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corroded-hellfire · 7 months

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Infestation, Oppression, Possession - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: You warn Eddie about playing with a Ouija board, too bad he doesn’t listen.

Note: As a horror movie junkie, my personal favorites are the possession ones (esp The Conjuring, where the title of this comes from) so here’s a little Halloween horror starring Eddie

Warnings: playing with ouija board, possession, general spookiness because tis the season

Words: 2.7k

“Please promise me that you won’t play with it,” you beg your boyfriend. “They’re dangerous.”

Eddie chuckles and shakes his head. “Babe, it’s just a piece of wood with some paint on it. How could it be dangerous?”

You eye the Ouija board sitting on his bed, the planchette inconspicuously resting on top of it. There are no shortage of horror stories and cautionary tales warning people away from playing with such a dangerous game. You’ve spent the better part of the last hour relating these worries to Eddie, who seems to think nothing of them at all–or about the fact that he bought it to begin with. It doesn’t seem to matter how much the whole thing bothers you.

“You never know who or what you’re communicating with,” you tell Eddie. “You could be opening a portal for something evil.” “So, you think a demon is going to decide to come here to little ol’ Hawkins? And will want to possess me? I’m flattered.” Eddie raises his eyebrows and lets out a small chuckle. A groan slips from your lips as you rub your hands over your face in aggravation.

“Just…please,” you beg as you stand up from where you’re perched on Eddie’s amp. “For me? Just throw it out.”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie says as he takes a few steps over to you. He places his hands on your shoulders and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “Relax, okay? I’ll be careful.”

“Can’t you just–”

“Baby,” Eddie interrupts you. “Go to work, okay? I promise I’ll put it away.”

“You should throw it away,” you say sternly. “Or burn it. You’d have fun doing that, I know.”

Eddie chuckles and presses another kiss to your head. He slips his arms around you and tugs you against his chest. “Come on, sweetheart. It’s okay. Just go to work and try and forget all about it, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you mumble, pulling out of his arms. “Serving greasy burgers to angry truckers is really going to take a load off my mind.”

Calloused fingers gently grip your chin and tilt your head up. Soft but chapped lips press against your own and you close your eyes as you lean into the kiss.

“I love you,” Eddie whispers against your mouth.

“I love you, too.”

“Everything is going to be fine,” Eddie assures you. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Bright and early with two coffees.”

“Make sure you don’t drink half of mine before you get to my house this time,” you say as you swipe one of your boyfriend’s hoodies from where it’s sprawled across his desk.

“No promises,” Eddie tells you as you slip the sweatshirt on over your head.

You press one last kiss to his lips, avoiding looking at the devil board on his bed, before heading out to work.

Eddie huffs a laugh to himself once you’ve left. He’s surprised that you’re so worried about the Ouija board. Usually, you’re so cool and collected, always logical and tactful in your way of thinking. It’s not like you to believe in some silly superstition. Maybe it’s just getting too close to Halloween, Eddie thinks as he picks up the board and planchette. Corroded Coffin should be by in about twenty minutes for a songwriting session, but first, Eddie thinks, perhaps the guys will have some fun and try to scare one another.

The next night, Eddie’s lounging on his bed, guitar perched on his lap as he strums a few new chords that the band came up with last night. His amp is on since Wayne isn’t home, turned down just enough so the neighbors won’t complain. Fingers glide over the strings as Eddie plays around with the sounds of a possible new song. A beautiful melody flows to meet Eddie’s ears, but the moment he lets his eyes slip closed to lose himself in the music, the amp cuts out.

The sudden silence has Eddie sitting up and frowning at the amp in confusion. Gently setting his sweetheart down on the bed, he leans over to fiddle with the controls on the amp. It’s still turned on, all the dials are set just as they should be, so why did it go quiet? Eddie pushes himself off the bed to make sure the plug hasn’t come loose. A deeper frown etches on Eddie’s forehead as he sees the plug snugly in place in the outlet.

“Stupid old trailer,” Eddie grumbles as he gets down on his knees. “God damn electric problems.”

The outlet above the one the amp is plugged into has Eddie’s lamp connected to it–the same lamp that’s currently on and shining brightly next to his bed. Yanking both cords from the wall, Eddie tries putting the lamp’s plug into the bottom outlet, just to make sure that’s what isn’t working. The moment the prongs snap into the wall though, the light illuminates his dark room again.

“What the fuck,” Eddie mutters under his breath. He switches the lamp back to the top outlet and puts the amp back into the bottom one. “This amp is new, what the hell? Stupid piece of–”

Earsplitting feedback abruptly rings out through the amp, causing Eddie to fall back on his ass and cover his ears. Heart beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings, Eddie stares at the amp with wide eyes. The racket only lasts five seconds, but it’s enough to freak Eddie out.

“O-Okay…” Eddie says as he pushes himself back to his feet. The room is quiet once again. The lamp is on, his guitar is still nestled against his pillow, and the amp sits there inconspicuously on the stained carpet.

“Jesus, this place is a shithole,” Eddie says, trying to convince himself it’s just some faulty wiring in his old home. He sits back down on his bed and the moment he grips the neck of his sweetheart, the bleating sound of the phone ringing in the hallway has him jumping out of his skin. Once his mind registers what the new noise is, Eddie laughs at himself as he sets his guitar back down and heads toward the phone. “You’re a wuss, Munson. Yeah, yeah, I’m coming, keep your pants on. Hello?”

“Hey, Eddie,” your cheerful voice greets through the phone.

“Hi, babe. Hmm, I take back what I just said then.”

“What?” you ask.

“I told whoever was on the phone to keep their pants on as I walked down the hall. I take that back now.” You can practically hear the smirk on your boyfriend’s face.

“Who said I’m even wearing any?” you tease.

“I’m listening.”

The mystery of the faulty sound equipment quickly fades from Eddie’s head.

Eddie huffs as he uses a flashlight to look through the pantry. The damn lights in the trailer are flickering like crazy and it’s driving Eddie up the wall. At first, he’d thought it was just the lights in his room, but it seemed to follow him down the hall and into the living room as well.

Searching for something to eat, the aggravation only hits a new high when the flashlight in Eddie’s hands also starts flickering.

“Okay, what the actual fuck?” Eddie demands. He bangs the flashlight against his palm and the beam becomes steady once more. “Thank you.”

As if the lights heard his pleasure, they all turn off at once–even the flashlight.

“Are you shitting me?” Eddie shouts. The darkness comes on so quickly that Eddie’s eyes take their sweet time adjusting. He bangs his head on a cabinet as he shuffles out of the kitchen. Like someone flipped a switch, the lights come on all at once–even ones that weren’t turned on before. The sudden brightness burns Eddie’s eyes, and he drops the flashlight to cover them. Slowly, the lights fade back to their usual strength and Eddie is able to open his eyes without pain. He blinks them a few times, still getting them to adjust to the brightness when the front door opens and Wayne steps inside.

The older man shrugs out of his jacket and hangs it on a hook near the door. He eyes Eddie where he stands, eyes watering from how sensitive they are right now.

“What’s with you, boy?” Wayne asks.

“Did you pay the electric bill?” Eddie asks in return, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“‘Course I did. Why?”

“Because these damn lights are going crazy,” Eddie says, flinging one hand in the direction of the nearest lamp. “Just wait, they’ve been flickering for an hour now.”

Wayne stands near the door with his hands on his hips, looking around the room at the different lights that are on. Eddie squares his jaw when not even one little flicker occurs.

“Smoke a little too much tonight?” Wayne asks with a chuckle as he walks past his nephew and into the kitchen.

“I didn’t even…ugh, never mind.”

“You want a grilled cheese?” Wayne asks, opening the fridge.

“Sure. Thanks.” Eddie plops down on the couch and stares at the ceiling. The lights had been going crazy–right?

“Did you sleep at all last night?” you ask Eddie at lunch.

Dull brown eyes slide over to you, dark bag eyes beneath them puffy and prevalent, and seem as if they look right through you.

“A little,” Eddie says with a shrug.

“Dude, you look like shit,” Gareth says.

The Dungeon Master raises his hand to flip off his friend while he lowers his head down to the lunch table. He felt like shit too, but he wouldn’t give his friends the satisfaction of knowing that.

Over the next few days, Eddie only looks worse and worse. His face begins to look drawn, his skin a sickly shade of greenish gray. His clothes are more unkempt and wrinkled than normal, appearing as if he’d slept in them the night before. Every morning on the way to school you’d try to get out the knots that had accumulated in your boyfriend’s hair during the night. There hadn’t been a time when his hair had been this much of a pain before. Eventually, you just slip your red scrunchie from your wrist and tie his hair into a ponytail at the base of his neck.

“Are we getting pizza tonight?” you ask as Eddie parks his van in the Hawkins High parking lot.

“Babe, I’m not even going to Hellfire tonight,” he tells you, all emotion zapped from his voice.

“You’re not going to Hellfire?” you ask in shock.

“No,” Eddie grumbles as he pulls the keys from the ignition.

“Why don’t you just go home, baby?” you suggest as you reach over and move a few loose strands of hair out of his face.

“Maybe.” Eddie gives a half-hearted shrug and shoves the van door open and slides out. Frown still pinched on your face, you follow him out and stick by his side as long as you can until you have to go to your separate first periods.

Your phone rings as you’re buttoning your jeans the next morning, and you hop over to pick it up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart.” There’s no energy in Eddie’s voice, the sound raspy and gravelly. “I can’t take you to school today. Not getting out of bed.”

“Aww, baby,” you coo. “I’m going to come over and take care of you. I’ll be there in twenty.”

“No,” Eddie responds. “You’ve got a test today, go to school.”

“Can’t hear you. I’m coming over. Bye.” You hang up before he can protest again; because you know he will. Eddie’s hoodie from the other week is still hanging over the chair in your room so you toss it on before heading out the door to your car.

Eddie looks as shitty as he sounded when you get to his place. He’s sprawled out in bed, the covers tucked up under his chin and his eyes half-lidded as he tries to focus on you. You sigh as you sit down on the edge of his bed. When you reach up and move some hair off of his forehead you feel that his skin is surprisingly cool against your fingertips. You’d expected heat there–most likely a fever raging inside of his body.

“Are you cold?” you ask. Eddie nods, seeming like he hardly has the energy for even that. “I’ll get you another blanket.”

The room feels chilly to you as well, but not enough to warrant two heavy blankets being piled atop of you. Something is definitely going on inside of his body. As you open Eddie’s closet to grab another blanket, your eyes land on the Ouija board sitting on top of a pile of dirty clothes. The room suddenly feels hot as your temper flares. Anger builds up in your chest and your nostrils flare as you snatch up a blanket. Spinning around to face Eddie again, you stomp over to him.

“What the hell, Eddie? Why is the Ouija board still here?” you demand.

Eddie groans and turns his head to bury it in his pillow.

“Talk quieter, please,” he begs.

“Answer. Me.” Despite your anger, you’re not heartless. You lower your volume as you shake out the blanket and lay it across your boyfriend’s body. “Did you play with it?”

The guilty look that crosses his face gives you his answer before he opens his mouth to croak out, “Yes.”

“Eddie,” you whine, running your hands over your hair. “What if that’s what’s wrong?” You gesture to him lying down on his bed, lethargic and exhausted.

“Stop,” Eddie groans, squeezing his eyes closed. “M’just getting sick. Or worn down.”

“But you don’t know–”

“Babe, calm down,” Eddie begs, trying to inject as much fervor into his voice as he can. “It’s not from some dumb game. That’s ridiculous.”

The only reason you bite your tongue is because he looks so miserable bundled up in the middle of his bed. Deciding to let it go for now, you sit down next to his head and card your fingers through his curls.

“Can I get you anything?” you ask him softly.

“Just you,” Eddie answers, mustering up a small smile to give you.

As you lean down to press another kiss to his forehead, you swear he feels even colder than he did a few minutes ago.

Eddie still isn’t back to himself the next week. In fact, he says he feels worse. You weren’t able to take the whole time off from school or work, but any moment that wasn’t spent somewhere you were obligated to be, you were at his side. He refused to go to the doctor and even Wayne couldn’t get him to go. It seems the shittier Eddie feels the more stubborn he is.

On Thursday, you don’t have work, so you head to Eddie’s place straight from school. He hasn’t been able to answer the door since he’s been staying in bed most of the time, so you just let yourself inside as usual.

“I’m here, Eddie,” you call out, not too loud though, in case he’s asleep. Your sneakers join the small pile of shoes near the front door, and you pad down the hallway to your boyfriend’s room. Confusion furrows your brow when you don’t see him in his bed. A glance behind you confirms that he’s not in the bathroom, so where else could he be? You take a few steps into his room and spot Eddie standing near the closet, his back to you. His back is straight as a rod and his stained Marlboro shirt and blue plaid pajama pants hang loose on his thin frame, even thinner from lack of food lately.

Cautiously, you take a few steps in his direction. The hair on the back of your neck is raised but you’re not sure why. It’s just your boyfriend.

“Eddie?” you ask timidly. “Are you okay? What are you doing out of bed? Eddie?”

A few heavy silent moments hang in the air. Then with a sudden sickening cracking sound, Eddie’s head snaps towards you. With a gasp, you take a step back. His eyes are entirely black. No trace of the dark brown that you love so much or the white that should be there. Pure black, darker than night. A sinister, toothy smile slides onto the mouth you’ve kissed so many times before. Your body trembles from the inside out as you stare in horror at whatever you’re witnessing in front of you. Eddie’s mouth opens, but the growling voice that comes out does not belong to him.

“Eddie isn’t here anymore.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine

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dathen · 3 years

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i have a feeling I'm going to get into another podcast because of you (complimentary). Please tell me more about Hello From The Hallowoods?

GLADLY, this is my purpose in life

Also from @majickss:

I’m kinda interested in hello hallowoods, what’s the set up?

[buzzes as I try to figure out where to start]

So the general set-up is like a radio program from a near-omniscient godlike figure. He tells the stories of people who live in and around the Hallowoods, a spooky northern forest that can best be described by @pitviperofdoom‘s “Like Over the Garden Wall’s ‘Unknown,’ but if everyone was trans.” The forest is filled with strange goings-on and terrifying creatures, and things that die tend to not stay dead.

The short stories are from different points of view along the way, but begin to interconnect within the first few episodes: the daughter of an insurrectionist searching for her missing girlfriend, a man (and his good living dog and his good undead dog) who pulls bodies from the bog for a living now tasked to find someone lost in the woods, a genderfluid mercenary who can control the weather, a wandering patchwork-corpse who helps everyone they come across. The characters are SO fascinating and compelling, and it takes me an average of three seconds to get invested in them and their relationships.

And oh my god it is so soft. I am wearing out my face muscles going 🥺 🥺 🥺 the entire time as I listen. It’s such gentle and hopeful horror, full of (genuine) found family and damaged souls learning to trust again and people finding love when they least expect it. Also VERY much a “monstrousness is what you do, not what you are” story. I wish I could list a hundred spoilery examples here, but this is the #1 reason I can’t shut up about it lately.

AND SO MUCH TRANSNESS HOLY SHIT. Like I don’t want to do the “it has queer rep! no I won’t tell you anything else” thing, but I am floored at how many trans characters of so many kinds there are, especially since I find that’s often sparse even in areas with lots of queer rep. It’s almost to the point where I’m surprised if a character isn’t established as trans when they’re introduced. And it’s not just “the character happens to be [blank], you find out 100 episodes in;” it’s so interwoven into the themes and the narrative and the heart of it. Okay I could ramble about this forever but you didn’t ask for an essay sldfjflj

Full disclaimer: It’s definitely not a “no prejudices exist” story. It explores a lot of angles of queerness through the narrative, from directly discussing and celebrating it (some of those episode intros nearly had me in happy-tears) to casual inclusion (someone asking the genderfluid character their pronouns at the moment each time they meet) to facing struggles or violence (a ghost pouring out his heart about the abuse he faced from his transphobic father). The episodes are rarely as harsh as the content warnings make them sound, but yeah check the content warnings (esp for episode 16).

Second disclaimer: Yes, the narrator’s inflection does give off strong WTNV vibes, but stick around for an episode or two and you’ll see it’s very much its own thing.

If you read this far bless your soul and your patience \o/

#hello from the hallowoods #hfth

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nightwolfomega · 4 years

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Heart of the Lycan Chapter 1

Becoming friends with the wolf boy

Autumn was slowly rolling around the corner, the leaves changing from summer green to their beautiful red, orange, and yellows. A silver car Drove through the backwoods into the forest of the happily quiet town Autumn Valley known for its festivals during the fall season of having bountiful cider and spooky Halloween fun,

Olydia was happy to be coming back home. It’s been six years since she left to be in college and work on her artistic and literary talents to hopefully better herself. Her family sold their old home for a smaller place but luckily there was still the family cabin she could live in now since her parents were kind enough to let her have it.

She was always grateful how supportive and kind her parents are to her. Driving up the stony alley way she had to pick up some house appliances such as toiletries and some food,

Picking up as many bags as she could to save herself the double trips to go back to her car, stacking the many groceries onto the porch before she unlocked her door. Walking inside the cabin felt warm and homey, the rustic decorations that her mother had always made her smile, remembering when she used to go with her at a little store called “The Gift Shop” where there were all sorts of lovely handmade painted novelty gifts. Such as the wooden cut out of a snow man and the adorable painted squiggly smile to give it it’s charm.

Another memory was the candles, there was always a candle that helped give a home it’s final touch of welcoming. She walks over to her kitchen counter and pulls a box of matches out, trimming the long wick of her favorite candle “Autumn breeze” she lights it carefully and discards the used match in the trash.

Now she was ready to put stuff away, it was the little things that make the big steps of making a home feel like home. “This is nice.” she thought to herself, feeling the atmosphere becoming relaxing and calm. She puts her groceries away, dating the meats and cheeses she got from the store. It was always good to do that so she could save herself the worry of smelling or seeing the produce expire.

Once that was done she rubs her eyes and looks over to the boxes of her stuff she still had to go through, mostly clothes and other miscellaneous items. But she didn’t have a problem unpacking her art supplies and books into the spare room where she would make that into her art studio, With just enough lighting through the window it would be the perfect spot to unleash her creativity and writing. Not to forget also a nice spot to read some of her favorite books.

Olydia sighs at herself, “Why am I like this? Why do I always wait to unpack my clothes and other stuff but my art stuff and books first?” she spoke out loud. Of course whenever she needed a break from unpacking she could go to her art room to let out some steam. Shrugging with a smirk “Heh, guess that’s what motivates me first.”

Going over to open one of the knick knacks filled boxes, as she opens the cardboard flaps there’s a picture that stares at her face to face that made her pause.

A photo of her during the time of her high school years, in the library with a young man that had wild hair tamed with a ponytail and dark circles under his eyes, Grinning happily next to her as they were reading a novel together. A classmate of her’s took that picture thinking it would be a nice memory to have.

“Lycus,” she spoke softly as she smiled at the memories they had together, he was always kind and gentle. At least with her, he didn’t trust anyone else that much.

The reason was of course he was raised by wolves.

Olydia remembered him telling her that, When he was a somewhat young child he lost his family venturing deep in the woods until a large white wolf came in and took him as one of her own. Growing up and surviving until people found him again and brought him back to civilization, he had a rough time trying to get back to things. Being so used to acting like a wolf, he had to relearn things again from the ground up.

Remembering the first time she met him was at the library, She would always go there when she had a chance to. Looking through books she notices him sitting by himself at one of the tables, he appears to be disheveled even a bit nervous looking around. His long wild hair covered most of his face and had dark circles under his pale blue eyes, scratching at his stubble that was growing out.

People talked rumors about him and they were harsh ones about how he would bite at people if you even came near him, or how he’s more of a wolf than man. She hated that, disgust how this poor guy went through so much and now people either tease or were too scared to even go near him.

At that moment she made a choice that changed her life forever. Walking over she stands next to him “Hello,” she spoke softly. He jerks back in a panic growling at her baring his teeth, raising her hand defensively “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you like that.” she spoke worriedly.

She felt her heart become sore as he hugged himself looking down becoming guilty when he did that, “I-I just wanted to ask if you would like me to sit here and keep you company.” reaching her hand out to touch his shoulder gently. The moment her hand touched him made his whole body shiver, he let out a whimper.

“Hey hey sweetie it’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you.” she spoke in a nurturing tone stroking her thumb on his shoulder. She tries to think of something that would help him calm down, suddenly an idea pops in her head “Say, How about I read to you. Would you be okay with that?” she asks in a nurturing tone.

The young man turns looking at her, perplexed on what she meant by that. “Do you like stories? I can read them to you if you want.” showing him a book she had that was about fairy tales.

“C’mon, I can ask the librarian if she can let us in the little spare room so it’ll be more quiet and I can read to you without disturbing others.” offering her hand to him but pauses a moment “If that’s what you would like of course.” she spoke bashfully.

A sliver of guilt creeping up at the back of her mind, feeling like she was forcing him to do this, however she could feel his larger hand holding onto hers firmly yet carefully. Slowly nodding and gets out of the chair, her eyes widen to how tall he was compared to her.

“Okay, let's go ask Mrs. Sanford.” carefully pulling him with her, after persuading the librarian to let them use the room they go inside and it was the perfect silence for reading. When they sat across each other she held up the book with her other stuff sitting next to her. “Now lets see, which story should we start with…” she spoke scanning at the index.

“Lycus.” she heard a voice speak to her, Olydia paused and looked up at him “Pardon me?” she spoke curiously. He hesitates a moment looking around the room, finally gaining enough courage he looks at her and speaks again “M-My name is Lycus.” he spoke out slowly. It was obvious to see he was struggling to say the words he wanted but tried his hardest to do well at it.

A smile creased onto her face “I’m Olydia.” she replies cheerfully. “Thank you so much for telling me your name Lycus.”. He looked at her, waiting for a harsh comment but it never came. “How about I read this one to you, beauty and the beast it’s quite a nice story…” she spoke flipping to the page, but he noticed something, a notebook that he saw upside down “My story notebook” written in sharpie on the plastic cover.

As she was about to read he placed his hand on top of the page to keep her from doing so “Hmm? Do you not want me to read to you?” she asks with a little frown. Lycus shakes his head quickly and points at the notebook.

Olydia sees it also and blushes “Oh, heh that's just uh...my own stuff I wrote and some doodles in there too.” she picks it up “There’s not much in it really just some short stories.” looking back up to him he was now looking at her with his head tilted slightly.

She loved to write and draw, but she was always nervous to show her work to others.

“It’s just a bunch of stuff of fiction, like fantasy and horror. I like writing about-” she cuts herself off, Lycus leans closer now curious “Please don’t laugh at me when I tell you this okay.” she spoke nervously.

Lycus was silent so that probably meant yes, Olydia nodded “I enjoy writing about werewolves and lycans, they’re just so much fun and amazing to work with. I like writing them as good guys and heroes in the story, not like the mindless killing machines other authors write them as. Though who am I to judge?” she sighs with a shrug.

Then she waited for him to say something like “You’re into that weird stuff?” or worse, but when she looked at him she could have sworn his eyes sparkled and a grin on his face. “Do you like werewolves and Lycans too?” she asks with a smile, Lycus immediately nods and points at the notebook “Please?” he asks.

Olydia blinks “You mean you want me to read my own stuff to you?” feeling her face get warm. Lycus nods again. “Are you sure? I mean some of this is still in the works-” she then saw he was giving her the puppy eyes and lets out a soft tiny whimper, her heart betrayed her at how adorable he looked and gave in “Okay, Okay I’ll read some of it to you.” opening up to the first page she began to read.

Fighting through her bashfulness she read to Lycus, telling him story after story of her own works, one being about a knight that fought alongside with a lycan that became detectives.

As she was reading, lycus gave her his full attention, listening closely with a smile on his face, it was as if he was a completely different person now.

when she was almost finished the bell rings and the two looked out the door's window, it was their last period and so it was time to leave “Guess it’s time to go home now.” Olydia spoke a little disappointed.

When she looked at Lycus however her heart dropped at the devastation on his face, “Hey Lycus.” reaching her hand out to hold his securely. “We can do this again tomorrow, I’ll get more of my stories and I’ll read them to you. Would you like that?” Olydia asks, at that second Lycus looked at her relief washed over him “Really?” he asks innocently.

Olydia smiles warmly at him “Of course,” she replies standing up from the table, “In fact, I can even ask my parents if you would like to come over and we can do some more reading together and other stuff too.” she spoke out. Lycus thought about that, he was hesitant about it “But only if you're okay with that, I want you to know you're safe with me.” she spoke sweetly to him.

Lycus paused and shifted his gaze at her, getting up from the table he walked over to Olydia, towering over her as she had to take a little step back to see his face. “F-Friends?” he asks nervously.

Olydia makes a wide grin and in a fit of excitement wraps his arms around him “Of course we’re friends Lycus!” she spoke out excitedly rubbing the side of her head to his chest. She felt Lycus' body shudder letting out a small gasp, his arms slowly raising up as she heard his heart beating quickly.

His arms wrap around her, hugging Olydia so firmly to his body that it almost looked like he was afraid to let go.

“M-Mate?” he whispers nervously to her, Oh? Mates, like best buddy mates she thought. Looking up and giving him a warm smile “Yeah, we're gonna be best mates you and I.” she spoke cheerfully.

The librarian saw their little hugging moment and she informed them about the no touch policy at school. Lycus pulls away from her and Olydia chuckles “It’s okay big guy.” she spoke “I’ll see you tomorrow Lycus.” she spoke, waving at him as she started walking away to get her stuff to walk home.

Lycus slowly waved back with a crooked smile on his face.

After that, the rest was history. They became an inseparable team and stuck with each other through thick and thin. Confiding in with each other and becoming close friends.

Back to now, she held the picture frame up and placed it on top of the fireplace. Olydia hoped that she would see him again if he didn’t move away of course, she missed him so much during the time she was gone. “I hope he’s happy and doing well now.” she spoke to herself now going back to unpacking some more stuff.

#Heart of the Lycan #Chapter 1 #story #lycan #werewolf #Olydia #lycus #original characters #monster boyfriend #fiction #writing #horror #some romance #books #library

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longitudinalwaveme · 4 years

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Where Are The Ghostbusters When You Need Them?

Hi! Thanks for checking out my story!

Despite the title, the story actually does not feature the Ghostbusters, but it does feature the Flash Rogues. That's almost as good, right?

The story can't really fit anywhere canonically since Evan and Sam are alive simultaneously, among other things, but hopefully it'll be an enjoyable story anyhow.

Mirror Master I: You ever seen one of those creepy houses? You know, the ones with broken windows and crumbling spires and ivy growing all over them? The ones that used to belong to super rich people and are now allegedly owned by some mysterious “third cousin once removed” that no one’s ever actually seen? The ones that stupid teenagers dare each other to spend the night in? Well, Central City has one of those creepy houses. Or, more accurately, Central City’s Pine Woods suburb has one of those creepy houses. It’s commonly known as the old Jackson place. It's a three-story mansion, with broken windows, crumbling stone, a creepy staircase, massive spires....the works. It was even used as a set for a horror movie back in the 80s. Even though it technically isn’t in the city proper, it’s close enough that everyone knows about the house-and the stories surrounding it. Allegedly, the old Jackson place was built by Adolphus Jackson in 1792, after he immigrated from somewhere in Ireland with his family. They were Central City’s first settlers (the Rathaways were second). He and his wife, Betty, had sixteen kids (although only ten survived to adulthood). All the dead kids were buried in the backyard of the house, so things are already getting creepy. (Some people say that you can hear crying when you go by the house, and other people have claimed to see ghostly children.) His oldest son, Jared, inherited the house when old man Jackson died in 1846. (He was buried behind the house, and yep, people have claimed to see him, too.) Jared worked alongside Martin Garrick (yes, he IS related to Jay Garrick) and my great-great-great-great-grandfather, Shawn Scudder, in Central City’s Underground Railroad. (Am I shaming my heritage? Yeah, probably. Moving on.) People have claimed to see the ghosts of slaves and such around the old Jackson place, and they’ve also claimed to see the ghosts of Harold and Rufus Jackson, an uncle and nephew who fought on opposite sides of the Civil War. In 1877, Jared died, and his second son, Arnold, inherited the house. (His oldest son was Harold, who died at the Battle of Chancellorsville.) Arnold got married to his second cousin, which is several levels of weird, and he added onto the house, making it a lot bigger and more impressive looking. He died in 1885, after adding to the family’s sizable fortune, and his son, Bernard, inherited the house and made it even fancier. Bernard is also where the really messed up stories about the Jackson place begin, as his oldest son, Robert, fell in love with a girl his father hated (partially because he had planned for his son to marry Lydia Rathaway, Piper’s great-great-great aunt). Their arguments over it got really nasty, and so eventually Robert ran away with his chick and got married to her, only for his father to threaten to cut him off. Sonny boy decided that he wanted the money more than his wife, and he abandoned her and was remarried to Piper’s great-great-great aunt. There was only one snag: his old wife had gotten pregnant and drowned herself in the pond (now dried up) on the back of the property to get revenge a few days after her baby was born. (People claim to see her ghost quite frequently.) Her parents, the Desmonds (and the Rathaways, who were mad that Bernard had had his son marry their daughter when he already had a wife) sued the pants off the Jacksons and the family was reduced to semi-poverty. Robert hung himself a few weeks after the lawsuit was settled (he allegedly haunts the house, too) and Bernard started drinking. A lot. He died in 1910 (probably from alcohol poisoning) and the estate was inherited by his only surviving offspring, a 19-year-old daughter named Alicia, who became a librarian and never married. (Alicia didn’t live in the house after the age of 21, probably because of all the bad memories, but people still see her ghost there.) She died in 1971, and the house, which had sat unused for over three decades, had already gained a reputation as being massively haunted, a reputation that only increased when some stupid 17-year-old broke into the house on a dare, fell down the old stairs in the dark, and broke his neck in 1995. (Since then, people have claimed to see HIS ghost as well.) So you get the point: the old Jackson place is massively haunted, massively creepy, and massively empty, so, of course, Captain Cold decided that we needed to break into the place on Halloween. Now, to be fair, we do something to get our adrenaline up every year on Halloween, but there’s a difference between going to a commercial haunted house, where nothing is real, and going to an old house that might actually be haunted, especially when said old house is falling apart and everyone is wearing ridiculous costumes (as we do every year). Earlier in the month, we had decided to dress up as classic movie monsters. Or at least I thought we had. As it turned out, some people had badly missed the memo….

Mirror Master II: Okay, so maybe the scarecrow costume I had wasnae all that scary, but it wasnae my fault! How was I supposed to ken that all the scary scarecrow costumes would be sold out by October 24? I wasnae PLANNING to be the Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz! But I’m off topic. All of us had agreed to meet on the front lawn before we broke into the haunted house, so at 7:00 PM on Halloween night, I got into me costume and went to the lawn. Golden Glider (dressed as a vampire), Scudder (dressed as a zombie), the Trickster (dressed as a bedsheet ghost), Captain Boomerang (dressed as Frankenstein’s monster), and the Pied Piper (dressed as the Phantom of the Opera) were already there, and, of course, as soon as he saw me costume, Scudder started laughing. “They were sold out of the scary costumes, ye eejit,” I said. “Then why didn’t you alter it or something? You don’t look scary at all!” Scudder asked. “Hey, at least I look scarier than the Trickster. And besides, not all of us be seamstresses, Scudder,” I replied. (He’d made his own costume and thought that nobody knew. Eejit.) Scudder flushed and suddenly became very interested in the bushes. At this point, Captain Cold showed up in cat ears. That was his whole costume. Otherwise, he jus’ looked like a hockey fan (which he be). His sister-a bonnie lassie, she-wasnae pleased with that. “Lenny, you were supposed to dress up as something scary!” “I did. I’m a werecat.” I’m nae sure why he thought that would be convincing. “Oh, come on! You didn’t even try!”“I never try. Why are you acting like this is something new?” The Glider threw up her hands. “Because you promised me you would try this year!” “I have a tail. Does that make it better?” The Glider rolled her eyes.“I give up.” She tossed her golden hair over her shoulder-I tell ye, she is a bonnie lass-and went to talk with the Piper. The Weather Wizard showed up a few seconds later, and I saw soomthing I never wanted to see: him in a dress. “What are ye supposed tae be, me gran?” The Wizard scowled.“I’m a witch!” I looked at him oddly. “Ye could have been a werewolf, and ye decided tae be a witch?”“It’s thematic! You know: wizards are magic; witches are magic….” I laughed. “Look, if ye want to dress up like a lassie, ye kin. Just donae expect me tae understand why.” The Wizard stormed off, and the Top arrived on the lawn, dressed as a gigantic top. Scudder laughed so hard that he had tae sit down, and I laughed pretty heartily myself. “What is so amusing?” the Top asked. Naebody bothered to explain that it was because he wasnae cooperating with the theme, because we all knew he wouldnae listen. “They’re just being stupid, sweetie pie. You look amazing,” the Glider said. (I’m nae sure if she meant it or if she was just trying to calm him doon.) Luckily for the Top, Heat Wave decided to show up at this point, and his costume made Captain Boomerang laugh so hard he wet himself and made me laugh so hard that I had to join Scudder on the ground, so everyone forgot about him. “Why are you wearing a tutu?” Captain Cold asked (as soon as he was capable of speech again.)“Well, I was gonna be Frankenstein, but Digger stole my idea, and I didn’t have any other ideas, so I decided that me in a tutu was scarier than any monster,” Heat Wave replied. I looked him over again and immediately wished I had nae doon it. He was right; the sight of a 6’6”, 250 pound man in a frilly pink tutu is more terrifying than any monster. His logic seemed to work on everyone else, too, because Captain Cold quickly changed the subject. “Okay, are we ready?” Scudder raised an eyebrow. “To break into the creepy ghost house? No, but I know I’m doing it anyway,” he replied. (At the time, I thought that he was being a wet blanket, but as it turned out, he was right to be a tad worried.) “As long as we’re bringing flashlights, I suppose so,” the Piper said. (He had been against going to the haunted house, tae, but he had been opposed to it because of some kid who had died there back in the 90s because the house didnae have lights, not because of Scudder’s ghosties, which he didnae believe in. Because of that, he had changed his tune after Cold promised him that he could bring a flashlight if he wanted tae.)“Then let’s go,” Captain Cold ordered. With that, Scudder and I transported everyone to the house via Mirror Realm. Having only lived in Central City for a year, I had never seen it before, and I was a tad freaked out by what I saw. The house itself wasnae too bad, but the creepy dead grass and trees, and the graveyard in the back of the house, were spooky, especially under the huge moon.“‘Abandon all hope, ye who enter here?’ Really?” Golden Glider said scornfully, pointing at a sign in the yard. Her brother shrugged. “Probably some kid’s idea of a prank.” Piper, meanwhile, was looking nervously at a different sign. “Cold, this sign is from the government. It says the building is condemned. Are you sure we’ll be safe to go in there?” he asked. “Since when do we care what the government thinks?” Captain Cold replied. “When a building might collapse on our heads!” Piper exclaimed. “And when it’s haunted!” Scudder added, sounding happy to have an excuse tae go home. Captain Cold sighed and rolled his eyes. “Piper, if the house seems like it’s gonna collapse on us, we’ll just have Scudder and the Scotsman transport us out. We’ll be fine,” he said. Piper seemed to relax.“Good point,” he said. Sam didn’t look as calm. “But what about the ghosts?” he asked. “Sam, ghosts don’t exist. They’re a product of overactive imagination and too many horror stories,” the Piper replied, only for Captain Boomerang to join the conversation.“They are too real! My second cousin’s ex-girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend’s dad’s third cousin’s aunt saw one!” he exclaimed, sounding offended. Piper didnae look convinced. “That’s hardly conclusive proof of-” he began, only tae be cut off by Captain Cold. “Enough about ghosts! Let’s go inside already!” he exclaimed. With that, Trickster picked the lock on the door. He pushed it open, producing a loud CREAK, and then we went inside.

Weather Wizard: I’m going to tell you a secret: the witch costume was an accident. I swear, I thought I ordered the Dark Wizard costume, but when I opened up the package a week before Halloween, I found a witch costume instead, and because I didn’t have another two weeks to wait (or any more money) I was stuck with it and just decided to pretend it had been my plan the whole time to save face. (At least it matched the theme, unlike cats, tops, and ballerinas.) But I digress. So, after the Trickster picked the lock, we went inside and Piper and Cold turned on their flashlights. The hallway contained cobwebs and a moth-eaten carpet, but nothing else.

“We'll cover more ground if we divide and conquer, so let’s split up into groups and search this place for valuables. Lisa, you’re with me. Scudder, you’re with McCulloch. Mardon, you’re with Rory. Rathaway, you’re with Jesse. Dillon, you’re with Harkness,” Cold barked.

“WE’RE SPLITTING UP? That’s like the #1 way to die in a haunted house!” Scudder whined. (As it turned out, he was right to be worried, but at the time, I thought he was overreacting.) Hartley sighed.

“Sam, ghosts do not exist,” he said. (He was wrong.) Then he turned to Cold and asked,

“How will the Mirror Masters be able to transport us to safety if we’re not in the same part of the house?” Cold rolled his eyes.

“Piper, unless there’s an earthquake, the Mirror Masters will be able to get to all of us before the house falls. They basically have access to a teleportation system. We’ll be fine,’” Cold replied. Piper didn’t look entirely convinced, but he didn’t keep arguing.

“Why am I with Harkness? He’s an uncultured boor,” Dillon demanded.

“Well, I ain’t too fond of you, either, you wowser!” Harkness yelled.

“Why can’t I be with Roscoe, Lenny?” Lisa asked. Cold sighed wearily.

“Fine. Dillon, you’re with Lisa. Harkness, you’re with me. Sam, stop whining. Now let’s go!” Cold exclaimed. McCulloch saluted, dragged Scudder into a mirror, and vanished, and the rest of us fanned out to search the house. After walking through some more cobwebby hallways, Mick and I reached what I assumed was the living room. The room was filled with decaying furniture and mysterious old knicknacks, everything was covered in cobwebs, and part of the roof had fallen in. Seeing this, I had to wonder if the Piper had been right about the dangers of the building.

“How long do you think it’s been since someone touched any of this?” Mick asked me.

“If I had to guess, I’d say at least forty years,” I replied. I glanced out the window and noticed that a cloud had covered part of the moon and that the rest of it had turned red, and I shuddered. “Mick, there’s a blood moon.” I said quietly.

“So? They talked about that on the news,” Mick replied as he started pawing through the knicknacks laying on the floor.

“Never mind,” I said quickly as I joined him. I didn’t want him to think I was scared or anything. Several minutes later, we were still sorting through things and had found nothing but a broken teacup, a broken porcelain doll, and a dusty beaded shawl.

“I hope the whole house ain’t like this. If it is, Captain Cold’ll be mad,” Mick said. I shrugged.

“That’s his problem, not mine.” I heard a rumble of thunder in the distance, and, a few seconds later, the sobs of a child. Mick looked up from the floor in shock.

“Did you hear that?” he asked me.

“The thunder, or the kid crying?”

“The kid crying!” I nodded.

“Yeah, I heard it too. Why?”

“Because we need to go help that kid!” he replied. I rolled my eyes.

“Mick, we’re here to get rich, not help some kid.” Mick ignored me and pulled me in the direction of the crying sound, despite my attempts to break free from his grasp. We had gotten halfway across the living room when we saw a little girl. Her hair was in...uh, ringlets, I think they’re called?-and her dress came down to the floor. She was crying (of course) and Mick went over to her.

“Hey, there, little one. Are you lost?” he asked gently. I thought about leaving Mick with the girl and continuing to search for loot, but there was something about the little girl that made it impossible for me to pull away, and NOT in a “she’s so small and helpless” way. Mick reached out to put his hand on the girl’s shoulder-and his hand went straight through her! My knees went weak under me, and then the world went black. When I came to, I found myself on a dusty couch. I looked around the room and saw Mick waving good-bye to the vanishing ghost.

“Oh, hey, Mark. Glad to see you up-although there wasn’t really a reason for you to faint like that. Georgia was just worried that we were gonna hurt her doll. When I told her we weren’t, she cheered right up and went away,” he said cheerfully.

“The ghost has a name? And is friendly?” I asked. Mick nodded.

“I don’t even think she knew she was dead. Poor little thing,” he said, and I sighed in relief.

“In that case, let’s get back to work. If she’s the only ghost here, we’ve got nothing to worry about,” I said. (Famous last words.) With that, the two of us continued our search of the living room.

Trickster: The Piper and I- James Jesse, con artist extraordinaire-decided to investigate the attic. I’m a horror movie junkie, so if I’m breaking into a haunted house, what better place to get that adrenaline rush than the attic? Piper and I climbed three sets of narrow, creaky, cracked, cobwebby stairs to the attic (although Piper got winded halfway up the second flight and I had to drag him up the last one). Then I opened the door to see lots of cobwebs, a shattered mirror, a broken window, an old, rusted bedframe, some old-fashioned cabinets, a sword, an old rocking horse (sadly, it was too small for me), and a bunch of other old stuff. The roof was low, and it was really dark. My heart pounded, but in a good way.

“This is so much better than the fake haunted houses! We should go here every year!” I exclaimed. Piper swept his flashlight from left to right, and then started examining the boring knick knacks that were lying around. I pulled out a yo-yo and some bubble gum and waited eagerly for the walls to start dripping blood. After about two minutes, Piper pulled a stack of old papers out of one of the cabinet drawers.

“James, these are from the Civil War!” he exclaimed excitedly. I yawned.

“So?” I asked. Piper looked shocked.

“James, these are valuable historical documents! If they’re really as old as they look, they could provide priceless information about the role of Central City in the Civil War!”

“Can they summon a ghost?” Piper sighed.

“No. They cannot.” I blew a particularly large bubble.

“Then I’m not interested. Let’s find something that CAN summon a ghost!” Piper rolled his eyes.

“James, you’re not going to find something that can summon a ghost, because ghosts-” Suddenly, the windows rattled and we heard a loud moan.

“Don’t exist?” Piper squeaked. Five seconds later, a transparent man with a noose around his neck appeared and floated towards us. Piper screamed and bolted down the stairs, and I whooped with joy and followed him, narrowly missing the ghost’s clammy hands.

“Catch me if you can, you stupid ghost!” I yelled. I followed the Piper to the second floor and into a spooky old bathroom, complete with dusty mirror, a big tub with clawed feet, a broken toilet, and a sink. Mold was growing in the sink and on the walls, and I grinned. This day just kept getting better and better! Piper slammed the door and locked it behind us.His chest was heaving and he looked exhausted. (Rich kids don’t have much reason to be athletic.)

“You were saying?” I asked ‘sweetly’. Piper gave me a death glare.

“NOT the time!” Piper said. I laughed.

“Do you really think a locked door will keep out a ghost? It can’t even keep us out!” I asked him. Piper’s face went white, and he ran over to the dirty mirror.

“Sam! McCulloch! Get us home now!” he yelled. There was no response.

“Piper, you know the Mirror Realm doesn’t work that way. You can only talk to them through it if they want you to, and if they haven’t had the good luck to run into a ghost, they won’t be able to guess that you might want them to pick us up.” I said as I played with my yo-yo. Piper whimpered and buried his head in his hands, then started muttering incomprehensibly as I whistled merrily.

“How can you be so happy?” Piper demanded after a few minutes.I grinned.

“Kid, we’re being chased by a real, honest-to-goodness ghost! It doesn’t get more awesome than that!” Just then, the ghost drifted through the door, and I pulled out my camera and started snapping pictures as Piper screamed.

“We’regoingtodiewe’regoingtodiewe’regoingto die !” He darted to the door, fumbled with the lock, and opened it just as the ghost brushed his clammy fingers against his back. He screamed louder and ran down the hall. I snapped a few more photos, stuck my tongue out at the ghost,and followed Piper. The ghost roared angrily and flew after me. I caught up with Piper after about a minute and lead him into a dumbwaiter, then slammed the door behind us.

“James, how is this closet preferable to hiding in the bathroom? The ghost can still walk through walls!” Piper demanded.

“Piper, YOU’RE the one who had all the servants. Shouldn’t you know what a dumbwaiter is?”

“I know what a dumbwaiter is,I have just never seen one before. I was not allowed to spend time with the servants.You can hardly blame me for mistaking it for a closet. Besides, my point still stands: why would hiding in here keep us safe from the ghost?” I laughed.

“Piper, that ghost is Robert Jackson, who hung himself because he wasn’t rich anymore and gave up the love of his life for money! Entering the dumbwaiter that the servants used would be beneath him. As long as we’re in here, we’re safe. For a guy who’s college educated, you sure are stupid,” I explained. Piper frowned.

“You were taking selfies with the ghost, and I’M stupid?” he yelled. I smiled “innocently”.

“I never said I wasn’t stupid...but I’m not a graduate from Harvard, either. But I knew how to save us from the ghost, and you didn’t,” I replied. Hartley sighed wearily.

“Whatever you say, James...but how did you know what a dumbwaiter is? You thought that the American Civil War started in 1961 until last month, so you cannot have known about them from history, and you were not wealthy, so you cannot have had servants who used one,” he asked.

“My Nonna Gianna was a maid for a wealthy family in Italy when she was a girl, and she used a dumbwaiter when she worked for them,” I explained.

“Wait...you’re Italian?” Hartley asked.

“Sí. Well, Italian-American, anyhow.My paternal grandparents immigrated from Italy in 1935 after Mussolini took over and invaded Ethiopia. When they got to America, they joined the Big Circus because my Nonno Antonio had been an acrobat in Italy. They had a whole lot of kids, and my dad was the youngest. He was born in 1955, and he married my mother, who was a second-generation Italian immigrant herself, in 1980. I was born eight years later,” I explained.

“But your name is James Jesse! That doesn’t sound remotely Italian!” Hartley protested.

“Hel-lo! My nonni were Italian immigrants performing for the American public at the height of World War II! They took stage names: Jesse for the last name, and Rosie and Jared for their first names. By the end of the war, they’d gotten so famous under the Jesse name that they couldn’t really change it back to their real one, so they just kept the stage name. My dad’s real name was Alessandro, but he called himself Jacob. My mother’s name really was Helen, though, because her parents had given her an American name. My real name’s actually Giovanni Giuseppe. How’s that for a mouthful?” I exclaimed.

“Sai parlare italiano?” Piper asked.

“Nonni, nonna, nonno, pizza, spaghetti, Venice, Rome, sí, il Dulche, Mamma Mia, madre, padre, nipote, figlia, figlio,Ti amo, caro, Coinvolgimi, bella noche, Dov'è la birra? That’s all the Italian I know. Well, that and a lot of swear words,” I replied.

“En d’autres termes, tu sais autant d’italien comme vous le français?” Piper asked. I looked at him oddly.

“English?”

“So, in other words, you know as much Italian as you do French?” he replied.

“Yeah, pretty much. Not everyone can afford tutors for twenty languages,” I said.

“I only speak six languages-Spanish, French, German, Italian, Japanese, and Mandarin Chinese, and I can only write in the first four. I’m passable in Arabic and Russian, too, but I’d hardly say I can speak twenty languages.” I grinned evilly.

“Let’s go find some more ghosts!” I exclaimed.

“No! I’m staying right here, where it’s safe,” Piper yelled.

“Spoilsport,” I said. I started using my yo-yo again.

Captain Cold: So, as I guess you already know, I ended up partnered with Captain Koala, because he and Roscoe insisted on being stubborn morons. I wanted to look for the safe, but Digger insisted that we go to the kitchen because he was hungry, and, since Digger seems to have an immunity to food poisoning, I figured it would probably be safe to let him eat 85-year-old food, and feeding him would get him to shut his big mouth besides. Digger, who practically has an internal homing device for food, found the kitchen in about a minute flat. The kitchen was dusty, covered in cobwebs, and filled with a lot of rusted-out junk, and it was so dark that, without my flashlight, I don't think I would've been able to see two feet in front of me. It was a little creepy, I’m not gonna lie. But I don’t scare easy, so I started pawing around for valuables while Digger found the world’s oldest box of crackers and started digging in. I found a bunch of silver spoons and shoved them into my bag…and then something weird happened. A really attractive lady appeared out of basically nowhere and walked right through me like she couldn’t even see me. It felt like when I accidentally shot myself with my cold gun, and I frowned. Ghosts weren’t supposed to exist. However, I had business to do, so I ignored the ghost lady and went back to my work. Digger, on the other hand, didn’t take the ghost so well. He let out a string of Australian swear words, yelled something about a “ghost sheila” (knowing him, it was probably the exact opposite of polite), grabbed his crackers, and started to run. I grabbed him by his scarf before he could exit the room.

“Let me go, you bloody loon! You’ve got kangaroos loose in your top paddock if you want to stay here with a ghost, Cold!” Digger yelled.

“Stop freaking out, Digger. She doesn’t have any weapons, she’s not dripping blood, and she’s not bad to look at besides. Just ignore her. We have work to do.” Digger looked closer at the ghost and grinned.

“Bloody oath! She is a beautiful Sheila, ain’t she?”

“Yeah, she’s pretty. I just said that. Now get to work.” I said. Digger ignored me and walked over to the ghost.

“G’day, Sheila. I’m Captain George Harkness of the Australian Secret Service. Who are you?” he asked. (He tells every girl he takes a fancy to that he worked/works for the Australian Secret Service. It’d be a great pick up line if it wasn’t a total lie.) I rolled my eyes as I helped myself to some fine china plates. Was Digger seriously hitting on a ghost?

“Is Australia a northern state, Master Harkness?” the ghost asked. She sounded terrified, and had an accent I couldn’t quite place. Digger laughed.

“Oz? In the North? Sheila, it’s called the Land Down Under for a reason,” he replied. The ghost looked terrified and started to cry. I tried valiantly to ignore the sound and shoved the remainder of the china into my bag.

“What’re you crying for, Sheila?” Digger asked, sounding annoyed.

“B-b-because if you a Southern soldier, you gonna take me and my baby back to slavery!” I noticed that she was, indeed, carrying a baby and grimaced. I did NOT have time for dealing with this crud. Digger walked back over to me.

“I didn’t notice she had an anklebiter. She’s a lovely sheila, but not enough for me to want to be a daddy. And why’s she wailing about slavery?” he asked.

“How should I know? I dropped out of high school at 14, and I don’t have many dealings with ghosts,” I replied in annoyance as the ghost’s wailings got louder. She moved rapidly toward Digger and fell on her knees.

“Please, don’t take my baby, Master Harkness. Let him be free, please, please!” she begged. Digger shot me a pleading look, and I sighed wearily. How did Digger get himself-and me- into these situations?

“Look, lady, we don’t want you or your baby. Now go on, shoo. You and the kid are free, and “Master Harkness” and I have business to do,” I said. The ghost stared.

“Ain’t you Confederate soldiers?” she asked, obviously confused.. Digger and I looked at each other in equal confusion.

“What’s a Confederate?” Digger asked the ghost.

“They’s the soldiers who be fighting to make their own country,” she replied.

“What’s she talking about?” Digger asked me. I shrugged.

“The Civil War…..I think,” I said, drawing desperately from my memories of 8th grade history.

“You mean the war you Yanks had between each other? What’s that gotta do with this sheila?” I racked my brains for any connection between the two and wished that I hadn’t chosen 8th grade history as the class to sleep through.

“Um...she was talking about slavery…I think the South had slaves...probably….and that was maybe why the war started? Possibly? And-and since you said you were from the South, and she’s probably about as well-educated as we are, she didn’t realize that you meant you were from another continent entirely, and so she thought that you were gonna want to make her a slave again,” I said, feeling pretty proud of myself for figuring all that out.

“Didja hear that, Sheila? I’m not a Confederate, whatever that means! Australia’s an island. It ain’t part of America. Now, it’s London to the brick that I’m dangerous, so you probably wanna steer clear of me, but I’m not gonna be taking you to slavery, neither. And, hey, if you got any single friends without anklebiters,, tell ‘em t’ look up Captain Harkness, will ya?” Digger told her cheerfully.

“I..I’m free?” she asked quietly.

“As a bird. Now get outta here. You’re safe in this city,” I told her flatly.

“Thank you, sir! Thank you!” she said. She kissed her baby, and they passed through the kitchen wall and vanished into thin air. As soon as she was gone, I glared at Digger.

“Okay, now that you’re done hitting on a ghost, can we get back to work, please?” I asked.

“If you want to, that’s fair dinkum. I’m gonna go back to my chips,” Digger said. He tried to walk back to the table, but I grabbed him by the scarf before he could and forced him to clear out the rest of the valuables while I took a smoke break. He swore colorfully in Australian the entire time, but I ignored him. He was just packing the last of the chinaware away when another ghost, this one holding a gun, showed up. One look at him told me that we were in trouble, and so I ran out of the room, Digger hot on my heels.

Golden Glider: So, while Mick and Marky-Mark were in the living room, James and Hartley were running around like lunatics, and Lenny and Digger were running away from history as much as they were running away from ghosts, Roscoe and I had decided to investigate the backyard. It contained a rotting porch and a small cemetery, one which was surrounded by a wrought iron fence. It was quite dark, because there were no porch lights, but that just made it all the more romantic. As soon as we left the house, I snuggled up close against Roscoe and we both sat down on the one intact porch step. “Isn’t the darkness so romantic?” I asked him. He looked puzzled, and it was adorable. “I believe that the darkness is the absence of light, my darling,” he said. I tittered. “You’re so funny, Roscoe,” I cooed. He smiled. “I am glad I have pleased you, sweetums,” he said. A cloud moved and revealed the moon, big and red and lovely. I pointed at it in excitement. “Roscoe, look at the moon! Isn’t it beautiful? Doesn’t it remind you of us?” I asked. Roscoe looked concerned. “My darling, the moon is a celestial body that revolves around the Earth. I do not see how it can remind you of us. Did no one teach you about the nature of the moon? It is not a human being,” he said. I sighed; having forgotten how literal Roscoe can be. “Roscoe, dear, I was speaking figuratively. I said it was like us because it’s beautiful, just like we are,” I explained. Roscoe’s eyes lit up in understanding. “I see. Forgive my confusion, my darling,” he said. I kissed him on the cheek. “Of course, honey,” I replied. He kissed me on my cheek, and then I kissed him full on the lips. We were still embracing five minutes later, when a young girl in a white dress appeared. She was completely transparent, and stared at us in silence for a few seconds. “Are you lovers?” she asked quietly. “We are indeed, and my Lisa is a goddess among women,” Roscoe replied. Her face fell, and then twisted into fury. “How dare you flaunt your happiness in front of the grave of a poor rejected woman? Is it not enough that I was rejected by my Robert? Is it not enough that I killed myself of despair? Must I be mocked by your love as well? For your impudence, I will make you suffer as I have suffered!” she screamed. She moved over to Roscoe, kissed him on the lips (please don’t ask me HOW) and then disappeared. Roscoe shoved me off his lap violently and stood up. “Get off of me, you wretch!” he spat. The words felt like a blow. “R-R-Roscoe, what….what’s wrong?” Roscoe had never talked to me like that before, and in that moment I saw Lewis-my “father”-in his face. “You are what is wrong! I am a gentleman, and you-you are common trash. Why I was mad enough to kiss you I’ll never understand!” Roscoe said coldly. “What are you saying?” I asked. “I am saying that I have had enough of dating a welfare queen,” Roscoe replied. Normally, I would have struck back, but I was so bewildered by his behavior that I just stared at him. After a few seconds, he scowled. “What are you staying for, you pathetic wretch? Leave me!” he ordered, and I found my tongue. “No, Roscoe. I am staying right here with you. You may not think you love me anymore, but you will not drive me away. I won’t give you the pleasure of ordering me around like a dog,” I said. “Why not? You are a dog,” Roscoe spat. I moved to slap him, but before I could, we were interrupted by another ghost, this one wielding a old-timey gun, who charged at us. I kicked at the ghost on impulse, but, of course, it went straight through him. While I was distracted, Roscoe abandoned me, but after I regained my balance, I rushed after him and we went into the dining room. “Stop chasing me, you hussy!” he yelled. “I’m not chasing you, I’m running away from the ghost,” I said. As if on cue, the ghost lifted a table and threw it at Roscoe’s head. I pushed him out of the way and narrowly avoided being hit myself. “Why did you save me? It will not make me love a woman like you,” he demanded harshly. This time, I did slap him. “You’re welcome,” I spat. Roscoe frowned. “You dare lay a hand on a gentleman?” he demanded. Before he could continue, however, the ghost levitated all six chairs in the room, and so I grabbed him and pulled him into the hallway. A series of loud crashes followed almost immediately. “I notice that you don’t complain when I touch you in order to save your life,” I said pointedly. Roscoe sniffed haughtily and didn’t reply. Under normal circumstances, I would have led us to the door and left the house, but with Roscoe acting so strangely, I couldn’t. I didn’t want to leave only for Roscoe to keep treating me like dirt, so I decided to stay and take charge of the situation. “All right, so where do we go from here?” I asked. Roscoe scowled. “‘We’ are not going anywhere. Have I not made my disdain for you utterly clear? I am going to one of the bedrooms to go to sleep, and you-I care not where you go, so long as you stay away from me,” he said. I shook my head firmly. “No, we’re staying together. Even if you really do hate me, from a logical standpoint you’re obviously safer with me around,” I replied. Roscoe pondered this for a few seconds, then nodded. “Very well. We will stick together. However, let me make one thing clear: I do not love you. Our current predicament does not change that,” he said, and I felt my heart break. I slapped him again and said, “Fine! See if I care!” With that, I pulled Roscoe up the stairs to the second floor and into one of the bedrooms, which contained an canopy bed, a broken window, an old armorie, and a painting of a handsome young man. The plaque beneath it read "Robert Jackson, beloved son". It was a picture of the man who had spurned his lover. How appropriate. Roscoe laid down on the bed and fell asleep almost immediately (he is definitely not a night owl) and I started crying. How had this perfectly romantic night gone so badly awry?

Mirror Master II: After a quick trip through the Mirror Realm, Scudder and I arrived in the basement. It was awfy dark doon there, I’m nae gonna lie, but the way Scudder was reacting, you’d have thought it was a torture chamber. He was jumping at every little sound and keeping so close tae me that I was practically tripping over him. After aboot a minute of that, I got fed up with him and decided tae tell him tae grow a spine.

“Stop acting like a wean, will ye? It’s hard eno to move doon here without having tae avoid you,” I told him. He moved about an inch further away.

“If we run into a ghost, I’m feeding you to it,” he muttered. I laughed and started looking for trinkets, while he stayed right next tae the stairs. After a few minutes, I uncovered an emerald ring.

“This is worth something, int it no?” I asked happily. Scudder shrugged.

“Great, you’ve found your prize. Now let’s get out of here!” he said.

“Not yet! I need a bigger haul than this!” I replied. Scudder frowned.

“Look here, you second-rate Mirror Master. I am not about to have my brain turned into soup by a ghost just so that you can sell two rings instead of one. We’re going upstairs now,” he said.

“Who are ye calling a second-rate Mirror Master? I use the Mirror Realm better than ye ever could, ye minger!” I yelled.

“You don’t even know how it works. You just swiped my equipment, you Glaswegian thug!” Scudder replied. Then I punched him, and he punched me, and we got into a fist fight. He was trying tae get oot of my stranglehold when soomthing weird happened: a ghostie showed up. You ken those drawings of fat rich people? It looked like that. I was so surprised that I let Scudder go, and he screamed like a lassie and dove intae the Mirror Realm. Me? I just froze. I didnae have a clue how to fight a ghostie, so I did soomthing pure stupid: I waved at it! The ghostie levitated a lamp and threw it at me head, only narrowly missing me. I dove intae the mirror after Scudder. He was panicking.

“I don’t wanna die I don’t wanna die I don’t wanna die; please don’t let me die please please please don’t let me die!”

“Calmy doony, Scudder. The ghostie canae come intae the Mirror Realm,” I said. Ten seconds later, the ghostie came intae the Mirror Realm.

“You just had to say it!” Scudder wailed.

“Dinae just stand there, run!” I yelled. Both of us took off running, and only stopped when the ghostie vanished. I grinned.

“We did it! We escaped the ghostie!” I yelled. Scudder smiled slightly, but then he looked around and his smile vanished.

“Oh, no. This is bad, this is bad, this is really bad,” he said.

“What do ye mean? We escaped from the ghostie!” I replied.

“Look around you! Do you recognize any of this?” I looked around, and realized that we were in big trouble: I didnae recognize anything around me, and I ken most of the Mirror Realm like the back of my hand.

“We’re lost,” I said.

“No duh, really? I had no idea,” Scudder replied sarcastically. I tried tae punch him for that, but he dodged me swing.

“I don’t see why you’re punching at me. I was against coming to the creepy ghost house from the start, and if we had stayed home and watched A Nightmare on Elm Street like I suggested, we wouldn’t be in this mess! But did you-or anyone-listen to me? Oh, no! “Ghosts don’t exist, Sam.” “Stop being such a wimp, Scudder.” “We’ll be fine.” “Stop being such an idiot, Scudder.” Well, WHO’S THE IDIOT NOW?” he yelled hysterically, and I wished that Captain Cold hadnae put me with him, because he looked downright loony.

“Ah am, all right? Now help me find a way oot of here!” Sam laughed weakly.

“Find a way out of the Mirror Realm? You might as well tell me to beat Superman in a fist fight. It’s impossible. There’s a reason that I never go out of sight of the mirror portals: the Mirror Realm is so vast that if you get lost, you’ll probably never find your way back to them-and they’re our only way out of the Mirror Realm. I can’t get us out without the portals, and, thanks to you, Len, and that ghost, I have no idea where they are. Heck, I don’t even know where WE are!” he exclaimed.

“The Land of Abstract Art, mebbe?” I suggested. We were surrounded by swirls of colors and strange shapes, ye ken? Scudder didnae seem to find that as funny as I’d thought it was.

“Really? We’re lost in a never-ending mirror maze, and you’re cracking jokes?” I shrugged.

“Aye. Beats whining aboot it, ye jerrie.” To tell the truth, I was just as freaked out as Scudder was, but I wasnae about to let him know it.

“You’re a lunatic,” he spat.

“Ah am’nae!” I yelled back. I punched him, he punched me, and we ended up in another fistfight that only ended when both of us collapsed from exhaustion. Apparently, all the running had taken a lot oot of us. Scudder basically ended up falling asleep on my lap, and I was too tired to move him. After aboot a minute of embarrassment, I fell asleep tae.

Heat Wave: Hi, there. I’m Mick Rory, but you can call me Heat Wave. Everyone does. So, uh, while everyone else was running away from angry ghosts, Weather Wizard and I were still searching for valuables, and not finding any. After about an hour of searching, I got bored, pulled out my flamethrower, and lit the sofa on fire. It was beautiful and pretty and warm, and I decided to touch it. Bad idea, because I was still wearing the tutu, and..well...tutus are really flammable. The fire didn’t exactly hurt me (the prison doc tells me my skin’s so badly burned by this point that it doesn’t feel pain anymore), but it did freak out Weather Wizard, who doused me (and the sofa) with what felt like a gallon of water.

“Hey! You put out my beautiful sofa fire!” I complained. The Wiz scowled.

“In case you didn’t notice, YOU were on fire, too!” he said angrily.

“And now I’m sopping wet AND don’t have my precious fire. I don’t see how that’s an improvement,” I replied. In response, the Wiz beaned me over the head with his wand. (He doesn’t have a good swing, so it didn’t really hurt.)

“Being wet doesn’t kill you, you big oaf! You know what does? BEING ON FIRE!” His face was red and his eyes were crackling with electricity, so I knew he was pretty upset. Because he can create tornadoes, I decided to apologize.

“You’re right, Mark, and I’m sorry. Thanks for saving me,” I said. His eyes stopped crackling.

“Just don’t do it again,” he said. I nodded and sat down on what was left of the sofa, and Wiz went over to the window and gazed out of it.

“A storm’s brewing,” he said. I don’t think he was trying to sound spooky, but with his tone of voice and his witch costume, he did. A few seconds later, lightning flashed and thunder boomed. Wiz opened the window and leaned out. The wind whipped his (impossibly spiky) hair, and he stared at something in silence. After a few seconds, it got creepy, and so I went over to him and dragged him away from the window. I closed it as soon as he wasn’t in the way.

“Come on, Mark, let’s go to another room. Captain Cold’ll be mad if we don’t find something valuable,” I said. When he didn’t move, I picked him up, threw him over my shoulder, and took him up the stairs and into a bedroom which looked like it might have belonged to a little kid at some point, since there were a bunch of old toys in it. One of the windows was broken, and everything, including the toys, a rocking chair, and a crib, was covered in dust and cobwebs. It was very spooky, although it was in better shape overall than the living room had been. I started looking for something valuable, and the Wiz made a beeline for the window.

“Hey, knock that off! Just ‘cause you’re the Weather Wizard doesn’t mean that you get to look at the weather and not help me!” I said. Wiz turned around and locked eyes with me.

“The storm...it’s an ill wind that blows no good,” he muttered. It was almost like he was in a trance or something. And then it happened: a ghost appeared. Now, it wasn’t super gory-really, it just looked like a transparent teenager-but let me tell you: it was scarier than anything I’ve ever seen in a horror movie. At almost the same time, it started to rain heavily. The Wiz passed out again, and the ghost advanced on me. I decided that discretion was the better part of valor (what? I saw Shakespeare on TV one time), threw the Wiz over my shoulder, and ran downstairs and out of the house with him. (Question: Why is it that he was WAY heavier when he was unconscious than when he was conscious?) I wanted to make Captain Cold happy, but I wasn’t gonna fight a ghost just for some loot. As soon as we got out the door, the ghost stopped following us, so I dumped the Wiz on the ground and began what proved to be a LONG wait for the Mirror Masters to come pick us up. Wiz woke up about five minutes after we got out of the house and cleared up the rain (thank goodness), then took a look at me and smiled.

“You should see yourself. Your tutu’s unrecognizable and I can see your underwear,” he said. I felt my cheeks heat up. Man, that was embarrassing.

“Yeah, well, you fainted twice, so I think we’re even,” I replied. The Wiz flushed, and looked at the ground. A few seconds later, he yawned, then produced a wind that dried up the ground.

“I’m gonna take a nap. Wake me up when Scudder shows up,” he said. With that, he curled up on the ground and dozed off. After a couple seconds, I sat down next to him, and, after a few minutes of trying and failing to come up with an excuse for not finding any loot, I dozed off too. (One of the benefits of being….less than legally employed is that you learn to fall asleep anywhere.) I woke up about twenty minutes later when the Wiz poked me in the side with his wand.

“Huh?” I asked drowsily.

“Where are the Mirror Masters at? Surely they’ve gotta be finished by now,” he whined. I shrugged.

“Maybe they’re still looking for stuff. Or maybe they hit the jackpot and are still gathering up all the stuff they found,” I suggested.

“Well, they better hurry up. I’m bored and tired and I want to get back to my nice soft bed,” the Wiz replied.

“I’m sure they’ll be here soon,” I said. Then I fell back to sleep and was dead to the world for another forty minutes.

Pied Piper: After being trapped in the dumbwaiter for about ten minutes, I turned off my hearing aids. Not being able to hear is never a pleasant experience, but it was highly preferable to listening to a bored Trickster sing “This Is the Song That Never Ends” again and again and again. This solution worked reasonably well until I realized that I very much needed to use the powder room and needed advice as to how to do so without attracting the nightmare creature that wanted to devour my internal organs. Therefore, I had to turn my hearing aids back on, because none of the other Rogues have ever bothered to learn sign language and I had no desire to play charades. As soon as my hearing turned back on, I was greeted with what must have been the fortieth rendition of “This is the Song That Never Ends”.

“James. James. JAMES! I, um, need to use the powder room. Do you have any idea as to how I can do that without meeting the ghost?”

“Depends. What’s a powder room?” He batted his eyes and smiled in the most irritating manner imaginable.

“You know full well what a powder room is!” I exclaimed. James’ smile grew wider as he shook his head.

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what you need, Piper,” he said. I sighed and gave in.

“It’s a restroom,” I said, blushing terribly. James laughed and did a particularly impressive trick with his yo-yo.

“Oh, so you need to pee! Why didn’t you say so?” he asked.

“Because my parents did not allow me to discuss bodily functions in public. Ever,” I replied.

“Did your parents allow you to breathe without their say-so?” I frowned. My parents had indeed controlled my days down to the second before they disowned me, but I didn’t want to admit it, so I said,

“Never mind that. Just tell me how to use the powder room without getting killed!”

“Oh, that’s easy. I’ll close my eyes, and you can do your business in here,” James replied. As I did not have access to a mirror, I cannot be sure about this, but I believe that I blushed even harder.

“No!”

“Why not? You can even blindfold me if you want. Believe me, I do NOT want to watch that,” James replied. I scowled.

“Because that is disgusting, James.”

“I don’t see why. It’s what we did in the circus,” he said, sounding genuinely confused.

“This is not the circus!”

“Well, it isn’t exactly Rathaway manor, either. I’m not saying that it isn’t gross, but this place is in bad condition already. You can’t make it much worse,” James replied.

“I think I would rather face the ghost,” I said. James laughed.

“I can’t believe that you’re more scared of breaking your parents’ rules of being “proper” and pretending that you don’t have bodily functions than you are of a literal ghost,” he said.

“This has nothing to do with my parents!”

“Somebody’s in de-ni-al!” James singsonged.

“I’m not in denial. Just because I do not want to be Digger does not mean that this has anything to do with my parents,” I insisted.

“Yep, definitely in denial,” James said. I ignored him and pulled out the mirror that I had brought with me in order to contact the Mirror Masters.

“Sam! McCulloch! If you can hear me, I need you to get me-and James-out of this house!” Nothing happened, and I sighed wearily. There went that idea. About three minutes later, I decided that I couldn’t wait any longer. I opened the doors nervously and, not seeing anything, bolted down the hall to the powder room, used it, and was on my way back when the ghost reappeared. I screamed like a little girl (which is quite humiliating in hindsight) and just froze up in terror. If I had been alone, I don’t want to know what would have happened next, but, luckily for me, James showed up at exactly this point and yelled,

“Hey, Casper! Over here, you preposterous poltergeist!” The ghost howled and started chasing him, and he whooped with glee and ran down the hall in the direction of the staircase. Thirty seconds later, I heard a loud cry of pain from James. I bolted to the top of the stairs and saw that one of the steps had given way under James, and that he had clearly broken his ankle. Worse, the ghost was floating over top of him, and, for the first time, he looked scared. I stared at the scene for a few seconds, unsure of what to do, and then pulled out my flute and started playing it in the desperate hope that its hypnotic powers would work on a ghost. I tried to ignore the fact that my knees were shaking under me as I played, and, after a few seconds, the ghost stopped howling and floated away from James. I carefully went down the stairs to my partner, still playing, then knelt down beside him and put the flute away.

“Do NOT do that again! You scared the daylights out of me!” I snapped. James smiled.

“Aww, you do care,” he said. All his fear seemed to be forgotten and I shook my head in amazement. He had almost been killed (possessed?) by a ghost, and he was already making jokes.

“I did owe you. After all, if you had not attracted the ghost’s attention, I might have been killed. How’s your ankle?” I asked.

“It hurts like the dickens,” he replied.

“Can you walk?” James stood up shakily, winced, and quickly sat back down, then smiled and said,

“I can walk on my hands!” He proceeded to demonstrate. In spite of myself, I laughed a little.

“Can you keep that up long enough to get to the front door?” I asked him after I stopped laughing.

“Probably. Why?”

“Because we are leaving. I don’t know how long my hypnosis will last, but it will wear off eventually, and I do not want to be here when it does,” I explained.

“Aww, but I wanted to see some more ghosts!”

“Can you run on your hands?” I asked. James grinned slightly.

“Maybe?” he asked. I shook my head.

“Let’s go. We can watch The Shining when we get home if you want,” I said. (It’s James’ favorite horror movie, and very useful as a bribe.) James’ grin widened.

“You know me well, Piper. Let’s go home,” he said. With that, we left the house-only to find Mick and Mark asleep on the lawn; Mick in little more than his underwear.

“There’s something you don’t see every day,” James said.

“What, Mick and Mark sleeping on the lawn or Mick in his underwear?” I asked.

“Both, but mainly Mick in his underwear. That’s an image I’ll never get out of my mind,” he replied.

“Me, neither,” I agreed. After a few seconds, James sat down on the ground and pulled out a pack of bubble gum.

“I swallowed my gum when that step broke under me. Want some gum?” he asked.

“I suppose,” I replied. James handed me a stick of gum and then took out one for himself as well. I sat down next to him, unwrapped the stick of gum, and started chewing it. James blew a huge bubble.

“How do you do that?” I asked.

“Blow bubbles? Haven’t you ever had bubble gum before?” he asked. I shook my head.

“My parents said that gum was for plebeians,” I replied.

“Well, if they really did cut you off, you are one now, so that shouldn’t be a concern anymore,” he said. I smiled.

“You have a point. So, carnie, how about teaching this ex-patrician how to properly blow bubbles with bubble gum?” I asked.

“You’re on!” James exclaimed.

Captain Boomerang: I hate all the bloody ghosts in that bloody ghost house! (I also hate Cold for making me go into the ghost house, but that’s beside the point.) After Cold and I ran out of the kitchen, the ghost chased us through several rooms and to the basement stairs. We exchanged a brief look and ran down the stairs into the basement.

“If that bloody ghost follows us, I’m gonna be as mad as a cut snake,” I said. I was tired of all the running, tired of risking my life, and even more tired of not getting to eat my chips.

“I think he’s stopped chasing us,” Cold said as he looked around. Then he gasped.

“What is it?” I demanded. Cripes, I need a coolie , I thought.

“The Mirror Masters...at least one of them left their Mirror Gun here. It’s their only way back into our dimension. They’d never leave it here.”

“Well, if they’ve carked it, there’s nothin’ we can do. Let’s take our loot and leave this spooky place before another ghost shows up!” I said. I thought that I’d made a good point, but Cold disagreed and punched me in the face.

“We don’t have any proof that they’re dead, so we’re goin’ in after them. They’re too valuable to lose, and besides, the Rogues don’t abandon their own,” he said. Cold activated the portal to the Mirror Realm and dragged me inside by the scarf. As soon as I got inside, I had a sickie and vomited all over the floor.

“Scudder? McCulloch? It’s Cold. Where are you?” Cold yelled. No answer. I stopped vomiting and looked around, then noticed something shiny. I went over to it and discovered that it was an emerald ring.

“Cold, have a Captain Cook at this! We’re rich!” I exclaimed. Cold looked at it...and went pale.

“Oh, no….one of the Mirror Masters must have been spooked by something and dropped it-and if they ran that way and were so panicked that they didn’t notice that they dropped a valuable thing like that, then they’re lost in the Mirror Realm,” he said.

“Okay. They’ve carked it. Oh, well. Let’s go home,” I replied. Cold shook his head.

“No. We’re gonna find them,” he said.

“Cold, you just said that they were lost in the Mirror Realm. If THEY got lost, we’ll get lost, too,” I protested. Cold didn’t listen.

“We ain’t gonna get lost, because we’re going to make a trail to follow,” he said. He drew one the spoons out of the bag and placed it on the ground next to his feet. Then he moved about ten feet forward and did the same thing, and did it again about seven feet after that. He’s got kangaroos loose in his top paddock for sure, I thought.

“What are you doin’, Cold?” I demanded.

“I’m making a trail,” he said.

“Outta spoons ?” I asked.

“Didn’t you ever hear the story of Hansel and Gretel?”

“I don’t read fairy tales. They’re for wusses,” I said. Cold scowled.

“Look, I have a little sister, okay? Anyway, Hansel and Gretel didn’t want to get lost in the woods, so they used bread crumbs to mark where they’d been. That way, when they turned around, they’d know which way would take them back to their starting point. This is the same idea, only our markers can’t be eaten by anything,” he said. With that, he started dragging me by my scarf towards the direction he thought the Mirror Masters had taken.

“You know, I can walk on my own,” I said.

“ Maybe so, but if I let you go, you’ll probably be walking towards the exit, so I’m keeping ahold of you to be on the safe side,” Cold replied. I stuck my tongue out at him, but he ignored it. After about twenty minutes of walking, we entered the weirdest place I’d ever seen. There were all these bloody weird shapes and colors, and I couldn't tell which way was up. It freaked me out, but for some reason, it didn’t seem to bother Cold at all.

“Cold, this is really freaky. Can we go back now? We’ll never find the Mirror Masters in this crazy place,” I said.

“Shut up, Digger. We are going to find them, and we are not going to stop walking until we either do or run out of silverware,” Cold replied.

“Ace!” I muttered sarcastically.

“What was that?”

“Nothin’,” I lied.

“That’s what I thought.” He dragged me along for about ten more minutes before I opened my big mouth again. (I think that must be some kind of record.)

“Can we stop now ?” My legs were killing me (not to mention my neck)!

“No. Stop acting like a six-year-old,” Cold replied. I really need a coolie, i thought.

“I wouldn’t be actin’ like an anklebiter if you weren’t actin’ like a dictator,” I snapped. Cold punched me in the side and continued to drag me along like a bloody kelpie. After about four more minutes, i decided that I’d had enough of being dragged around and stabbed Cold in the arm with one of my razor-sharp boomerangs. He swore in pain and let me go, and I grabbed the mirror gun and ran towards the exit. Sadly for me, Cold managed to bean me over the head with a plate and knocked me out. When I came to, I awoke to see a pair of unconscious Mirror Masters. Normally, I would’ve been crosser than a frog in a sock that Cold had knocked me out, but at the moment I was too glad that Cold wouldn’t be dragging me through the Mirror Realm anymore to really care.

“You little Ripper! You found them!” I exclaimed happily.

“No thanks to you,” Cold muttered. He shook McCulloch awake.

“Cold? How did ye get in here?” he asked.

“Either you or Sam dropped your Mirror Gun outside of the mirror in the basement, and I used it to get in here,” Cold explained.

“But how did ye find us?”

“Stubbornness, mainly,” Cold replied. I laughed.

“That’d be right!” I exclaimed. Cold looked at McCulloch oddly.

“Why is Sam sleeping in your lap?” Cold asked.

“ WHAT? ” McCulloch yelled. He quickly moved Sam off his lap and stood up. This woke Sam up, for obvious reasons. Once he realized what had happened, he noticed Cold, gave him a huge hug, and then punched him in the face.

“I’m...getting some mixed messages here,” Cold said.

“I’m happy you found us, because I thought we were going to die here, but I’m about equally angry at you, because you wouldn’t have had to rescue us if you hadn’t decided to take us to the creepy ghost house in the first place,” Sam explained. I laughed. It’s always good to see Cold get taken down a peg, the arrogant knocker.

“I do nae see why you being here is a good thing. We do nae ken how to get back to the Mirror Portals from here, we’ll all die here,” McCulloch said.

“Actually, we won’t. I marked the path we took from the portals with our loot, so we’ll able to get back fine,” Cold replied. McCulloch grinned, and my stomach growled.

“Can we go home now? I’m hungry,” I asked.

“Ye and me both, Digger,” McCulloch said. Cold nodded.

“Let’s get back to our reality,” he said. With that, we started the long walkabout back to the Mirror Portals.

Top: My nap lasted precisely twenty-five minutes and fifteen seconds. Then I awoke to see Lisa crying quietly. Normally, I would have felt horrible upon seeing such a sight, but at the time, I simply felt disgusted.

"Stop sniveling, you piece of gutter trash. I will not be moved by your feminine wiles,” I spat. (I have since apologized profusely for this comment, and for all others made under the influence of the ghost, but my darling Lisa is still distrustful of me, and her brother would have beat me to within an inch of my life for them had she not stopped him.)

“All right. I WILL stop crying. I should have known better than to show weakness in front of a man who’s just like my father,” she replied angrily. If I had been myself, I would have been horrified by this accusation, but as I was, I merely sniffed dismissively.

“I am nothing like your father. He was an alcoholic boor who lived off of welfare for most of his life, and I am a gentleman,” I said haughtily.

“And yet you’re calling me names just like he did,” Lisa replied. (In hindsight, her self-confidence was quite admirable, but at the time, I found it irritating.)

“Shut your mouth!” I snapped, unable to refute her argument.

“And let you walk all over me? I don’t think so,” Lisa said. Furious, I raised my hand to slap her, but thankfully, the Civil War-era ghost interrupted us before I could. Lisa grabbed me and pulled me out of the room before the ghost began to levitate anything, thereby saving my life for the third time that night.

“I told you not to touch me!” I said icily. In response, Lisa kissed me on the cheek and I pulled away sharply in utter disgust. (I believe that she was trying to make me uncomfortable in an attempt to snap me back to my senses.)

“I just saved your life again , and you want to complain about me touching you? AGAIN?” she yelled.

“I was aware that we were in danger. There was no need for you to touch me,” I replied coldly. The ghost drifted out of the bedroom we had been in, and the two of us ran to the stairs-only to find that one of the steps had collapsed. Lisa sighed and slid down the banister to the bottom of the stairs, and I reluctantly followed her when the ghost appeared behind me and it became apparent that there was no other means of escape. (We were able to keep our balance because my darling Lisa was a figure skater and I am very resistant to vertigo.) We ran back through the dining room and back into the backyard, and were greeted by a most unusual sight. The ghost who had kissed me was holding hands with another ghost, this one with a noose around his neck.

“Oh, darling, you’re back!” she cooed. The other ghost kissed her.

“Yes, and I’ll never leave you again. I’m so sorry that I abandoned you all those years ago. My father was wrong: you were more important than our money ever could have been,” he said.

‘I forgive you, Robert,” she replied. Lisa started to cry again.

“Oh, shut up, you sniveling hussy! You are too far beneath me to deserve my sympathy,” I said harshly. Lisa frowned and dried her tears rather angrily, then elbowed me in the side.

“Where have you been, Robert?” the female ghost asked.

“I don’t know. All I remember before seeing you tonight was a lot of anger at something,” the other ghost replied. The female ghost embraced him.

“Oh, well, you’re here now. That’s all that matters,” she said. They kissed again, and then the female ghost noticed us and frowned.

“Are you the lovers?” she asked.

“Formerly. I thank you profusely for showing me my folly,” I said. Lisa nodded sadly.

“Why do you want to know? You can’t possibly make me any more miserable,” she said. The ghost smiled.

“Because I am going to show you both mercy. Since my happiness has been restored, I will restore your happiness,” she said. She kissed me once again, and all my love for Lisa came flowing back-as did a crushing sense of guilt.

“My darling, I am so sorry for what I said. I don’t know what came over me, but I swear to you that I do not care how rich you are. You are a goddess, and I adore you. Please, please forgive me,” I pleaded. I felt like an utter cad. Lisa frowned.

“R-Roscoe?” she asked nervously.

“Yes, sweetums,” I said. I tried to kiss her, but she pulled away.

“Don’t , Roscoe. After what you said to me tonight, I just don’t trust you. How can I be sure that you aren’t saying you don’t care that I’m “gutter trash” only because of your hormones? What if two or three years down the line, you don’t find me attractive anymore? Will you still love me, or will I suddenly become a “welfare queen” again? I still love you, but I can’t trust you anymore,” she asked

“You...you are breaking up with me?” I was heartbroken and rather tempted to attack the ghost (if that was even possible), but I could not really blame her.

“I’m not sure. Let’s call it a vacation,” she replied quietly. There was an awkward pause, and then I said,

“In that case, since our date is off, perhaps we should go to the front lawn and wait for the Mirror Masters to take us back to our hideout.” Lisa nodded, and we left the backyard, walked quickly through the house, and made it to the front lawn of the house without issue. Upon arriving, we saw Mark curled up on the lawn, fast asleep, Mick napping in little more than his underwear ( a sight that will haunt me until my dying day), and James and Piper blowing bubble gum. James waved at us.

“Hi there, lovebirds! How was your date?’ If there is one thing that James is the master of, it is saying things at the most inopportune times.

“Badly,” Lisa replied. With that, she left my side and sat down next to Mick. James looked at me quizzically.

“It is a very long story that is frankly none of your business,” I told him. I walked a few feet away from him, sat down, and buried my head in my hands, ashamed of what I had done to the one person in my life I ever cared for. Apparently, I dozed off at some point, because the next thing I remember was the two Mirror Masters arriving alongside Digger and Leonard.

“Look alive, everyone! We’re moving out!” he barked. Five minutes later, we were all back in our hideout (thanks to the Mirror Masters). Lisa immediately ran over to her brother and started sobbing. My stomach twisted with guilt and I looked away.

“Shhh..shh...shhh..Sis, what happened?” In response, Lisa told him the whole story through hiccups and sobs. When she was finished, Leonard marched over to me.

“ Is this true, Dillon?” he demanded.

“Sadly, yes,” I replied awkwardly. In response, Cold punched me so hard he knocked me to the ground.

“Then you’re gonna wish you’d never been born. NO ONE hurts my baby sister,” he snarled. He moved to hit me again, but before he could, Lisa ran over to him and grabbed his arm.

“Lenny, don’ t! He was under the influence of a ghost! It wasn’t all his fault,” she said. Cold scowled, but he walked away anyway as Lisa helped me back to my feet.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Better than I should be after treating you so terribly,” I replied.

“It’s good to to have you back, Roscoe,” she said.

“Does this mean that we’re back on?” I asked eagerly.

“No, Roscoe, I’m afraid not. It’ll probably be awhile before I feel comfortable around you again,” she said. She left me and went upstairs, and I was left to mentally berate myself for my idiocy.

Mirror Master I: And...that was basically it. We managed to get home alive from the creepy ghost house, everyone changed out of their costumes, and most of us, exhausted, went to bed (except James and Piper, who decided to watch The Shining for some reason.) The next morning, Trickster went to the hospital to get his broken ankle treated, and the rest of us decided to never, ever go to any house that was supposed to be haunted again. A week later, the Flash caught Len trying to fence his loot, so he’s in prison again. Lisa still hasn’t forgiven Roscoe, and James’s ankle is still very broken, but otherwise, things are pretty much back to normal for us Rogues. So, with that in mind-we would like to wish you all a Happy Halloween!- What James said.

FIN

#flash rogues #ghosts #dc comics #lisa snart/roscoe dillon #len snart #sam scudder #evan mcculloch #james jesse #hartley rathaway #george digger harknesss #mick rory #mark mardon #fanfic #@gorogues

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thursdayplaid · 4 years

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There’s a Monster at The End of This Castle

Tags: Renfri’s Brooch, SYMBOLISM, Spooky, Horror, Unreliable Narrator, there are at least five ways of interpreting the story and they’re all valid, Geralt, Jaskier, Yennifer, Eskel, no spoilers but it’s creepy

Geralt's on contract to slay the monster in the castle. Jaskier stands on the marble floor in his bare feet and watches. Renfri's brooch is in the bard's hand, Renfri's brooch is hanging from his neck. Geralt needs to find the monster, it's dangerous. Geralt needs to protect Jaskier, he doesn't understand the danger he's in.

Notes: I posted this on Ao3 but I love this creepy fic and want it on my blog. I've written things because they need to be written in a flurry of possessed inspiration and I've written things because it was something that I wanted to read. I read the summary for chasing_the_sterek's lovely fluffy story: 'it's what my heart just yearns to say' and both happened. (You can find the story here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23561143) This is still one of the favorite things I’ve written - even if it’s not my favorite version of it. It's weird, it's all context clues, and it's spooky. While there are some theoretical interpretations that are off base, the majority of interpretations of the story are totally valid so take what you want from it. It may not be quite the thing for tumblr, but it’s quite the thing for my blog and if that’s not my tumblr experience I don’t know what is!

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Jaskier is small under the vaulted ceiling of the main hall, the heavy velvet of the hanging banners are too good quality to molder yet, but they are dark with dust. “If you could have one blessing,” Jaskier says, eyes lit bright by the torch in Geralt’s hand, “What would it be?”

Geralt looks at him. Renfri’s brooch is smooth and hand-warm in his palm, edges smooth and rounded from careful crafting. It’s been with him for a long time: a little over ten years. It fits his palm like it’s an extension of his body, the stones catch the candlelight like they’re winking. Jaskier’s words are so precise, enunciated - recited, that they have to be from something. A play or a ballad, an epic from the blessed paradise of Oxenfurt. The inside of the castle is cold and gray, he feels like he’s in a cave, the way the dark wraps around him like walls of stone, a hollow in the earth.

“Is that from one of your songs?” Geralt asked him.

Blinking in genuine surprise, Jaskier pulls back to look at him as though a view further back would improve him somewhat. “Why would it be from one of my songs?”

Geralt doesn’t know anything about art. He understands it as little as it understands him. He can read enough to do his work but finds anything other than the most straightforward of records to smack of dishonesty. A frigid wind whips its way viper fast through the cracks in the wall. The feeling of having his skin shredded by the cold is so intense he almost touches is face to see if he can feel the twisting ridge of his cheekbone through the slivers of flesh and muscle.

Jaskier is clapping as he sings on a determined mission to go through all the verses of Fishmonger’s Daughter that he knows. There was the faun, the dragon, the witch – which had been particularly dirty, and other verses on and on until Jaskier faltered.

Geralt clears his throat as delicately as he was able. “Acted like a whore for a big manticore.”

The bard’s smile grows huge, his eyes glowing with a joy that filled Geralt with an equal mix of delight and terror. He throws his arms around Geralt’s neck and made a sound like a laugh, like sunrise, like Geralt is a person. “I knew you’ve been listening to me! All these years and I had a budding bard all along!”

The firelight tints Jaskier’s pale skin toward green, he looks like a god of spring time. They hold hands and dance round and round and round. In Geralt’s long life he can’t remember laughing this much or this hard, or even just indulging in something so silly. Jaskier is smiling, as he moves so quick in Geralt’s arms, a shadow that’s crawled its way up from the ground to have its go of a life.

“Eskel, what are you doing here?” Geralt asks. “Did the Countess not tell you I had taken the contract?” Lettenhove is bright and loud, a thriving city but one that is not so big that there should be a mix up like this.

Eskel stares at him. His silver sword is in his hand gleaming with oil.

There is a rustle and Jaskier emerged from the dark, picking through rubble with his soft broad bare feet, there’s nothing wrong with them but to Geralt they look like a child’s feet for all that there is hair on the toes. Jaskier should have better shoes on, where are his boots? “Hello Eskel,” Jaskier says, his voice soft in a way that is strange, that makes Geralt’s head hurt. “Come sit by the fire with us.”

Eskel looks between the two of them, nods. He doesn’t look right, there is something off about him.

Geralt needs to finish the contract, he should finish searching the castle but he hasn’t seen Eskel in what seems like forever and Jaskier is as likely as not to trip, fall, and get himself killed. Doesn’t he know there’s danger here? He puts a hand on Jaskier’s back, pulling him close to his side as they walked so they had to walk in step not to fall over each other. For a moment the bard looks enraged, feral, and then his face smooths and calms.

When they get back to camp Geralt feels enraged himself. “Jaskier! I told you not to let the fire go out! You know there’s a monster in the castle!” his voice is too loud, he’s shouting too loud. “You’re a moron at the best of times, but I thought I could expect you to have the good sense not to sit in the dark waiting to be killed! You could be hurt, this isn’t a fairy tale!”

Eskel moves past them, rearranging the fire and getting it going again. He seems unnerved. It’s not like Geralt to lose his temper like that. Geralt sits Jaskier down and arranges him in place, smoothing down the collar of his camisole loose and open and is half-tucked into those colorful trousers of his. The sleeves are red, the sleeves are so red. He wants to sit next to Jaskier but he is too angry so he paces until he calms.

He can’t speak to Jaskier without losing his temper so he speaks to Eskel. “We’ve hunted together before,” he says. “It’ll be pleasant to do again. I’ll even split the money with you, it’s no problem.”

Eskel looks at Jaskier first, Jaskier’s back is to Geralt so the bard’s expression is obscured. The dark line of leather Jaskier uses to hang Renfri’s brooch under his shirt looks like a wound against the back of the bard’s neck. A wound in the dark black with blood. There is an impulse to stare and an impulse to tear his eyes out, he does neither. Then Jaskier turns to face him. “If you could have one blessing, what would it be?”

“I don’t have time for your recitations,” Geralt tells him. “Eskel, shall we?”

“Yes,” Eskel says, but he doesn’t seem as happy about it as Geralt expects.

Pointing at Jaskier, Geralt says with as much menace as he’s able. “You don’t know what the monster could do to you out there in the dark. Stay. Here.”

“Alright,” Jaskier agrees, easy and turns his head away again. He speaks to the fire in a light dancing voice. “Remember Eskel, Geralt has always been a better swordsman than you.”

It’s an odd thing to say, but Jaskier has always been an odd duck.

When he and Eskel wander far enough away out of earshot, Geralt puts a hand on Eskel’s shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Am I alright?” Eskel looks at him with open shock, he looks stunned.

He doesn’t know how to say Eskel looked hesitant to go with him on the hunt. Doesn’t want to imply that his feelings were hurt or something equally ludicrous. Witchers don’t have feelings, they don’t care about people. “Do you have enough coin? You’re handling things?”

“Yes, Geralt,” Eskel says slowly as if trying to feel his way toward what Geralt means. “I have enough coin.”

“Because if you need this contract, it would be alright, I’d let you take the money. I wouldn’t want Jaskier to get a big head, but he makes enough singing that it would be okay. We manage fine.”

Eskel stares at him. After it’s been so long Geralt is afraid he misspoke, Eskel nods at him, slaps his shoulder. They patrol for a long time, talking to each other. In an attempt to cover his previous misstep, he asks about Lil Bleater. It’s good to reminisce although its clear something is weighing on Eskel’s mind or perhaps he hit his head, Geralt suspects that might be the case. There’s white in Eskel’s hair. That happens sometimes when there’s been a cut to the head.

Eskel will tell part of a story and then ask Geralt about it or he’ll get a detail wrong and Geralt will have to correct him. Each time such a sad, hurt, hopeful look comes over Eskel’s face that Geralt doesn’t want to say anything about it. He’s not good with words. Eskel doesn’t even remember how long it’s been since they saw each other last. If Eskel’s memory is going how could he hope to help him. They walk through the ballroom, up the stairs to duck in and out of the bedrooms, looking under beds like they’re children playing Hunt and Snare in the barracks when the master witchers aren’t paying attention. The castle must have been beautiful once with its bright colored stained glass and its marble floors, the room full of dried flowers, red-brown sheets, and the piles of sheet music. Now it smells like an old tomb, skin turned to paper and bones to old wood. There is white in Eskel’s hair. This makes his head hurt again. Eskel goes to open a door, but Geralt saves him. “There’s a cave in on the other side, it’s quite a drop. A step through the door and you’d fall to your death.”

Eskel looks at him just like he’s been looking at him all night. It’s like a joke in a foreign language and it makes him uncomfortable.

“It’s hidden again,” Geralt finally says when the night has begun to tilt its way into very early morning. The monster is sly, it doesn’t want to be detected. “We’ll have to search again tomorrow.”

Eskel claps him on the shoulder, “Sure. I can set up camp next to your fire in the front hall.”

“Jaskier better be there when we get back. I’m tiring of his wandering,” Geralt said.

“Why don’t you tell him that staying by the fire is the one blessing you want?” Eskel asks, mouth quirking up at the joke.

Geralt slams him against the wall so hard that for a moment he thinks he may have killed him, but he is so angry. He is so angry. He doesn’t care. It should hurt.

“Don’t you say that to him!” Geralt roars, he doesn’t recognize his own voice. He’s never sounded like this even at his most monstrous. “Don’t you ever say that to him!” He can’t cry, witchers can’t cry but he howls against Eskel’s chest. He howls like the cold wind with its mouth full of venom.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he tells Jaskier as the bard follows along behind him with shadow soft footfalls. “It’s dangerous, you’re going to get yourself killed.” The bard’s shirt is so red, it’s like a flame to a dangerous, vicious moth. He keeps telling the bard. There is a monster, it will kill him if it’s able to, it can’t be taught or trained or tamed. It is a monster, it destroys things. It destroys people like Jaskier who are human, who can be killed in so many stupid ways.

“I need material for my next ballad,” Jaskier replies, he almost seems to dance as he walks. He holds Renfri’s brooch in front of his face so it looks like it’s smiling at Geralt and then moves it to reveal his own smile. Geralt smiles back at the bard’s silliness. Jaskier is a living illusion, looking dainty and fragile until someone stumbles too close and realizes how broad in the shoulder and tall he is. The man is a sort of magician. “It’s called the Witcher and the Brick Wall.”

Geralt can’t help being curious. “Does he climb the brick wall?”

“No, he bangs his head against it.”

Geralt stops to look at him but Jaskier just smiles and tucks Geralt’s hair behind his ear. It makes Geralt feel odd when Jaskier does things like that. When he’s kind. It makes Geralt afraid although he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know how to act around Jaskier. He doesn’t know the rules of engagement. He’s holding Renfri’s brooch in his hand. He’s had it for ten years. It’s been a reminder a weight on his back, longer than he expected – ten whole years without being lost or stolen. He has a habit of losing that which is most precious. He had been worried it would slip away by misadventure, that he’d wouldn’t listen or be too slow to protect it – things of value were chewed up and spat out by the world, but no. The brooch lasted, his knew its shape in his hand. He could pick it out blind from a pile of gold, from its weight on the swing of a sword, from the way its shape made it smile at him in the dark. Jaskier asked about it of course. Jaskier was always so curious about the mundane parts of being a witcher.

What Geralt ate, how he made his potions, why he sharpened his sword so often.

It is part of being careful. Geralt might yell but he has never done anything to hurt Jaskier.

His head hurt.

He has never done anything to hurt Jaskier.

His head hurt.

HE HAS NEVER DONE ANYTHING TO HURT JASKIER.

Jaskier takes his hand. He is barefoot and his shirt is so red. He puts the brooch into Geralt’s hand.

“Geralt,” he says. “If life could give you one blessing.”

A woman with dark hair is in the entry hall talking to Jaskier. It makes him feel weird, to see a stranger talking to the bard.

“We have a visitor,” Jaskier tells him. His fingers are curled around Renfri’s brooch, it doesn’t bother Geralt. It’s big enough to fill a hand but not small enough to make a fist around. Jaskier is tactile, he likes to touch things to understand them. He touches the little potion bottles to understand them, he touches Geralt’s armor to understand it, he touches Geralt’s face to understand it. Jaskier will give the brooch back when he’s done.

“Hello,” he says gruffly, usually that’s enough.

She just blinks at him, her eyes are a startling shade of purple. Everyone just looks at him. “Hello back.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt tells the bard. “It’s one thing to have a conquest in every city, it’s another to bring a woman to a place where there’s a monster.”

“You don’t know me,” the woman says. Her dress is odd, he’s never seen anything like it. He doesn’t pay a great deal of attention to women’s fashion but even he would notice how odd her dress looks.

“No offense miss, but I try to stay as far away as from Jaskier’s bardic romances as I can.” Something occurs to him. “Are you the Countess de Stael?”

She makes an odd noise like she swallowed a peach pit. “No, not the Countess of Stael.”

“Geralt’s memory has been a bit take it or leave it,” Jaskier says, shrugging.

Geralt says, hurt in a way he can’t articulate. “I remembered the Countess of Stael, didn’t I? And you only mentioned once that you met her at the festival of yours. My mind’s like a steel trap.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” the woman muttered to herself.

For the next few days he runs into her everywhere, poking around with an odd lantern. “What’s that?” he asks her.

“That’s right,” she murmurs. “After your time. It’s just a lantern, a more modern version. Lasts longer.”

He can see that, he’s not a rube. He’s been around, he’s seen things. “I don’t know what Jaskier told you about magic and adventure, but I’m on a contract. There’s a dangerous monster here. You should be careful.”

“Alright,” she agrees. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”

In the morning there’s a pile of molten metal on the floor of the great hall, there’s a fire that’s big enough he has to pull Jaskier back from it. Jaskier is just standing there watching because of course he is, nothing on his feet, no armor, nothing to defend himself with but Renfri’s brooch in his hands.

“What are you doing?” he roars, he isn’t sure who he’s roaring at.

The woman stares at him. Why is everyone always staring at him? She looks at him with his arms holding Jaskier behind him but she speaks to the bard. “I thought it had to be his swords. What else could it be? Jaskier, what is it keeping him here? I’m running out of things to burn.”

“Then stop burning things!” Geralt yells at her.

“How should I know?” Jaskier replies, dull and mulish. “That’s the sort of thing a friend would know, not me.”

“Jaskier,” she says, her voice turned dangerous. “You have to stop this.”

“Half my life,” Jaskier tells her. “Half of my life. I’m not stopping anything.”

“Jaskier,” she says, the word like a drawn sword.

Jaskier’s shoulders drop in defeat, he holds his hands behind his back with his fingers tucked into the opening of the brooch. “You think I don’t know how this turns out? What we’ll become? It isn’t me, alright? I’m too vain to allow myself to…” He looks at Geralt with a crooked smile. “I guess Geralt does value my companionship after all. I appreciate your help, Yen. But. This is better than it was at the beginning. At least he’s stable now. I’m keeping him stable. He’ll understand when he wants to understand.”

Who were they talking about?

“Alright,” she says. She rubs her face with her hands. “Alright. I guess I’ll check in in a hundred years.”

Jaskier smiles at her, his expression full of relief.

The woman hugs Jaskier and she seems to want to hug Geralt as well. Geralt isn’t used to anyone hugging him but Jaskier and he doesn’t know her. She feels dangerous. She seems unhappy but she leaves.

There is a monster with a silver sword. Jaskier is fleet of foot even without shoes. He runs, away from the fire but toward Geralt. He moves as though carried on the air. He is beautiful, like an arrow set loose. The cold wind screams and whistles its way through the cracks in the castle walls. The relief on Jaskier’s face when he sees him almost knocks the air out of Geralt’s lungs. Ducking his head the bard slides like silk, like a whetstone along a blade under one of the witcher’s outstretched arms to hide behind the wall of muscle and armor Geralt creates just by standing still. Geralt can’t find his swords, so he leaps on the monster with his bare hands. The cold wind cuts into his bones, into his skin, into his gut.

Geralt has always been good at defeating monsters, even when he didn’t want to be.

Jaskier takes him by the shoulders and leads him back to the fire. He sits him down. “Don’t you worry about a thing. Jaskier will take care of everything. Just sit right there and look at the fire and here’s Renfri’s brooch and just- Think witchery thoughts.”

Geralt looks up at him. He wants to ask what’s wrong, he wants to ask why Jaskier is acting like that, he wants to ask Jaskier to stay by the fire. He holds Renfri’s brooch in both hands. It is familiar. He’s had it for ten years. They would sit by the fire and Geralt would sharpen his sword with it smiling up at him and Jaskier would sing and Roach would nibble on the leaves of low hanging branches. It was a reminder that he must always be careful. “Where’s your lute?”

“Some place safe,” Jaskier says. “I know every secret hidey hole in these halls.” For a moment, Jaskier presses their foreheads together. “You are Geralt of Rivia. You’re Geralt of Rivia, okay?”

“I know who I am,” he says.

Jaskier hugs him tight for a moment and then runs off into the dark.

Geralt wants to finish his contract quickly. He worries about Jaskier who has barely any sense to speak of and acts like he has even less. The monster here is dangerous, wicked. It could kill the bard with a word. Jaskier’s going to get himself killed. There’s something wrong with the potions in Geralt’s bag. Some of them are missing.

Are they? His head hurts.

Where are his swords?

Jaskier stood under the vaulted ceiling of the castle. His feet are bare, his sleeves are so red, there’s a sword in his hands held out and offered to Geralt. The witcher examines it, it’s been well-tended, cared for. Its pommel is different than he’s used to, a cat’s head is at the end. It is a silver sword though, it must be his. Geralt hangs Renfri’s brooch on its leather tie around Jaskier’s neck and smooths it flat against his chest. Jaskier’s smile almost falters, his body bowing as though under the weight. The brooch is finely made and smiling, he’s had it for ten years. It’s a remarkable brooch, he can’t hold onto anything for ten years. Witchers don’t have treasured possessions, to treasure something is to beg the universe to snatch it away. Loving something is just begging for destiny to swoop in with death on its wings. Things are so fragile. But. It’s a good brooch. As familiar as a shadow.

Jaskier smiles at him, standing so still by the firelight. His skin is so pale and his sleeves are all red. The flames are bright. It’s a decent fire, it’ll keep the monster away. “Geralt,” he asks. “If life could give you one blessing, what would it be?”

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #the witcher fanfic #jaskier #horror #There's a Monster at the End of This Book is still one of my favorite books #I read too much gothic horror as a child #it continues to be a problem #long post #3000 words

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clvrissa · 4 years

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[ ODEYA RUSH. CIS FEMALE. SHE/HER. ] [ ƈʟǟʀɨֆֆǟ "ʀɨֆֆǟ" ƈօաɛռ ] is a [ TWENTY-ONE ] year old [ FIRST AID ] at camp reviere. [ SHE ] makes me think of [ hand stitched skirts, tarot cards shuffled but never dealt, silence ringing in your ears ]. their favorite horror movie is [ THE EVIL DEAD ] and they remind me of [ ֆǟʀǟɦ ɮǟɨʟɛʏ ]. [ ally. 22. est. she/her. ]

what’s up, y’all ???? my name is ally, i have a love/hate relationship with horror, i simp for bailey sarian, i’m extremely inconsistent with the Aesthetic, and i’m here with my fucked-up daughter, rissa !!! her inspo is, ofc, sarah bailey, but instead of magic it’s psychometry. cool? cool. details are below, and yes, this is a novel, but there’s tl;drs.

ֆȶǟȶɨֆȶɨƈֆ.

full name. clarissa genevieve cowen nickname(s). rissa. she hates clarissa. occupation. first aid at camp reverie, nursing student age. twenty-one. date of birth. january 27, 1963 nationality. american. ethnicity. ashkenazi jewish. orientation. lesbian. gender & pronouns. cis female, she/her.

height. 5′8″. weight. 150 lbs. eye color. grey-blue. hair color + style. dark brown, curly, usually messy. she tries to braid it and keep it back but it always tends to get free. distinguishing features. those spooky eyes, her homemade baggy clothes, deep and deadpan voice,

ɮɨօɢʀǟքɦʏ.

born to a mechanic and the town psychic in louisiana in 1963, rissa was kind of destined to be an outcast. or, so she thought; her brother, chaplin, never had too much trouble fitting in.

she was more visibly the psychic’s daughter, though. not only bc she has wild hair, piercing eyes, and is terribly shy. from a young age, her mom used her as a prop during readings, the creepy little girl in the corner of the room. apparently chaplin couldn’t stay still long enough to be spooky :////

that was, until rissa helped one of her mom’s clients clean up her spilled purse, and she touched an old compact mirror. suddenly, she saw what it had seen, and blurted out that this was her mother’s old mirror, that she’d bought it in london and that it had seen war.

so, her mother asked her to take part in the readings, sometimes. if there was an important object, she’d give it to rissa to evaluate. even if there wasn’t, she’d still put the client’s purse, coat, whatever next to rissa, in case she picked anything up.

sometimes rissa couldn’t get anything, so she made things up. sometimes she sensed something, and sometimes, too often, she sensed something too awful to even keep the object in her hands. at least once a month, rissa saw something bad enough that she’d run to the attic and hide until her brother came to get her out. you can fill in the blanks there.

it was when she was ten that her teacher told her there was always a scientific explanation for things, and that magic wasn’t real. she clung to that, and asked to read about seeing things. her teacher told her to find the dsm ii in the public library. what she found... made sense but was almost worse than magic. since then, she’s been convinced she’s sick, and she’s making all the things she saw up in her head.

she also researched treatments, and that made her want to keep her mouth shut even more.

she started to avoid readings as much as she could. her mother told her she was wasting her gift. rissa insisted it wasn’t a gift, it was an illness. a disease.

uhhhhhhhh went full goth in high school. collected bones and hung out with the weird kids and smoked weed while listening to joy division in the woods. she didn’t like to touch people, she felt fucked up, and they were all okay with that. her best friend used to read lovecraft to her when she got high and rissa realized she was in love. she swallowed it down like she swallowed everything else down.

she spent the last few months of high school living with her father, since her mother didn’t want her to go to nursing school. her brother helped her leave home, and now she’s a nursing student at a community college.

tl;dr the psychic’s daughter has psychometry, sees some fucked up shit, suppresses her powers and convinces herself she’s having hallucinations, becomes a goth lesbian nursing student,

քɛʀֆօռǟʟɨȶʏ.

let’s get one thing straight: rissa doesn’t have a fucking clue who she is. she sees herself as something of a shattered mirror; trying to imitate what she thinks people want to see, but too dangerous to touch, to really know. she’s constantly recreating her identity as a result, as some kind of illusion. if she’s mysterious, nobody can tell when something is wrong.

she makes almost all her own clothes out of like. patchworks of other clothes. this is partially because she’s poor and partially because she likes things that are her own. and also definitely because she can’t find light enough clothing to provide her with the preferred amount of coverage in the summer without being too hot.

yeah, she wears full length skirts made out of tshirts and old lady cotton cardigans every day, so that she can’t accidentally brush up against anyone and activate her psychometry. also because she hates being known in any capacity. they’re patchwork. she looks like a bag lady.

she is still a very shy person, but she pretends to be cold and kind of mean instead. if she likes you, though, she’s just sarcastic and trying really hard to be funny.

Big Lesbian. Huge.

doesn’t want to be Known. if you’ve known her for longer than a year she’s been like five different people. whenever she feels like she’s falling into a pattern, she does something she thinks no one will expect. her motivation is as flakey as the fucking wind.

in truth she’s incredibly sensitive and takes everything personally because her self-esteem is like. below rock bottom.

still has nightmares about what she’s seen with her abilities, though she’s blocked a lot of it out during her day-to-day. if you’ve seen her have a nightmare, she’ll pretend it never happened.

for some reason, she loves old people. maybe it’s because she can tell if they like her or not from the moment she meets them, and as a result, she doesn’t really care what they think. but also... she loves stories.

probably has a lovecraft book with her at all times. still very much a goth.

big Daria vibes.

collects animal bones. she found a deer skull when she was a kid and all she felt when she touched it was peace. she slept with it like a teddy bear. even though she’s since suppressed her psychometry, she still finds animal bones to be somewhat soothing.

at parties, the type of person to steal a bottle of vodka and a bag of cheetos and hiding in the bathtub to get turnt. that’s living the good life. if you need to pee, sucks, she’s not moving.

anyways have some tik toks

(body image tw) big mood

her last two brain cells trying to destroy her psychometry

instead of spongebob quotes its joy division lyrics

աǟռȶɛɖ ƈօռռɛƈȶɨօռֆ.

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖍𝖎𝖊𝖗𝖔𝖕𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖙. an opposites attract kind of thing. her camp bestie that is very much on the straight and narrow while she tends to wanna go. all over the place. she definitely calls them a nerd daily.

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖔𝖑. someone whose leg she likes to pull, who she’ll regale with scary stories, whether they want her to or not.

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖒𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖘. a girl rissa has a major crush on. not like she’ll ever say it out loud.

𝖏𝖚𝖉𝖌𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙. a good influence of sorts. someone who curtails some of rissa’s more chaotic tendencies and sees the potential she has. someone who rissa actually feels a responsibility to.

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖑. opposite of judgement. someone who brings out the worst, most chaotic and painful and hurtful parts of her.

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘. someone who understands her trauma, to some extent. they connect on that deep level, even if they don’t connect on the surface.

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖒𝖎𝖙. she someone she can get weird with yk. probably smokes weed with her and knows a little too much about her for comfort.

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖒𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖔𝖗. authority for her to rebel against.

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖙𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖗. someone with a fucked up past that triggers her psychometry like nothing else. maybe she brushed against them on the first day of camp and almost passed out. she avoids them like the plague.

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖚𝖓. their optimism fucking kills her. she wants so badly to be mean to them but can never bring herself to. makes her want to be kind.

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖔𝖔𝖓. is fascinated by her past life as a psychic prop and thinks she’s So Cool. rissa is probably crueler to them than anyone else, because she doesn’t want to think about that time in her life.

#1984intro #mental illness tw #specifically allusions to hallucinations #drugs tw #child abuse tw #death tw #specifically discussions of dead animals and bones #as you can tell she's a barrel of laughs #ptsd tw #anyways this is a novel so if you finish it heres a kiss mwah

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ephemeral-afterlight · 5 years

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Day 8: Stab Wound

(But hold on a little while longer.)

Whumptober 2019 Day 8: Stab Wound

Word Count: 2054

Relationships: familial Creativitwins, platonic/familial dlamptr

Warnings: Stab wound (obviously), other minor injuries, blood, minor dissociation, lots and lots of cursing

A/N: yes, i know this is late! it’s only by 30 minutes though D: hopefully my characterization of the trash man is alright! this was fun to write hehe

Well. That wasn’t a very fun camping trip!

Remus has always been one for surprise. He likes the excitement, the variety, the fun! It’s healthy to keep a little bit of spice in your life. He’s not afraid to live by this sort of motto, because life is about the little things. Although, he isn’t sure that getting stabbed in the middle of the woods at three a.m. necessarily counts as little, but he’ll take what he can get.

So sue him! Maybe he likes to have a little fun sometimes. Routine is boring! Fuck patterns! Fuck authority! Cause anarchy!

And, uh, yeah. He’s pretty chill with living on the edge like that. But maybe… maybe just a bit further from the edge? He means, like, the edge of harmful societal expectations and complacency, or whatever dumb shit Dee and Lo-Lo rant about to each other at one in the morning. Remus loves his roommates, and would totally rip out a bitch’s spine for them, but they’re fucking nerds. Speak ENGLISH.

Yeah, the edge of “normal”. Not the edge of death.

He’s not gonna die out here, no siree. If he believes he’s immortal strongly enough, he will be. That’s what Barbie movies teach you, right? In any case, even though he refuses to die, getting stabbed hurts like a motherfucker, and it doesn’t help that it’s also storming. He just wanted a nice, fun camping trip, but nooo, some shitty-ass god out there decided “Oh! Time to turn Remus into a shitty cliche horror movie protagonist!”. Why can’t he be the antagonist? Or… wait, what’s the one in the middle of the two? The side character? He wants to be the one guy who is in the midst of all the action with the protag, but seemingly dies halfway through the movie, and then comes back at the end to be like, ”Haha, surprise, bitch! I’m not dead!”.

Huh. Maybe he shouldn’t make all of his life choices based on movie stereotypes.

Anyway, he wishes that at the very least it’d stop fucking raining, because it makes it seriously hard to crawl through the underbrush while slipping in mud and falling flat on his face every two seconds. The stab wound is painful, sure, but as long as he can keep pressure on it and not lose too much blood before he gets to the main road, he should be fine. But having to deal with the downpour hindering his movement and blinding most of his senses sucks ass. How the hell is he supposed to utilize his tracking skills and make sure he’s going the right way without being able to see, hear, or smell a single goddamn thing? He might like making other people wet, but that doesn’t mean he likes being wet himself.

So, he thinks he’s going the right direction. Trying to escape a batshit crazy murderer in the middle of the woods doesn’t leave you a lot of time to casually sit down at a table with a cup of tea and pull out your faded, burnt treasure map, but if he had a table and a cup of tea and a partially burnt map, he would totally do that. Maybe the killer would be so confused, he’d have time to run away.

The thought causes Remus to bark out a laugh into the white noise of the storm, which is a VBI (Very Bad Idea), because it goes straight to his stomach. The pain that radiates out from the wound is like, actually excruciating, hahaha! But... Remus is supposed to be the one who actually survives to the end. He-- he has to be. Who else is gonna fill Roman’s socks with wet concrete?

Oh, Roman. His brother would probably be crying like a little bitch if he were here. Now he’d be the protagonist, the one who’d make so many stupid decisions and somehow come out of it alive anyway. He’s like those teenage girls in horror movies who make you scream at the screen “Don’t go in the dark scary basement, you fucking idiot!” but for some reason, never have a single repercussion for any of their terrible choices. (Remus would be the one who would sacrifice himself for the main character near the end of the movie at the dramatic climax, but Roman can never know that.)

Maybe he wishes Roman was here so that he didn’t have to crawl all this way on his own, but whatever. His brother would probably be too busy whining about his ruined hair to help much, anyway. Not-- Not that Remus needs help! He is having a blast slipping and sliding through the sticks and mud and bushes, thank you very much!

“C’mon out, dude! Don’t draw out the inevitable!” a voice echoes from the trees, a yell that’s far too familiar for Remus’ liking. God, can this guy just give it up already? Go find some other helpless damsel to terrorize! He does not wanna try Remus right now. This may all be fun and games, but Remus is starting to get pissed off, and he is unafraid to take out the stress on this crazy dumbfuck.

Somehow, Remus is able to hear the guy’s footsteps come closer through the sound of the rain splashing all around him, and he speeds up. Probably better to just avoid the guy. Although Remus’d totally win in a fight, the dude does have a knife, and Remus would really prefer to not get stabbed a second time. There’s a drop ahead, a place where it looks like the floor disappears, so Remus shuffles over to it and peers over. It’s a small cliff, with maybe fifteen or so feet to the bottom, and Remus curses under his breath. Fuck, he’s gonna have to do it, isn’t he? And now that he’s looking, he can just barely make out some headlights flit through the trees and disappear, so he knows that he’s close to the main road.

With a grimace, Remus steels himself, then slides off the edge feet-first, trying to use his shoes as a brace against the incline. Of course, because his life fucking sucks, he somehow manages to hit a rock embedded in the side in the wrong crevice, and it pitches him forward off the wall to tumble to the ground below. He smacks into the wet dirt, is just barely able to bite his tongue hard enough to stop the scream from ripping from his throat, and he lands at the bottom harshly.

His stomach is on fire. It fucking hurts, feels like he’s being stabbed all over again a thousand times over. Bruises are definitely going to start forming all over his body from that fall, and coupled with the fact that his leg hit the ground at a weird angle, walking is going to be even worse than before. Fuck! Why can’t he just catch a fucking break?!

Remus pants hard, trying to work himself up to resuming his trek, when he hears his attacker’s voice calling out from above again. It sounds like he’s coming to the edge, so Remus just swallows hard and scoots himself over through the agonizing aches in his body to lay flat against the cliff wall. He just has to hope the dude doesn’t see him. He can’t really see very well through the storm, but Remus thinks he sees the guy look over the edge. Silence is key, and that’s pretty damn hard considering the absolute torture that is his wounds, but he has to. To survive.

He can’t die today.

And then the guy’s yelling for him again, and his voice is getting further away, and Remus waits in the mud until he can’t hear his footsteps anymore. Vigour and adrenaline now fully renewed, Remus bolts into the trees again, crawl morphing into a crouched run when he’s finally in cover. He clutches at his stomach to try to lessen the pain, which of course doesn’t help, but maybe it’ll keep some blood inside of him or something. Probably not best to bleed out right before he can get help. That’d be a shitty movie ending, if he’s being honest. Absolutely uncreative and unsatisfying. -11/10. 0% on Rotten Tomatoes. Is Remus delirious right now?

Despite all that, the sight of the road through a break in the trees is like a blissful breath of fresh air, a shining light of hope in the darkness. He’ll get to see Roman again, and prank Patton with bugs, and absolutely destroy Virge at video games, and listen to Dee and Lo-Lo’s stupid philosophy talks, and give his adoptive uncle Thomas a heart attack every time he does something stupid, and holy fuck maybe Remus is dying because when did he become sentimental? Ew.

A car finally comes along right as Remus manages to drag himself up onto the shoulder, and he waves frantically from where he’s kneeled on the ground in an effort to flag it down. Thank fuck, the car actually slows to a stop, and the window rolls down almost immediately. The face that pokes out is cute, and innocent-looking, and Remus prays to a god he doesn’t believe in that this person will actually help.

“Oh, jeez, are you okay? Why are you out on the road like this? Is-- Is that blood?!” the driver asks, horrified, and Remus tries to stumble closer. He doesn’t know what he looks like right now, but it’s probably horrifying, and he wouldn’t really blame this stranger if he drove away immediately. Maybe Remus will become like those ghost stories, the spooky legends about ghost hitchhikers. Ooh, maybe he’ll become a local cryptid! They can tell stories about him, and sell merch with his face on it, and he’ll be famous, and he can rub all of his sweet, sweet royalties in Roman’s face.

“Got-- I got stabbed. Crazy fucker got me while I was asleep. Help,” Remus manages to force out through his grit teeth, voice hoarse under the weight of the pain he’s in, and the driver looks extremely worried. For whose well-being, Remus has no clue.

“Alright, I’m taking you to the hospital. I couldn’t live with a guilty conscience if I left you out here. I’m Emile, by the way-- please don’t murder me, okay?” the stranger, Emile, says, and Remus chokes out a laugh despite himself. Emile gets out of his car and rushes through the drizzle without any hesitation, and Remus can already see that this is a genuinely good person. Anyone else would leave him here to die. He knows that. Even he’d leave himself here. But here this guy is, the kindest anyone has ever been to Remus, and it makes him wonder if he’ll still be as nice when he realizes that Remus’ personality is awful and the polar opposite of good and kind. (He knows he’ll never be good enough. He knows. He’s heard it enough, and he doesn’t need to be told again.)

“Not g’nna murder you. I can’t-- can’t even walk on my own, so,” Remus mumbles once he’s sure Emile is close enough to hear, and the latter just clicks his tongue with hands that frantically wave all around as if they don’t know where to go. Luckily enough for Remus, Emile pulls himself together quickly, slings an arm underneath his shoulder to help support his weight, and they limp back to the guy’s car together. As they do, Remus realizes the rain has stopped outright, and, well, isn’t that poetic?

Once he’s inside, dripping all over this stranger’s seats (okay, maybe he feels a little bad about that. When he’s a famous cryptid, he can pay for Emile to get his upholstery fixed), Remus starts to fade in and out. Not like the dying kind of “fading”, because he knows from multiple personal experiences what dying feels like, but more like he’s losing time as an effect of a literal stab wound. Oh, what did Lo-Lo call it? Desecrating? Dissipating? No, dissociating. Yeah, that’s the bitch. Yeah. Yeah...

He gets flashes now and again. Streetlamps outside, a tall building, hands underneath him, bright lights, rapid conversation. It smells like an E.R. It feels like home. He’s not gonna die today. Not yet.

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here4theheartbreak · 5 years

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Spooky Stories with Bangtan 7 (final)

Story Seven: Delicious (Jin)

AO3 Link Here! Relationships: Hoseok x Jin, OT7 Poly

Genre(s): general, spooky/kiddie horror Rating: Teen

Tags: scary story, mild blood/gore, body horror, ghosts

Summary: Jin knows he can't let Hoseok figure out his mistake. No one has to know.

Word Count: ~1.6k words Written For: @btspolyshipbingo (Square: Free Space)

A/N: The final fic in my series of Halloween shorts. Some have ships, some do not, but they are all based on the kid’s book series Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark. They may or may not all be connected ;) you’ll have to stay until the end to find out. Some will have character death, others are more funny. Hope y’all enjoy and have a happy Halloween!

Hoseok was a hardworking man with a fierce temper. This temper was something his boyfriend Jin knew all too well. His anger was often displaced onto Jin or his other few friends, who did their best to appease Hoseok as much as they could.

So, it was no surprise when Hoseok brought home the fresh, large liver from the butcher that Jin was eager to agree to cook it for dinner.

Hoseok was in a tense mood that day already, and as Jin served him lunch, he struggled to soothe Hoseok’s temper. He knew his cooking would help; Hoseok had said many times that Jin’s cooking was one of the few reasons he kept him around. That and his oral skills.

As they sat for lunch, Jin chatted at Hoseok about the death of a downstairs neighbor and the procession of mourners to the funeral home next door. He could sense Hoseok didn’t care, but he wasn’t being told to shut up, so maybe it was doing some good for Hoseok’s mood. When Hoseok finished lunch, he dropped the silverware into the bowl and pushed it toward Jin.

“Okay, enough. I have to go back to work.”

“Sure, of course. I’ll see you tonight?”

Hoseok grunted at him on his way out, slamming the door and leaving Jin in silence.

Later that afternoon, Jin began working on the meal for Hoseok. He hadn’t prepared liver in a long time and wanted to make sure he could do it well. After simmering it for a few hours, the air fragrant with cooking spices, he cut off a bit to taste. It was perfect. Jin’s stomach grumbled and he realized he had skipped lunch in his haste to impress his boyfriend with the meal. He cut off another bit, popping it into his mouth with some of the vegetables. He groaned, leaning on the counter as he took another bite, his stomach gurgling happily. It was absolutely delicious. Best thing he’d cooked in a while, if he was being honest.

Before Jin realized what he had done, the liver was completely gone. A panic rose in his throat like hot oil. It was too late in the day to get another one, and Hoseok monitored their money closely. Someone else might understand; Jin was under a lot of pressure as well and indulgences of this sort rarely happened – but not Hobi. Perfection was the only tolerable trait, and this was far from perfect. Jin stood in the kitchen, wracking his brain for what to do. How could he salvage this, making Hoseok happy and save himself from the tongue lashing or worse he was bound to get with an unhappy lover. And then it hit him.

The funeral parlor was abandoned and silent as the grave. A frighteningly fitting description, Jin knew as he snuck through the small window into the basement. He made his way up the stairs, palms clammy as the reality of what he was about to do settled into his bones. He had no other choice. He had to make sure Hoseok was happy or he’d pay Hell.

The neighbor’s casket was sitting in an icy cold room just as barren and terrifying as the rest of the place. Jin lifted the heavy wooden lid, startled to see just how peaceful the elderly woman looked. If he didn’t know any better, he would have assumed she was simply resting in an odd choice of a bed.

But a closer look revealed the heavy makeup used to hide the bruising around her eyes and the ghostly pale sheen of her skin hiding under the caked on cover up. Jin tried not to look at her face as he undid the smart outfit she’d been dressed in. The material was beautiful and heavy, it had to have cost quite a bit. Jin scowled at the pale flesh, a shadow of veiny marbling that remained. Was he really about to do this? Jin asked himself. He withdrew the large hunting knife from his inner jacket pocket. It glinted off the sickly grey lights, catching his attention. His jaw twitched. He very nearly turned and ran, but the fear of what Hoseok would say or do was too strong. Taking a steeling breath, Jin lifted the knife to the smooth, pale flesh in front of him.

“That was really delicious, Jin. Thank you,” Hoseok said, wiping his mouth with his napkin. He sat back and patted his stomach. Jin smiled softly, trying to hide his unease.

“I’m glad.”

“Did you want any?”

“No, I’m full – I ate earlier. You finish it… Was your day better?”

Hoseok nodded. The question set him off into a ramble about the students he was teaching new choreography to, effectively shutting off any concern he may have had about Jin’s expression as he finished up the perfectly fried liver.

That night, Jin laid next to Hoseok, listening to him breathe steadily as he slept. The image of the elderly woman continued to swim in front of his closed eyes. The coldness of her flesh, the sounds her body made, the smell of cooking liver. His stomach twisted and flipped and Jin was suddenly glad he hadn’t eaten for many hours – he knew he would have lost everything in his stomach if he had. He reached out, touching Hoseok’s hand. As gruff and cruel as he could be, Jin did care for his boyfriend.

He began to count his breaths, still holding onto Hoseok’s hand lightly, and found himself drifting off. And then he heard it.

“Who took my liver?”

Jin’s eyes snapped open. He had to be dreaming.

“Who took my liver?” The voice came again, closer to their closed bedroom door. Jin’s heart began to pound faster. The door creaked open, loud as a scream in the quiet room. Jin’s breath caught in his throat.

“Who took my liver?” Closer now. Footsteps tapped toward the bed. Now Jin saw her. The same greyed face, mocking life for the final time. She stared at Jin with wide eyes, dull and dry. “Who took my liver, boy?” She rasped, her voice sounding like sandpaper over rough wood.

Jin’s voice caught in his throat, a scream bubbling against his vocal cords. Her cold hands reached out, clawed, arthritis bulged knuckles that even death couldn’t resolve.

“Did you take my liver? I want it back!”

“He did!” Jin finally sobbed, pointing to Hoseok’s sleeping form. “I—I fed it to him! Please!”

The woman hesitated for a second, fingers inches from Jin’s tear streaked face. She stared at Jin, unblinking, as if deciding.

“And then she pounced!” Namjoon screamed the final word. As he did, Jungkook leapt from the bush nearest to them, landing square in Jin and Hoseok’s laps.

Both screamed and Jin shoved, rolling the cackling Jungkook off them and nearly landing him in the crackling fire.

Namjoon cracked up, holding his stomach as he was hit with peals of laughter.

“Oh, Namjoon-hyung, stop being mean!” Taehyung lamented, wrapping his arms around Hoseok to try and calm his shivers.

“Sorry! I couldn’t help it!” Namjoon said between laughing fits, a signal he wasn’t really all that sorry.

“Why’d you make me the bad guy?” Hoseok whined, leaning into Taehyung.

“He’s just mad you made him do extra choreo last week,” Jimin joked. He smiled softly at Yoongi, who looked paler than usual in the firelight. “You okay?”

“Me? Psh.” Yoongi shrugged. “I’m fine. Just dumb kid stories.” He moved a little closer to Jimin. “But if you’re scared… I’ll hold your hand.”

Jimin grinned and took his hand, kissing it. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell,” Jimin whispered, and Yoongi smiled a little. He lowered his gaze, relaxing against Jimin’s side.

“That was mean, Namjoonie,” Jin whined.

Jungkook climbed back into his lap, pressing apologetic kisses over his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon finally said, his laughter finally fading. “But it’s Halloween and we’re camping in the woods. I had to tell ghost stories.”

“Those were terrifying,” Hoseok grumbled. Namjoon rose and wiggled himself between Hoseok and Jin, wrapping his arm around their middles.

“I love you all, no matter what I did to you in the stories.”

Jin rolled his eyes, smirking. “You just don’t want us to say no sex because we’re mad.”

“Hey, he killed me in my story,” Jungkook tried to defend.

“And made spiders burst out of my face!” Jimin said, shuddering visibly. “I’m not a scaredy cat but that’s just twisted.”

“At least Taehyungie just got a ghost puppy,” Yoongi said.

“I’ll take my flesh and blood dog, thank you,” Taehyung said, still curled up against Hoseok.

“Should we go to bed?” Jungkook offered.

“Yeah, now that you two have scared almost all of our boyfriends into insomnia,” Taehyung said.

“Hm, yeah, but if they can’t sleep, we can always find other ways to tire them out.”

“Don’t even think about it, I’m not fucking you in a tent,” Jin grumbled. Jungkook pouted, but smiled through it.

“How about just some cuddles then?”

Jin glared. “No more jump scares.”

“No more until next year,” Jungkook agreed.

The seven made their way into the large tent behind them until only Jin and Jungkook remained to take care of the fire.

“It was fun, right? Even though you were scared?” Jungkook worried.

“Of course. It’s Halloween babe. I’m not bitter and neither is Hoseok. You spooked Yoongi good too.”

“We did?” Jungkook asked. “Namjoon-hyung and I worked really hard on his version of that story. I’m glad it worked.”

Jin reached out, tucking Jungkook’s shaggy hair behind his ear. “Happy Halloween, Jungkookie.”

Jungkook grinned. “Happy Halloween, hyung.” He crawled into the tent, ignoring the complaints and grumbles as he kissed over each member’s cheek.

“Happy Halloween, everyone,” he said when he reached his own sleeping bag. “Don’t let the ghouls get you.”

#networkbangtan #bangtanarmynet #btsguild #btsbookclub #kwritersworldnet #armiesnet #thebtstown #ficswithluv #hyunglinenetwork #thekimlinenet #jinseoknet #ghosts #halloween #halloween fic #2seok #seokjin #poly bts #scary stories #mywriting

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neon-sparrows · 5 years

Note

headcanons for kid!marble hornets crew at summer camp and the operator is their snotty camp counselor? :0c (i just came up with this rn but it sounds cute..)

send me your requests! | my ko-figod this is cute as all fuck. okay here we go

i’m picturing a summer camp with a leaning for “troubled kids” and so is taking in like, 8-14 year olds who are proving themselves to be Difficult and Prone To Delinquency or otherwise in need of a little extra support– it takes place at a lovely sort of park sort of nature reserve called Rosswood Park

tim’s there because of his psychosis. it’s an attempt by his mother to help him make friends and be less tremblingly shy. brian, his best friend, is a little delinquent who’s about eleven and has already made a name for himself in a) breaking into places he shouldn’t be, and b) being absolutely too smart for his own good. alex and jay are both there because they’ve been deemed “at risk” for one thing or another.

they’re lumped into a group together and all four of them end up fast friends, with brian and alex both having a penchant for storytelling

there’s a stranger in the woods, though, the head of the camp counselors who brian is wholeheartedly convinced is Not Human. he’s absurdly tall, for one, and stupid pale for someone who spends all their time out and about in the wilderness– none of them get to talk to him, and most of them just see him in the distance. camp counselors talk to him, but the only time anyone else goes to talk to mr knudsen is when somebody’s in trouble. so at some point when brian and tim and alex and jay are all bunched around a campfire

brian comes up with a story

he presents a monster called “the operator” that he declares is someone very tall, very skinny, with no face, and of course he eats kids. because of course. brian, with tim and alex and jay in enraptured horror, tells them about how in these very woods, a bunch of people went missing because of a spindly no-faced monster, who kidnaps kids and brainwashes them and EATS them when he’s done with them–

(this scares everyone present shitless, tim most notably, but brian is Definitely Not Apologetic)

alex gets in trouble at some point (for setting a fire, only a SMALL one, and for shoving another kid pretty hard, he didn’t mean anything by it at all) and gets taken to mister knudsen’s cabin for a sit down and conversation– alex realizes this guy’s harmless, and actually kinda nice, through a “punishment” that is mostly knudsen asking alex why he did that and listening while alex explains himself–

but, of course, because he’s taken from their cabin for a couple of days brian declares that the operator has kidnapped alex and alex is gonna be brainwashed and eaten. tim is inconsolably distressed. they don’t exactly know where alex has gone in the first place, only that they sort of see him with mister knudsen every now and again, and alex seems somewhere between confused and slightly surprised every time,

brian starts pulling a joke, too, waking tim up in the middle of the night for a game of hide and seek that is mostly “sit at the tree line and spook anyone who comes by” and starting even more stories about spooky things in the woods. tim believes him wholeheartedly because he’s convinced brian could never do any wrong, but brian does feel a little bad for scaring his best friend so much, so comes up with “heroic shadowy figures” in the woods, out to defeat the operator and rescue the kids it took

jay keeps waking up alone in the cabin, and is quite displeased about this, and he’s not entirely sure that brian is telling the truth (even if it all does seem very real) and he’s DETERMINED to get to the bottom of this, little waterproof disposable camera in hand and everything

#marble hornets #brian thomas #alex kralie #tim wright #jay merrick #i thought up a bunch for this and will happily give more bc god....#this is really cute #i love kid aus #base64s #writing tag

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thewritewolf · 5 years

Text

The Search for Halloween Chapter 6: Lost + Ghost

The gang decides to check out an old abandoned house at night.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 (Final)

@unusual-october

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3. My ko-fi.

Art of this chapter by the always-wonderful @noanieactuallydrawingalot

“Hey, guys!” Adrien rushed up to where his friends were huddled together. With the darkness, he hadn’t been sure at first that it was them, but spotting Marinette’s pink winter jacket set his mind at ease. “Are we ready for some spooky times?”

“I gotta say, sunshine, I’m impressed,” Alya said as the four of them started walking.

“Well, it’s not that hard to be brave this time.” Adrien stood a little closer to Marinette when he noticed her slight shivering. “It’s just a big, empty house after all. I’ve got plenty of experience with those.”

“I guess, dude. But this isn’t just any old abandoned building.”

Adrien narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Nino. “That’s not what you said this morning. And I should know, since you called me to scream about how you’d found ‘this cool place to go exploring in’.”

“What Nino means to say is that we’ve done a bunch of research on it since then,” Alya cut in. “We’ve found some scary stuff that we’re sure is gonna freak you guys out.”

“Just for the record: I know that you’re lying,” Marinette said. “But I’m curious about your ghost stories.”

Alya pouted. “Well that takes half the fun out of it.” She shrugged. “Oh well. Let’s start with the story of the screaming girl in the walls…”

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

Entering the house hadn’t been as difficult as Marinette would have hoped. Maybe it was because no one was really expecting someone to want to go exploring in a crumbling wreck, but regardless, it didn’t provide much of a deterrent to the teens sneaking inside. Marinette almost wished that it had been better locked down - maybe then they could’ve gone home early. While that would’ve meant she had snuck out for no reason, it also meant she wouldn’t have to explore a possibly haunted house close to midnight after listening to a bunch of ghost stories.

Somewhere deep in her bones, Marinette suspected that Alya and Nino were going to do their best to scare her and Adrien. They took way too much pleasure in that. Maybe that was the spirit of Halloween possessing them? Those fears seemed well founded at Alya’s next suggestion.

“Okay, gang. I think we should split up.”

Marinette shot her best friend a withering glare that she resolutely ignored.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, M. Look at this place!” Alya spread her hands to encompass the grand staircase leading upstairs and the corridors spreading out in three directions on this floor alone. “It’ll take us ages if we do this as one group and you know it.”

Marinette pinched the bridge of her nose. “So the groups will be-”

“You and sunshine down here, me and cappy upstairs, yes.”

That suspicion returned, although now she was wondering if Alya and Nino weren’t just going to sneak off and make out somewhere. At this point, they felt like equally likely possibilities.

Before Marinette could present her misgivings, Adrien said, “That sounds fine. You two have fun… ‘exploring’.” He waggled his eyebrows, prompting Alya to roll her eyes and Nino to grin.

Once the other two disappeared upstairs, Adrien bowed to Marinette and gestured towards the right hallway.

“Shall we?”

Marinette giggled and flipped her flashlight on. “We shall.”

Her courage nearly evaporated when she thought she heard tiny voices, like those of children, coming from somewhere nearby. It sounded like they were whispering to each other.

“Something wrong?”

She looked toward Adrien and his concerned eyes. Try as she might, she didn’t hear anything now. She shook her head. “...It was nothing, I think. Come on!”

After trudging through the darkness and over creaky floorboards, they came to a stuck door. Between the two of them, they managed to pry it open. A big, decaying table sat in the middle of what appeared to be a kitchen. Marinette picked up the sturdy looking candlestick that sat at the edge of the table.

While she hefted it in her hands, Adrien paused in his exploration of the cupboards to glance over to her. “Grabbing a souvenir? I didn’t realize you were the sticky fingers type, bugaboo.”

An embarrassed blush spread across her cheeks. “Um… about that... remind me to tell you about your phone later, okay?”

He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment.

There was movement to her side and the quiet was broken when the table suddenly collapsed. Her own terrified squeak added to the noise as she dodged out of the way. Not that she needed to - none of the rotted wood got close to her.

Adrien was at her side in a moment, carefully looking at her feet and legs for any signs of injury. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“...Let’s keep moving, okay? I don’t really want to be in this room anymore.” He glared at the ruined table, as if daring it to try and attack her again.

She nodded mutely and they continued their search.

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

Alya let her light rake across the walls of the room, giving only a cursory glance at her surroundings. So far, exploring the house hadn’t been quite the adventure she had been hoping for. It made weird noises and smelled weird too. If they’d come during the day like the scaredy cats had wanted, she would’ve been bored to tears. As it stands, she was intrigued and her heartbeat was a little faster than usual.

Then again, she thought as she squeezed Nino’s hand, maybe that last part wasn’t because of the house at all.

“You really think we’ll find anything worth talking about here?” Nino tugged at his hat as he searched the corners of the room. “Dunno if we’ll even be able to put this in the presentation.”

She shrugged. “We might be able to if we keep it vague. But, honestly, this is more about freaking out Mari and blondie than anything else.”

“You’ve really got it out for them.” Nino chuckled. “You got a mean streak under all that sugar.”

“And don’t forget it, babe.” She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “But no, I just don’t get the excuse to mess with her a lot. At least, not like this. She’s pretty good at avoiding horror most of the time.”

“Oh man, you should have seen their faces during that sleepover when-”

They were both startled at the sound of a door slamming shut. Specifically, the one that led into the room they were in. After a moment of hesitation, Alya rushed forward to pull at the handle. Despite her fears, the door opened as easy as it had when they came in. Some of the tension left her. Not a lot, but a little.

“That was, uh…” Nino swallowed. “...Spooky.”

“Yeah…” Alya narrowed her eyes at the door. “Must have been-”

“Babe, I swear if you say it was just the wind I’m divorcing you right now.”

Despite how her heart was pounding, she smirked. “A shame we aren’t married. But seriously, these houses have weird air flow. One strong gust from outside and,” she clapped her hands together. “Door slams.”

“If you say so… Back to it, then?”

“Well, duh. It’s getting interesting now.”

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

Nino definitely wasn’t having a good time now. Something about the place put him on edge. Like there was someone (or something) watching from the shadows. An omnipresent scratching sound that Alya had claimed was probably just some trees outside. The only light in the building was the one from the flashlights, which meant he was blind in almost all directions.

Atmospheric horror at its best. Exactly like he enjoyed out of a movie.

But also way too real for him to really appreciate.

“We’ve been in here like, what? Half an hour?” Nino whispered to Alya, one hand latched onto her sweater sleeve. “We can probably call it quits now, right?”

“Come on, babe! Things are just getting interesting now!”

To his dismas, he realized she was leading him towards the scratching sound. He mentioned this out loud.

“Well, it’s our only lead right now. It could just be a tree or an animal or whatever.”

“Yeah, well, if it isn’t? What then?”

“Then we have some real ghost action up in here!” Alya put her ear close to the door they’d reached. “Now, shush. Whatever is making that sound is on the other side.” She put a hand on the door knob and grinned.

When she pushed open the door, her grin immediately vanished, replaced with a mask of horror. It wasn’t an animal or a tree. But they found what the scratching was about.

Carved into the wall in big, scrawled letters were the words, “STUPID GHOST.”

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

Adrien and Marinette had doubled back to the staircase and went down the big, central hall. A lot of little things had started piling up on their minds - faint cackling, weird smells, small things crumbling like the table - and suddenly they didn’t want to stray very far from the entry any more. The only thing still keeping them there was bullheaded stubbornness and not wanting to leave their friends behind.

That brought them to what Adrien assumed was the living room. At least, that’s the sense that he got from the mouldering couches and the dead fireplace. Any other hints about what had been here had long since been eaten up by time.

They both heard a scraping noise, like metal on stone, and froze. It was really getting to them, but Adrien was having just about enough. So he did the one thing he knew would take both of their minds off of it. He put his hands on Marinette’s shoulders.

“Mari?”

“Hm?”

“We should go on a date after this.”

She stopped and looked wide eyed at him. “I- What?”

“You and me, flowers, chocolate, you’ll wear a pretty dress you made. It’ll be great.”

“That…” She swallowed and gave a weak smile. “That sounds amazing. I’d love to.” Marinette hugged herself and shivered. She jumped when Adrien wrapped an arm around her, but shot a grateful look up at him. “Th-thanks, Adrien. I hate the cold.”

At that moment, the fireplace flared to life, startling both of them. Carved into the stone in the back, where they couldn’t see before, was a single sentence:

YOU DIDN’T SAY GOODBYE.

With that, the two of them bolted from the room into the hallway. The house was suddenly alive with sound as Alya and Nino rushed down the stairs at the same time. Everyone began talking excitedly all at once. Adrien risked a glance behind him, towards the abandoned living room. His eyes widened and he pointed a trembling finger at the shadowy figure behind them.

“G-ghost! Demon! Thing!”

Which was more or less accurate - he couldn’t get a good sense of the shape of the creature, but there were tendrils of inky blackness that caused things to rot and crumble when it brushed against them. There was a wall of sound that he belatedly realized was the four of them screaming at once before they were suddenly a flurry of limbs rushing towards the exit. There was a sound of metal hitting wood as Marinette dropped the candlestick in her haste.

The main doors slammed shut behind them.

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

They didn’t stop running until they’d put a couple blocks between them and the house.

Alya managed to speak between gasps of breath, “So that was… something. Very spooky.” The combined glares of the other three proved deafening. “Okay, fine, fine. I’ll take full blame if we get permanently haunted ‘cuz of this. Let’s just go home, alright?”

“You mind if I come over to your place, babe? I, uh… Don’t want to be by myself right now.”

“I’m very glad you asked first. Yes. Let’s watch a rom com or four.”

“Throw in a spy flick and we’ll call it good.”

Trailing a little behind the other two, Adrien weaved his fingers between Marinette’s and whispered, “So does Saturday sound alright to you?”

She blinked up at him. “Huh?”

“For the best date of our lives?”

No response except more blinking.

“Mari, say something. I already promised flowers and chocolates and I can't break that promise now-mmmmph!"

He was suddenly cut off by her pulling him down to her level and pressing her lips to his.

She sighed against him and whispered back, “Saturday sounds wonderful, kitty.”

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

An hour earlier...

“Come on, Sugarcube! It’ll be fun.”

Plagg floated around Tikki in an abandoned closet under the staircase. He’d dragged her off while their chosen had been focused on entering the house.

“I don’t know, Plagg… It seems awfully mean.”

“But, sugarcube, when was the last time we got to celebrate Samhain? It’s been centuries! Opportunities like this don’t come around that often.”

Despite herself Tikki smirked. “Well… I don’t see any jack o'lanterns around. If they didn’t want to be haunted, they should have taken the proper steps against malevolent spirits.”

“That’s the spirit! Why don’t you go after the spectacles gang. Take some revenge on behalf of your little bug.”

Tikki’s eyes narrowed. She hadn’t been very appreciative on how they’d been pushing Marinette into these situations.

“I think I’d like that a lot.” She started to phase through the floors before quickly returning. “Oh! I almost forgot - Happy Samhain, stinky sock.”

Plagg grinned back at her. “And a happy Samhain to you too, Tik.”

#Miraculous Ladybug #Adrien Agreste #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Adrienette #alya cesaire #Nino Lahiffe #DJ Wifi #Unusual October #ml fanfiction #my writing #The Search for Halloween

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sandrawrites13 · 5 years

Text

tear-stained | | day fourteen

“ and now. . .

the storm is coming. . . ”

welcome to day fourteen of the thirty-one days of horror! i’ve decided i’m going to include a quote from a song that you can listen to while reading for more of a spooky effect. the quote you read above is by taylor swift and is entitled miss americana and the heartbreak prince.

which, brings me right into the fourteenth prompt: tear-stained. following reader and peter parker from the marvel universe.

triggers: ANGST lol, slight abusive relationship, angsty peter :(

you. . . had no idea that peter parker wrote in a diary.

okay, a journal. a manly, man journal that wasn’t because he wanted to write in it, but rather because his (very attractive and oddly into happy) aunt authorized it. the reason being that he was having trouble expressing his feelings, or whatever it was, when he was occupied with mr. stark. she had the crazy idea peter was lying to her about where he was going, and all that jazz.

one day, you were chilling at his place, and (besides the beating of your heart out of your puppy-dog crush you had on him), you were pretty much having an okay day. you were calm and collected, relaxed, listening to each other talk. of course, this was before the shades of iron that radiated in his eyes. like daggers, he got so angered from something you said about your least favourite avenger and how little he did. he wasn’t angry, persay, but more upset. a little bit defensive. you could feel the pain in his eyes as you spoke, as if he was emotionally connected to any of them-- spiderman, of all people.

and, that’s when you found the journal.

he disappeared into the bathroom, humming something about having a headache.

long story short, you may have been looking around the room out of your own boredom and then come across the red book.

two things:

one, you never snoop. literally ever. but you and peter are best friends, so you both usually spend your time hanging out with each other, and you usually don’t care if each other looks at your stuff.

two, you weren’t reading it to snoop, but rather you were curious at first. you were expecting, for him, to come out and see what you were holding in your hands. then you two would share a piece of nostalgia (as an old doodle notebook from when he was in class a few years ago), or going through old assignments you may remember.

however, when you opened up to the first page, there was something that surprised you.

dear . . . “diary”?,

I hate that this is called a diary. I despise it. This isn’t a diary. A diary is something that girls have. Not that I’m sexist or anything. Nevermind, I’m gonna just cross that out.

Maybe May was right, though. I mean, instead of emotional pain right now, I’m feeling anger and physical pain because my hand is already burning. You would think that, because I’m Spiderman, I’d have some sort of tolerance with the pain of like, 10 muscles around a piece of wood, but you’d be solemnly mistaken.

That’s besides the point though.

Y/N.

She’s perfect. And it’s so annoying that she’s in love with Ryan, because he’s a ding dong. And he doesn’t freaking treat her right. Not like how I would treat her.

Every day, he’s on her, trying to get her attention. Pulling her in the opposite direction even though she doesn’t want to go. It’s wrong! How can someone do that to someone and then just be fine with it?

Y/N is an angel. The love of my life, the most beautiful girl I have ever set my eyes on and that guy just takes advantage of her. She doesn’t deserve it. And I know it’s hard to say that, and it’s wrong to think it, but he doesn’t deserve him.

I tell May the same thing, but she just tells me to calm down and that it’s just a puppy dog crush.

I can’t calm down when a man puts his hands on a princess and she just stands by because she’s too scared to tell him that she doesn’t wanna go with him. He’s gotta notice it.

He’s gotta.

What do I do about it? Tell Mr. Stark and Nat? Yeah, that’ll end well. Mr. Stark would probably get the kid expelled, and that’s if Nat wouldn’t shoot him first.

I’m just-- so tired. Of everything. Of trying so hard for her to like me, even though I know she’s in love with some guy who will never love her the way I love her. I’m so tired of trying to get her attention. She’s my best friend, and even though I want her to be more than that. . . who am I to step in the way of what she thinks is right?

I’m nobody.

I’m no Spiderman.

I’m just Peter Parker.

How could she like me?

upon the papers were blue, dried droplets that made the ink of the last sentence run down in a dried line. you put your hand over the tear-stained page, unable to speak. unable to breathe. your heart aching out of your sorrow and your anger. and yet, instead of doing anything, you just closed the book, sharpened your posture, and waited for your best friend to return.

#whumtober2019 #whumptober #no. 14 #peter parker x reader #peter parker #angst #fluff a lil #fluff #mcu x reader #marvel x reader

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nyxshadowhawk · 5 years

Text

Goth Tags

I know this is a YouTube thing, but I wanted to do these two lists, so I’m going to do them.

Ways in Which I’m Stereotypically Goth:

I’ve got the romantigoth aesthetic down. I love spooky, pretty things! I love gargoyles and ravens and black roses and moons and weird occult stuff and dark forests... I’ve got three Joseph Vargo posters in my dorm room, and I’ve run out of space to put resin statues in my bedroom. I wear lots of long, flowy black clothes and the occasional Goth Princess gown. I’ve also got an entire box (made of black wood with pentagrams carved in the top) full of silver and pewter jewelry, and Black Phoenix perfumes.

I really love spooky interior design and architecture. I loved Voltaire’s Gothic Homemaking and I drooled over Haunt Furniture. My dream home would probably be a Victorian-style, Addams-like mansion in the middle of nowhere (for when I become a world-famous writer...). I also REALLY love castles and old buildings, especially with gothic architecture and gargoyles. I really liked seeing old castles and churches in Scotland. Medieval Europe is 10/10 my aesthetic.

I’ve always really liked bats. When I was a kid (around six), my favorite episode of The Magic School Bus (for whatever reason) was “Going Batty.” That set off a bat obsession! Reading Stellaluna in seventh grade just reinforced it. I used to pretend to be one and wrap myself up in my blankets like wings. Bats are cute! I recently got back into them! There’s an adorable little plush one hanging above my bed. “So dark of wing and keen of craft, of all night flyers the master’s a bat.” (Actually, the master of night flyers is totally Prince Astor of Umbragard.)

I like horror stories and gothic literature. Back when creepypasta was big, I’d casually read collections of horror stories on Quotev. Now, I really love Nox Arcana’s “Tales from the Dark Tower,” Poe stories, Grimm’s fairy tales, and the like. I actually have a pretty strong stomach. I also genuinely love gothic lit. The Picture of Dorian Gray is my favorite. I didn’t make it through Frankenstein, though, it was too sad.

I’m introverted and a night owl. I wouldn’t say I have a “stereotypical” Goth personality, because I’ve been trying to be more optimistic and happy, and I’ve attempted to make friends, but one of the reasons I like Raven from Teen Titans is because I tend to be the isolated girl in dark clothes who’d rather be left alone. I’m not exactly stoic-- I’m an emotional wreck, but once you get me talking about a topic I’m interested in, I’m all moonlight and fireflies. I’m also a “tortured artist,” and I come alive at night. I stay up until at least 2 AM most nights. I ate breakfast at one today.

I have a black cat named Edgar. I did not name him! He was given that name at the shelter. All the kittens in his litter were named after gothic writers, because they were all black! (His brother was “H.P.” after Lovecraft.) I was thrilled when my parents said we were getting him, and equally thrilled when they decided to keep his name. He’s such a sweet cat, and I love him.

I like vampires, but I have a complicated relationship with them. You’d think I’d be the kind of girl who’d be obsessed with vampires in middle school, especially if I loved the Vampire Friz episode of The Magic School Bus! But no. I wasn’t into vampires because they killed people and that was disturbing. (That’s why I independently created psychic vampires.) However, since getting into Castlevania last Halloween, I’ve started to really warm up to vampires. I dressed as Lestat last Halloween, read Carpe Jugulum, have been consuming more vampire media than before... I’m still not obsessed, but I like them now. Still would hate to be one, though. SHADOWS FOR THE WIN!

I LOVE Halloween! I was devastated the two years it was canceled (freak snowstorm and Hurricane Sandy. Oh, by the way, my reaction to the current hurricane was, “He put his soul in a hurricane, now?!). I really miss trick-or-treating. I convinced my parents to throw an annual Halloween party, which gave me an excuse to get even more decorations for my room, and they pretty much can’t host it without me. Everyone shares my aesthetic during Halloween season!

I’m really into witchy and occult stuff. The more cryptic and spooky, the better. I was Wiccan-ish for a while, I don’t think I am anymore, but I’m still exploring my spirituality (through books like Nocturnal Witchcraft and Shadow Magick Compendium) with guidance from Hecate and Dionysus.

Whether my music taste is truly “Goth” or not, it is certainly very spooky. Nox Arcana all the way! I really go in for the church organ and glockenspiel and chiming bells and melancholy piano and strings and harpsichords and minor keys. Listening to spooky music makes me happy. I have a whole list of creepy waltzes. Neoclassical is my thing. I also like Adrian von Zeigler, Peter Gundry, Two Steps From Hell, and fantasy music in general.

Un-Goth Confessions:

I don’t like gothic rock. Some would say this means I’m not Goth, and it felt alienating for a while. Siouxsie and Bauhaus just aren’t really my thing. I don’t really like industrial and darkwave, either. The closest I get to traditional Goth music is Voltaire (I love the songs of his that I listen to, but I only listen to a handful), and a few songs by Dead Can Dance. I’m much more into Nox Arcana.

I don’t look stereotypically Goth. I joke that I look like Aurora and dress like Maleficent, because it’s true. My cheeks are permanently rosy and not easy to cover with white makeup (I don’t wear makeup often, anyway.) I have big blue eyes and wavy, golden hair (that I’m not going to dye). I don’t have any piercings— when my sister went for her second piercing, she encouraged me to get my ears pierced, but I broke down crying because I’m afraid of pain. I’m an adult!

I still like horsies and unicorns and other cutesy things from my childhood. I was really into Gen 3 of My Little Pony. I still have some fairy and ballerina stuff, even if I don’t display it. My bedroom is still lavender (and always will be). I definitely wasn’t spooky in childhood, and I’ve still got a non-spooky side. (It was kind of a big deal when I dressed as a rainbow unicorn fairy when I was seven, and then a dark sorceress when I was eight.) I danced in my company’s adapted kiddie production of the Nutcracker until I graduated. I’ve got fluffy stuffed unicorns right next to my Spiral Bat Cat.

I HATE DIY. I don’t trust it! I don’t want to ruin my clothes with fabric paint or rip holes in things or in any way risk it turning out poorly. My style is tough to DIY anyway, but yeah.

I’m not really into the macabre. I only got into skeletons because of Undertale, and I don’t like, for lack of a better phrase, “the death aesthetic.” Blood, body horror art, the zombie look... I don’t really like anything morbid or sad. I’m iffy on graveyards and coffins.

I don’t like most horror films. I like spooky movies, like Coraline, but not horror movies. Although I like horror stories, I don’t like horror films, less because of the horror and more because they tend to end badly. I don’t like “everybody dies” stories, especially if it’s one where sympathetic people get killed off one by one, or slasher flicks that rely on jumpscares. Old-school gothic horror could work, though. I also like psychological thrillers like The Sixth Sense and Black Swan. Is Interview With the Vampire a horror movie? (I probably underestimate how strong my stomach is. Aladdin used to scare me. Look at me now!)

I still wear a lot of color. About half my wardrobe is black, which is still a lot, but not as much as most Goths. I’ve still got a lot of purple, and other colors.

I’m not a huge fan of Tim Burton. The only film of his that I really love was Corpse Bride. Beetlejuice wasn’t my style and didn’t contain enough of Lydia, Sweeney Todd was a bit too dark and gory (although I did like that one), Dark Shadows wasn’t as good as I was hoping, Alice in Wonderland was cool aesthetically but not a very good film, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory was a dumpster fire... and The Nightmare Before Christmas doesn’t count because he didn’t direct it (and though I like it, I wasn’t blown away by it, either). My reaction overall? “Meh.”

I still contain a childish exuberance. I squealed and bounced up and down when the new Nox Arcana album was released. I will probably do the same before and/or after watching Season 3 of Castlevania, and when Grimoire of Souls is released. This is how I know that Goth stuff is part of my true personality.

There’s a lot of Goth clothes that I don’t wear, in addition to not dying my hair, not wearing makeup, and not having piercings. I’d wear black heeled boots like Dracula’s, but not platform shoes. I don’t like fishnets. I hate ripped clothing. Not a fan of hoodies. I also will not wear leather clothing. And spiked collars? No no no. I’m pretty much strictly a Romantigoth. Maybe that doesn’t make me less Goth. But it makes me less stereotypical, especially when so much of the Goth stuff online is geared toward that end of the subculture.

And I don’t know if this makes me more Goth or less Goth, but I have one outfit from Hot Topic. And an epic “House of Belmont” t-shirt.

Okay, that was interesting.

“I’M SO GOTH, I LITERALLY DARKEN A DOORWAY!”

#goth #goth stuff #goth tag #stuff about me #facts about me #goth confessions

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beholdyaourt · 5 years

Note

Top 5 podcasts/moments in podcasts/idk! Top 5 Spooky movies/books/tv shows! Top 5 late night weird article/Wikipedia rabbitholes!

Oh dear!!! This made me take a DIVE. The truth is I really only listen to one podcast (My Favorite Murder) but I do listen to it A Whole Lot so I can name five of my favorite moments from this year.

1. Karen’s description of Jodi Arias breaking into her ex-boyfriend’s home through his doggy door and being discovered hiding behind his Christmas tree:

“But also, the moment after - just think about that, where you’re hiding behind the guy you love’s Christmas tree, because he’s not dating you anymore, so you’re like ‘*sobbing* why doesn’t he love me?’ and then he’s like ‘Jodie?’ and then you’re like... ‘Heyyyyyyyyyy! Hiiiiii! Where’d you get this wrapping paper?’ Back out through the dog door. She only enters and exits his house through the dog door.”

2. Karen’s description of the story of the Lawson Family Murders being passed down through a country song which she and Georgia do a HYSTERICAL bit about. I can’t even do it justice through text, please listen:

“Oh, you want a lullaby? Oh, you can’t sleep, you want Mommy to sing you a song? Okay. ♪ ♪ THEY CAAAAAAAME FROM HEEE HAW HEE HAW HAWWWW ♪ ♪ ”

3. Karen and Georgia riffing on the creators (and guests) of the old Long Beach Carnival:

“They’re like ‘I like roller coasters, so I’m gonna build one, see! Right over the ocean!’”

“‘Insurance? We don’t need insurance!’”

“‘Don’t be crazy!’ More than a few drunken sailors who had gone down to the pier, because there’s lots of sailors stationed on Long Beach, ignored the ‘Do Not Stand Up’ sign.”

“And why wouldn’t you? It’s your day.”

“If it’s your day, and you wanna have fun your way, stand up on this insane roller coaster with no safety features whatsoever, and ♪ Die Die Die Die Die ♪ .”

4. Karen’s obviously spot-on impersonation of Typhoid Mary, with quotes like this in a thick Irish accent:

“Ach, I just need to stir this soup with my hand real quick.”

“Ach, who cares? Ach, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, there’s other things to worry about. There’s people starving in my country.”

5. Karen and Georgia going entirely off-the-rails from a murder, imagining what a town’s July 4th celebration is like, kindly animated below:

youtube

Now, spooky things I saw this year!!

1. The Haunting of Hill House (Netflix)

This has actually probably become one of my all-time favorite TV shows. I’m on my third watch now and I keep finding new things. I’m incredibly attached to (and defensive of) almost all of the characters, the actors are fabulous, the frequent monologues really appeal to the playwright in me, the spooks are spooky, the way the story is put together like a puzzle is straight-up inspiring, and some episodes are just plain triumphs of great filmmaking. I REALLY love this one and encourage everyone to watch it. Either alone, with some wine, or with me (and some wine). Give it some time to build and develop, because a lot of it is a BUMMER, and be familiar with the many triggers involved, but I firmly believe it’s worth watching.

2. Happy Death Day

On a VERY different end of the spectrum, here’s a 2017 movie that I don’t believe I actually saw until this year, and I have seen it a LOT this year. It’s absurd and so dumb at points and I love it unashamedly for the concept, the “mystery”, and the montage of deaths set to Demi Lovato’s “Confident”. Also the sequel looks rad.

3. Hereditary

This is a straight-up huge bummer and incredibly depressing but also an astoundingly well-made film with amazing performances and some scares that are a lot of fun to talk about with your friends afterwards. Fuck. This fucked me up and I don’t look forward to watching it again, but I can’t deny it’s really great. Not to mention it has some cult shit I can’t help but love.

4. Cabin in the Woods

I’d seen this movie pre-2018, but a midnight screening this year was my first time seeing it in theaters, so I’m counting it! I have petty beef with this movie’s ending, because I think Sigourney Weaver (all hail) defends her side a little too well - I don’t want the world to end!!! And I have a hard time remembering in the end that it’s not meant to be taken that seriously. But this movie is a joyride from start to almost-finish. It was a BLAST in theaters, and I do love the hell out of almost all of it.

5. Halloween

I haven’t seen the new movie yet! This is about the original John Carpenter film, which I saw for the first time this October and just rewatched tonight with my brother. It’s not all that exciting, but it helped cement a lot of horror tropes that I love-hate, and I LOVE yelling at characters in horror movies who have no idea that they’re doing something I consider unforgivably dumb. A+ to Jamie Lee Curtis, even though she should have stabbed Michael Myers many more times.

As for late night article/Wikipedia rabbit holes...

1. MAGDALENA SOLIS

what the fuck

2. Anne of Cleves

for a refreshing reminder that at least one of Henry VIII’s wives got off with a relatively sweet deal

3. The Plot of Every Final Destination Film

because i spend every evening reading the plots of horror films i tell myself i’ll never watch

4. Douglas Booth’s Instagram

this... does not count by any stretch of the imagination, but i’m making it count because it... did make up a fair portion of my 2018. keep working, douglas!!! please get a better filmography for me!!!!!

5. This Buzzfeed News Story About Horrific Abuse/Murder at Catholic Orphanages

fascinating but incredibly lengthy and depressing, explore at your own risk

Phew!!!! Happy 2019, everyone!!!!!

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mtt-metal-crusher · 6 years

Note

99 for any ship I just wanna see people get lost in the woods lol

99. “We’re in an abandoned lodge in the middle of nowhere. Sure, you’re totally right, nothing bad could ever happen here.” – Papyton!

Sometimes ideas seem much better in the thinker’s head than they do in practice. Oh yes, going out on a pleasant stroll through the forest seemed like a marvellous idea for something to do when Papyrus suggested it, and the rest of the gang that was made up of Alphys, Undyne and Mettaton couldn’t quite turn him down.

It certainly wouldn’t have been Mettaton’s first choice of activity; he’d turned up at the house in high heels and short shorts, expecting nightclubs and bars despite it being 1pm. He begrudgingly agreed, however, being promised that ‘it would be fun!’ and that ‘you can talk to Papyrus some more!’, the latter of which he was very intrigued by.

However, the pleasant stroll soon turned into a mess of disorganised chaos as Mettaton and Papyrus were chatting by a stream one minute and had turned to find the other two members of their party missing in the next.

“How could they just disappear?!” Mettaton asked, letting out an exasperated sigh. “I bet they did this on purpose, you know.”

Papyrus, who had been looking intently at the stream with his arms behind his back, turned to Mettaton. “Oh?”

“Mm-hmm, I know their game, they’ve been trying to set us up for days now. This is just another sneaky prank they’re pulling- well you can come out now, I’m in on to your little game!” Mettaton yelled at the great expanse of trees in front of him.

Papyrus came to stand beside him. “Hmm… They must have carried on through the woods!” Seeing Mettaton’s disbelieving face made him elaborate. “It’s… rather rude of them, sure. But there’s only one way to find out whether Undyne is listening to us right now. You just have to yell ‘Papyrus sucks’ and she’ll come running to avenge me… it’s rather flattering, honestly.”

Mettaton guffawed. “These people really care a lot about you,” he said, and then, after taking a look around him warily, he yelled, “PAPYRUS SUCKS!”

Papyrus had to remind himself not to take it personally.

“Huh, guess they really aren’t listening,” Mettaton said after he didn’t get kicked up the backside for even uttering such an abhorrent sentence.

A tinny version of the song ‘Love Shack’ rang out antithetically throughout the forest, coming from Papyrus’ pocket. He pulled his phone out and answered with a cheery ‘Hello!!’ just to receive his brother’s voice on the other side.

“you okay, bro? i just got this… weird feeling that you weren’t okay??”

“I’m perfectly fine, Sans! You shouldn’t worry so much about me– you should focus on that pile of laundry you have sitting by the foot of the bed!! That’s what you should be worrying about- Sans?!” Papyrus looked at his phone in frustration. “He hung up! Un-believable!”

Mettaton, as Papyrus was busy nagging his brother, had been hurrying from tree to tree, trying to find some sign of where the other two had got to.

“Are you alright, Mettaton?” Papyrus asked, putting his phone back in his pocket.

“No!” he said, turning back to the skeleton and going to stand by his side. “I vote we stick together, darling, just in case there are any… questionable figures around. Now, I’m not saying I can’t look after myself, which I most certainly can, but I’m around a million percent sure that we’re more likely to stay safe and alive when we’re not alone.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mettaton, but you have nothing to fear! I’m a keen tracker. I was even better than some of the dogs in Snowdin at being able to track down suspicious individuals… although instead of using scent, I used my distinct sense of logic!” Papyrus looked around his surroundings with apparent concern and then, as though the choice was obvious, he pointed in a random direction. “They went this way!”

“What makes you say that?”

Papyrus shrugged. “It looks like a good way to go. If I were Undyne and Alphys, I’d certainly choose to go this way.”

And so they set off, not having any other choice but to trust fate. Mettaton certainly didn’t want to end up alone in this forest; and if that meant following the skeleton who seemed to be making up his ever-growing skill set by the moment, then so be it.

After a while of trudging through the forest, they came across a little lodge centred in the middle of a clearing, cut off from all signs of life.

When Papyrus started making his way towards it, Mettaton stopped in his tracks.

“Nuh-uh, no way am I going in there. Have you never seen a horror movie? There’s some spooky looking axe-murderer in there, I’m sure of it.” Mettaton stopped by the edge of the clearing, folding his arms.

Papyrus carried on, however, not worried at all by Mettaton’s words. “I don’t watch horror movies,” he called back, “I don’t watch anything that doesn’t have a happy ending. I don’t see the point.”

“Well don’t just leave me out here!” Mettaton called over to him, shuddering as he saw Papyrus looking in through the windows. Who knew what kind of creepy people liked to take residence here, in a place with no internet connection?! Surely no one Mettaton could trust.

Papyrus rattled the doorknob and made a small noise of glee as he found it was unlocked, the door creaking open. “It’s abandoned!” he called back to Mettaton, “Come see!”

“Oh great! Abandoned!” Mettaton said, smiling nervously, jogging over to Papyrus regardless. No matter what terrible secrets this lodge inevitably held, he couldn’t just let this poor skeleton waltz in alone.

“See, Mettaton!” Papyrus said when they both got through the door. “No need to panic!”

“We’re in an abandoned lodge in the middle of nowhere. Sure, you’re totally right, nothing bad could ever happen here,” Mettaton scoffed.

“I’m starting to think you watch too many of these horror movies.”

“You know… you might just be correct.”

After the initial worry of being caught by a shotgun-wielding loner had dispersed slightly, curiosity took over Mettaton as he looked around the abandoned lodge. It surely did look like it had been left for quite some time, with cobwebs piling up in heaps in every nook and cranny, dust gathering like a skin across every surface. Either that or the owner just didn’t know how to clean. He looked at a couple of trinkets set out on the mantlepiece, wondering what the story was behind this place, hoping deep down that he could perhaps get a show out of the place; maybe he could do a seance and have someone throw books across the room and he’d pretend to be frightened for his life…

“Mettaton?” Papyrus spoke, breaking him out of his contemplation. “You look cold! You should have told me– I’ll see if I can get the fire working.”

It was then that Mettaton realised that he’d been hugging himself in attempt to retain so warmth, his skimpy outfit was finally coming back to bite him in the ass.

Mettaton sat tentatively on the couch, sweeping it with a grimace beforehand so he didn’t get covered in gross dust.

After watching Papyrus play with the fire and looking like he knew very much what he was doing for around five whole minutes, the skeleton finally stood back and scratched his chin.

“I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve never lit a fireplace before,” he said. “And we don’t have any matches that I’m aware of– unless you have a lighter?”

“Sorry, honey, not today.” Mettaton sighed, “Well, I’m hoping we don’t stay here long. Just text Undyne and Alphys to come find us here and we’ll wait.”

“Alright!” Papyrus said, doing as he was told. “I’m still concerned about your temperature, though! As a skeleton, being cold isn’t really a problem–in fact!” Papyrus unzipped and took off his green jacket off to reveal a crop top he’d been wearing underneath that received an appreciative glance from Mettaton. “This is just for show, here-”

Papyrus sat by Mettaton and draped the jacket around his shoulders. Oh, what a gentleman, Mettaton thought, scolding himself for getting a thrill from such a cliche move, it certainly shows what kind of movies Papyrus watches instead of horror…

“Okay, I don’t want you to think me melodramatic here, darling, but I really should try and stay warm right now. This body isn’t quite designed for low temperatures just yet and perhaps I should have listened to Alphys when she told me to put on more clothes today but… that’s just the price I pay for fashion I suppose. I’ll have to find a way to heat up somehow…”

Papyrus looked like he was about to have a heart attack, had he a heart in the first place. “I-I’m not sure what you’re suggesting we do about that!”

“Ha! Nothing sordid, Pappy. Get your mind out of the gutter for a second-”

“My mind was nowhere near the gutter!”

“Keep telling yourself that, honey,” Mettaton said, smirking when he saw Papyrus turn away, flustered. “All I was suggesting is that perhaps we should stick close… conserve body heat… if skeletons have body heat?”

“Ah!! We do!” And with that, Papyrus scooted as close to Mettaton as he could get without sitting on his lap and flung his arms around him. “Luckily for you, I was considered one of the best huggers in all of Snowdin back in the day. Sure, my only hug-ee was my brother and he was also the only judge but I digress.” Papyrus lay his head on Mettaton’s shoulder as he snuggled in. “You’ll be warmed up like this in no time!”

It was undeniable, really, Papyrus really was a good hugger. Perhaps it was due to his warmth, or his gentleness, or perhaps it was the deep-down feelings Mettaton had been developing for the skeleton that blossomed exponentially when he threw his arms around him, pulling him close, but this hug was certainly doing the trick of keeping Mettaton warm, in both body and soul.

Gingerly, Mettaton wrapped his own arms around Papyrus in return, pulling him even closer.

“So I suppose we just… wait here for the others to find us,” Mettaton spoke in a hushed voice.

“Exactly!” Papyrus said, his voice faltering slightly.

Mettaton brushed his hand over Papyrus’ back. “Are you okay, darling? You seem a little more muted than before…”

“Yes, I’m quite alright, really,” he said, still holding that wavering voice. After a few terrible seconds of silence, Papyrus coughed and spoke again. “I suppose now isn’t the best of times to admit that I have feelings for you and think you’re really nice and attractive and make my soul go all thumpity-thump every time I see you, is it?” Papyrus’ voice grew higher with every syllable until he was merely squeaking with nerves.

Papyrus held his breath and looked straight ahead, feeling a distinct chill run down his spine as he waited for Mettaton’s inevitable rejection. Soul-crushingly, all Papyrus heard after a couple seconds of silence was a surprised laugh.

“Oh, darling!” Mettaton gasped, pulling away slightly to look down at the skeleton’s face. “I always assumed as much anyway… the way you looked all nervous whenever I entered the room was a real tell-tale sign.”

“Oh!” Papyrus said, not sure what else to say. That wasn’t the reaction he’d been hoping for.

“And… I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like you in return. Honestly, Papyrus, you’re just wonderful and I’m actually… overjoyed that you’ve admitted this to me.” Mettaton’s hand swept across Papyrus’ back once again and the skeleton looked up at him, almost too afraid to dare to believe what Mettaton was telling him.

“I- Oh wowie! I can’t believe- Oh, my God!!” Papyrus covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes wide. “What does this mean… Where do we go from here, I mean-”

Without another word, Mettaton took the hand covering Papyrus’ teeth and removed it with a soft tug. Slowly, cautiously, Mettaton leant in and kissed him, using his arms to pull him into a deep embrace.

~~~

It was only twenty minutes later that Undyne and Alphys found the lodge Papyrus had described in his text. They burst in through the front door, expecting a barrage of complaints from Mettaton for leaving him, but what they saw wasn’t at all what they expected.

“YES, PAPYRUS!” Undyne yelled upon seeing the two wrapped up in each other, Mettaton covering the skeleton in frantic kisses and Papyrus gasping and sighing, coated in dark lipstick.

“I-I told you leaving them a-alone for five minutes would work!”

“You sure did, Alph,” Undyne said, grimacing slightly as she watched them, they really weren’t intending to stop, even now that she and Alphys had arrived, were they? Oh God, is this what she’d have to put up with from now on? “You sure did…“

#papyton #papyrus #mettaton #omggg this one is a long one but i really enjoyed it #you can't take these boys anywhere it will only end in smooches #i hope you all liked it!!#angel's requests #Anonymous

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ghostchild90 · 6 years

Text

Get to know me part 2

1: when you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk?

More milk, I like to drink it after.

2: do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a wintery day?

Yes, I do.

3: what random objects do you use to bookmark your books?

Mostly postcards, receipts, toilet paper…

4: how do you take your coffee/tea?

Black/ unsweetened or REALLY REALLY sweet with lots of milk, there is no in between.

5: are you self-conscious of your smile?

No! I have great teeth and I like my lips

6: do you keep plants?

I keep a cat. Ha. Ha. No seriously I keep herbs and I like sunflowers and yellow or pink roses, sometimes a cactus will survive.

7: do you name your plants?

No, they won’t live long enough.

8: what artistic medium do you use to express your feelings?

I sing a lot, I scribble, sometimes I’ll write but I’ll mostly blog about my feelings.

9: do you like singing/humming to yourself?

I sing like all the time. Music is my favourite thing in the world and I would die for real singing lessons, to improve my voice.

10: do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach?

All above :) mostly on my side. Hey girlfriend, how do I sleep?

11: what’s an inner joke you have with your friends?

Some ridiculous mean names mostly, the plantkin or “remembers me of my first time”

12: what’s your favorite planet?

It’s Jupiter! Such an interesting planet and I really like the mythical side too.

13: what’s something that made you smile today?

Skyping with my girlfriend (aww It’s so cheesy, it’s terrible. I love it)

14: if you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like?

I like cosy rooms, lots of wood and knick knacks, books, pillows, big colourful windows and a really nice kitchen with fresh herbs!

15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is!

If it was 80 times more massive, Jupiter would have become a star instead of a planet.

16: what’s your favorite pasta dish?

I really like everything with mushrooms, spinach and broccoli, but the best Pasta dish I ate was a vegan Putanesca one in Amsterdam, maybe because I was high, but that’s not important here.

17: what color do you really want to dye your hair?

I like my ginger hair as it is, but I would choose pastel colours.

18: tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is always brought up.

There is really too much to tell. Maybe the shopping card race with Chris or the burnt kitchen? But something I did? I nearly killed Felix and myself accidentally but playing cards in an epic traffic was more fun.

19: do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw/ in it?

I have roughly 400 sketchbooks and notebooks. I don’t use them daily, but I love to write or draw things down.

20: what’s your favorite eye color?

Green or darker colours.

21: talk about your favorite bag, the one that’s been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces.

I do love my current backpack! It slowly falls apart but I love it. I patched it by myself.

22: are you a morning person?

I can hear you snorting girlfriend. But no, I am not.

23: what’s your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations?

I don’t like to do nothing when I’m by myself. If I had my lovelies with me, I would stay in bed and maybe read out loud, but while I’m alone, I like to wander around and play Pokemon… Or I’ll bingwatch some stuff.

24: is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets?

Yes I’m lucky enough to have someone, well there are about 3 people who truly know me, but I’m not sure if a single person knows everything about me.

25: what’s the weirdest place you’ve ever broken into?

A fury convention in Magdeburg, it was surreal.

26: what are the shoes you’ve had for forever and wear with every single outfit?

My black platform boots I LOVE them to pieces.

27: what’s your favorite bubblegum flavor?

Spearmint or apples

28: sunrise or sunset?

I see the sunset way more often than the rise, it’s both pretty but the morning is more beautiful. (If I’m still awake of course)

29: what’s something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing?

Sometimes my friends surprise me with really nice things they say about me.

For example, Felix told me once I’m so curious about life, It’s inspirational and I still think about this. Otherwise, Jessi gives the best hugs, it’s cute. Oh and my gf has this adorable look on her face when she is confused ;)

30: think of it: have you ever been truly scared?

Yes, I have a deep fear of dying and I’m terrible scared of maggots.

31: what is your opinion of socks? do you like wearing weird socks? do you sleep with socks? do you confine yourself to white sock hell? really, just talk about socks.

Okay take a seat, this will take a while.

Socks tell a lot about your personality, are you playful? Are you all business? I personally love weird socks. I’ve got some with hotdogs on them and I’m a vegetarian. My most favourite ones are spooky socks I bought Halloween, or the Ravenclaw ones. I hate to wear mismatched socks and I can’t even tell you why. Even when they are all black, to KNOW that they have a different high drives me nuts. And I loathe to wear socks in bed! I cannot sleep with them and I HATE them in combination with sex. BUT! That’s not fully true. Kneehigh socks or stockings are a huge turn on, while wearing them or on others. I have this weird clothing kink, but that’s a different story. Normal socks are fine as they are, white ones are boring and I find it very relaxing to sort them after washing them. So, that’s a lot on socks.

32: tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3AM when you were with friends.

Well. Only 4am knows all my secrets but 3am sees me in weird states of really deep conversations on a kitchen counter or stargazing in a shopping cart.

33: what’s your fave pastry?

I could die for lemon rolls or everything with apples in it.

34: tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it?

My oldest one is a cat named Leodor. He is white with black patches and maybe he is a leopard. My most favourite one is a big cream coloured teddy bear my Grandpa gave me. Her name is Rosi and of course I still have both. I have a lot of stuffed animals and I still remember every name.

35: do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? do you use them often?

I have a really nice pen but I don’t write with it too often. I can’t tell you why, I really don’t know. I also have a bad handwriting.

36: which band’s sound would fit your mood right now?

Subway to Sally – Seemanslied or ASP& Chamber – Ride on. Maybe even When the day met the night from Panic! At the Disco because I thought a lot about the moon tonight.

37: do you like keeping your room messy or clean?

My bedroom seems to be always messy, the rest is okay. Not sterile but I do my best.

38: tell us about your pet peeves!

It drives me nuts when the hem of a shirt is turned inside out and I really hate rude people.

39: what color do you wear the most?

Black and green

40: think of a piece of jewelry you own: what’s it’s story? does it have any meaning to you?

Oh that’s easy, I would say my Triskele! I wear it on a chain since 2014 and I only put it off when I shower, because it’s iron and I want to avoid rust. It’s kind of my lucky charm.

41: what’s the last book you remember really, really loving?

The last one I read not so much but I greatly enjoyed Hermann Hesses – der Steppenwolf.

42: do you have a favorite coffee shop? describe it!

I had one! And I’m in a dire need for a new one! I want to become a regular in a coffee shop again.

43: who was the last person you gazed at the stars with?

I do a lot of lonely stargazing, but I guess it was with Chris, very drunk of course and somehow funny. But I have someone else in mind. (Yes, you)

44: when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything?

The week in Vienna, talking about feelings, having the courage for kissing and touching.

45: do you trust your instincts a lot?

Yes, I do! I have fantastic instincts.

46: tell us the worst pun you can think of.

My last hairdresser appointment is long hair. (it makes more sense in German, trust me)

47: what food do you think should be banned from the universe?

The desire for power and pineapples on pizza.

48: what was your biggest fear as a kid? is it the same today?

The fear of dying. It’s still the same. And the fear of being alone, this is different now.

49: do you like buying CDs and records? what was the last one you bought?

Yes, I do! The last one was A fever you can’t sweat out by Panic! At the Disco.

50: what’s an odd thing you collect?

For me? I collect soda cans and sharks

51: think of a person. what song do you associate with them?

Well for today it’s still the Seemanslied and it’s about my feelings for my girlfriend (It’s about longing and finding home)

52: what are your favorite memes of the year so far?

I FUCKING LOVE MEMES! The best meme 2017 was the one with the guy and the two girls. ( He looks after her and she looks offended, I saw really funny things about this)

53: have you ever watched the rocky horror picture show? heathers? beetlejuice? pulp fiction? what do you think of them?

Yes – love it,

nope,

yes – it’s my fucking aesthetic and

yes of course! It’s so good.

54: who’s the last person you saw with a true look of sadness on their face?

It was my mum, for reasons.

55: what’s the most dramatic thing you’ve ever done to prove a point?

Oh I don’t know. Am I a dramatic person? Yes of course but do I have to prove my points? Well, who knows.

56: what are some things you find endearing in people?

Smiles, serious wonder for the world and kindness in general.

57: go listen to bohemian rhapsody. how did it make you feel? did you dramatically reenact the lyrics?

You never saw me ROCKING THIS SONG. Haha. You will someday, be very afraid.

58: who’s the wine mom and who’s the vodka aunt in your group of friends? why?

Sometimes I’m both, but no seriously I’m totally the momfriend but more with vodka than wine.

59: what’s your favorite myth?

Ginger will turn into vampires after they die (Thanks Greece)

60: do you like poetry? what are some of your faves?

Yes I do! The life that I have is my current favourite.

61: what’s the stupidest gift you’ve ever given? the stupidest one you’ve ever received?

I don’t give stupid gifts :P And the most strange but cool one I received was a rainbow projector!

62: do you drink juice in the morning? which kind?

Nope, only coffee. Black. But I do love orange and apple juice.

63: are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organized or kinda leave them be?

I have lists of lists for other lists about my books and to reads, and music I like and quotes and favourite things and statistics and I change the order weekly.

64: what color is the sky where you are right now?

Pitch black with stars out there.

65: is there anyone you haven’t seen in a long time who you’d love to hang out with?

Yeah, but that’s no longer possible.

66: what would your ideal flower crown look like?

A lot of light coloured flowers, some smaller sunflowers and berries!

67: how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel?

At ease. I really enjoy the silent days.

68: what’s winter like where you live?

Strange. It’s mostly cold but not too cold. We never have snow or it snows for four weeks straight.

69: what are your favorite board games?

Siedler, Monopoly, any kind of game honestly

70: have you ever used a ouija board?

71: what’s your favorite kind of tea?

I enjoy green tea or Turkish apple tea but I’m not picky.

72: are you a person who needs to note everything down or else you’ll forget it?

I like to write everything down but I have a sharp memory.

73: what are some of your worst habits?

Overthinking, eating with my fingers, I never vacuum

74: describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns.

Smart, an honest to God asshole but I learned so much from them. We are like siblings and I’m very proud of their changing

75: tell us about your pets!

This is my cat Momo. He has black fur, is way too smart and a giant asshole. I love him to pieces but I do want to strangle him. He is very cuddly, like all the time. Yes, even when you try to sleep.

76: is there anything you should be doing right now but aren’t?

Sleeping, I guess.

77: pink or yellow lemonade?

I really don’t care. Pink if it’s more bitter.

78: are you in the minion hateclub or fanclub?

I used to like them a lot but it’s just too much. I still adore despicable me 1!

79: what’s one of the cutest things someone has ever done for you?

Fighting for me when I didn’t expect it.

80: what color are your bedroom walls? did you choose that color? if so, why?

Dark grey and one wall has black and white stripes. I did choose them because of the Tim Burton aesthetic, and because I like it. Duh.

81: describe one of your friend’s eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of.

The sky after a storm, no, shortly before a thunderstorm. The minutes when you can’t see the sun but it’s not too dark, it’s murky and full of tension but calm and in colours you usually won’t see in the sky. A kind of dark green, but not emerald, more jade or really good olives from Italy. The feeling when you find a hidden cave under tree roots in the forest, it smells like old wood and long forgotten tales and the kind of adventure you’ll have as a child and you swear it was real and the biggest mystery you ever faced. Even when it was just a trick of lightning and no one believed you.

82: are/were you good in school?

Yes, I was/am a nerd but lazy as hell.

83: what’s some of your favorite album art?

Welcome to the sound of pretty odd from Panic! At the Disco

84: are you planning on getting tattoos? which ones?

I have one already, but I like to have the sun and the moon on my forearms and some more.

85: do you read comics? what are your faves?

I do! I greatly enjoyed the Sandman comics from Neil Gaiman

86: do you like concept albums? which ones?

Yes! I love the Danger Days concept from my Chemical romance or the tales of ASP

87: what are some movies you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives?

Shortbus, Prayers for Bobby, Pride, Die Kindes des Monsieur Matthieu

88: are there any artistic movements you particularly enjoy?

I love street art! Banksy is one of my favourites.

89: are you close to your parents?

Yes, but in a weird way

90: talk about your one of you favorite cities.

Oh okay, I totally adore Berlin, the energy in it and the endless possibilities. I’m looking forward to live there! And I like Amsterdam very much, beautiful architecture and the people are really laid back. Oh, and Krakau…. Okay I like a lot of cities

91: where do you plan on traveling this year?

Well in 2018 I’ll travel to the Netherlands by bike and hopefully to Paris with my girlfriend. I hope to visit Vienna again too!

92: are you a person who drowns their pasta in cheese or a person who barely sprinkles a pinch?

Depends on my mood and the sauce!

93: what’s the hairstyle you wear the most?

A low ponytail or a messy halfbun

94: who was the last person you know to have a birthday?

Uh, a workmate of mine had birthday yesterday?

95: what are your plans for this weekend?

Sleeping, cleaning and working. Hopefully chat a lot with my loved ones.

96: do you install your computer updates really quickly or do you procrastinate on them a lot?

Shhh… Quickly of course ;)

97: myer briggs type, zodiac sign, and hogwarts house?

INTJ, Sagittarius, Ravenclaw

98: when’s the last time you went hiking? did you enjoy it?

It was a while ago and I love hiking

99: list some songs that resonate to your soul whenever you hear them.

I’m always a sucker for good old Vivaldi or Smetana, but songs, fine.

“The green Gentleman” – Panic! At the Disco

“Big houses” – Squalloscope

“Evelyn” – Kim Tillman

“Ertrinken” – Die Toten Hosen

“Spiegel” or “Stille der Nacht” – ASP

“Seemannslied” or “Krähenkönig” - Subway to Sally

THERE ARE TOO MANY

@herzpraline

#meme #love #questions

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