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scribbling-dragon · 7 months

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Hi!! can you write some fluff about pearl's slumber party?

absolutely! the little segment at the end of everyone's videos was so silly,, hope this did it justice!

hush hush

summary:

“Shush,” Pearl hisses, slightly more forceful than the last few times she’s told him to be quiet. “You're going to wake them up.” Despite her warning, she continues to let out small giggles every few seconds, and his comm continues to wobble in his hands as he tries to focus the camera. [Or, a small snippet from the sleepover at Pearl's.]

(ao3 link)

(1,531 words)

Pearl shushes him, even as she continues to giggle and distort the sound with her quiet hiccupping. She clasps a hand over her mouth a moment later in an attempt to muffle any sound she makes, while the other hand is held up in a command for silence.

Grian is doing much better in his attempts to stifle his own giggles, wobbling slightly as he leans further over the sleeping pair. He has to make sure he angles this properly, otherwise the photo is going to be ruined by his shadow.

He shakes his head and ducks down, still giggling. He’s not even sure what’s funny anymore, what it was that set them both off in the first place, but it’s gone three a.m. and everything has become wildly hilarious.

“Ugh,” both he and Pearl freeze. That small sound was more than enough to shut the two of them up. They turn their heads as one towards the source of the noise, his arms still extended and holding his comm out to take a photo. Skizz squints one eye open, looking about until it lands on them. “What’re you two doing?”

“Securing future blackmail material,” he whispers back, painfully aware of how close he is to everyone else and how easy it would be to wake someone else. He manages to finally get the perfect angle, no shadows cast over the target of his photo. The photo is snapped with a small click, and he pulls his trembling arms back towards himself.

“Nothing.” Pearl says, just moments after him. She turns a glare in his direction as soon as she’s spoken, fierce enough that he momentarily draws back an inch. “Gri! Why’d you spill the beans?”

“Shh,” he’s the one shushing her this time. “You don't wanna wake them, do you?”

“Course not. Just look at ‘em,” she gestures towards Jimmy and Tango. Grian, personally, couldn’t care less if they woke them now. The blackmail material is already safely tucked away into a secure folder, ready for the next opportunity to use it. (He’s thinking maybe at Jimmy’s birthday. Or Tango’s. He could put it on one of those custom cards.) “They're so cute like this.”

Skizz huffs a breath at that, almost sounding like he just disagreed with a widely agreed upon sentiment.

Grian pauses at the same time as Pearl, each of them staring at the other before turning as a single unit towards Skizz, where the man has just begun to sit up.

“Skizz,” Grian says, drawing the word out as a smile curls over his face.

“You got something you wanna share?” Pearl leans a little closer, eyes wide with excitement.

“It’s creepy when you two do that,” Skizz tells them, pointing a finger like he’s trying to be stern. “I hope you know that. You're like some freaky twines straight outta horror film.”

They turn to look at each other then back at Skizz. “Creepy?”

“Uh, yeah. Did you see what you just did then?”

Grian maintains his confused expression for only a moment longer, breaking down into giggles. He leans up against Pearl as he laughs, feeling the way her shoulders shake as she leans into him as well. “Oh, man,” he swipes a thumb under his eye. “Skizz, your face.”

“What about my face,” Skizz crosses his arms. “There’s nothing wrong with my face.”

“Oh, nevermind,” Pearl waves a hand flippantly. “What I do mind is you keeping secrets from everyone else. You got something you wanna say about our lovebirds over there?”

Grian glances back at Jimmy and Tango, finding that they’ve somehow managed to cuddle even closer to each other. Tango’s being held tightly by Jimmy, as though he’s some oversized teddy-bear, barely visible between Jimmy’s arms and wings. Tango, for his part, seems rather content with this arrangement, tail curled around Jimmy’s leg as the pair continue to sleep.

“Ugh, what don't I have to say about those two,” Skizz drops his head to cradle it in his hands. “I know we called it Love Island and all, but I think that name needs to be changed now.”

“Heart Foundation sounded fine to me,” Grian frowns. “I don't see why you had to change it.”

“Cleo said-” Skizz cuts himself off with a shake of his head. “You know what, nevermind.”

“What did Cleo say?” Pearl scoots a little closer to Skizz.

“Nothing, nothing.” Skizz laughs. “We changed it because Cleo said the name was bad. That we have bad taste in names.”

“Uh-huh,” Grian gets the feeling they're not being told the full reason, especially with the way Skizz snuck a glance over at him, only to look again when he realised Grian was still watching him. “Sure.”

“I'm being serious,” Skizz holds his hands up. “D’you wanna hear what I have to say or not? Because I'm perfectly happy to just go back to sleep…” Skizz starts to roll over, pulling the blanket of his temporary bed up to his shoulders.

“No,” he lunges forward and tugs the blanket away, wrapping it around himself and grinning smugly at Skizz. He pauses, then sticks his tongue out for good measure. “I’ll give this back if your story is good enough.”

Skizz pulls a face. “No way. You can just say that it’s not good enough, there’s no categories to rank it against.”

“Fine. I’ll give it back once you finish telling us the story.”

“I was just gonna say how they're constantly being all…sickly sweet with each other,” Skizz gestures towards Jimmy and Tango. “Jimmy comes over to Love Island, and he swims through the water every single time. I think he does it just because he knows how Tango will react!”

“And how does Tango react?”

“He’ll laugh at him for a second, and then he’ll go get a towel – and this towel specifically belongs to Jimmy for when he does this. And then they’ll just sit there as Tango lovingly goes through and dries every single feather; it’s cute, but it becomes a little less cute when your buddy just dropped you, again, to go help his boyfriend recover from being an idiot.”

“Shh,” Pearl warns, glancing over at Joel as he shifts in his sleep, then rolls over, muttering something incomprehensible. “Don't wanna wake anyone.”

“Sorry.” Skizz continues a little quieter a moment later, “You know that storm we had a few days ago?”

“Ugh, yeah,” he shivers at the thought, feathers puffing up a little behind him. He’d been stuck inside a temporary shelter until the rain stopped being so heavy for fear of waterlogging his wings and then having to spend hours drying them out again. “Horrible weather.”

“They were worse.” Skizz’s face flattens. “Jimmy was fussing over how warm Tango was, and then Tango was fussing over how wet Jimmy’s wings were. I couldn’t even leave! I just had to sit there and watch them be all lovey-dovey while it was miserable outside.”

“Well,” he reaches over to pat Skizz on the shoulder. “I don't have a solution for you there. But sorry for your loss, or whatever.”

“Like, I love the guy! But there’s some things you don't do when your house doesn’t have any dividing walls!”

“Oh my god, did they-”

“Ew, no,” Skizz reels back. “Ew, don't even make me think about that, man. No, they didn’t. But Tango is loud when he purrs, and it’s really difficult to sleep with a motor engine rumbling on in the background!” Huh. Funny. Grian hadn’t noticed Tango purring at all earlier, despite being so wrapped up in Jimmy’s embrace.

All three of them freeze again as a small snuffling sound permeates the silence, turning as one being towards where Jimmy stirs. “Issit day yet?”

Grian throws Skizz’s blanket back towards him in a panic, wrapping himself in his own as he acts like he was asleep the entire time. He hears similar frantic shuffling of fabric as the other two copy him, before everything falls silent again.

Grian can still see where Jimmy and Tango lie together, holding his breath as he waits for Jimmy to go back to sleep.

“No,” one of Tango’s eyes slits open. Grian can see the way it glows in the gloom. “Go back to sleep, it’s the middle of the night still.”

Jimmy makes a small humming noise before he, seemingly, goes back to sleep.

Grian can feel his heart thumping in his chest, a little giddy at being caught. Especially when Tango’s eye continues to remain slit open, the faint light remaining for another minute or so before Tango, too, goes back to sleep.

Or maybe falls asleep for the first time that evening.

…Was he awake that whole time?

Grian muffles a nervous giggle into the palm of his hand, hearing as Pearl, then Skizz start giggling a little as well.

#writing requests are still open <3 #if anyone has any ideas for something. the only thing i'm working on rn is my halloween fic #asks #lovequeerloki #juno.writes #secret life smp #slsmp #slsmp spoilers #skizzleman #pearlescentmoon #grian #trafficshipping #(references to solidaritek)#secret life skizz #secret life pearl #secret life grian #secret life smp fic #trafficfic

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ailendolin · 8 months

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Halloween Ghosts headcanons that I may or may not turn into a fic:

for 24 hours, when the veil between the worlds is especially thin, the ghosts are more in touch with the living world, meaning they can feel the warmth of a fire or the cold of the wind

it also means those with wounds like Thomas, Pat or the Plague Ghosts feel pain

it becomes easier for the ghosts to use their powers on Halloween:Julian doesn't exert himself when he's moving something or typing on the laptop and Robin can cause power surges just by getting excited about something

Fanny is more visible in pictures taken on that day and Jemima's singing can be heard from two rooms away (Mike totally doesn't find that creepy)

Humphrey’s head stays on its body for once

when a living walks through a ghost, they can see the ghost for a brief moment

Jack-o'-lanterns, but only those made from turnips, have the power to ward off spirits: they make it impossible for a ghost who has wandered outside the house to come back in (but not impossible for a ghost inside the house to leave it)

#the question is #would anyone want to read this as a fic?#please keep in mind I haven't seen s5 so for all I know they might have done a Halloween ep in which case ignore this post #bbc ghosts #mp bbc ghosts

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moregraceful · 8 months

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i made what was a huge medical decision today that has been received very badly by my family and i feel absolutely nothing but pure freedom and joy about it. the thing i'm really fixated on rn is when should i post this fic i just finished

#i think october 1. for halloween #it was for skelly season but it took such a weird turn in the end that i feel weird about gifting it to someone lol #very short list of people i would subject this particular rarepair agenda to on purpose. maybe just beryl #the medical decision is legitimately life-altering and i should be stressed but i'm just like it's my body. my body horror. and i'm free :)#i'm stressin way more about the fic bro #and like if i don't gift the fic do i then go back and commit to making it even weirder and rarepaired....#stars future leadership polycule (two guys who are dating and their captain who holds their hand in high stress situations)#what am i even talking about.....................#today my boss was like thank you for your (insane 11 paragraph long) email! i used it as a meeting agenda with my boss :)#i was like oh no now my grandboss knows i use my boss's inbox as my work livejournal #i got to remake my schedule tho now that i'm almost done with my training!! i gave myself a three day weekend...#...so i can go to the therapy i need to deal with this job. was anyone gonna tell me abt secondary trauma or was i #just supposed to find that out on my literal first day of work lol #my therapist was THRILLED she was like oh i have SO many books to recommend we're gonna have SO much fun!! i was like oh no #fridays off and life is good tbh!! except for the fic. i don't know what to do abt the fic #fresno oilers.txt

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emzalot · 6 months

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WHY DO I COME UP WITH THE FUN HOLIDAY STUFF AFTER THE BLOODY HOLIDAYYYY

(Star Wars AU where all the movies we know are movies for them too)

It’s set on Halloween at 79s and Y/n is dressed up as Chicken Joe looking for Cody.

“Codyyy!…I know he’s out here. I can feel it in my nuggets.”

#please be honest #would anyone be interested?#should I still write this?#commander cody #commander cody x reader #marshal commander cody #star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars clone wars #Halloween #Halloween fic idea #halloween fic #sw clone wars #obi wan kenobi #212th attack battalion

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radioactivepeasant · 8 months

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Halloween Fic Special Preview!

(A little chunk of Jus Sanguinis for the week while I try to scrape together enough brain cells to finish the last major scenes)

The coastal city of Spargus had lived with the storms for generations, watching the once broad oases narrow and dwindle as the winds displaced topsoil at devastating rates. The sands had swallowed many of their warriors before the Spargans created The Crawler. The massive armored vehicle, replete with emergency supplies and enough armor to give even a metalpede pause, undoubtedly saved lives. But it was slow moving, and Wastelanders on foot often did not have enough time to get to the mobile shelter before the damage to their skin and lungs was beyond the power of an eco pack to heal. And being the only vehicle of its kind meant that if one part broke -- say, a blown head gasket -- the behemoth was stranded until a replacement could be located and driven to its location...after the storm had ended.

"Piece of crap-!" Jak aimed a vicious kick at the front end of the cab and slammed the door behind him.

"This never happens when Daxter is here."

"I don't know whether that is meant to compliment Daxter, or to insult me," his companion said dryly.

King Damas pulled his scarf further up over his mouth and nose and gestured grimly to the massive tank on the Crawler's back.

"The wind is picking up. We need to get inside."

Jak shook sand out of his goggles and dropped to the ground to join him.

"What about the rest of the raiding party?" he snapped, "We can't just leave them!"

Damas’s hand twitched -- the only visible indication that he had any opinions on Jak’s tone.

"Getting angry is counterproductive," he said sharply. "They are all experienced survivors. They will know their best bet is to make it to Broken Sandal Canyon."

You're tense, too! Jak wanted to shout.

But fighting with Damas, he had long since learned, was a very poor life choice. Besides, this man had all but pried him out of the jaws of death before he even knew what Jak was capable of, binding their lives together despite the doubts of his subjects. Jak knew he didn't deserve to be lashed out at. But he just couldn't help it!

Without Daxter he was on-edge. Unsettled.

It couldn't be helped: Daxter was very unwillingly resting at home with some variation of a local childhood disease. As it turned out, being born hundreds of years earlier did not make one immune to The Gripes. Jak, curiously, had yet to manifest the allegedly contagious disease, despite having been in close quarters with Daxter until leaving with the raiding party that morning. Perhaps it was his generally eco-saturated nature that made him resistant to some germs?

Speaking of eco, were you paying attention to your dark intake during the ambush?

Jak shoved the thought away and trudged through the worsening winds to the back of the Crawler.

His eco levels were a little high, sure, but nothing he couldn't handle. He'd gone days without exploding before.

Liar. You exploded every single day in Haven, or near enough to it.

At least the engine failure didn't prevent anything else in the Crawler from working. The closing of the back hatch left them both stranded in a little island of flickering overhead light, while the sounds of the storm faded to a muffled hiss. Damas lowered himself to one of the benches anchored against the wall and stretched his legs out, using the net of medical supplies hanging from the overhead rack as a kind of backrest. He seemed far more comfortable with the situation than Jak was. He watched Jak pace in front of the hatch, noting with some interest that Jak was far more on-edge than usual. He wasn't just frustrated, he was rattled.

"It's just a storm, kid."

Damas leaned back and closed his eyes.

"You've driven in them before."

"Yeah," Jak grunted, "with Daxter."

"Hm." The king raised his brows, but did not open his eyes. "You're not often apart, are you?"

"Not if I can help it," Jak answered shortly. "Not looking to repeat two years of involuntary separation."

The hiss of the sand against the hull rose for a moment in the quiet that followed Jak's words. Then, half to himself, Damas murmured, "Ah. The prison."

Jak's stomach turned a flip.

He still didn't know what had possessed him to confess to his erstwhile conservator why he could transform. What had been done to him in the pits of the Fortress. Damas had taken it well at the time -- no disgust, or condescension- or worse, pity. But the fear nagged at Jak regardless with each following day, whispering in the back of his mind that Damas was looking at him different now. That if Jak strayed too far out of line, his past might be held up in front of him in an attempt to make sense of his actions.

The second he told people something was wrong with him, it became their go-to explanation every time he did something they didn't like. Even Dax did it once in a while- though he at least made conscious efforts to be less careless with his words. Honestly, Jak was shocked Damas hadn't brought it up after his moment of defiance in the Arena.

Something smacked against the Crawler's armor -- likely a rock -- and Jak jumped and cursed. It was too quiet in the shelter. He didn't like the quiet, or the lack of windows showing him what was going on outside. It was like being in a storage crate, or a garage.

Or a cell.

Feeling an electric twinge of weirdwrongbad crawling along the nerves surrounding his scar tissue, Jak began to pace quicker. He focused on breathing as much as he could, and let his gaze sweep across the hold. Any detail that could set this place apart from the cells was noted and clung to.

"Settle, boy."

Damas still hadn't opened his eyes. He folded his arms across his chest and shifted his weight slightly.

"We'll need our strength once the storm has passed. Don't waste your energy on restless nerves."

"Easy for you to say!" Jak retorted.

Watch it, Jak. Eco's boiling up. Get it under control before you really start mouthing off.*

"We've both seen what a storm like this can do to a person. To a broken down vehicle. How are you so calm right now?!"

The older warrior's lips quirked up with a soft chuckle.

"I've been around, kid," he answered wryly, "I've waited out my share of storms in the Crawler. This is no larger or smaller than any other sandstorm I've faced before."

#fic prompts #writing prompts #my fics #my aus #jus sanguinis #halloween fic #jak and daxter #dadmas #king damas #bottle episode #when you're stuck in a box during a sandstorm with a teenager who shapeshifts into a small demon when angered #snippet monday #wip previews #Dark Jak's idea of bonding time does not match anyone else's

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englass · 2 years

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Plains and Valleys

Pairing(s): John Seed x Deputy/Reader

Warning(s): John is his own warning; Possessive/Obsessive Behaviour; John being creepy; Stalking; kind-of Crack, this isn’t taken all that seriously; Not Beta’d; Experimental Piece; NSFW/Explicit, my first (and likely only) attempt at smut -- please kindly let me know if there’s anything else I should warn of here, I don’t know what I’m doing.

Word Count: 4,020

A/N(s): The title is basically a placeholder for while I was writing this because I had no idea what to name it... and truly, I can’t be asked to think of something better for a piece that only exists to see if I can write smut (spoilers: I can’t, but I’m not letting a completed piece rot away in my docs just because I’m embarrassed; I worked and spent time on this damnit!).

On another note, I was gonna just give this piece over as my contribution to WIP day that @derelictheretic was kind enough to tag me in, but decided against it. I’ll post a proper response and WIP later this week or next, so bear with me please hun! Just wanted to get this out there first.

- - -

John had a problem.

Well, he had many problems. Not least of all his growing frustration at the continued resistance from the Fairgraves' in his pursuit for the deed to their ‘establishment’. He also had been unable to play with Affirmation as regularly as he would have liked, so that put him in an even fouler mood than usual. And he wasn't going to even think about the stress he was starting to feel with his brother constantly breathing down his neck; always questioning his actions as though he were a child constantly getting into trouble and needing twenty-four hour monitoring, always asking after the progress of things that take time. A lot of time.

John may have a substantial amount of money at his disposal, but that does not mean he can work miracles.

Not all of the time, at least.

And his problems don’t stop there, oh no. Despite what many likely thought of him (and what a stroke to his ego that is, knowing that people think of him) John was well aware of his problems, his faults. He’d spent a lot of time getting intimate with them, after all; and every now and again they'd crop up like daisies, weeding their way to the surface yet again. He’d become rather good at managing them, if he said so himself, but even John wasn’t perfect (he was damn close to it though, as many would agree). And one fault he hadn’t quite been able to trim back was his tendency to fixate on things; obsess.

He obsesses over his plane, over its upkeep and maintenance, its flight records, the slightest scratch that wasn't there the day before-- how the fuck did that get there!?

He obsesses over the details on the manifestos he’s given, the contracts he’s made, dates and times for resource collection, rotations, their members' personal records (he denies having those), PR management, expenditures and everything in between.

He obsesses over his home, the décor, the colours and lighting, materials used, the whole aesthetic. How he presents himself, the clothes and brands he wears (it’s vain but he needs those creature comforts), his posture, his presence, his overall look that creates an identity that just screams nothing but John.

He obsesses over things.

He knows he does. It’s a faulty blessing.

And he has found something new to obsess over.

John has had a few run-ins with the local Deputies of Hope County in the past. Mostly Joey Hudson, delightful as she is, but ordinarily he doesn’t think too much of them. After all, he’s untouchable and they all know it. There’s no reason to worry about them, let alone waste his precious free time (what little he gets of it) thinking about them. They’re insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Nothing but an inconvenience, an annoyance at most. Completely irrelevant.

But then he saw her.

Standing there, innocuous, looking out at something (for something? Nothing?) in the distance.

There’s a hitch, the catch of a stilted breath.

Where they were keeping her hidden he has no idea, but he is taken the moment he catches that rogue glance of her.

And, strangely, he doesn't know why.

Sure, John and his brothers have been in this County for a good while now and he has never seen her before, so it’s perfectly normal for him to be curious about the unfamiliar face in town. Nothing wrong with that, it’s innocent enough.

Except there’s everything wrong with that.

Because that’s not it.

He can’t even blame his wandering eyes on her appearance; she’s wearing that drab uniform that even a charity shop wouldn’t take, and it does nothing to enhance whatever natural beauty she may have hidden underneath it. Although, the girl-next-door look she gives off is begrudgingly cute (if he dared to utter the word unironically).

Honestly, she’s not the type of woman that he typically would have paid any special attention to back in his lawyer days. Fucked her stupid maybe, for the extra notch in his bedpost, but he likely wouldn’t have taken her number or thought too much about her afterwards. Relegated to just another lay in a long line of bed partners that he doesn’t remember all the names of.

To be blunt, she isn’t anything special.

And maybe that’s part of the appeal, what hooks him in. Because she is different; unassuming and uncomplicated, modest to a point of simplicity. And yet there is something about her that he can’t actively see or name from his spot across the street that has drawn him in without even trying. And he doesn’t know what or why.

It’s as infuriating as it is intriguing.

Perhaps there is some iota of truth in what Joseph had said to him a while ago, John supposed silently to himself at the time: the simplest of things can be beautiful, in their own unconventional ways.

Although his brother could have said as much with far less words, verses, and vague allusions to a potential future that might never be-- a spark of sudden change that sets a new course in motion; scales tipped by the most consuming of emotions; scorched by a soul so deceptively unremarkable that no one would have thought to believe just how uniquely special they would become--

…

……

… Huh…

John creates a special slot in his increasingly hectic schedule just for her from then on out.

He goes out of his way to find more reasons to harass and bother the local population, all in a fruitless attempt to get lucky and have her answer their call for aid and come and tell him what a bad boy he’s being. (Annoyingly she never turns up, though.)

He makes calls and pulls some strings to the businesses he’s procured, makes inquiries to anyone that would listen to him, including those doing menial tasks or even going through their Atonement (they don’t understand the relevancy of his questioning and he may have been a little harsher with them than he should’ve been because of it), and all in the name of his personal investigation into her.

After all, he had argued to himself in front of a cork board covered with documents and pictures of her with a feverish flavour, what sort of Herald would he be if he didn't know everything about everyone living in his-- their, his and his brothers, soon-to-be County?

His invasive and not completely legal search into this new Deputy (and she is new it turns out, freshly transferred in fact) goes on for a full, nonstop month before -- during one of his totally-random-and-not-planned stops into town -- he discovers something else about her.

When he first saw his Deputy (and doesn’t that feel good to say) she was alone, leaning against the wooden beam of the Sheriff’s Department’s porch and staring out into the distant fields; the late afternoon sun haloing her figure in its golden warmth, its light making the colour of her eyes blaze bright and her hair shine silkily. The perfect picture of ease.

This time, when he finally manages to spy another in-person look at her, he finds that she has company. She’s standing next to the ever friendly Hudson, posture held strong by an understated confidence and arms casually crossed beneath her bust, an amused smile on her decidedly pretty face as Hudson talks animatedly about something that he can’t hear.

And she’s looking up at her.

John blinks, and blinks again.

He’s definitely seen her file, he even remembers glossing through her medical records (which he would most assuredly deny having if anyone asked), so he knows how tall she is. But for some reason it apparently hadn’t quite registered to him until now what that would look like in a physical comparison between the two of them.

He knows that the lovely Hudson is a couple of inches shorter than him, not too far off from meeting him eye-to-eye. His Deputy, from what he can see, is about a full head shorter than Hudson. Which would put her, what, roughly just about eye-to-chest with him...?

He thinks about it. Thinks about her next to him, imagines what that would look like. Thoughts surprisingly innocent as he wonders after clichés of reaching for something that she can’t reach, of cocooning her in his arms as he effortlessly wrangles her into his lap. Envisions the domesticity of easily resting his head on top of hers as he holds her from behind, slotting himself into the mould of her figure like matching puzzle pieces, perfectly meant to be and belong…

A high pitched, shaky sound slips free at the mental reel.

It’s not a secret the type of life that John used to live. He has been with numerous types of women, something he used to take a great deal of pride in, and has indulged in and explored his fair share of kinks in the comfort of expensive silk sheets. But who would have guessed that the former playboy, John Duncan now John Seed, would have a thing for domestic bliss.

Or rather, domestic bliss with little. ol’. her.

John makes the executive decision then and there to talk to his Deputy as soon as possible. Preferably alone. Without interference.

It feels like forever before he gets the opportunity.

A week later, on a daily walk through Falls End that has only admittedly become a thing in order to check up on the lucky woman of his blazing affections (I am not stalking her, Jacob, he had grounded out menacingly to his accusing older brother over Sunday dinner; who proceeded to look on at John with a slow quirk of an eyebrow), he finds his ever elusive Deputy resting around the corner of the Sheriff’s Department’s building. Eyes closed, head down, arms crossed, and safely concealed in the shade; unsuspectingly calm in her desired time alone.

And John is quick to ruin it.

He can’t help himself, he really can’t. The opportunity is here and he would be remiss to let it pass him by.

Even if she does look rather serene.

He's seen a few photos of her, more than a few actually-- albums worth even, so he knows what she looks like up close. He even printed one out (it’s a favourite of his, a near perfect replica of the first time he saw her) and has it framed on his bedside table; but it turns out no amount of photos quite do the real her justice.

The closer he gets to her the more he notices how petite she is, how the loose yet deceptively form-fitting hug of her bland uniform subtly accentuates the curves and slopes of her modest figure; the daintiness of her fingers as they rest against the exposed, smooth skin of her arms; that familiar magnetic draw snapping to life in the colour of her eyes as they lazily open, sparkling as he gets closer and she looks up at him, wide and wondering.

Innocent.

Oh, he was so wrong about her, he realises wondrously. Did her such a disservice in his initial judgement of her all those weeks ago. She is far from average.

And being here in front of her, close enough to touch, to be able to easily reach out and trap her against the wall and between his arms if he so wanted to, safely protected under the cage of his form -- her neck craning back in order to comfortably gaze up at him, meeting his eyes as he stares down at her…

It makes something inside him go wild.

John lays the charm on quick and swift, hand attractively running through his hair as a practised but handsome smile lights up his face, eyes twinkling through his lidded gaze with an aweing hunger he knows he is failing to keep hidden.

Getting the first word in, he leans close to the wall, not quite putting his full weight against it (his shirt was expensive) but close enough to allow him a moment of privacy with her by limiting her field of view to only him. Blocking out everyone-- everything else with his taller frame (and doesn’t that thought spark a sudden twitch of interest) as he eagerly monopolises her attention.

Daringly he edges further into her space while he talks ardently to her, truly basking in the unexpected pleasure he gets in watching her unintentionally baring her neck to him; being so beautifully submissive for him without consciously realising it. Amusement colouring his tone in pale notes as he watches the way her pretty eyes darken and narrow at his progressive disturbance and invasion of her time and space.

Fuck. He didn’t know it would be this intoxicating to be so close to her.

Even as he dances through conversation with playful words and hinting remarks, becomes enamoured by the soothing intonation of her voice as she is dragged along with guarded comments and wary retorts, he can’t stop the way his mind ever so sinfully wanders…

It really would be so easy to have her up against this wall. To crowd her in with his frame on all sides and her vision filled with nothing but him. The centre of her universe and attention, him; and his hers. The concept of that sort of all-encompassing intimacy and devotion makes John shudder. Hungry all the more for it and the woman that has unknowingly given him a taste of what it could all be and become, of what that level of pure, unadulterated want is inspiring in him.

He could easily have her against this wall. Have her looking directly skyward up at him as if he were her moon and stars, as he looks directly down at her-- his entire world and more.

Snatch her thigh and hoist it up towards his waist. Have her balancing precariously on the tips of her toes and clutching desperately at him, trusting John to help hold and support her and keep her steady as he shields her from the world around them. Hides her away from the unworthy just as the unworthy have hidden her away from him. His lips sweetly latching onto hers, her taste finally on his tongue after all these weeks of wanting, involuntarily grounding his hips into hers as a desperate sound breaks within his throat.

Oh, John can visualise it now: the two of them breathing in each other's air, bodies flush as he tugs and pushes closer, her shirt riding up as it's snagged by the rough brickwork at her back, arching into him on an unsteady foot to escape its harsh bite. Teeth nipping teasingly at her lips and tongue licking moreishly into her mouth as his free hand roams down her stomach, pulls the rest of her shirt loose and fumbles in his eagerness with the buttons of her jeans, yanking the zipper down and shoving his hand below the waistband and into her underwear. Hearing her whine sweetly into his mouth as he feels just how wet she is for him, how much she wants him and how eagerly she welcomes him into her as he plunges his fingers into her slick cunt with a needy and quaking moan of his own.

Would she want it quick and rough? His fingers thrusting knuckle deep as he presses tight circles to her throbbing clit, teeth at her throat as he claws into her thigh held tightly in the dip of his waist. Listening to how her moans get higher, her breathing gets quicker, turning into desperate little gasps before he tugs his fingers free of her; lips devouring hers in quick apology as he battles to pull his aching cock free, cursing lowly against her lips as his slick covered fingers slip on the metal of his belt. She’d help him, he knows she would -- such a good girl --, nipping and kissing him back with wanton sounds as she bats his hand away, revelling in the noises he makes for her -- only for her, only ever for her -- as she pulls him free; rolling her hips until his cock catches on her slit and he’s thrusting home into her.

Only then -- while feeling her walls flex around him, mouth hanging open as they both bask in finally, finally being so intimately connected to one another -- would he finally hike her other leg up to wrap fully around his waist, fully supporting her weight and driving himself deeper into her, one of his arms coming up to press into the wall beside her, hand caringly slipping behind her head; bracketing her in. Shivering as her breath warms his neck and she cries out for him.

And considering her height… fuck, he can only imagine just how tight she’d be for him, chocking his cock as she squeezes him, milking him for all he’s worth until his teeth are stained red against her lovingly maimed neck. His hips snapping into hers with a guttural growl, panting sensual snarls of encouragement into her ear as he demands and begs in equal measure that she touch herself for him, dexterous fingers chasing her end as he chases his own until-- she’s coming around him with a high and shuddery keen. Her soft walls sucking him deeper into her, legs locking tighter around his waist and keeping him there as he spills himself into the back of her hot cunt with a strangled moan. Claiming her as his as he presses in closer, plugging her full with his cock and cum and praying that it’ll take--

…

……

… Huh.

He will definitely be exploring that at a later date…

Or perhaps she wouldn’t want it like that. Wouldn’t want him to be so rough and careless with her. Maybe she would want him to go slower, to be gentle-- to be good for her, to take his time and truly enjoy and appreciate every sweet beg and whimper that falls from her perfect lips. Perhaps she wouldn’t want to fuck him at the back of her shabby place of work, or even anywhere out in the open; maybe she would prefer privacy, for him to make love to her. Would want him to steal her away into his home, to carefully lay her out on his bed and unwrap her like a delicate gift, hands tracing teasing paths along her body before spreading her wide for his tasting pleasures. Taking his time to truly savour her unique flavour on his palette, wanton sounds pressed into sensitive flesh as he takes her throbbing clit into his mouth and sucks.

Broad strokes of his skilled tongue parting her lips and drinking her down, fingers firm as they hold onto the soft meat of her thighs and hips, thumbs rubbing soothing motions into her skin as he opens her up for him. Urges her with hot breathes, praising words, the flick of his tongue and the dip of his fingers into her wet heat, to cum for him; pleads with sound and touch and a greedy haze over his lust-darkened eyes. The gravel in his gluttonous voice vibrating into her, in love with how she reaches and cries out for him as he tells her how good she’s being for him, how badly he needs her to cum for him-- a debauched sound choking out of him as she does. Completely enraptured as she reaches the height of pleasure -- pleasure he brought her, that he will always strive to bring her --, bearing witness to his own personal God-given vision as he watches her writhe against his sheets and listens to her songs of praise, easing her down from that divine high and back into his devoted embrace.

Kissing a line up to her bitten lips, answering her mewls with soft coos and grounding touches, brushing over a nipple before taking the perky flesh into his mouth with a brief suck and fleeting skim of teeth, letting go with a lingering kiss before moving across and repeating the process to its twin. Reluctantly drawing away to playfully nip and press wet kisses into the column of her throat before letting her taste the tanginess of her juices on his tongue. Languidly kissing as he strokes her sides, writing indecipherable words of affection into her skin, content to let her enjoy the bliss of post-orgasm before he slowly pulls away, descending back down the line of her body with a husky, ‘one more, just one more for me, darling...’

John knows he wouldn’t stop at just ‘one more’ though. Hopefully she’d be generous enough to give him a few more before he finally slakes his need for her.

And hopefully she doesn't see the hard-on he’s now sporting after such vivid fantasies.

In a particularly bold move, temptation spurred into a fever from improper imaginings, John reaches for her; fixates on a strand of hair that has become untucked from behind her ear. She tenses, muscles coiling tight as she gives him the most suspicious look somebody has ever given him before. He’s actually rather offended. And very hurt.

But it’s sobering, in its own way. Because suddenly he can hear Joseph’s voice in his head from last Sunday (what a turn-off…), advising him that if he wanted to pursue a relationship with this Deputy that he was so smitten with then he needed to be gentle, considerate.

John may have done his ‘research’ on her, extensively so, but that did not mean that he was entitled or even deserving of her affections. He could not expect her to be on the same page as him, especially considering he had yet to even interact with her at that point. She may not have even heard of him yet, Joseph had speculated-- John and Jacob quietly sharing a disbelieving look. Everyone in the County knew their names, and with her being a Deputy there was no way she hadn’t heard of them.

Regardless, Joseph’s point still stood: if John wanted a genuine chance with her then he needed to soften himself, to be delicate, more tactful with her. Demonstrate that he can hear and see her for all that she is and can be, and that he accepts her without reservation.

Think of it like Atonement, Joseph had supplied sagely, fingers steepled, she needs to willingly give her confession over to you, John. Her affections. You can’t just take them.

And to Joseph’s credit, that actually made sense to John.

Atonement was all about accepting one’s sins, confessing them to another whom they trusted would never condemn nor judge them for their past actions or choices; unburdening themselves so they may be reborn pure and untainted for the hopeful future ahead of them. In that regard, his pursuit of his Deputy wasn’t too dissimilar.

So in that brief moment, in that flash of hurt as she steels herself against his considerate gesture and where John remembers Joseph’s words, he pauses. Convinces himself to go slower, to not try to grab at her like a spoiled brat reaching for things that weren't his-- yet. Reigns himself in enough so he doesn’t give her anymore of a reason to potentially be wary of him, to which he has very likely just given her quite a few. Trying in his own distinct way to smooth over her obvious distrust of him.

John knows he’s made mistakes throughout his life. Many would say he’s not a good man, and he wouldn’t necessarily disagree with them. But seeing and learning of her, of recalling his brother’s words and advice, of the many fantasies he’s had before and even during meeting her in this moment, he thinks he could change that. Knows that, if she would have him, if she gave him the chance, he’d be good. He’d be good for her.

Joseph always talks about love, about the power and control it wields over people and-- admittedly, John doesn’t completely get it.

But with her? For her? He thinks he just might.

…

He thinks he already does.

#can you tell i didn't know how to end this?#what a mess #plot is less than half baked #but hey i had fun with it so that's good #also #because i love ruining people's day #i can't help but read that first line in Jeremy Clarksons voice. makes this whole thing that bit funnier to me #oh and if anyone would like to draw a certain scene of John and a cork board that would be most appreciated #absolute pinnacle of me going silly with this fic #love it #also also #i was aiming to get this out for halloween because of how scary the writing is but i'm an hour late :(#very typical of me but i'm still disappointed #but it's okay i have my bed waiting for me so all is well lol #john seed x reader #john seed x deputy #john seed x female deputy #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #fc5 fanfic #far cry 5 fanfiction #far cry 5 fanfic #tw: obsessive behavior #tw: stalking #tw: possessive behavior #don't feel like he's that possessive in this but still tagging just in case

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thatmexisaurusrex · 8 months

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The Most Important Thing in Anyone's Life

This is a little fic for @sambuckyhalloweenbingo's prompt "Halloween Prep", but it is inspired by that wild crossover comic Marvel did with Louboutin that said Sam Wilson's most important thing in his life was Bucky Barnes. It is also slightly based on this episode of Tasting History and this information on old romantic Halloween traditions. Enjoy! 🥰

The Most Important Thing in Anyone's Life

| Pairing: SamBucky | Rated: T | WC: 3.3K |

Summary: Why did Marvel do this weird crossover with Louboutin? I don't know. But I wrote something based on Sam inviting Bucky and other friends to hang out after the events of it.

Excerpt:

This wasn’t friendly. Not the way Sam’s ankles idly tangled with Bucky’s. Not how Bucky asked every once and a while if Sam wanted popcorn and just fed Sam popcorn. Just. Bucky. Placing a piece of popcorn. In Sam’s mouth. Like that was normal. Like this was all buddy-buddy. Just dudes being bros. Cuddling on a giant bat-shaped beanbag chair together. In a couple’s costume. Watching OJ urging Emerald and Angel over to the Fry’s van like OJ was calling a horse over. This couldn’t possibly be how friends acted.

READ THE REST ON AO3!

#sbhalloweenbingo2023 #sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #sambucky fic #crack treated seriously #tooth rotting fluff #friends to lovers #dorks in love #movie marathon #halloween prep #my fic #The Most Important Thing in Anyone's Life

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gentrychild · 2 years

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Hello! It’s the Halloween Anon from a while back! Thought I’d share the final result! Happy Halloween! 🎃🎃🎃

Anon, you look so cool!!! Thank you so much for showing me this!!

#anyone fic #anyone art #halloween anyone

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interdisciplinary-disaster · 28 days

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Uuuh, I'm not going to ask about the rarepair one because I know it must be a secret, but are you willing to talk about any of the others? Only if you want to ❤️❤️

The rarepair is definitely not a secret in fact I already talked about it here!! Since you very kindly gave me free rein here I will use the excuse to ramble about the other, non-rarepair fic in the rarepair! doc (the "Mathieu is a witch" fic), because I kind of love it and wish more of it would be on paper instead of in my head. I started writing this for the weekly prompt "new" and then immediately realized it needed to be like 10x longer than what I had time for.

So imagine, if you will, an AU where 1. witchcraft exists, but 2. Wout does not. Mathieu grows up fully dominant in cyclocross and is sort of losing motivation to better himself so he comes up with this imaginary rival in his head. As the years go on, his daydreams get more and more elaborate--he gives his rival a name (Wout, meaning "ruler of the army", "ruler of the forest" according to his, and my, quick googling), what it would feel like to win and lose against him, and oops, what it would be like to kiss him, be held by him, etc.

The more obsessed he becomes with his imaginary rival, the more time he spends away from home, practicing witchcraft in the woods. He's always dabbled, because hanging out with the witches at the magic shop was a good way to avoid going home as a kid. But now, he has a plan. He knows it's theoretically possible to conjure new life, but that according to most people, it's one of the worst things you can do. Of course Mathieu's not going to bother to understand why--he's going to conjure Wout.

I imagine the conjuring/post conjuring scene are like super fucked up. Mathieu literally tore this man out of his brain and made him into flesh, and that's weird! Here's a snippet from the morning after...

And also like, he used to fantasize about Wout and nothing was stopping him from wanting to kiss him, touch him, fuck him, etc. But in the real world, there are boundaries, and Wout is a real person now with his own goals and desires etc. I definitely had a section on this specifically that I can't find now (it must be in another doc) where Wout is like "why do I want you? is it because you made me that way?" and Mathieu is like what have I done.

I was originally thinking about ending this fic immediately after the conjuring with a scene where the sinister consequences of his actions start to become clear, but I think the "what happens after" is too interesting to me. Like (1) how does Wout go from brand new sitting in the middle of a pentagram to actually being Mathieu's rival? (2) what happens when he does? This unfortunately requires more brain power than I have had lately so I have no concrete thoughts to share on it just that I think it's interesting!!

Anyway if you made it this far sorry and also thanks for reading my rambly thoughts! I would've loved to make this an actual thing (and I still want to) but unfortunately I don't really know entirely enough about witchcraft to make it happen, so it just lives in my mind and haunts me every day that I don't work on it!

#mathieu is a witch fic #maybe if i start again now i can finish it in time for halloween clown face emoji #also lol if anyone wants to help me out with the world building... i am listening #cycling rpf

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belindarimbi13 · 8 months

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I know I said I want to see Doramitsu playing sticks but this is not what I had in mind AT ALL 😂😂😂

#i have to put spaces between them #because it looks like draken is stabbing mitsuya if i put him way too close #sexy stabbing is always approved though #DORAMITSU HALLOWEEN FIC ANYONE????#who am i kidding i will probably the one who write it #tokyo revengers #mitsuya takashi #draken x mitsuya #doramitsu #draken #takashi mitsuya #ドラみつ #ken ryuguji #tokyo revengers game #pazuribe

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griddlebait · 2 months

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Is there anything you’d like to write in the future, after sckl?

oh definitely. i have a lot of ideas on the back burner that i’m excited to get to but don’t want to spoil. depending how busy i am over the summer/early fall i might have another, much shorter fic ready for halloween (ish) but i’m not making any promises

#asks #i had the idea for the halloween fic way before i had the idea for sckl but sckl won the attention battle #i already have the intro for that fic written though. it starts with silas of all characters #i was doing fun things with the writing style there heavily inspired by stephen graham jones’ “the last final girl”#which is a bit of a hint for anyone else whos familiar with that book #the whole fic wouldn’t be written that way though i’d lose my fucking mind

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downtherabbitholewithlucy · 7 months

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👻LIMP BIZKIT'S HOUSE OF HORRORS👻

(a terrible, poor excuse for a Halloween campy-"horror" fic that was never intended to be a fic... but yet here we are. Warning: Foul language, "jumpscares"... sure, if you wanna call it that.)

(no seriously, this is not good. turn back now and spare yourselves)

You'd heard the rumors for so long. An old house at the edge of town supposedly haunted by the trapped souls of a band where nu metal went to die. Why did nu metal die in this house? Well no one really knows. But you were here to find out.

You walked into the decrepit house. A chill traveled down your spine. You weren't sure if it is the rain in cool October night or something else.

The wind outside howled, causing the door you stepped through to slam shut.

You immediately turned around and tried to turn the doorknob with no luck.

You stood there as reality set in.

You were stuck here. You shook the flashlight in your hands and turned it on.

A voice stirred you from your thoughts.

"Welcome to my haunted crib punk."

Your eyebrows shot up at the sound. You turned around, trying to find the source of the voice, but there was no one there. "...umm, h- hello?"

"Didn't you read the fuckin' sign outside? What'd ya got a death wish?"

"Who's there?" You raised the flashlight and aimed the beam in front of you.

"WHOA! Easy with that thing. You're gonna blind somebody."

You raised the beam to your face. "I'm not gonna ask again. WHO'S THERE?"

"You do know I can see you right? Even without the flashlight. But since you can't see me, let me introduce myself. Name's Fred Durst. I'll be your host. You're ghost host."

"Isn't that from the Haunted Mans-"

"Do you ever stop talking?"

"Look, can you just help me find out what happened here so I can get out of here?"

"Bossy much. Okay, okay, look... all the answers you're looking for are right up those stairs."

You scoffed. "You've gotta be kidding?"

"Nope."

"Can't I just like, you know, ask you what I want to know?"

"Nuh uh. I don't do interviews. Media twists words for print."

"The media? You do know I'm not a journalist and that you're a ghost, right?"

"Up the stairs. That's how this works."

"Geez, now who's the bossy one." You rolled your eyes before making your way up the steps, each one creaked louder and louder.

When you made your way up you found a long hallway adorned with eerie portraits.

You looked at the inscription below each, 'Sir Wesley Louden Borland. Lead guitarist known for his eccentric looks'.

The hallway continued on forever. Strange artifacts lining the walls.

"Huh, that's an odd take of an armored knight."

You kept walking.

"Wait... did it just, move?" You took in a deep breath. "No you're just imagining things. Don't be silly."

"Yeah, it does that sometimes."

"WHA-?"

"Handsome, right?"

"Wait... FRED?"

"Don't look so shocked."

"I thought I couldn't see you since you're a ghost."

"Nah. I just like to fuck with people. I choose when I want people to see me."

The exasperated look on your face said it all. "What the hell man? Just help me get outta here."

"Sure thing. Just pick a door."

"Huh?" You turned and faced the direction phantom Fred was pointing in.

A short hallway with five doors.

You blinked.

"AHHH! SHIT. HOW did you get there? And why do you look different?"

"I'm a ghost. Remember? I'm everywhere. And I look how I wanna look. You don't like it, that's your problem."

"Look, whatever. How are those doors gonna help me?"

"One of them holds your exit. And who knows maybe you'll find the answers you're looking for.

"Fine. Let's just get this over with."

You marched to the first door on your left. Before you could open the door, you heard banging and clashing over and over again. It just got louder the more your hand reached out for the knob. With a twist and push, you opened the door and were hit with the sight of blinding lights, swinging chains from the ceiling and a figure seated at a drumkit. His back turned to you.

The figure banged on the drums like a madman with a chaotic beat. The lights flicked like a strobe flickering around his form. You got closer, hand reached out to tap his shoulder, but before you could even make contact, his head twisted all the way around to face you whilst his torso remained still.

"TAKE 'EM TO THE MATHEWS BRIDGE!"

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

You ran out the room and slammed the door shut.

Fred's mocking laugh echoed from the distance as you braced your hands against your knees and caught your breath.

"No luck with that door I guess?"

"WHAT'S THE DEAL WITH THIS FREAKING HOUSE FRED?"

"Check out the other rooms and you'll see."

You huffed under your breath and marched forward to the next room but not before muttering, "I'm so over this nu metal rendition of Five Nights at Freddy's".

"I heard that."

"Good." You pushed the next door open and stepped inside.

It was pitch black. Not even a window off in the distance to illuminate the floor. Your flashlight had stopped working and wouldn't turn back on. Great.

You heard a sound, grating, like nails on a chalkboard.

You stood there, frozen like a statue, but the sound kept becoming more piercing.

Suddenly the sound reversed backwards, then repeated back to it's original tone before reverting back again. It kept on going like that over and over until the scratching sound got repeatedly faster until the sound changed.

"Are those... horns?"

The sound switched to an upbeat hip hop tempo and a light shone in front of you... and it wasn't from your flashlight.

A pair of floating hands hovered over a turntable as the ghostly fingertips spined the records.

The light grew wider, illuminating a face with a black weed ball cap shielding his eyes.

"DJ LETHAL FROM HOUSE OF PAIN IN THE BUILDING!!!"

The DJ's hands lifted off from the records as the song continued to mysteriously play. The records started to levitate above the turntables. They rotated, thin side facing right at you before sharp knives protruded from the edges charging at you like Chinese stars.

"WHAT THE FU-"

You turned back around and bolted out the door, shutting it before you could finish your expletive statement as the razor sharp records pierced through the wood of the door on either side of your head.

"FRED I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DON'T GET ME OUT OF HERE IN THE NEXT-"

woof, woof.

"-huh?"

You looked down, only to be greeted with a wide set of jet black eyes attached to a yellow face. The figure crouched at your feet. It looked human, well not really, more like an alien... but it acted like a... puppy... maybe.

You bent down to get a closer look. "Hi little fella." You slowly reached out to pet it's head.

Fred's voice echoed along the halls, "I'd watch out for him. He-"

"OWWW."

"-bites."

You stood up to nurse your bitten hand. "You little fucker."

The creature growled and stood up on two feet, sharp canines ready to bite again.

"NOT THIS SHIT AGAIN!" You backed off and ran away, heading for the next door, entering it and slamming it shut.

The creature's growls died off in the distance.

A low, treble rumbled around your ears like surround sound.

In front of you, several feet away, a shadowy figure with red glowing eyes stood still. Suddenly, his glowing red eyes appeared to have multiplied down the length of his body.

The low sound seemed to be mirroring the rapid beating of your heart.

You gulped. Loud.

Spotlights illuminated from the ground and you were surrounded by mirrors.

Suddenly the shadowy figure was everywhere. His reflection beaming off every mirror as the spotlights on the floor casted enough light on his sinister face and the long bass guitar he was holding.

Before you knew it the strings detached from the bass' bridge and snapped out like wild whips ready to make contact with your flesh.

You cried out in horror not knowing which direction they were actually coming from and worse, not knowing where the door was through all the mirrors.

You swore the strings were coming right at you in dozens of different directions, but when you never felt anything after each whip, you grew more afraid.

This was psychological warfare.

Without a second thought, you chucked your flashlight out in front of you and the image of the bass wielding madman shattered to the ground revealing the door once again. You ran to it and exited the room as quickly as you possibly could.

When you made it out into the hallway again, you were met with "the alien puppy" once again waiting for you in front of the door across from you, only this time it had transformed into a demonic mutt.

"I take it that's his doghouse- er- um, room?"

The haunting voice of Fred chuckled. "Yeah, a little of both."

You looked back at the demon pup.

It barked at you before scurrying around and moving into the room that was already slightly opened, waiting for you to follow.

"Do I even wanna know what's waiting inside?"

"Don't think I could describe it to you even if I wanted to."

You sighed. "Jesus Christ."

When you made your way through the door you were stopped by a ghostly figure wielding a sharp sword.

"HALT!"

"Wha-"

"What brings you into my lair?"

"Your lair? What are you talking ab- Who are you?"

"The name is Sir Wesley Louden Borland." The phantom stated in a terrible British accent.

"Ohhh, like in those creepy photos in the hallway."

"Creepy pho-" The phantom's accent quickly faded into a nasally American accent that was clearly offended, before he cleared his throat and doubled down on the Brit tone. This time it echoed in a cheesy villainous way that vibrated past your ear drums. "You haven't answered my question. What brings you into my lair?"

You rolled your eyes. "I don't even know anymore. I was searching for some philosophical answer to nu metal, but honestly, now I just wanna go home man."

"Very well then. To escape my lair you must complete one task."

"What's that?"

"Figure out which Wes is real."

"Huh?"

Before you knew it the sword-holding-phantom had vanished and two figures had emerged on the other side of the room.

"REALLY?"

The two figures stood still.

The one, piercing through your soul with an eerie set of double eyes, none of them blinking.

The other, perched high up on a wicker chair, glaring down at you like a sleep paralysis demon haunting your slumber.

"What the hell am I supposed to do now?"

The phantom's voice echoed through the room again. "Figure out which Wes is real."

"Yeah, you said that already Mr. Ghost-Phantom-Man."

Silence.

You shook your head in annoyance and started to tip-toe your way further into the room, closely analyzing the two figures' features as you made your decision on which you were going to interact with first.

Yep, not the sleep paralysis demon.

"Okay mister four eyes, let's check if you're real."

You tickled his mustache.

Nothing.

Grabbed him by the suspenders and sent it snapping back.

Nothing. Didn't even move one bit.

"Guess this is just a really good statue. Alright then, Mr. Sleep-Paralysis-Demon it is."

You marched over to the tall figure and tugged at it's long silk robe it wore.

Nothing.

You reached up for it's hand and was surprised to be met with such hardness. Like stone.

"What the heck! Hey Mr. Ghost-Phantom-Man? I think you sent me some defective Wes dudes over h-"

And that's when you heard it.

The sound of two down tunned guitar riffs going off in the distance.

Your eyes widened.

The guitar went off again.

Suddenly the whispered voice of Sir Wesley Louden Borland was right there in your ear. "You seemed to have forgotten the one standing behind you..."

Your teeth chattered as your body involuntarily turned around, slowly. There was nothing but darkness there.

"...I present to you, Bloody Butcher Borland."

The guitar riff sounded off again and from the shadows emerged bold red figure with fresh blood smeared all over it's body.

He flashed a wicked grin before twisting the neck of the guitar off it's body and it transformed into a sword. He held it up to the light.

"...wait a minute... that's Sir Phantom-Dude's sword!"

Before you knew it the bloodied figure was chasing you, sharp weapon in hand.

"OHMYGOD!!!" You exclaimed as you ran for your life, trying your best to run around him and reach for the door again, but the room was somehow getting larger and larger. The distance between you and the door growing further apart.

You looked back and that's when you really felt like you were going to shit yourself.

You were being chased by Bloody Butcher Borland, as he was joined by every single form of Wes that you'd encountered. Sir Wesley Louden Borland, Four-Eyes, Sleep Paralysis Demon, Demon-Mutt, and Alien-Puppy.

"FRED I COULD REALLY USE YOUR HELP HERE! HOW DO I GET OUT OF THIS ROOM? IT JUST KEEPS ON STRETCHING!" You yelled out as your legs continued to bolt for the door with no luck.

The ghost voice of Fred grunted around you, "Ugh, do I have to do everything around here?"

"GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

"Fine. Here. Catch."

"WHA-"

You heard a whooshing sound above you as you saw brown object dropping in mid-air. You reached your hands out and caught the hard object.

A ceramic rabbit.

And that's when you heard it. The charging footsteps behind you went still and a choir of monotone voices erupted behind you.

"LUCY."

You looked down at the rabbit in your hands, then looked back up at the hoard of Wes figures standing still in front of you, in a trance.

"Is this what you want?" You shook the rabbit figurine out like a teddy bear in front of a baby.

The hoard shook their heads 'yes' in unison.

You gently placed the figurine on the hard floor beneath you and slowly walked backwards, watching as the room began to shrink back to regular size as the hoard of Wes' made their way to the rabbit like travelling zombies.

"MUST PROTECT LUCY. MUST PROTECT FRIEND."

You looked on at the odd ritual in front of you as you continued to make your way backwards until your back had hit the door.

With a sigh of relief you grabbed the doorknob, twisting it open, but you stopped, looking back at the figures in the middle of the room as they took turns clutching onto their ceramic friend like a bunch of Neanderthals'. You had to admit, it was a heartwarming sight, well if you set aside the near-death experience of it all.

You made your way out the door and closed it tight.

You looked ahead at the last door. That had it be it. The exit.

You walked over to the door but quickly stopped. Standing there in contemplative thought. You whispered to yourself in revelation, "Wes lost his friend, Lucy, so then he lost his spirit. When the band lost their friend, Wes, they lost their spirits. When nu metal lost the band, nu metal was no more..."

"So it looks like you did find what you were looking for after all, huh?" Fred's ghost appeared in front of you once more.

You looked up at his ghostly figure, "It all makes sense now."

"I guess you're finally ready to walk through that last door."

"Yeah... I guess so."

"Alright, partner. Keep on rollin', baby. You know what time it is." Fred said softly with a wink.

You shared a knowing smirk with his ghost and opened the door but stopped before going through it, turning back to look at Fred's ghost inquisitively.

"Wait, so why did y'all haunt this house specifically. Was this like where y'all held band practice when starting out?"

Fred rolled his eyes. "Did anyone ever tell you that you ask too many damn questions? Jesus. Yeah sure, that's the reason. Why not? Now get lost. The haunted house tour is over." He shoved you out. "Don't forget to pick-up your souvenir photo at the exit giftshop."

"Souvenir pho-?"

SNAP.

A bright light flashed from the porch awning... or maybe it was lightning. Either way you were too distracted by the blinding light and missed a step on your way out of the porch, tumbling down to the ground.

Thunk.

You were knocked out cold.

When you finally came back to your senses, a figure in white stood above you.

You blinked a couple of times to unblur the image.

"TRICK OR TREAT PUNK. TAKE SOME CANDY FOR THE ROAD."

HAPPY HALLOWEEN 👻🎃🦇💀🐈‍⬛

#if you made it this far waiting for me to explain to you what the hell you just experienced... well you're guess is as good as mine.#listen this started as a small photo post I had saved to my drafts months ago for spooky szn #but then it evolved into this psuedo-fever-dream-halloween-dumpster-fire-fic-with-photos #if you're curious there was going to be an alternate ending where you woke up & realized you had tripped major balls off Lee's kush stash #but I just got lazy and ended it where I did #somewhat of a sappy-halloween-themed hallmark tumblr post with a sprinkle of campy “horror”... if you can even call it that.#so there ya go I guess #If anyone unfollows me because of the sheer stupidity of this post... honestly I don't blame you.#Lucy's Bizkit Boo Bash: Countdown to Halloween #Limp Bizkit #nu metal #Fred Durst #Wes Borland #John Otto #DJ Lethal #Sam Rivers #down the rabbit hole #just give me something to queue

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