Sam recites for the tenth time, as the repetition will hold the words in his memory.

“His camp?” Dean wonders out loud. “His grave.” Sam’s sure of it.

Somewhere in the woods is a snapping branch that breaks the silence. The three look back.

“There’s someone out there.” Dean listens, eyes fluttering closed as he tilts his head toward the sound.

“We need a better vantage point.” Sam searches their surrounds. “Up there.”

They charge up the hill, halting the horses, the constables dismounting. Sam and Dean hand off the reins to Young Masbath and draw their guns.

“Ride on,” Dean whispers to the boy, who obeys immediately. The Winchesters wade into forest growth, backtracking the route they just took. Moving through the underbrush, keeping low. There’s the snort of a horse and they look to each in unspoken communication. They come up behind a figure in a gray cloak on horseback. Dean nods at Sam, both men raising their pistols, cocking the hammers. “Halt and turn! There are pistols aimed.” Sam’s voice booms through the forest.

The figure stops, pushes off the cloak hood. “It is me.” You can feel your heart thumping in your chest, looking at the two men who have their weapons trained on you.

“Y/N,” Sam lowers his gun. “We might have killed you. Why are you here?”

“Because no one else would go with you,” you answer honestly, watching the wonderful, faint smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. He’s heartened by your presence.

“I am now twice the man.” Sam reaches out, taking your hand, helping you off your steed. The feel of his hand on yours makes your cheeks flush.

Dean sighs averting his gaze, looking toward the tree line. “It is your white magic.” Sam grins, one hand curling around your waist.

Your eyes meet and he leans closer, unphased by his brother who stands only feet away.

“Pardon my intrusion…” Young Masbath steps out of the woods.

“Oh please,” Dean smiles, patting the boy's shoulder. “No one has ever had more perfect timing my young man.”

“I think you'd better come and look at this, constables.” You follow the boy, Sam reaching behind to take your hand, a gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed by his brother. Your fingers thread between his, a thrilling reminder of how large every part of him seems to be. The four of you come into a clearing, slowing your pace to look up at the monstrously huge Tree of the Dead at the center of the clearing. Its branches reach far and wide, knotted and gross, like agony captured in wood sculpture. “The Tree of the Dead,” Dean mutters, awestruck. “It does announce itself,” you whisper in confirmation, transfixed by the arboreal terror before you.

Without looking back Sam gives your hand a squeeze, before relinquishing his hold. He crosses a line beyond which grass and weeds will not grow. The three of you follow. Sam stares up into the endless, dead canopy of branches. There's a vertical wound in the bark, like a terrible suture, now healed and scarred. Sam reaches out, finger sinking into the mushy scar, picking at its scabs till sap begins to run. Red sap. Sam coats his fingers and brings them to his nose, sniffing. “Blood.” He looks to Dean.

“The tree bleeds? How can it be?” you ask, stepping forward to look at the evidence.

Dean turns back to the horses, pulling two hand axes from the saddlebags. “What is it?” Young Masbath looks on, shaking in fright.

“Move back.” Sam locks eyes with you, sending a thrill of excitement down your spine, despite this perilous situation. At the trunk, Dean hands Sam an ax, thumping the flat end of it against the suture. It sounds hollow. They look to each other, and in accord they begin to chop. Dean sinks in first, pulling away loose bark. The tree drips more blood and a sickening goo. Sam uses both hands on the ax to hack at the festering suture. “What are you doing?” You stand on your toes, trying to look around the men.

“Just...keep where you are.” Sam instructs, fixated on the task at hand.

Young Masbath moves closer as the men keep chopping. Dean grips a large, loose flap, trying to pull it away. It's not easy. Sam joins him and they both struggle. You follow Young Masbath's slow advance. Both men give a menacing heave and the flap suddenly gives, revealing a blood-soaked, wide-eyed, gape-mouthed human head. Sam recoils, Dean covers his mouth. Behind them, you stifle a scream, clasping both hands over your mouth. Sam cocks his head, getting a closer look. It is Philipse’s head, hanging off the trunk flap, held by roots grown around and into the flesh. Four other severed, decaying heads are held by ingrown roots within the dewy innards. One of the heads is Jonathan Masbath's. Before Young Masbath sees it, you hide his face, drawing him to you as he buries his head in your arms.

“My God,” you stammer, fear and confusion twisting in your belly. “He tries to take the heads back with him, but they will not pass,” Sam thinks out loud.

“We must leave this place,” you call out, gaining the attention of both men.

Sam looks to the branches towering above. ”This is a gateway, between two worlds.” Dean studies the ground, circling the trunk, around the other side he gets to his knees. There he’s found the Horseman’s sword, a grave marker, jutting up from the ground, rusted twenty years' worth, gripped by the tree trunk and vines. Sam joins his brother, touching the ground with blood-stained fingers. “Climb down to the Horseman’s resting place.”

“Bring the shovels,” Dean calls out. Both men look up to the sight of you holding the boy, looking on in horror. “Forgive me.” Dean backtracks. Young Masbath courageously recovers himself, wiping his eyes and nose on the back of his sleeve. “Yes, sir, the shovels. Two shovels and the rifle, I suggest.” The sun is setting as you watch them dig by lantern light. Young Masbath is crouched, rifle across his knees. He watches the tree, looking up at the swarm of bats in the high branches. Sam and Dean both stand in a shallow grave. “This ground has been disturbed, the soil is loose.” Sam looks from his brother to you, throwing down his shovel. You and Young Masbath come to the edge of the grave. Sam pulls at thick burlap cloth covered heavy with dirt, straining as it comes away. Sam drops the burlap, looking down, disbelieving. “Dean, look!” The roots have gripped the Horseman’s bones and tattered uniform. The skeleton is all there, except the skull. “The skull is gone. What does it mean?” You scowl, looking away from the putrid sight. Sam jumps out from the grave. “It means, my dear Miss Van Tassel, it means...yes! What exactly does it mean? It definitely means something, only time will tell! But I sense that we are very close to the answer here.” Both Winchesters are both so caught up in the bones in front of them that they seem oblivious to the ground undulating beneath their feet. “Sam!” you shriek as he turns to look you. You grab Young Masbath, backing away as the roots in the grave come alive, entwining around the remains.

“Something is happening,” Dean draws Sam’s attention to the twisted tree behind them. The vertical suture seethes, pulling inward, sucking Philipse’s head back in and closing, bubbling at the edges. “Run!” Sam bounds over the grave, with Dean at his heels. He grabs you without slowing. Two big hands curl around your waist, plucking you off the ground as he heads for cover on the other side of the clearing.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, you can look behind him, the tree swelling and pulsing, the leaking scar moments from bursting open. Once Sam passes the bucking horses, he slips into the tree line, setting you down and moving to the forefront, putting himself between you and impending terror. There’s a rumbling coming from the tree as you peek around Sam to watch the spectacle. The wound bursts wide open, spitting smoldering cinders into the air.

From the open portal a glow brightens, and without warning, The Headless Horseman on his mighty steed, Daredevil, explodes into existence. The horse’s hooves hit the ground running, the ground shaking as horse and rider ride away, bolts of lightning striking the earth behind them. “Did you see that!” Sam shouts to Dean, both men look strangely excited for having just witnessed such a horrifying event.

“We have to go!” Dean responds, both of them already running toward their horses.

“Go straight home!” Sam calls back to you and Young Masbath. “Don’t stop for anything!” You call after him but there’s no stopping the Winchesters as they give chase, horses rearing up on two legs before speeding away in hot pursuit. Trees are silhouetted against the sky.

As the horseman’s hoofbeats grow faster, branches bending like arms and fingers yearning to touch. As the horseman roars past, and in turn, the trees relax. The Horseman rides fast with Sam and Dean behind him. There’s no keeping up and they slow, trying to decide what route he’s taken. “There!” Dean points to the distance, the sky is lit up. There’s a fire. The old crone’s cave is vomiting flames when they arrive. Embers swirling in the night air, the men dismount, heading closer to the cave as Dean slips on a blood covered rock, landing very close to the crone’s headless body. Dean recoils, crawling away, looking at the carnage in disbelief.

The corpse lies near the cave entrance. The jagged skin of the neck wound still bleeds. The ground and dead leaves around the corpse are thick with blood.  Sam walks back to the crone,  her headless neck has been cut and the carved Bauble is missing. They hear a Horse neighing in the trees, and the sound of the horse crashing through the undergrowth. They can hear him departing but can see nothing.

[meganlpie]

Headless Soulmate

Anonymous asked: OMG Meg, you write for Sleepy Hollow! I see you've written a lot of Ichabod fics but do you think you could write Abraham (the headless horseman)? Maybe the reader is teamed up with Abbie and Ichabod when she sees the Horseman for the first time. The three decide to try and make him human again and they have to use a bit of blood from his soulmate (he thinks it's Kat. But it's the reader)? Please?

Here you go, lovely!! This is one of my favorite Sleepy Hollow fics that I’ve written. I do not own any of the Sleepy Hollow characters. They belong to FOX and the creators of the show. 

Warnings: Fluff, angst, Soulmate AU, typical Sleepy Hollow stuff (spells and whatnot), and it’s a bit long.

Pairings: Abraham Van Brunt/Headless Horseman x fem!reader, Ichabod Crane x Katrina Crane, Abbie Mills, Jenny Mills. 

"Is that him?" you squeaked when you entered the tunnel behind Abbie and Jenny. Standing in the Masonic cell was something you could only describe as impossible. A headless man in a Hessian uniform. "That is indeed the Headless Horseman. The Horseman of Death," Ichabod explained. Your eyes widened. You just couldn't believe it. Ichabod and Abbie had told you about it, but you hadn't believed it until now.

               "He may be the Horseman of Death, but underneath, he's still the Abraham we knew, Ichabod," Katrina said softly. You saw Ichabod's jaw clench at her defense. You didn't want to be in the middle of the tension and, thankfully, Jenny spoke up. "So, now that we have him, what do we do?" Your gaze traveled back to the chained man in the center of the room.

               His breathing was heavy and he was weakened by the light in the cell but you could still practically feel the power radiating off him. "I believe there is a way to stop him without killing him," Katrina answered, causing everyone in the room to look at her in surprise. For a moment, no one could speak. You'd been trying to find a way to defeat the Horseman for months and now Katrina didn't want you to kill him.

               You were the first to find your voice. "What way?" Katrina gave you a grateful smile. "There is a spell. One that will speak to the compassion that is still inside of Abraham. If done correctly, it will bring out the humanity in him." You exchanged glances with your teammates. Ichabod sighed heavily. From the little interaction you'd seen from Ichabod and Katrina, you knew he'd do anything to see her happy after being apart for so long. "If you believe it will help, we shall try." Katrina nodded happily. "The spell requires a willing participant. Abraham must agree to do this or it will not work."

               After a little bit of debate, Ichabod, Abbie and Katrina entered the cell to talk to Abraham while you and Jenny stayed behind to listen. Abraham's posture indicated fury at first, then acceptance. Obviously he was willing to try, for Katrina's sake.

               Katrina, Ichabod and Abbie returned to where you and Jenny waited. "Abraham has agreed. In order for the spell to work, I will need a few items, but there are two that are the most important. The first is Abraham's skull." You had to bite your tongue to keep from commenting on how obvious that was. "And the second?" Ichabod asked, making Katrina blush a little. "Blood from his soulmate."

               "That could prove...problematic." Katrina shook her head. "No. Abraham truly believes that I am his soulmate. Perhaps his faith in that could be enough for the spell to work." Jenny shrugged. "It couldn't hurt to try. Make him human again and then he can't finish what he started." You all agreed and went about gathering the items Katrina needed. You were partnered with Abbie. "Do you think it'll work?" you asked her and she nodded. "Katrina's pretty powerful. If anyone can make it work, she can."

               A couple hours later, you were all standing in the cell, armed to the teeth and ready for anything. Katrina stood in front of Abraham, prepping the spell. You kept your eyes on him, ready to go to Katrina's aid if necessary. Katrina prepared everything for the spell, placing the skull on Abraham before chanting some kind of incantation.

               You nearly jumped when the eyes of the skull opened. Katrina finished the spell before cutting along her hand and let a few drops of her blood join the rest of the ingredients. You waited, but nothing happened. Katrina frowned. "I don't understand." Ichabod went to her and wrapped her bleeding hand. "Perhaps it was not enough for Abraham to simply believe that you are his soulmate." He escorted Katrina out. Abbie and Jenny followed while you stayed behind to clean up.

               You didn't look at Abraham as you cleaned everything up. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry it didn't work. I know how hard it is to believe that someone is your soulmate and to find it out they aren't," you said softly. You picked up the knife and began to clean the blood off. Movement in the corner of your eye caught your attention, causing you to look up at Abraham. When you did, the knife slipped a little, cutting into the soft flesh of your hand.

               You dropped the bloody knife into the bowl and hissed. "Son of a-" A noise of reproach echoed through the cell. "Now, that is hardly properly language for a young lady." You blinked and looked up again. Where there had been a headless person now stood a handsome man. His eyes were no longer white, but blue and they regarded you with a soft expression. "Are you alright?" You couldn't speak for shock. You were his soulmate? You?

               You simply nodded. Abraham tried to move closer to you, but the chains held him back. The door opened again. "Y/N, what's - " Ichabod cut off at the sight of Abraham. You cleared your throat. "I'm fine. I just...need a minute." You pushed past the others and left the room. As soon as you were in the tunnels, you broke out into a run and didn't stop until you were in the archives. Once there, you sank onto one of the chairs to calm your racing heart and to wrap your mind around the fact that your soulmate was a man out of time. A man that, until a few moments ago, had been a Horseman of the Apocalypse.

               Abbie entered the archives a minute later. "Hey. You okay?" You nodded. "I just need some time to come to terms with that fact that my soulmate is the Headless Horseman." She smiled in understanding. "Not anymore. He was the Horseman. Your blood worked. He's human again." You sighed and rested your face in your hands. "A man that has no idea how to live in this century," you groaned.

               "Perhaps not, but I believe I could learn. With a bit of help." Your head shot up at the sound of Abraham's voice.  You merely stared at him, unable to find the proper words. How could you? "Guys, let's give them a minute," Abbie suggested. Soon, you were left alone with Abraham. He began to circle the room, taking in everything he could. It was so quiet, you could hear every single one of his footsteps.

               "You are not happy," he finally said. Sighing, you ran your hand through your hair and stood up. "What do you expect? Did you really think you'd find your soulmate hundreds of years after your death? I certainly didn't my soulmate would not only be over 200 but also be a Horseman." Abraham frowned. "I know. I'm not proud of it. I truly believed Katrina was my soulmate and I let my jealousy overwhelm me. I chose the wrong path."

               You took a careful step to him. "Do mean that? Do you really regret your actions?" He glanced at you. Those blue eyes were filled with despair. "I do." You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply. "Abraham, I won't lie and tell you that I'm happy about this situation, but I'm willing to try if you are." He smiled and you couldn't deny it was dazzling. You nearly melted. Nearly.

               "There will be boundaries at first. I don't trust you yet." He nodded. "Of course. Perhaps we can get to know one another as you help me to get better acquainted with this time. Let me earn your trust." You tried to fight the upturn of your lips, but you couldn't. "I think that's a good idea." You reached out your hand for him to shake. Instead, he brought your knuckles to his lips and kissed them, making you blush. This was going to be interesting.

(a/n: I hope you like it lovely! I had a lot of fun writing it!)

Tagging: @fairytalesexistxx @brewsthespirit-blog @ficmenow 

[tvserieshub]

The episode opens up showing Jenny (Lyndie Greenwood) in a dystopian future, teaching children. An alarm is given about a sighting. Jenny asks how many, and is told it’s ALL of them. They herd the children to safety, arm themselves and step outside and see all four Horsemen of the Apocalypse ride in to the compound. The Horsemen are devastating and while Jenny is doing damage to one in particular, she is knocked out by War.

Jenny awakens to War restraining her and Lara/Molly (Seychelle Gabriel) slugging her. Jenny tries to get Molly to understand that Dreyfuss has done nothing but lie to her, but Molly is intent on bringing her back for a public execution, and preventing anyone else from suffering what she thinks she suffered. Lara insists that Jenny not call her Molly. They struggle, Jenny pulls out a knife, twirls around and strikes War in the mask with the specially treated knife. This cuts off a part of the mask. Jenny is impaled, and as Molly looks from dying Jenny to War, she sees that her mother IS War.

Back in Dreyfuss’ lair, Molly shows Dreyfuss (Jeremy Davies) the knife Jenny used. She starts to tell Malcolm that Jenny told her that War was…but, Malcolm interrupts her telling her not to believe that her mother was War. But Jenny hadn’t said it was her mother. Malcolm says he’s heard that rumor before. They hug it out. (ugh!)

Although Molly thought Crane was dead, she wanders into what is supposed to be an empty prison cell and sees Crane (Thomas Mison)! Crane confirms that Molly’s mother was transformed. Crane had secreted away information about The Traveler’s Spell, and hands it to Molly, telling her she must use it to save her mother. Molly pokes around in Malcolm’s room to find further information on the spell.

Malcolm shows up and Molly challenges him. He says he didn’t take her mother away, it was fate! Molly has activated the spell and as Malcolm shoots at Molly, she jumps through right as past Malcolm is shooting at Diana (Janina Gavankar) in the forest. He misses and we see Crane transformed into War. Molly views this (initially) as success, as her goal was to avoid her mother being turned into War. Dreyfuss is astonished at this turn of events, and a little disappointed because he had plans for Crane. Diana demands that he be returned, but Dreyfuss says it is a one way ticket. Dreyfuss tells Lara/Molly that clearly he has a use for her, wait, had, wait – those tenses are complicated with time travel. He asks Crane to kill them, but Lara/Molly slices War with a knife which, surprisingly, damages him.

Lara and Diana drive away trying to figure out what to do. Lara is confused because since she was successful in intervening, her timeline and Molly’s timeline are separated and now the future has been changed. Diana wants to get Molly, but Lara says she’s safer away from them. Diana calls young Molly (Oona Yaffe) to check on her, and she’s fine. Lara explains that Dreyfuss actually found her later after her Mom disappeared, Dad was MIA and Molly ended up in the system. Molly and Diana meet with Jake (Jerry MacKinnon), Alex (Rachel Melvin) and Jenny at the Vault. They discuss that Lara is truly Molly from the future. They haven’t located any literature on recovering someone from being a horseman, but Diana shows that they have Crane’s blood on the knife. On the shelf, the black goo that they should have destroyed is bubbling away…They note that there is a compound outside Camp David, which means there is a Horseman very close to the President. The jar breaks, and the goo surrounds the invincible knife. War, and Jobe (Kamar de los Reyes) have Headless’ ax, and discuss the rune they need to recharge it. It’s hidden but Jobe says nothing stays hidden from him for long. War shows up, clearly damaged. Jobe has him hop into a coffin with lit runes to regenerate. He explains Crane didn’t have a chance to bond completely, but after awhile regenerating, he’ll be bonded and at full power.

In the vault, the team discusses how to save Crane when Bannaker’s security system is triggered. It turns out that Henry (John Noble) has emerged from the black goo jar. A bit of Henry’s soul mixed with the blood on the knife to resurrect him. Henry explains he was formed out of Crane’s thoughts, so he’s the son Crane wanted him to be. Great lines. Diana: “This is Crane’s son? Kinda old.” Jenny: “Tell that to your 30-year-old daughter over there.” Diana: “Point taken.” (The dialog this season has been great. Very witty.) Henry figures out that Crane has become the horseman of war. “Like Father, like son.” Henry said that there was a spell that could release the soul of War. Jenny confirms they were going to release Abraham Brunt, but Katrina died before they could execute the spell. The team is concerned about whether they can trust Henry (with good reason) but they seem to have no alternative.

They return to the vault to find it was torn apart and someone has liberated something very powerful, but they don’t know what it is. They separate. Lara goes with Diana to find the spellbook. Diana figures out that Lara/Molly is angry with her. And, because of timing, Dreyfuss took advantage of Molly’s vulnerability. Diana reassures Lara that this was not her fault and she shouldn’t feel guilty. Lara reminds Diana that the future has been rewritten.

The vault team conducts an inventory and figures out that the item missing is the Draguar Stone, which can resurrect the dead. Jake figures out that Jobe is collecting artifacts to charge the ax. They are looking for relatives or people with a strong connection. Jenny realizes that he’s resurrecting the Hessian soldiers who drowned…by Sleepy Hollow.

In a scene resembling something from Pirates of the Caribbean, Jobe resurrects a bunch of Hessians. The team has a limited amount of zombie destroying bullets, so Jenny says make them count. Molly, with Diana, executes the spell using the connection that Molly has with Crane, and she appears in a room with a multicolored box. She calls to Crane but he screams to get away. Molly reasons that Crane is being broken down. She tries to figure out how to reconstitute Crane. Crane shouts a warning that “he’s here.”

Jenny, Alex and Jake are engaging with the Hessians. They think they got them all, when another larger wave crests the hill. The Horseman breaks into the prison chamber and strikes Molly with the ax. Lara (with Diana) spits blood out and falls forward. War continues to come at Molly, but she reminds Crane that she and he are the Witnesses, which jolts him in time to block the blow to Molly. Crane cradles the injured Molly. Molly asks Crane why they are still in the prison, and he says before he fully separates from War he wants to take advantage of his powers. Molly wakes up with Diana and says Crane’s free and that he said that Diana should get that cell phone Molly’s been asking for and the earrings…

The team fighting the Hessians is out of ammo, and engage in hand-to-hand combat. The Horseman arrives and slays the remaining Hessians. Stumbling away, War’s armor falls away and Crane emerges. The team comes to his aid. They ask if the Horseman is gone, and Crane says he still hears the siren call, so War isn’t gone.

Jobe is breaking the bad news to Dreyfuss that he’s lost Crane, but that they haven’t lost the essence of War. And, Jobe says, they have the perfect host for War, one who’s already hosted it before. Jobe introduces Henry to Dreyfuss, who is reluctant to trust Henry, but Henry says that the humans have made a mistake in trusting him. Off they go to have some tea. Grade: A

That black goo was sure to play a future part in the show, and it did, resulting in the resurrection of Henry. He was convincing to the team, because he always was charming in a pretty dangerous way. But, is Henry TRULY evil, or was there some redemption? Given that he came from the black goo….my money is on his evilness. It’s hard to believe there is only one episode left. A 13-episode arc, just like season one started out to be. I hope that we get a fifth season. It’s interesting that we get older and younger Molly both in the same timeline. I continue to be impressed at the impression Tom Mison leaves regarding his closeness to Molly, even with the actress playing older Molly. It’s very sweet.

Next Episode: “Freedom” airs on Friday, March 31, 2017 at 9:01 pm on Fox

Sleepy Hollow (S04E12) “Tomorrow” The episode opens up showing Jenny (Lyndie Greenwood) in a dystopian future, teaching children. An alarm is given about a sighting.

[rxsesinjune]

“Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie.. Kissed the girls and made them cry.”

A small drabble for my character at the haunted house I work at to get me back into the zone to write!

October, 1883

“Dally! Come on girl, it’s time to go home!” Clementine called for her dog as she paced the foggy streets of Modoc. It had been dark for hours, the only ones who were out this time of night were the saloon girls and the men who lurked after them. They were too busy chatting to pay her any mind. 

Her daddy, Doctor Callson, had always warned her not to wander after dark. The reasoning, however, sent chills down her spine. He scared her with stories of power hungry men who would ruin her and urban legends. The headless horseman, the evil magic man who wandered the streets she searched now, but the story that terrified her most was that of Georgie Porgie. 

Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie.  Kissed the girls and made them cry. When the boys came out to play, Georgie Porgie ran away. 

Her father told her that Georgie was a sad, deranged little boy. He had an unhealthy obsession with dolls. It was so intense that if a girl in the schoolyard looked the slightest bit like his toys, he would follow them around the yard and follow them home. When the girl in question ended up alone, he cornered her and kissed her, not letting her leave until someone came along and scared him away. 

His parents saw the problem and decided it would be best to lock Georgie in his room for years. However, Clementine’s father told her that he would escape his room at night and wander the streets and mines at the edge of town.

As she wandered further away from her home, the air became sharp and cold. The fog grew thicker and she was lost within minutes. A small bark in the distance caught her attention and she sprinted after it. “Dally! Come here girl! Where are you going?!”

She ran after that small bark until her foot caught on something on the ground, twisting her ankle and sending her flying into the dirt. She glanced down at her feet with a shriek of pain to find that a pickaxe was what tripped her. 

“Oh damn it..” The silent air suffocated her as she grasped her foot. “Daddy is not gonna be happy.” Her wide eyes glanced around, taking in what she could of her surroundings. She found wood surrounding her, and more pickaxes, and coal. Oh god, she had fallen in front of the mine. That mine. 

She froze in fear, her heart raced and she was ready to run home.That was until she heard a familiar growl coming from inside the mine. Dally. 

“Oh no...” Clementine stumbled back onto her feet, a pained grimace on her porcelain features. 

“Dally.” She called in a hushed tone, edging towards the mine. “Dally come on girl. Come through the door.” 

That was when she heard a thunderous yell from behind her, “What are you doing here?! You best not be touching my coal. I swear to god when I get my hands on yer’....” The drunk miner stumbled towards her angrily. 

Thinking quickly, Clementine yelped and hobbled into the mine, closing the door behind her with a hard push. “Oh my god...” She repeated under her breath. 

The analytical girl looked at her surroundings. A wooden tunnel of sorts sat in front of her. Dolls, linked together in ungodly ways, were strung on the walls and littered the shelves. White and black paint could be found with clown masks hanging haphazardly from pikes on the walls. There were two doors, other than the one she just locked behind her. One was as red as blood to the left, at the end of the room, the other made of bars of wood, next to the tunnel. Candles illuminated the room, casting an eerie orange hue over her.

She had to find a way out of here. She hobbled to the red door and pressed on it with all of her might. It was locked. Behind her, she peered through the bars of wood. A light switch! If she turned the lights on, maybe this would be easier to figure out. 

The miner banged on the entrance to the mine violently, and all she could hear from him as she opened the pallet door was, “Oh, Georgie is gonna love you, poppet!”

The statement caused her breath to catch in her throat. She discovered another door next to the switch, which she heard a puppyish whining coming from. “Dally...? Is that you?” She turned on the lights and a loud crackling sound came from the old bulbs. She looked through the crack in the door and found something she didn’t expect. 

A smile. A sick, wide, smile with lips lined with blood. His skin was as pale as paper and thin, black lines created triangles around his sunken eyes. 

Georgie.

Georgie Porgie. 

Clementine screamed and fell backwards, she pushed herself back through the tunnel, desperately trying to get away from him as he chased after her. His laughter pierced her ears as it echoed off of the stone walls. Once she was out of the tunnel, she banged on the damn red door that refused to open. 

Three red buttons glowed on the walls and she tried to evade the clown to push them, hoping the door would release. Before she could, however, Georgie caught her throat and slammed her on top of the tunnel. 

He sang lullabies in her ear, songs ranging from Three Blind Mice to Oh My Darling Clementine. She screamed as he sang her name. 

“Oh my darling Clementine, I’ve been watching you. Thank you for coming to my birthday party!” He cheered and lifted her head by the neck and slamming it back down on the hard wood. 

Clementine’s vision blacked out. All she could feel was him devouring her, starting with her thigh and working to her stomach. The wetness from her blood terrified her, and she felt her body run cold. She was dying. She would never see her dad again. 

It was dark for the longest time. She, well her spirit, began to see herself and the room from above. After months of torturous silence and darkness, she saw a spinning orange light coming from the doorway and watched in horror as a group of people walked in. They laughed and meandered around until she shouted at them, “No! Oh no! You shouldn’t be in here.”