#Cult classic decor

[digitalartuadesign]

Welcome to Fight Club - digital poster print

You can buy digital bookmarks in my Etsy shop here:

Immerse yourself in the chaotic world of “Fight Club” with our tough digital poster. This poster embodies the rebellious spirit of the cult classic movie. The poster is perfect for Fight Club fans or anyone who appreciates edgy, thought-provoking artwork. Add a touch of rebellion to your space with this vibrant poster and let Tyler Durden's words echo in your mind: “Welcome to Fight Club. First rule of Fight Club: you don't talk about Fight Club.”

[coolancientstuff]

The Temple of Venus in Baalbek (Heliopolis), Lebanon was built in the 200s CE to honor the goddess of love, sex and fertility. Venus was derived by the Romans from the Greek goddess Aphrodite, who herself was inspired by the Near Eastern goddess Astarte. This temple's cult likely incorporated elements of both Roman Venus and the local Astarte.

The temple itself has many novel and unique features found nowhere else in Classical architecture. Five semicircular exedrae run along the outer wall, framing arched niches decorated with carved doves and seashells that probably contained statues in ancient times. Above each niche a festoon of leaves and fruit hangs, symbolizing fertility. The pentagonal column bases are without parallel in antiquity, and no other examples are known. The interior is less well preserved, but it can be safely assumed by the lavishness of the construction that it was once sumptuously decorated with paintings, statues, colored marbles and golden ornaments.

The temple has an eventful history, being also a site of persecutions of early Christians under Julian the Apostate, the last pagan emperor of Rome. Sozomen, a late antique historian, says in his Ecclesiatical Histories:

The inhabitants of Heliopolis, near Mount Libanus, and of Arethusa in Syria, seem to have surpassed them in excess of cruelty. The former were guilty of an act of barbarity which could scarcely be credited, had it not been corroborated by the testimony of those who witnessed it. They stripped the holy virgins, who had never been looked upon by the multitude, of their garments, and exposed them in a state of nudity as a public spectacle and objects of insult. After numerous other inflictions they at last shaved them, ripped them open, and concealed in their viscera the food usually given to pigs; and since the swine could not distinguish, but were impelled by the need of their customary food, they also tore in pieces the human flesh.

I am convinced that the citizens of Heliopolis perpetrated this barbarity against the holy virgins on account of the prohibition of the ancient custom of yielding up virgins to prostitution with any chance comer before being united in marriage to their betrothed. This custom was prohibited by a law enacted by Constantine, after he had destroyed the temple of Venus at Heliopolis, and erected a church upon its ruins."

Whether Sozomen's account is an exaggeration or not, there is archaeological evidence that the temple was indeed converted into a church, dedicated to Saint Barbara. According to the (comparatively late) Christian legend, Barbara was the daughter of a Heliopolitan dignitary, Dioscorus, who still worshipped the old gods. When he learned that she had been baptized, he killed Barbara and was immediately struck by lightning. Up til the present day, Saint Barbara is invoked if people want to be protected against lightning.

Because the monument continued to be in use, the temple of Venus is comparatively well-preserved. Unbroken religious activity has continued on almost the same site since antiquity, and there's still a small mosque next to the temple of Venus. The Greek-Orthodox church of Baalbek, which is close by, is still dedicated to Saint Barbara.

[taintandviolent]

feed my Frankenstein ; Frankenkyle x reader

summary: stripper!reader decides to dress up like a zombie for Halloween, and when the girls bring Kyle to the strip club…. He makes the decision for himself that he’s going to be with his kind. w a r n i n g s: 5k words! stripper!reader, female reader, cunnilingus, rough sex, violence, mentions of blood, biting, graphic descriptions. kyle being a big, horny zombie who doesn't understand his strength. a/n: [🎃 part of lizzie's halloween fics! 🎃] probably some errors, whoops. I didn't want to label this as dead dove don't eat, but Kyle literally tries to eat reader, so be warned, I guess??? also my ending is very... cliff-hangery. don't come for me, this fic took on a life of its own very quickly. thank you for reading if you did!!! full fic & taglist under cut!↓ / ao3 link here! / ♪ recommended playlist here! ♪

You dab a stippling sponge against your neck, hiding an edge with a speckle of grey makeup. You’d put a lot of effort into your silly little zombie look - but it was Halloween after all, and hardly any of the other girls had dressed up. Sure, they’d started out in low-effort costumes of Dorothy Gale and Snow White, but as soon as those came off, they were just their normal selves again. You… not so much. You went the extra mile. You’d spent hours applying prosthetics on your limbs, and painting your flesh to mimic the rotting corpses seen in cult classic horror films. Specks of blood around your perfectly lined lips, uneven skin, stitches from your neck down the front of your body.

It wouldn’t be everyone’s cup of tea, you knew. Some of them would lose their boners at the sight. It was time for your first shift. The club was rowdy, you heard it from behind the door. You lean against it, gulp down the last of your water, and fluff your hair before spinning on your red, patent leather heels and pulling open the door.

“I don’t know if this is such a good idea, Madison…” Zoe confesses, nervously. She holds onto Kyle’s arm tightly, guiding him around a booth like an elderly man. He was already entranced by the vibrant lights that swept back and forth in shades of orange and green. It reminded him of his show. Colours….

“Oh, please.” With a roll of her eyes, Madison flips her blonde hair over her shoulder. “This is the best place to put a braindead man… look, they’re everywhere.”

Men cluster around the stage, watching hungrily as women take their clothes off, gyrating their hips close enough to their faces that they could reach out and take bites  out of their full asses. The bouncer in the corner makes sure that doesn’t happen, though.

Over the PA, a loud voice says: “Alright! Put your hands together for our resident nerdy girl, our very own reanimated sexpot…”

As though it was on hinges, Kyle’s head swings heavily to face the stage. H

“Look, he’s already fitting in.” Madison nips.

You prance forward, reaching for the pole in the centre of the stage. Men holler your name, the few regulars that came every night you were working. You’d earned yourself a reputation as the nerdy girl because of your penchant for dressing up on the themed nights. Your hips roll to the beat of the song, coming daringly close to the hands that hold dollar bills. When they don’t get the chance to slip them into your outfit, they flutter at your feet, decorating the stage. You undo the tie of your shirt, revealing white bikini with gratuitous blood spatter. You’d done that yourself.

You wrap one leg around the pole, latching onto it. As it spins, you reach behind your back, undoing the tie of your top. Your breasts fall free, nipples hardening in the air conditioning. You hold the bra out proudly, smiling as the hoots and cheers fill the room.

“C’mon,” she starts, taking hold of Kyle’s thick wrist. His skin is always slightly cooler than everyone else’s. She remembers how cold the inside of his mouth was when they first — She blinks away the thoughts, actually disgusted by the idea. After all, she’d never really wanted to fuck a dead guy…

“Hey!” “Watch it, sweetheart!” “Get outta’ the way, you’re blockin’ the view, toots!”

Madison ignores the heckling, and continues to the front, pressing her bony hips against the lip of the stage.

“Hey! Dead bitch!”

Her voice is loud enough that it carries over the music, and you furrow your brow. She wasn’t wrong, but the bitch part seemed unnecessary. Still, you make your way over to the cluster of them, and bend at the waist to hear her.

“Yeah - what?” You ask, still swaying to the song.

“This is our little zombie — ”

“His name is Kyle,” The other girl interrupts pointedly. Madison throws a look towards the other girl, who nods with a fake smile. Truly, she didn’t care what you called him. As long as she didn't have to deal with him, she was happy.

“Kyle — and he needs a babysitter. He’s a little…” she makes a face, stretching her mouth out in a sneer. You knit your brows together again, unsure what that means.

Kyle, you think to yourself. What a frat boy name. In fact, he looks like a frat boy with really really good makeup. Full head of curly blonde hair, dark eyes, strong but soft features… looks like he can absolutely devour a keg.

He’s wearing an open black shirt and jeans, and beneath the black shirt, you can see raised flesh, scars like he was put back together. Funny that you’d chosen to do a dance number to Feed my Frankenstein.

“Do your job and keep him entertained, okay?” She pulls the peeking string of your thong far enough out to freely press a one hundred dollar bill against your hip and lets go. It snaps back against your skin, hard enough to sting. You wince.

Before you have time to protest, the girls are walking back towards the entrance without their little zombie in tow. One of them casts a woeful glance over her shoulder, and you’re left wondering why if she cares so much, why was she still walking away? You fill your lungs with air, exhale and lower yourself down onto your haunches.

“Hey baby,” you coo, wrapping a single blonde curl around your index finger. It’s angel-soft, and bounces back as you let go, straightening up. He seems to melt towards your touch, starved for it. “I like your costume.”

He watches as your ample cleavage sways with the gentle motion of your body. He repeats the word back to you, laboriously. “Cos…tume….”

“That’s right,” you say, running your hands over your thighs as you stand upright. The long heels of the shoes elongate your legs, making you tower over the club’s patrons. “I like it, it’s cute.”

Kyle watches wordlessly as your hands glide over your body, carefully skipping over the stitches at your knees, along your stomach, and finally up to the long stitch around your neck, which to him is holding your head on. Kyle’s eyes blink repeatedly with recognition.

You dip down, reaching for his hand. The crowd woooo’s as you hand him the string of your skirt. He grips it hard before looking at it deeply. You take one step back, flashing a coy expression to the men in the front row. Another step, and the tie begins to slip through the bow, unravelling. Another step and the skirt falls to your feet. A cacophony of approval fills your ears.

You’re in nothing but the blood-spattered bikini bottoms now, and you sink to your knees again, flashing Kyle a bright smile. He blinks, your skirt awkwardly hanging from his hand by the string.

On all fours, you crawl towards him, popping your ass to the beat of the song. Dollar bills shower the stage,  and when you slide your knees out to the sides, allowing men a delicious view of your backside, someone tucks another $100 in your bikini.

Kyle is watching you, but his hands drop to his groin where he makes a fist, and rubs it awkwardly over his now-throbbing erection. You immediately notice this, and your eyes widen. That’s a sure fire way to get kicked out, and for whatever reason, you’ve clocked him as too innocent to let that happen. There’s either a) something wrong with him, or b) he’s really committed to acting like a clueless, braindead boy. Both options require action.

“Okay, okay,” you murmur, guiding him to the side of the stage. There’s an empty chair, and with a heel, you push him back into it. Sit. Stay. He does. Good boy.

He never takes his eyes off you though, and every time you’re looking at him, his jaw hangs slack, staring at you with half-lidded eyes. He keeps trying to get up, and you have to slowly shake your head at him, teasingly. He seems to understand that gesture, and stays put.   

As you dance, you find yourself watching him, too. Inexplicably drawn to him, for whatever reason. You don’t usually take guys to the back, but $100 is a pretty good tip. Besides, you didn’t want to run into that girl again, and especially not angry.

As your routine comes to an end, Kyle gets up out of his chair, knocking into the edge of the stage. A few guys turn their heads, trying to figure out what this guy’s deal is. You’re too busy picking up your tips, and gathering your clothes to notice. With arms full, you race to the back, throw on a t-shirt and bolt back to the front, praying that Kyle is still where you left him.

He is. He may be trying to climb up on the stage, head craning in the direction of where you exited, but he's still there. You heave a relieved sigh, and saunter up to him, softening your expression.

“Hi, Kyle…” you murmur sweetly. You slip your arm underneath his, linking it with yours and softly pulling him down into a normal standing position again. There’s a small moment of processing and trust before he looks at you and smiles very weakly.

Destinee is next, and while she’s a nice girl, you absolutely loathe her taste in lighting. You enjoy a good rave, sure, but this is like the Electric Daisy Carnival in a much, much smaller space.

You learn very quickly that Kyle doesn’t like it either. At all. In fact, he might dislike it more than you. As soon as the beat is thumping and the bright red and orange lights are washing over the establishment, Kyle wrenches away from you, covering his ears. A low groan starts in his throat, bubbling up through his lips until he’s practically screaming.

“Shhh, shh it’s okay!” You try desperately to console him, but he can’t seem to hear you. Glancing nervously at the guests around you who are starting to take notice of him now, you smile apologetically. “Kyle, it’s okay!”

There’s only one solution - the private dance rooms. They’re quiet, secluded and a perfect spot to store a stressed out zombie boy for a few hours. You looked towards the spiral staircase that led upstairs, and hesitated. You were a dancer who rarely used the private rooms. You had been hard pressed to avoid being alone with any man, especially one that had paid you and felt entitled to whatever he wanted to take. Kyle, however, didn’t seem like the type to… well, do that. Or even articulate that he wanted to do that — did he even understand that you’d been paid to babysit him? Likely not.

You force his hand down as gently as possible, interlacing your fingers with his. “Kyle,” you say. “Kyle, look at me.”

His head moves sluggishly, and his eyes gradually follow. He looks at you with big, black eyes, the surrounding skin darkened and mottled. In the changing lights, he looks so lost, and your heart throbs desperately. Shucking the worries of whispers aside, you lead him through the club towards the wrought iron staircase.

“Hey Lance,” you say. “Private room open?”

“They sure are…” he replies with a large grin, his heavy accent coming through. Lance was one of the bouncers and rotated positions, so you had gotten semi-close with him. He enjoyed your presence and penchant for the strange. “Last door on da’ left.”  

With Kyle in tow, you head down the long, red hallway. Each of the doors were painted black, with gold trim. Kyle’s gaze travels from each door, picking up on the various sounds that seeped from behind them.

“Okay…” You say, your voice a touch softer than before as you push open the last door, praying that it’s been cleaned adequately. You cock your head to the side, urging him inside. His concerned eyes swept from you to the door and back to you before he finally decided that it was safe enough for him to enter. “Look, no strobe lights. No loud music. Just you and me.”

“You… and me….” He grumbles. The door clicks shut behind you. His words are painfully slow and slurred, but you can’t help be charmed by the innocence of them. “You…. You’re…. l-like me.”

“That’s right, baby… I’m like you.” In a quiet, joking whisper, you say: “Raaaaauuuuggghhhhhh…. Brains.���

Kyle seems to like this. The tiniest of smiles forms on his mouth. His chest heaves, and without warning, he lunges for you. His strong arms wrap around you in a steely grip that at first terrifies you; your arms are pinned at your sides, locked into place. His tongue slips over your collarbone, wet and cool like he’s just finished eating ice cream. It slips over your neck, along your jawline, and up behind your ear. He’s licking you, devouring you with such pressure that he has to have eaten some of the makeup by this point. You wince as he nips at your ear lobe, his teeth grinding down on the flesh. With some inhuman gurgle, he descends, covering your chest in his saliva.

You were used to men being hungry for you, acting like rabid dogs the second that they caught a glimpse of your plump tits or your juicy ass. It was part of the gig, came with the territory. But not this. This guy was on something. Had to be. Without warning, he yanks your cropped shirt up, and his jaws clamp down on the meat of your exposed breast. You yelp, pushing him off. He looks hurt or confused, or maybe both. Immediately, you scramble, feeling like you’ve just taken candy from a child.

“Hey no.. it’s okay. You can bite me… I like being bit. But not too hard, honey… that hurt.”

He doesn’t understand. Or he doesn’t look like he understands. His brows knit together sadly, while the dark, ink pools he has for eyes glaze over.

“….biiiiiiiiiiiiiite….” He says.

“Softly,” you finished, with your cutest zombie voice. “Biiiiite soft…ly….”

He cranes forward, mouth finding your flesh again. His teeth continue to graze your skin, slightly softer than before though, so maybe he does understand. His tongue lolls out sloppily to taste every inch. He nears the jumbled up mess of liquid latex on your elbow, and you expect him to stop, or skip over it — but he doesn’t. He feels uneven, soft flesh and his front teeth clamp down on it with a guttural sound. He rears his head back far enough for the liquid latex to streeeetch, and snap.

This gorgeous, blonde boy has a chunk of faux flesh hanging from between his teeth. Fake blood dots his pale lips, and he’s looking at you with the most confused expression you’ve ever seen on a man. It’s a grisly sight, really, but it fits the theme of the night. He’s committed to the zombie act, you’ll give him that.

“Hey, hey, take it easy, spit that out…” You reach up, rubbing the fake blood off his bottom lip. flatten your slender fingers on his broad chest, skin smooth like stone except for the deep scars. These are really good prosthetics. You can’t even see the seam. Because there aren’t any…

Like a dog, he drops the wrinkly skin-toned mass from his mouth and frowns. He looks genuinely disappointed, like he expected blood and guts. “B-bad… th-that… didn’t taste….. gooood…” he stammers. "Hun..gry…..”

For a moment, you’re frozen. Your realization clicks into place painfully slowly, slower than his brain seems to move. He’s really too good at the whole zombie act, and a panicked thought writhes its way into your mind, penetrating it the way that a tissue absorbs blood. Just sucks it in, becomes a part of it. No, no way.

Heavily masking the nerves in your voice, you clear your throat and reach for his shoulder. You stroke the smooth roundness of it, raking your nails against his skin.  “You want something that tastes good, baby?”

That ‘something good' is your cunt. You’ll let him eat you out so you can think. You assume he’ll eat you out like most men do — boringly — and you can process the realisation that this poor creature in front of you is actually really badly scarred, and possibly, a victim of head trauma, or something. Because there’s no way you’re meeting an actual zombie. Even on Halloween in New Orleans. That’s insane. So, you’re going to let him eat you out while you sort this out in your mind.

That was the plan, anyway.

Except the second you sink into the vinyl chair, he’s on his knees, looking at your pretty cunt with hungry eyes and the visual wipes your brain clean. It was like you put a plate of food in front of a starving man. His mouth opens. You untie both sides of your underwear, letting them fall to the floor. His eyes drop heavily, watching every move.

At first, his tongue juts out, curiously tasting what you’ve put in front of him. It presses between your folds, pauses, before wiggling around. Your eyelids flutter; you were ready to zone out, but Kyle’s inexperience, his curiosity feels so good.

“Good,” he growls, the word vibrating your cunt. His cool breath washes over your core, sending a chill up your spine. He delves deeper, tasting more of you.

His tongue flicks at your clit, flipping the swollen bundle of nerves mercilessly. Your whole body is trembling, and you feel the first of your orgasms rushing towards your centre. Carefully, not wanting to scare him, you grip his angel curls and ride his mouth slightly. Shit. Almost instantly, the throbbing starts and you make a mess of his poor boy’s face, squirting over his lips and chin.

“You like that?” You ask, through uneven pants. The first of the night always feels sooo good.

He nods heavily on your cunt, still lapping up the juices that leak from your slick hole. Your legs start to quiver and a fire burns deep within your cunt. You try to pat his shoulders, wordlessly telling him to stop. His tongue delves in, and he freezes.

“Kyle?” You ask nervously. Unconsciously, you clench around his tongue. He snaps to life, like someone flipped a switch in his brain. His strong arms wrap around the front of your thighs, tightly. Very tightly. He starts to pull you off the chair, lifting you up into his arms. Your ass cheeks are pressed against his chest and the back of your head is on the chair’s cushion now. He’s holding you tightly, upside down, still swallowing mouthfuls of your sopping wet cunt. He can’t seem to hear your desperate, pleading cries to stop.

You blink back tears, your vision throbs. You don’t know if it’s because the blood is very obviously rushing to your head, or because you’re coming again so quickly, but he’s drilling his tongue into your cunt like there’s a cream centre. If there is, he’s found it.

A scream fills your lungs and your body lunges upwards, trying to find leverage — something, anything to hold onto. She clenches again, pulsating around his cold, slippery tongue. Kyle’s practically drinking you with each clench. The overstimulation is crippling, and you can’t help but scream out.

“KYLE! STOP!”

At the shrill sound, he immediately drops you and your body hits the ground with a heavy thud. Your ass aches a little from the fall, but it’s nothing that’s going to ruin the night.

He’s frowning at you, his lips and chin glazed with your cum.

“S-sorry…” he grumbles. “Sorry. Bad.”

“No, no… not bad. Accident. Accident. Kyle?”

You call his name and he’s looking at you with those big, hopeful, dark eyes of his. You can tell — he isn’t sure if you’re going to scold him, or praise him and the uncertainty terrifies him. You get to your knees, crawling towards the sofa. Once you’re up on it, you pat the spot next to you three times.

“Can I see?” You gesture to your own body, tracing the remaining prosthetics with a single finger before pointing to him. He looks down, his bottom lip jutting out. He nods after a few seconds and lumbers over to you, sitting down heavily.  

Your fingers dance over his skin. He was literally pieced back together. His head, his arms, his legs, the lower half of his torso… he was sewn back together like Frankenstein. Different parts connected as one. You’re sitting next to an actual zombie.

And then it dawns on you. Those girls. You’d seen them before. You knew their faces. They lived in the massive mansion on Jackson Avenue. They were witches. Witches were a dime a dozen in New Orleans — in fact, it was weirder if you didn’t practice some kind of craft. But zombies… you’d only ever heard stories. You’d never seen one, let alone be eaten out by one.

You stroke Kyle’s broad chest. For being a zombie, he’s surprisingly soft. You’d always imagined them as dried out, crusty creatures, but he only had a few patches of dry skin. In fact, he had more patches where you could see dark blue pooling underneath his skin, where blood had settled after death. He is cold however, and that’s the most jarring part.

You ease him back on the leather sofa, making sure his head goes down softly onto the arm rest.  

“It’s okay, Kyle…. I like your body.”

“Costume….” He says. You shake your head.

“Body. Body.”

His hips give the tiniest little buck, and it slips between your ass cheeks. He whimpers, trying to get a visual of what he’s feeling. Gradually, his thrusts increase in pressure, and you adjust for your own pleasure.

When you adjust, forcing his cock to slide in between your cunt instead, he feels the slick warmth, and his feral nature returns, stronger than before. His thrusts pick up, and he seems to realise that you are a living thing, with pulsing blood and a throbbing heartbeat. Something else is throbbing again, too.

You whine and match his thrusts, letting your head loll back.

Kyle has a different idea, and before you can stop him, he has your forearm in his mouth, teeth clamped down on the soft, warm flesh. It only takes a few seconds for you to feel the stinging ache consuming your arm. It hurts… bad. The muscles in your fingers contract, twitching limply. He aggressively shakes his head, and your heart drops. The terror sets in, and you’re suddenly running cold.

“Kyle, no- OW! KYLE!”

He shakes his head again, biting down harder and digging his the ridges of his teeth deeper into your skin. You don’t necessarily feel the flesh tear, somewhere near the top, but you certainly feel the warm flow of blood that drips down your arm, dribbling onto his chest. Your pupils dilate. The blood keeps flowing, and you feel him start to rear his head back. Something pulls back with him. The ache is replaced by a searing burn, and you realise that if he pulls back any further, he’s going to pull off skin. You’re panicking now, and don’t know what else to do but try again. This time though, you roar at him, bringing back your zombie voice. It’s not so cute this time. “Raaaaaaaaauhhhhhh, KYLE. KYLE STOP. STOP!”

You try to rip your arm away from his mouth, while pushing his head. Thankfully, his powerful jaw goes slack and your arm slides out, strings of spit stretching from his lips. Your blood is smeared across his chin and bottom lip, and collects in the corners of his mouth.

With your vision bouncing thanks to Kyle’s furious thrusting, you look at your arm, watching the bright crimson well up in the indentations of the bite mark. Amidst the rest of your makeup, the bite doesn’t look out of place. You hold your arm out further, trying to come up with a story for this one. Maybe the makeup had stained in an absolutely mind-blowing way. And you had a reaction to it, hence the bizarre swelling and scabbing. That sounds good, sounds believable.

“Want… more…”  He says, and your stomach drops, praying that he doesn’t mean more flesh. You’re not sure you can handle another one. Mid-thrust, Kyle’s thick, veiny cock angles just right and slips into your cunt. She swallows him easily, still wet from being eaten — a mixture of cum and Kyle’s viscid, slimy saliva. You plant both hands on his chest, letting out a breathy, melodic moan. He feels good enough to make you forget about the bite, and as you begin to ride him, it seems that he forgets too.

You’re taking control, grinding on top of him, using his cock like your own personal toy. It’s hitting every spot you want it to, pressing into your walls with its girth, and you can’t help but whine about it. Pausing to smear your blood across Kyle’s chest with your middle finger, you leave deep, red streaks across pale skin. You shouldn't find that hot, but you do.

Kyle wraps both hands around your waist, pulling you down onto his cock relentlessly, each thrust feeling harder than the last. You lean forward, pressing your tits against his almost bare chest, and allowing him to take control, thrusting his cock up into you. The slightly bent positioning of his cock, head grinding against your spongy insides is enough to make you cum right then. You don’t though, holding back, clenching your pussy as tight as you can.

“You like it, Kyle?” You ask, through shaky pants. “You like that?”

Kyle nods, heavily, his darkened eyes watching the way that your body quivers on top of him, wordlessly marvelling at the way your thigh muscles contract and shake on top of him every time he slips out, and buries himself inside your dripping pussy again. He loves how it feels, even if he can’t articulate it the way he wants to, the sensations are everything he wants. Everything.

He grips you harder, lifting you off his cock and slamming you back down, repeating this violent display of strength over and over again. Your cunt shudders, unable to hold back your orgasm any longer. Kyle feels it first, and the sudden tightness has him growling, snarling and pushing his length into you as deep as he can. Kyle digs his heels into the sofa, lifting his legs. You feel the pressure against your cervix as he bottoms out, and press against his cock, forcing his cock deeper into you, until you feel the ache. You ride out the waves of your own orgasm, feeling his as it comes in thick, sticky ropes.

There’s a gentle knock at the door, and you quickly get to your feet, pulling your shirt over your head. You scramble, trying to find the bikini bottoms and once they’re tied, you throw open the door. It’s Lance, who is looking very concerned. Your legs are pressed tightly together, in fear that Kyle’s load is going to start dripping down your thighs and onto the floor.

“Miss Y/N. The club is closing… are you alright in there?”

Closing? What? It was bareley eleven when you brought him into the room. The seedy, slick realisation that you’d been fucking this zombie for almost four hours made your cheeks blossom with heat. You immediately tuck your bitten arm behind the door, flashing Lance a charming smile.

“Yes! Fine! Just uh, finishing up a dance. Hey - Lance… did two girls ever come back, asking for this blonde guy in here?”

He pauses, thinking. After a few moments, he shakes his head and apologises.

Okay, guess he’s coming home with me, then. “Thank you, Lance. I’ll be down in just a second.”

You shut the door and lean against it, looking at the zombie on the sofa. He’s staring up at the ceiling, a small smile on his face. “Kyle, do you live on Jackson Street? Where do you live?”

He sits up abruptly, turning his head to face you. “Uhm…” He murmurs. “Big…… white.”

“Big white house?” You repeat, making a house shape with your hands. He nods.

“You wanna’ go home?”

~

After throwing on a pair of dolphin shorts, collecting your duffel bag and giving Lance a generous tip, you have Kyle in tow, fingers laced tightly with his. Jackson Street was maybe a twenty minute walk, something you both could handle.

Despite it going on 3 AM, the streets were still filled with partiers, people in masks, and drinks in their hands. You and Kyle blend in as you walk, heading down the busy roads. Once you arrived at the Mansion, the gates were open, a fine mist spilling into the sprawling yard.

The woman who answers the door is beautiful, graceful and composed. She wears all black, her honey blonde hair cascading graceful over her shoulders.

“Good Evening,” she says.

“Good Evening. Um.. this is going to sound strange, even for Halloween, but, um…”  You want to continue. Desperately, but for some reason, you already know the answer. He does belong here. As though she’d said it to you, plain as day, he belonged here, this is where he stayed.

Zoe and Madison must’ve forgotten him.

Your brows furrow, indignantly. How could they?

Cordelia’s plump lips flatten into a knowing smile. You swallow, suddenly feeling uneasy. You scratch at the liquid latex on your neck, fiddling uncomfortably with one of the edges of the prosthetic.

“Well, Kyle… here you go. Go with…?”

“Cordelia.”

“Cordelia. Go with Cordelia, you’re home now.”

Kyle seems somewhat hesitant, but when Cordelia holds out a hand, he obeys and lumbers inside, looking over his shoulder at you one last time.

“Thank you for bringing him home,” she says, softly. “Would you like to come inside?”  

You consider that for a second. Deep within the wetness of your bones, and the warmth of your blood, you feel like you should. There’s something extremely comforting about this place, but… “No, no thank you. I should be getting home. It’s Halloween. Weird things happen on Halloween.”

She smiles again. “That’s quite a bite you have on your arm… did Kyle do that?”

“Oh, uh… yeah. He got a little excited earlier, I’m a dancer, and uh, y’know. Men.”

“I have something for that.”

You look down at your bite again, it looks nastier than before. You clear your throat, ready to reject and explain that your older sister is a nurse and she’ll help, but instead, and you’re not quite sure how that happened, you’re walking through the doors. Kyle is delighted to see you again, pausing on the grand staircase to look at you.

Cordelia’s hands end up being very, very soft.

t a g l i s t : @kaismanwich / @redwoodghost / @elsamars / @silverzoomies / @kaissweetlamb / @thewolveswithin / @80strashbag / @twinkiemaximoff / @spill-the-t / @stucktothetwo / @evansb1tch / @enchanting-evan / @petersevans / @yesdevineruler / @enchanting-evan / @anonymous0316 / @eventually27 / @violetharmonscupcake/ @my-own-walker / @kai-slut / @evanpetersfansblog / @fuckedbykai / @iluwmycats / @nova-kayne67 / @dewberryobssesed / @the-goblin1 / @dirtyfairy97 / @jellyluvr / @strangerthings420 / @kai-anderson-whore / @piecesofcain / @lilthbunny / @quickandsilvers / @tatelangdonsweater / @ifeeltoofuckingmuch / @howtobesasha / @randodummy / @throwinginmythai / @hyperharlz

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[shiftythrifting]

was trying to find party decor merchandise themed for the 2011 cult classic "beastly" (starring vanessa hudgens) on eBay when this popped into my feed and i screamed so loud that my girlfriend almost crashed the car

Admin McNerd here: this one is so cursed that even Tumblr didn't want us to see it, so it sat invisibly, forgotten at the bottom of the inbox - until today, that is. Happy 10 year anniversary, everybody!

[pmamtraveller]

CULT AND FESTIVALS OF DIONYSUS

Dionysus (Bacchus in Roman mythology) is the Greek god of wine, fertility, festivity, and ecstasy. He is a representation of two opposites, which is: joy and chaos. His cult consisted of ecstatic rituals known for music, dances, and wine consumption, which allowed one to be freed from the burdening societal norms.

1 City Dionysia

The City Dionysia (Great Dionysia) was the most prominent festival, held in Athens, usually during March or April. Celebrating the coming of spring and the grape harvest. It often presented dramatic contests, where tragedies and comedies would be featured, and marked the beginning of classical Greek theatre with works by playwrights Aeschylus and Euripides. The festival was a prestigious competition, usually judged by prominent citizens.

2 Rural Dionysia

The Rural Dionysia was a winter festival, largely observed in December. It was more of a local festival, connecting agricultural communities to the worship of Dionysus. The procession had a decorated phallos carried in it, which centred on fertility rites. Villagers would celebrate with wine and dances, praying to Dionysus for fertility and prosperity, emphasizing on the agricultural origins of the Dionysian cult.

3 Lenaia

The Lenaia was a winter festival in honor of Dionysus, held in January. It was an important festival for theatrical performances and took place within the city of Athens. This festival conducted dramatic contests, but it had greater emphasis on comedies through offering a platform for comic playwrights like Aristophanes showcasing the lighter side of the worship of Dionysus

4 Anthesteria

Anthesteria was a three-day feast (late February). It celebrated the new wine and appealed to the spirits of the dead. A great variety of rituals was performed: from opening casks of new wine to going out in procession to the tombs of the ancestors. On the second day, called Choes, people had drinking competitions, and there was playful revelry. The last day (Chytroi) was dedicated to the offerings and libation to the dead.

5 Thargelia

Thargelia was a May ceremony in honor of Apollo and Dionysus, marking the beginning of the harvest season. It had an element of purification rituals associated with it. The festival included sacrifices, offerings of first fruits, and the "scapegoat" ritual whereby two human figures, known as "pharmakoi," were sacrificed to purify the community.

The festivals of Dionysus, though very ancient, mark the multivalence of Greek religion, society, and culture. They were not simple religious rites but communal gatherings that fostered artistic expression, social cohesion, and an active celebration of life and nature.

[quinnyundertow]

The Cult Leader’s Quarry

TW: NSFW 18+ , canon typical violence, murder, stalking, self-harm

CHAPTER 3 NOOSE DRAWS TIGHTER

Your home is embarrassingly sparse. The furniture is clearly secondhand from some local goodwill or flea market. The items are all mismatched and of varying levels of quality but it’s obvious the current owner cares for everything. This is what they call house poor. You spend so much on rent that the rest of your aspects of life suffer. He expected nothing more from a pathetic monkey.

The late afternoon sun paints the room in this orange glow as Suguru Geto crosses your living area. He walks in an oddly ethereal style, his robes moving almost imperceptibly. He pauses to pick up some gaudy decorative items off your side tables. He peers at them briefly before moving to the small bookcase you own. It’s mainly filled with manga trash and fantasy drivel. Though a few authors catch his eye towards the bottom, Murasaki Shikoku, Sei Shonagon, Leo Tolstoy, Fukumi Shimura, Sun Tzu, Osamu Dazai. So you’re not as stupid as he thought. For a monkey that is. He plucks out the book Colors of a Mother by Fukumi Shimura. It's an unpretentious book with nothing on the blue cover but the title and author. Turning it over in his hands he studies it for a moment. He hadn’t seen any sign you had a child. What a strange reading choice. Without another thought he pockets the book in his robes.

He’s wasting time, who cares that the monkey can read the classics. Refocusing, he takes a small black device no bigger than a pencil’s eraser. Due to his naturally tall form he doesn’t need a step stool to simply apply the tiny camera to the kitchen’s smoke detector in a way that looks inconspicuous. If Satoru wanted to destroy his curses, Suguru would just have to utilize technology rather than sorcery. There’s this voice screaming in the back of his head that he’s wasting time away from his true objective of eradicating all non-sorcerers. Nothing that voice says now matters. He has isolated himself so completely from other adults these last two years. That something about you has him coming back for more. He will devour and disassemble you; but tonight just doesn’t feel right. Not now, he can’t wait for that moment really. But he needs something more from you first. He’s not sure yet what that thing is.

Continuing his tour of your home, he notes your bedroom is surprisingly childish. You have stuffed animals strewn around the room, a thick fluffy comforter and hanging string lights. He can’t help the tiny smile that creeps on his face at the idea of the corporate woman he’s seen sleeping here at night. Speaking of corporate women, you should be home any minute now. He quickly places a camera in your bedroom before entering the messiest room in the house so far, the bathroom. You had been in a rush this morning. A makeup bag lay on your sink. Taking up your perfume he sprays a little in the air just to get a whiff. A shiver runs through him as he takes the scent in. He decides he wants to play a game with you. He picks up your toothbrush and sets it down in the opposite way you had it before. Would you notice? There’s a wall vent in the bathroom the perfect height for a voyeur's camera. He easily pops off the cover to set his camera inside when he can’t help but freeze. There’s already a camera inside the vent. It’s an older clunkier model that can’t stream but it can certainly be programmed to run at certain hours and record during them.

He feels his blood thrumming loud in his ears. Who has been spying on you? You’re his quarry, his target, his prey. Who was infringing on his territory? He barely hears your key in the front door lock before he applies his camera into a different area and leaves the older model for now. He slats the vent home and flicks off the bathroom light as you enter the main room. You’re all sighs as you shuffle around the kitchen and dining room. He’s sure you’ll have to pee soon and slips into your tub shower and stands behind the curtain.

The fact that you could find him here. Or that he could jump out and be on top of you at any second has him feeling a new type of elation he never had before. All his nerve endings are on fire as the bathroom light flicks on. The navy shower curtains is dark enough to obscure his figure. You give another long sigh and the intimate noises that follow give him an instant boner. You’re peeing while thinking you're alone. He isn’t even able to enjoy the full experience as he’s instantly is reminded of the other camera in the vent. He needs to take care of that. The idea that someone else is taking advantage of your private moments, the ones meant only for him, is going to drive him mad.

There’s the sound of your clothes hitting the floor and Suguru has an anticipatory knot his throat. One of your dainty hands reaches blindly into the shower and turns the water on. The cold water blasts his clothes but he barely feels it beneath his racing pulse. If you see him here it’s game over for you. He will either have to kill you or force you into a state where you are unable to tell anyone.

His breathing is picking up but the sound of the shower is masking it. When you step past the shower’s billowing curtain he’s going to grab you by the shoulders and slam you into the shower wall. He’ll let the freezing water spray you down. Your skin will erupt into goosebumps while your nipples harden painfully. You’ll be so terrified-

There’s a noise as you leave the bathroom. You must have forgotten something in your bedroom. Despite the fantasy's allure he exits the bath quickly. He isn’t ready for this new game to end yet.

He’s creeping to the bathroom exit when he sees a pair of your used panties at the top of your dirty clothes pile. He doesn’t even hesitate a moment before he swiftly pockets them. Geto is out of your apartment and riding the elevator to the first floor before you even return to the bathroom.

The longer he walks down the streets the more his mind works itself up into a frenzy. His consciousness is in turmoil. Why hasn’t he killed you yet? Is he getting weak? Is his resolve really that shaky? He pauses at a crosswalk on his journey to the train station. A monkey approaches him from the sidewalk. Her hips are swaying and hair is meticulously styled, “Hey handsome, looking-“ her spiel is interrupted by screams as the curse he let loose melts away her features until she’s no more than a mummified husk. He continues walking when the crosswalk indicates he’s safe to and ignores all the hysterical bystanders who just saw that monkey spontaneously combust.

So he isn’t weak, he didn’t feel anything when he murdered that woman. If anything he feels relief that one more monkey will no longer be on this planet. So you are his problem. Oddly enough that irritates him more. He pulls out the soft pink panties he had stolen off your floor. He holds them tightly in his fist as his jaw works in annoyance. He’s going to throw them into the next trash bin he passes. The entire walk home, bin after bin goes by and his grip on your cloth only tightens.

He’s doing mental gymnastics in order to justify not throwing them away. They were his reward; his trophy for his troubles. No one needed to know where it was from. He was the master of his own universe; he could do what he wished.

When he finally arrives home and locks the office door behind him his grip loosens. His fingers are slightly cramped from the extended vice grip they were held in. Little crescent moons dot the palm of his hand from his nails pressure. In a way he felt like a giddy teen once again doing something forbidden. He and Satoru had stolen panties before as a dare. This somehow felt far more satisfying.

Opening his hands he spread the cloth to view the whole article. It was cute, soft, and slightly stained at the crotch. Did someone turn you on today or were you naturally this wet? He couldn’t help but shiver as he lifted the garment to his face. He presses the softness to his cheek and inhales deeply the musky scent of you. His eyes roll back in his head as he continues to breathe you into him. He can’t wait to spread your thighs and get it from the source. Looking at the slightly damp crotch he tentatively licks, and then sucks at the fabric. There’s not enough there to taste your essence but the fact that your pussy dripped on this spot for hours today is enough to drive him wild.

He’s slipping open his robes. He doesn’t need to totally remove them to pull out his rock hard member. His tip is a furious scarlet with pearls of precum drooling from it. He’s rougher with himself than he normally would be. Your panties are pressed to his face so he can smell you all around him. He milks himself harshly and unforgivingly. He’s jerking himself to a fucking monkey. Ensuring he doesn’t enjoy the process as much as he could, he squeezes himself in a way that he will likely show bruises tomorrow. At the moment of his climax he releases his twitching cock. Slumping against the door he whimpers as he ruins his own orgasm. His hips are bucking in want, wishing for that gentle attention found in the afterglow. As long as he’s lusting over this damn monkey he doesn't intend to allow himself any real relief.

~~

It’s Thursday evening and you have been absolutely swamped at work this week. Your boss is genuinely a nice guy but when he’s getting reamed out by the higher powers, you and Zoe end up having to help with whatever unreasonable request is handed down. Instead of leaving around six both of you had pulled a late one tonight only leaving after ten PM.

The two of you sat in a smaller mom and pop restaurant, the tables on the floor are surrounded by cushions for seating. A half eaten massive bowl of ramen sits in front of you, along with an almost complete third beer. You are somewhat decent at holding your alcohol but tonight it’s hitting a little harder than normal and you are basking in that feeling.

Your attention is jerked up when Zoe slams her second beer down looking satisfied. Unlike you, Zoe cannot hold her alcohol at all and is generally reduced to a good natured giggly drunk by the evening’s end.

You're pushing around some noodles before putting them in your mouth with a lament, “What’s the buddhist version of hell.”

Zoe cackles, “We’re probably already in it. Look around you, ain’t it swell.” Suddenly a pair of chopsticks are pointing directly at your face just an inch away from your nose. Guessing you are thinking about your encounter with that monk earlier this week she continues, “You need to let that shit go. Didn’t you go past his temple when you saw him the second time? If anything, you're the stalker at this point.” Zoe eyes closed, is nodding to herself now as if someone else has made a really good point in the conversation.”

You pout heavily picking up a fishcake experimentally before putting it back into your bowl. “I wasn’t thinking about him and I didn’t call him a stalker..”

There’s a shuffling beside your booth as the third and final party member stumbles back from the restroom. He’s a lanky guy, his legs go on forever as he awkwardly sits back beside Zoe. “Let’s not use our chopsticks to point at others.” He chides lightly, tapping her arm.

Staring at her arm still stretched across the table Zoe reluctantly puts it down with a frown. “Y/N needed a scolding because she thinks she's got beef with a Buddhist Monk.”

You wave your hands quickly in embarrassment gesturing for Zoe to shut up. Unfortunately, all that did was grab your bosses interest even more. You quickly try to dissuade that interest. “I’m overreacting, really. I just ran into this monk two times and each time he just stared down like I spit on Buddha.”

Your boss tilts his head. He tends to take things seriously and apparently this would be no different. He raises a pale hand with bitten down fingernails; to rub the side of his hooked nose. “A Monk? Are they one of those culty types out of that former time association building?”

You gape up at him, which gains you an awkward but pleased smile in return, “Higuruma, how did you know that?”

He laughs under his breath so the motion is there but not the noise, “I make it my business to know what’s going on around here. I haven’t felt inclined to go to a service myself as it’s all mumbo jumbo hogwash but I’ve heard a man in monk's robes runs the place and has a decent following so far. His followers proclaim he can perform healing miracles.”

Zoe’s listening attentively despite being totally smashed and leaning against the wall for support, “Eugh, gross. Y/n, maybe walk on the opposite side of the street from now on.”

You nod at Zoe’s comment, “I have been and that seems to have worked.”

Your boss Higuruma Hiromi tilts his head to the side while watching you, “Did he say something to harass you?”

Your face is totally flushed with humiliation at this point. You are clearly overreacting and Higuruma’s kindness is just slamming that point home, “No he hasn’t said a word to me, please don’t concern yourself.”

Your boss waves for the check while mulling everything over, “You're not exactly one for theatrics. Let me know if something changes, we had better head out now if we want to make the last trains home.”

Unlike most corporate drinking, it didn’t feel forced at all when you were both invited out by Higuruma. He was unassuming and sincere, kept his private life to himself and never overstepped work boundaries like so many other men did in the workplace.

Exiting out into the cool air you watched pretty little puffs waft by from your exhales. The sidewalk was surprisingly busy considering the hour. Ahead of you Zoe gives a bit of a stagger causing you to giggle as Higuruma shakes his head in an affectionate manner before putting his arm through hers to give her balance. You can’t help but smile lightly at their backs. They would make a cute couple.. then again you didn’t even know if Higuruma was single.

It was at that point a chill went up your spine. Goosebumps rippled down your limbs and you reflexively pulled your arms to you and rubbed yourself to keep warm. You felt this undercurrent of unease, a creeping anxiety, like a predator was stalking you from the bushes. You keep walking with your group but you couldn’t help looking over your shoulder trying to see what gave you that ominous feeling. You aren’t the tallest person in the world but you figure a man in monk's robes would stick out like a sore thumb…..a man in monks robes? Why would you assume it was that monk again? You are really being weird about this whole thing. There was absolutely no one behind you that was paying you any mind. You need to stop drinking if this is how it affects your anxiety.

You turn to catch up with your group and when you do dark blue and gold catch your eye across the street. On the opposite side of the road walks the man who has been haunting your thoughts lately. The way he strolls down the sidewalk is as if he has nothing else in the world to do. Not only is he on the wrong side of the street but he’s still behind you by a block or so and isn’t even looking your way. Yet the goosebumps remain.

You turn and rush forward, bumping interesting others in order to catch up with your small group. Once within talking distance you realize there’s nothing for you to say. The man is simply existing and you’re freaking out. He’s probably on his way back to his temple which is on the way to the station. The level of panic you feel thrumming through your veins is uncalled for. You decide to stay closer to your group, feigning being unaffected, as you try with all your might not to look over your shoulder anymore to see if he’s still there.

“That’s the place right?” Higuruma nods, talking over his shoulder to you. You finally allow yourself to turn but instead of stopping at the temple’s building you're looking further back trying to find that man again walking along the sidewalk. Your gaze goes from person to person with no luck. He’s no longer on the sidewalk and you overreacted again. The guy in question probably entered his “workplace”. Higuruma watches you, puzzled as you look further behind the place for a moment and then give him your assent.

“Yeah.. that’s the place he was standing outside of when his cocksure buddy spilled my coffee and then asked me out to replace it.”

Zoe gave a fit of giggles at that, “Some men have no tact. Is it safe to assume you said no?”

You can’t help but blush at her correct assumption, “Kind of? I think. I don’t know, I ran like hell when I saw that Monk standing there all pissy.” Your group is crossing the street at an intersection close to the subway system. You can’t help but feel relief as the building fades from sight.

Zoe is leaning against Higuruma who is trying to keep a straight face as he holds her up under her arm. He fails when her next words are, “Maybe he just needs to get laid. God knows you do y/n.”

Your older boss chokes and has a minor coughing fit at the topic change, “Allllright Zoe, you’ve lost your talking privileges.” You’re scanning all three of your train passes as you head down a long group of stairs.

Zoe decides to ignore the memo and continues, “I am not judging, I need to get laid too. That’s why we’re going clubbing tomorrow evening. You can come too but you gotta loosen up a little guruma.”

His face is bright red and he looks like he's regretting everything that brought him to this point in his life. “I’ll go ahead and pass on that one Miss Zoe. I'm a little old for clubbing..also not really sure that’s appropriate as I’m your superior..”

The station is bustling with people trying to get home before the last train at midnight. There’s that loud overhead beeping letting you know the train you need is about to leave the station and the three of you race into the car and into a row of sideways seats. You couldn’t help but enjoy Zoe giving your boss the third degree. You had thought he was attractive and tried to hit on him for a while after being hired, to no avail. The man took his job as a defense attorney way too seriously for a woman to distract him.

The banter is natural and amusing as the two bicker lightly over things that don’t matter. You find yourself laughing lightly, just letting the booze marinate in you as the train leaves the station and moves towards your home. You are the second to last stop while Zoe is two before you. “Are you even able to get home safely Zoe?”

Your friend nods before flexing her arm, “You dare doubt me?” she gives a shit eating grin as Higuruma eyes her skeptically.

“I think I’ll walk Miss Zoe home. Just to be sure.” He mutters. If it was anyone other than Higuruma Hiromi you would never allow your girlfriend to be walked home by a man alone. But this man had an ironclad code of conduct and was one of those rare people you felt you could trust with your life. He sees the absolute worst of humanity every day. Trying to defend the innocent in cases that are labeled unwinnable. Sometimes his code of ethics is all he can rely on at the end of the day.

Nodding you let your body be gently jostled by the train car.’You aren’t exactly excited to be going home yourself. In fact, everyday this week you seem to dread it a little more. It had gotten to the point where you practically begged the complex's maintenance group to change your locks yesterday.

Little things had been around everyday this week. Your toothbrush, placed opposite of how you normally left it. Your makeup bag left unzipped with the smell of your perfume in the air. Those two were odd but could be explained as thoughtlessness.

Then came the harder things to explain. When collecting your dirty laundry to take to the communal washroom your dirty panties were nowhere to be found. You scoured the whole apartment trying to prove to yourself that you had just accidently left them in an odd spot to no avail. The straw that broke the camel's back was when you woke yesterday morning. One of your kitchen chairs had been pulled into your bedroom while you slept and was left for you to find facing your bed.

Once your heart was out of your throat and you could breath without hyperventilating you called the maintenance crew to get a fresh lock. That way if the landlord had lied about changing the locks before you moved in and/or had lost a spare key. It would be handled. While it isn’t a big change, you 're happy with the fact that you took initiative and got it done.

The train ride is short as you doze in your seat. Something about the warmth of the train car and the close proximity of friends gave you this sense of invulnerability. When the overhead announcer pages Zoe’s stop you look over to see Higuruma struggling with Zoe’s dead weight. You laugh at his face as the two leave the train. The doors close after a moment and the steady rhythm once again picks up. Your eyes are falling shut a little longer every time you blink. That is until an eerily familiar voice emanates from the seat directly in front of you, “Are you trying to be victimized?”

Chapter 2 —————————————Chapter 4

Taglist: @divinedolliebun

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[dairy-farmer]

Did you know~? Dreams are how the mind subconsciously processes information and our emotions ABOUT the information for us while we are asleep?

:Dc

Gotham Sure Does Have Cults! Don't it? Bet some of them get the bright idea to Capture God(tm). Which ALWAYS ends well, and TOTALLY doesn't lend to them fighting back! Getting the attention of Local Bats!

What with the Lethal, Diving People Too Insanity Nightmares going around.

They're gonna go out on a limb and guess Dream God. Sleep Deity, perhaps. The track the Cult down. Burst in and kick ass. As a Family~

And? The God can admit... they were kinda losing. Humans cheat and these fuckers were VERY prepared. They were gonna Curse this city to unending torment with their dying breathe... BUT! They don't need to do that now! Good for you!

They should probably...reward you or something.

Protocol, you know.

Uuuuuuh, hold on. *look around* Got it! Here. Take these handfull of shiny rocks. Yes, I'm stealing them from the Cultists. They were decorating anyway. Anyway! HERE. I give you A Blessing(tm).

THESE will give you Good Sleep.

One for each of you.

To make up for, you know, tormenting you into intense sleep deprivation, when that is the opposite of my Job. And then you saved me and all. Thanks~☆ *poof!*

It's? A fuckin weird day in Gotham. So basically, just Tuesday. They each take a rock and split, dispite Bruce's paranoid "wait, no! We should lock these up and stare at them suspiciously! Unknown magic! I have anxiety!" Twitching. They're gonna go pass out know. Someone call the commissioner and tell him it's safe now.

They get home, crawl out of their uniforms, into their various beds (even Bruce, as bullied and enforced by Alfred) and give no real thought to their new, divinely gifted, Dream Rock. Probably should have. The magic users would have Lost Their SHIT over those rocks. But, Bats? Telling people things? Voluntarily???

LOL.

And? Of too the first genuinely peaceful, guilt free, nightmare free, night of sleep they've had in A WHILE. As the Rocks get a feel for them. What they WANT out of a Good Sleep experience. Is it walking on the beach? Beating up bad guys and saving the day? A night at home? The Dream Stones shuffling through Pleasant Memories and Happy Thoughts looking for material to work off of.

And... huh. They wake up feeling FANTASTIC.

Turns out? When you actually DO get a good night's rest? No tossing or turning, no night terrors or full body clenching of muscles? Your body heals up. You feel better.

Wild.

These rocks are fantastic.

The give it now more thought. Oh sure, they discuss it. Trial period etc. But? It's all just peaceful meadows and seeing loved ones happy. The classics. Expected, really. So they move on. All while the stones are still finishing their Refining.

Eventually? Ding! They're done! They've gotten a full read of their owner! Know EXACTLY what they want. What would make them happy. So, when the Bat's finally hit the hay? They run their REFINED Dream sequence. Dreaming PLUS, if you will.

It's a school night. So Damian, unfairly in his mind, must go to bed first. Though sleep is not the unpleasant thing it once was. Usually filled with fluffy animals. This time? It's different.

He dreams of entering the Batcave. Taller, stronger. The height and frame he is destined to inherit from his father, finally his. The black armor of The Bat adorning him. Timothy is there. Captured, arms bound behind his back, gagged and on his knees, face pressed to the floor. His armor almost artfully destroyed by battle.

He has cat ears and a tail.

Yet this, like every other jarring detail, seems so perfectly natural. Of course he does. Of course Damian is. Nothing is strange to Damian, as he observes the ears pressed back. The whipping, furious defiance of that tail. The low growl that goes with it. Timothy's eyes catching the light. Beautiful and unbreakable.

Damian strides forward.

They back and forth. Word play sharp and cutting. But Damian has WON and they both know it. Timothy fights now only to save face. Enough is enough. Timothy is haughty. Every bit, beautiful and feline.

Damian has his mouth and DARES him to bite him.

Tear apart the ruins of his armor and claims him on the floor. Is he little NOW, Timothy? Can you ignore him still? The game is over. Admit you've lost! Admit it! The pleasure is too much. His Rival thrashing, biting his lip. Trying to hold back. Unable too in the end. Damian wins. Timothy begs. More, more. Please, it is good. More!

Damian...was NOT aware of the root of his need to fight with Tim. Will not know how to face him come morning.

In his Apartment, Dick drags his aching body into bed. It was a shit day. At least his dreams will be nice. He falls asleep. Blinks "awake" with an OOF! As Tim lands on him with a laugh. Is confused but pleased to see him.

Tim clings. Dotes on him. Bringing breakfast, activities just for them, initiating more casual touch then he has in YEARS. Then? When they get back from what feels like the perfect day out? Dick finds himself doing something he would never DARE. Coming up behind that trusting, warm, cute little body. As Tim chatters and puts things away. And slipping his arms around him. Holding him.

Kissing his neck. Slipping his hand down the front of those cute shorts, to start rubbing him through his panties. Get him wet.

Picking him up and bending him over the back of a couch, so he can tug those bottoms down. Eat him out. Make filthy promises to treat his virgin hole just right. Keep him forever. Listen to him whine and feel him squirm, having never been touched like this before.

Dick wouldn't... wouldn't...

But the dream feels so good. Carrying his Timmy to his room, like a lover. Promising to take such good care of him. Fucking him open on his fingers, then his cock. Kissing his face and neck and perfect little tits. Grinding his clit with his thumb as he finds that perfect angle and pounds til Tim has nothing left to give.

Just the two of them against the world. As pretty little family.

Which will make things awkward with Babs, if she wasn't having her own dreams.

Sitting at her computer. Watching Tim writhing and coming apart at the touch of her keystrokes. Making him wear remote controlled toys. Matching them on herself. Lazy days at the Clockwork, with Tim beneath her desk, a fucking machine in him, his desperate mouth on her.

Flashes and scenarios of what she and Dick could DO to him. Watching Dick fuck her boy sloppy. Not letting EITHER of her boys stop until she was satisfied.

Jason getting a classic. Boyfriend shirt and pizza. Railed on his shitty couch as the movie plays. Like lovers. Newlyweds. Coming home and trying to put a baby in Timmers on his fancy ass mattress in a cheap ass frame. Full on mating press, legs basicly to his ears. Timbers begging for it, needy. Taking it like a champion.

And Bruce? Oh he gets silks and his mothers pearls. The suits he wishes he could get Tim to wear, with stockings hidden underneath. Dinner and dancing. Gotham at peace. Tim looking at him with adoration.

Like a Classy Romance from the movies of his youth. Everything rose petals and candle light. Tim TAKING it, dispite how difficult it is for partners to handle him. Everything being tight and slick and hot. Bruce being ruinous in how good he is. No one will ever be able to compare. Tim is his. Just his.

Waking up and nearly yeeting the Dram Stone through the nearest wall.

Tim of course... dream fucks several teammates, a couple Hot Celebrities, and that one GORGEOUS Alien Prince from that one mission when he was like 14. *siiiiiips morning coffee* was an interesting night. Given everyone's thousand yard stare, good to see it wasn't just him who Learned Some Stuff About Themselves last night.

He'll agree not to ask if they don't?

DEAL.

-🐼🐼🐼

everyone but tim grappling with their own existence, morality, and guilt at the breakfast table 😭😭😭

[mote-historie]

Hans Makart, The Death of Cleopatra, 1875.

Liechtenstein, The Princely Collection

Hans Makart was a 19th-century Austrian academic history painter, designer, and decorator. He is best known for his influence on Gustav Klimt and other Austrian artists, but in his own era he was considered an important artist himself and a celebrity figure in the high culture of Vienna and attended with almost cult-like adulation.

Makart was the son of a chamberlain at the Mirabell Palace in Salzburg, Austria, born in the former residence of the prince-archbishops of Salzburg, the city in which Mozart had been born. Initially, he received his training in painting at the Vienna Academy between 1850 and 1851 from Johann Fischbach. While in the Academy, German art was under the rule of a classicism, which was entirely intellectual and academic—clear and precise drawing, sculpturesque modelling, and pictorial erudition were esteemed above all. Makart, who was a poor draughtsman, but who had a passionate and sensual love of color, was impatient to escape the routine of art school drawing. For his fortune, he was found by his instructors to be devoid of all talent and forced to leave the Vienna Academy.

[greenishghostey]

Dungeon Master meet Prop Master | part 1

Pairing: Eddie x Drama Club!reader 

Summary: A D&D nerd and a drama geek finally cross paths in their little shared paradise realm - the drama storage room of Hawkins High School.

Warnings: None! Just a good, wholesome meet-cute. There is some suggestive language but nothing is graphic/explicit.

Word Count: 4,639 words (this took on a mind of its own super fast)

Author’s Note: I’ve seen a few fics floating around where the reader is part of the drama class but I hadn’t seen a fic where reader is more behind the scenes, thus spending a lot of time in the drama store room - aka The Hellfire Club room. Also, the official title of the person in charge of props is ‘The Prop Master’ so that worked too perfectly. I couldn’t not go down that route. I was a drama kid in high school so I am definitely projecting a bit but at least I’m being creative with it.

I would like to say a little thank you to @manicpixiedreamcurl , @punk-in-docs​ and @luveline​ whose works and amazing writing styles inspired me to get back into writing after a really really long spell of writer’s block.

/// Part 2

The best part of being in charge of the props and the set for the drama club was the fact that you got to keep the coveted storage closet key. Maybe it wasn’t the greatest honour to the others in your club, but that closet and the rehearsal room were your domain. It’s where all the stuff was, the mass of stuff you had accumulated since freshman year for the club. Miss Butler had told you just last week that the place was “starting to look like a dragon’s hoard,” she’d spoken with her usual encouraging smile, so it really lit a fire under your ass. 

The rickety shelves were weighed down by stacks of old books you’d found in second-hand stores, some of which were actually pretty good - The Hobbit and the first three Oz books being your current favourites. The floor was cluttered with random small pieces of home decor you grabbed from yard sales around Hawkins - the old ladies of your neighbourhood had basically thrown the lamps, ornaments and doilies at you. There were a few pieces of large furniture that had been in the closet long before you were let loose in it - the usual set dressing stuff, small wooden desks, chairs, dusty rugs.

Your favourite piece that had greeted you as prop master was that big, ornate wooden chair - more like a throne - that you barely got to touch because the Dungeons and Dragons club’s leader had basically called permanent dibs. Eddie Munson was known to be a lot of things around the school and had been for what felt like forever. Freak, creep, cultist, asswipe - all the classics. However, to you, he was a chair hog, but that was about it. You’d never really put stock into the satan-murder-super-cult schtick that everyone and their mother spewed. He was the head of a roleplaying game club with its own fun little shirts, so how harmful could he be? 

For how much time you spent building, fixing, or organising props in the theatre room, you would assume Eddie would have crossed your path much more. But you guys always seemed to miss each other, and he was hard to miss, even on a good day. Fridays were Hellfire Club nights, so you would always have to just head straight home after last period. The rest of the week was fair game, and he never dared to stay on school grounds longer than he had to. You’d seen him tearing out of the parking lot yesterday. He nearly rear-ended Carver’s car while blasting Mississippi Queen - part of you wished he had taken the back off of the jock’s car; Jason was a bitch. 

It was Thursday, and you were perched by old plywood and canvas backdrops, surrounded by various shades of brown and grey paints - glasses on because this job was gonna require 20:20 vision or as close as you could get. Miss Butler wanted to direct a show-stopping production of The Crucible this year, so you were getting started on some very sad-looking colonial church backgrounds. The painting had always been one of your favourite parts of your role. Sure, brown and grey weren’t the most exciting colours ever, but you had to give yourself some credit; you really knew how to create faux, mouldy wood grain. Working in total silence just wasn’t gonna work, though, so you dug your cassette player and headphones from your backpack and welcomed the silky rasp of Patti Smith to accompany your Arthur Miller-ifying activities.

With ‘So You Want To Be’ blaring in your ears, you didn’t notice when the door to the theatre room was thrown open, and Hawkins High’s resident super senior rushed in. 

Eddie quickly started busying himself with the usual Hellfire set dressings dotted around the room. He usually set up on Friday afternoon but had some “business transactions” to deal with before the weekend, so after-school Hellfire feng shui it was. Eddie had dumped his backpack against the plywood backdrops behind his throne and started rummaging through scraps of notes, general lint and some old food crumbs to find his good set of metal dice. They always sank right to the bottom of the bag just when he needed them. 

A loud thud bellowed through the theatre room, quickly followed by Eddie’s voice cracking into a yell. 

“Son of a-!”

You shot up from your spot and felt your eyes widen at the metalhead, who was currently hunched under a piece of Saint Basil’s Cathedral, “Oh my god, oh my god, are you okay? I am so so sorry!” you scrambled around the backdrops to heave up the fallen pieces. They weren’t heavy enough to do any damage, but you’d been nearly crushed by them plenty of times. Cardboard, canvas and plywood are a bitch.

“It’s fine, I’m fine. Just dinted my spine is all.” Eddie groaned, rubbing his back and stretching like some old man. “Knew you guys hated me using this room but wasn’t expecting a full-on assault.” He actually looked like he might have been injured from the rogue Cathedral piece. Maybe you were just used to things falling on you or stabbing yourself with craft knives. 

“Eddie, I’m really sorry. Do you want me to get some ice? The nurse might still be in her office, so I’ll run - I’ll be like 5 minutes, yeah?” You were scrambling for ways to make sure Eddie knew you were sorry. Rambling, really. God, you pride yourself on seeing past his mean and scary persona when others didn’t, but you’d gone and basically winded him with a church tower. Maybe if you took the hallways that the janitor had already mopped, you would be able to pick up speed and slide to the nurse’s office. 

Eddie took notice of your frantic state, eyes shifting around the room and towards the door, shoulders bunched up - you looked like the really nervous stray cat, Frankie, that wandered around the trailer park. “Hey, hey. I was just messing with you, specs,” he chuckled lightly. It was a new experience for him to see someone, let alone a girl, get worked up on his behalf in any capacity. Usually, he’d get an insult at worst or a grimace at best. He stood up straight and did a small half-spin so you could see for yourself that he was, in fact, fine. “See, I’m a-okay. Little offended at getting smacked by a church, but hey, it was gonna happen eventually.” 

“Oh, fuck you.” You huffed, a smile sliding across your lips, “fuck you, Munson, I thought I’d actually hurt you!” you swatted him with the paintbrush you’d put in your back pocket, a few specks of grey paint hitting his jeans. You turned to make sure everything was secured to avoid another workplace accident. Then, you heard him laugh, it was something between a snigger and a giggle, and it was actually kind of sort of cute. What fresh hell was this?

“Fuck you,” he said, in a high-pitch, mimicking voice - Eddie had jokes now. Brave of him. “Fair enough. I’m sorry I made you worry about little ol’ me.”

“Wasn’t worried. More frantic concern,” you tried to shrug off his playful comment. It did bring a little heat to your face, but he didn’t need to know that. “What are you doing in here today anyway? It’s Thursday; you’re a day early.”

“Ah yeah, well, I’ve got some important business to attend to tomorrow so…” his voice trailed off as he leaned against the edge of the long table. He could have just said drugs, you were quiet around school, sure, but you weren’t a total square. Possibly more of a square with rounded edges. 

“By business, you mean weed?” You asked. 

“Yeah, weed.” Huh, he sounded a little bit discouraged in his reply but quickly covered it with a chuckle and a smirk. Typical Munson. “You wanna buy or?”

“God, no. I mean, I'm not judging it, but it’s not really my thing. One of my friends said she’s gonna buy from you for Willis’ party on Saturday, though.” Penny had been raving about scoring some weed for that party since Monday. She’d only smoked a handful of times in her life, but the guy she had her eye on was like a chimney attached to a house on fire. His name was Chris or Keith or something that started with a ‘C’ or a ‘K’. All you knew is that he was a glorified benchwarmer for the basketball team and had ‘sexy’ hair - Penny’s words, not yours.

“Is that the redhead chick who makes you run lines at lunch when there’s a play? She’s bought from me before but didn’t know what papers or filters were.” He couldn’t hold back a snigger when remembering how he had to explain the fundamentals of a joint to the poor girl. 

Eddie’s laugh was nice, you decided. You couldn’t find a word to describe it other than nice at that moment. Penny could take being thrown under the bus for a minute as long as you got to hear him laugh again. She’d made you read as Romeo one too many times, so, if anything, this was like karma. 

Wait. 

How did he know what you got up to at lunch? Penny was sometimes a little too loud when she got really into a monologue but you usually distracted yourself with your sandwich and soup when that happened. But Eddie had noticed. He had noticed the heavy-handed performance of your friend, but more importantly, he had noticed you. God, what if he had heard your crappy take on the witches from Macbeth? You’d done voices. 

“That’s her, yeah. Her name’s Penny. If you call her “chick” she’ll go nuclear. Just warning ya.” You needed to keep this conversation on track. You liked talking to Eddie. It felt easy. Like you’d always thought it would. “She’ll buy from you, but it’s for this dude she likes.” 

“Awww. That is so gross.” He replied in an airy, cooing tone. You’d moved to join him at the table, getting yourself comfortably seated. You really didn’t want to go back to painting. Eddie was actually kind of funny, and not in his usual loud, antagonistic way - you did still enjoy that, obviously, but seeing a new side to a pretty guy wasn’t something you were gonna complain about. 

“You going to Willis’ this weekend? Since pennies and some other drama nuts are, I’d assume you are to make an appearance?”

“Drama nuts, huh?” You questioned, raising your eyebrows and trying your best to look genuinely miffed at the comment. He was right, though. Everyone knew theatre kids were fucking nuts. 

“It’s not a bad thing. Everyone’s a nut about something - sports, drama, music, sometimes math for whatever unholy reason.” He was now sitting on the table with you, leaning back on his forearms like he was getting comfy to stay there for some time. God. 

“And what are you a nut about exactly?” 

“Getting an answer about your party attendance, if I’m honest.” Oh. 

True be told, Eddie didn’t flirt all that much. When he did, it was usually to get a rise out of people or make them uncomfortable. But he’d had at least one eye on you for a while now. You were cute, which was the first thing he noticed - all big wireframe glasses and funky sweaters with weird patterns on them. 

The more he glanced your way, though, the more he liked. You were definitely the most level-headed of the drama nuts, reining in their impromptu lunch rehearsals. You were always jotting down notes in your little red, paisley-patterned notebook with “WORK STUFF” written on the front. You also snorted when you laughed at one of his comments in history like a month ago, so that had done a number on him for at least a week.

You were a little weird, honestly. But, he liked weird. Weird looked good smacking him in the spinal cord with theatre backdrops. Maybe you could smack him in other, more friendly, situations. That’d be cool. 

“Oh? You’ve got some lines, huh? I thought the charm was only for the jocks and Miss O’Donnell?” 

“My charm has many layers, thank you very much,” he smirked, the expression taking up his entire face. This guy’s Dante’s Inferno of charm was gonna have you ready to lose layers if it kept up. Wait, what cesspit of your brain did that thought crawl out from?

“Okay, okay, noted. Back to the weed party. Not really my kinda scene, too busy, too loud.” You smiled, a little sad at your confession. Big parties had never really been your thing, even when it came to birthday parties in elementary school. A cast and crew wrap party was always fun but you knew everyone at those, so it took less effort. Penny had been nagging your ear off for the past two weeks to “let your hair down,” but you knew you’d wind up being a buzz kill, regardless of what hairstyle you went for.

“The weed party? I’m gonna steal that one, specs. Could use it for my summer sales and marketing scheme. Business ventures aside, what is your scene if it isn’t weed parties?” He giggled a bit when he spoke. You weren’t going to be able to forget ‘weed parties’, but, hey, it could be an inside joke between the two of you, like friends. 

“Well, this, more or less. It’s all like my own big extracurricular craft project, I guess.” You said, gesturing around the theatre room, glancing towards the storage closet door, the backdrops, the variety of sword props you’d made for Othello last year, and stacks of old paper that you had meticulously aged. It wasn’t much of a “scene”, but theatre was your life. Creating all of those little details that could elevate a play and bring it off the page alongside the actors was a great feeling. Most people didn’t understand why you liked painting backdrops or making stuff out of plywood or foam. Penny tried to. Bless her heart, but maybe Eddie would get it. Maybe he could peek behind the curtain and understand.

“Wait. So like, you make all of this stuff? Dude, seriously?!” Eddie lept up from the table quickly and dashed towards the “weapons bin” - it was the name you’d lovingly given to the big crate that was full of fake swords and daggers from previous productions. Miss Butler loved a good Shakespearean tragedy to get her thespians ready for their future Tony award nominations. Eddie rummaged through the crate and pulled out one of the more “adventurous” pieces you’d made. The blade itself was pretty basic, made from some foam with a wooden base to keep the shape and covered in metallic paint you borrowed from your dad. The handle and guard were what you were really proud of. And, apparently, so was Eddie. 

It was an aged gold colour, made to look like the metal had been held numerous times but was still well-crafted. You’d taken way too much time to shape the handle to look like finger grips had been hammered into the gold. There were detailed patterns etched into the guard that you’d done with a craft knife at your kitchen table. It had been a bitch to work on since you’d stabbed your fingers a lot, but it looked fucking sick. Eddie held it like it was real, like it was a gift bestowed upon him by the gods themselves. 

“You’re telling me you made this?” He spoke earnestly. It was the first time you had ever heard him sound that way. His big, dark eyes felt like they were scanning your whole body, not just your face. 

“I don’t handmake everything, but the swords and other stuff that’s production-specific, yeah, I have to make it.” 

“This sword. This sword, here. It’s the fucking crown jewel of our Hellfire campaign right now,” he stated. He’d started running his hand along the fake blade while maintaining eye contact with you and wearing an awestruck look. This must have been another layer of that charm he mentioned because warmth was crawling up your neck. There was an innuendo about stroking a sword rolling around in her head, but you weren’t ready to embarrass yourself that quickly - things were going too well.

“The Sun Strike. The most sought after and powerful magical sword. The guys are gonna use it to destroy this cursed rogue knight dude. Or, at least, that’s my plan. The new freshmen might fuck it up; who knows.” He swung the sword around as he told you all about the tale of the weapon, spinning it around in his hand. Eddie was so weirdly unpredictable - the scary satan worshipper could go sword tricks and was grinning like a big goof.

You didn’t speak for a few moments. You just stared at him and the sword from your perch on the table. This guy really was insane but in the best way possible. He looked like an excited little kid with your prop in hand. 

Your parents had always supported your passion for building and crafting pretty much anything your little mind could think of - you’d once made a magic staff out of a gross tree branch you’d found on a hike. However, they never really got the enjoyment and sense of pride that crafts gave you. Breathing new life into something that might otherwise be viewed as mundane or as nothing. Transporting even the smallest object back in time to any period with some paint, some brushes and a whole bunch of all-nighters. 

It was more than just fun. It was more than just a hobby. And Eddie Munson, of all people, seemed to understand that loud and clear. He’d even named one of your creations. How adorable was that?

“Hey, specs? Specs? Sorry, I should have asked to use your stuff. I didn’t know any of this was actually made by some-”

“No, no. Do not say sorry. Nuh uh,” you yelled, moving towards Eddie and grasping his upper arms. “The Sun Strike. That name is way cooler than anything I could come up with, so no sorry’s. And - and it's magic? Like good magic or bad magic?” Your quiet shock was long gone, and you started shaking Eddie by the shoulders. The bright grin on your face was infectious as Eddie stared at you, his expression slowly matching yours once the reality of your questions had set in. You were excited and asked him about D&D and liked the sword's name. Eddie had never been concerned about how smoking would affect his breathing, but you had him near gasping for air. 

“Good magic, don’t worry. The best kind, actually. Like the light of the world, that type of stuff. Crafted by the fair hands of a Sun goddess herself.” Eddie explained with a lopsided smirk. Fuck, he was so proud of that piece of lore now; he could use it as a line on a cute girl. That had never happened before. 

“Was that pre-established, or did you just make that up for me?” You laughed, not giving a single shit about what the answer was because you were a fucking Sun goddess. Now that you had calmed down, you made sure to let go of Eddie before you gave him minor whiplash. You were also becoming increasingly aware that being so close to him was feeling a little too nice.

“Nah, ‘fraid to say that I came up with that when I first saw it last year. But how about we change your name from ‘specs’ to ‘sunny’? How does that sound?” It almost amazed Eddie how easily he was laying it on thick with you. 

“Keep ‘specs’ gives me the chance to redeem a name from middle school. Besides, one of the other girls in drama gets called Sunny, so no dice.” You were cursing Sunny to high heaven in your head. Her real name was Mary-anne, and she only got the nickname because her last name was Sunderland. But, you didn’t need to start gaining a God complex over a fake sword, so ‘specs’ you would have to remain. 

You and Eddie continued to talk about your projects and if he had worked them into his campaign. Funnily enough, he had only used the gold handled sword since he’d never had a real inspection of the other treasures in the theatre trove. You were starting to grasp the fundamentals of D&D, and you could clearly see how fun it could be. What Eddie did with his club was sort of similar to you and the drama club - transforming, transporting, reviving. While helping him move some new stuff into place for Hellfire Club the next night, you both fell into a calm rhythm. You would suggest setting and props that could work for what he had planned in the session, and he would ‘hm’ and ‘haw’ about the place for them. You’d given him a few more fake weapons - two daggers and a wood-cutting axe - along with some weathered books and candlesticks. 

This Hellfire set was one of the best you’d worked on, and it wasn’t even for the drama club. It was still just as theatrical and imposing but was also cosy and welcoming. Kind of like Eddie, you’d realised. After the evening you had spent with the town pariah, you were even more against the vile opinions people held about him. He was a huge cheeseball, inside and out. You had handed him a huge, beat-up, leather bound bible, and he nearly shrieked with excitement as he put it on the table. Behind the hair, the leather and the bite was one of the sweetest guys ever. 

Eddie lounged back in his ornate, dark wood throne, surveying the upgraded Hellfire Club set-up. Candelabras, weaponry and some gothic patterned fabric draped over the ladder against the back wall. The place had never looked so right, so good. The best addition to the room, however, was you. You, organising the extra boxes and crates to clear up the space around the long table. You, who was giddy while dashing around the room and trying to get the fantasy-medieval-heavy metal aesthetic just right. 

“Gotta hand it to you, specs. You can craft a damn good set. Very metal.” He chimed, giving you a soft round of applause from his throne. 

“It’s all pure, raw talent, Munson.” You stated, standing proud with your hands on your hips and smiling smugly. Eddie was still glancing around the room with a look of childish wonder on his face. He’d put on the lights and bathed the room in a cosy, honey glow. You couldn’t help but notice his eyes. Wide, burnt umber, and so full of appreciation. This doe-eyed metalhead was past the point of doing it for you. You could feel the budding beginning of a crush - hadn’t had one of those since freshman year when Patrick McKinney was your biology partner for, like, two weeks. 

“You know, I used to think you were just a chair thief. I’ve wanted to put that huge thing on stage for ages, but now I’d feel bad if I accidentally tainted its reputation.” You gestured to Eddie’s throne - you were more willing to call it that now. 

“Well, I called dibs like a year before you even started here, so there. This bad boy is dripping in my glamorous reputation. I mean, look at this butt groove.” Eddie proclaimed, standing up quickly to reveal a pretty impressive imprint in the leather seat. You were being encouraged to inspect his ass, and who were you to pass up an opportunity like that. His dark jeans hugged his legs subtly and were definitely doing him favours. “Also, it’s 6:30 now, so we should probably think about vacating the premises. Higgins gets antsy if he senses that I’m around for too long.” 

“Shit, it’s that late already? I gotta get home. I promised to watch MacGyver with my mom after dinner.” You quickly grabbed your backpack from behind the backdrops, only for some of its contents to spill onto the floor - your tapes, some almost dried-out pens and your copy of A Wizard of Earthsea. 

“Oh ho, what you got there, specs?” Eddie, ever the gentleman, gathered up your stuff but didn’t hand it over right away. A chance to see what kind of music you were into? That was far too valuable. “Some Patti, a solid choice. And… Yes. Unexpected, but I’m pleasantly surprised. Didn’t peg you for a prog rock kind of gal.” God, he was annoyingly good at this. Making you flustered but still comfortable - making you want to match him toe to toe.

“I like cool ladies and funky guitar riffs. I’m very easy to please.” 

“Noted.” He grinned. The bastard grinned from ear to ear. And you ate it up. “Anyway, you need a ride home? It’ll be dark out by now, and you can even have stereo privileges.”

Riding your bike home in the dark was always a dicey experience. You’d done it a few times after staying late at school accidentally and ended up walking most of the way since you were too worried that a car would run you off the road. Plus, Eddie had a van, so getting your bike home would be easy too. 

And control of the music? That’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. 

“That’d be great, actually! I live over on Fletcher; I think it’s kinda close to your place.”

“It’s on my route. So, let’s make like a tree.” Eddie picked up his backpack and headed towards the door, nodding for you to follow. 

You had to restrain yourself from practically skipping through the halls. Staying late for theatre stuff was always fun, but it did start to get a little lonesome. Theatre kids in Hawkins loved being on stage, but they weren’t huge fans of being behind it. 

But Eddie. He was on the stage, behind it and in the goddamn audience. He had a sort of omnipresent energy that followed him around. Most of the student body saw it as annoying, obnoxious or just plain evil, but you knew better. He was passionate - that was the best word for him. He was passionate about his game, he was passionate about his music and- 

“Specs? This your sweet ride?” Eddie asked, ringing the bell on your bike. It was a dull, low ding - your bike was old as balls, and so was the bell. 

“Yep. That’s her. Gorgeous, right?” You boasted, slapping the bike seat. The bike had been your mom’s many moons ago, and while it was a senior citizen, it was still a great shiny silver. Isopropyl and a wire brush kept her pretty. 

“Maybe a little old for my tastes, but got the silver fox thing going, which is doing- something for me.” There he went again - the invitation, the tease to keep the banter going. You were about to quip back at him when he hauled your bike onto his shoulder. He held it so carefully even though it was just a bike. “Van’s across the lot, so I’ll carry the old girl. Come on.” 

You just nodded, maybe a little too excitedly, but better than talking with your foot in your mouth. You jogged a little to catch up with Eddie, falling into a brisk pace with him. It was early October, and the wind was starting to get its bite back. 

But you couldn’t help but feel a little warmer when you watched Eddie awkwardly shift himself and wrestle to get your bike in the back of his van. 

[aristidetwain]

Ring-Master

In 2007′s Last of the Time Lords, Russell T. Davies drew our attention to the Master’s distinctive signet ring, inset with silver Gallifreyan writing, which was plucked from his funeral pyre by the hand of a mysterious woman who, in 2009′s The End of Time, would turn out to be one of the ‘Disciples of Saxon’, a cult formed by the Master in expectation of his death with the aim of enacting a ritual to resurrect him, still in the same incarnation at that.

This was a pleasant twist, and a fun tip of the hat to the method of Count Dracula’s resurrection in multiple Hammer Dracula films. (This is only fitting: as per The Book of the War, the Time Lords adapted their powers of regeneration from the Yssgaroth’s…)

However, I think there are two startling facts about this plot point which have been just-as-startlingly under-discussed in canon-welding spaces. 

Follow me after the cut to find out the truth about the Rings of the Time Lords — or should I say the Time Lords of the Rings? (This was terrible and I do not apologise.)

Fact #1: This pays off a Chekhov’s gun going all the way back to An Unearthly Child.

Much as it is sometimes entertaining to ponder the days when Dr Who might have been a lone human scientist, there is also a distinctive corpus of early implications about The Doctor’s Mysterious People as a distinct and mysterious civilisation with dominion over space and time. It started with the Doctor himself, but was followed through with other characters implied to hail from that same civilisation: I speak of course of the Meddling Monk and the Toymaker (who, I note in passing, is not actually meant to be Celestial with a capital C).

What did the Monk have in common with the Doctor, besides a TARDIS?

A conspicuous ring.

As you can glimpse in the top left photograph, the Doctor’s ring was, to be exact, a sapphire ring. 

The Toymaker did not wear a ring in the TV story as broadcast — but he did use one in the novelisation, which brought back many elements that had to be cut from the TV version due to rushed production. There, he used it to manipulate the environment of his suspiciously TARDIS-like “Celestial Toyroom”. 

Not coincidentally, in The Web Planet, the Doctor’s ring was revealed to have the ability to interface with the Ship, with the Doctor gleefully declaring that “this is not merely a decorative object”, without elaboration.

The concept seems to have persisted past The War Games. Sure, the Time Lords seen therein lacked the ring — including Edward Brayshaw’s Renegade. And Roger Delgado’s subsequent regeneration of the character also lacked the ring when we first saw him in Terror of the Autons. And it’s rare that we get the chance to check thereafter, owing to the Master’s predilection for gloves. But by The Time Monster…

…he is wearing the very flat, green, gleaming ring to which RTD attached such significance in Last of the Time Lords and The End of Time.

The idea experienced a last, potentially-coincidental gasp with Kate O’Mara’s Rani, though she was similarly prone to glove-wearing.

But the point is: throughout the first half of Classics, all the interesting Time Lords had Large Conspicuous Rings. These Rings clearly did some things, but the full extent of their power and cultural significance was kept artfully obscured.

And this is what Davies is coming back to with Simm’s all-important ring. The Doctor recognises it on sight as “the Master’s Ring”, and knows what it does. He fascinatingly describes it as “part of him”, setting all kinds of biodata-related alarm bells ringing. Given that the Rings are also related to the bond between pilot and TARDIS, could they be some kind of locus of the Rassilon Imprimatur? The thrill is of course in the asking…

Fact #2: This may not be the first time it’s happened.

A shorter but equally interesting observation: 

the Master has possessed this same green ring at least since his Delgado days.

the Doctor instantly jumps from “his Ring survived” to “his disciples must be arranging a ritual to resurrect him in the same incarnation”. This is something he knows Rings do and is relatively casual about.

at many points during Classic Who the Master was seemingly killed off for good, only to show up intact because “I’m indestructible… the whole Universe knows that”. (Or, as Missy later put it, “death is for other people”.)

Am I the only one who thinks that somewhere in Davies’s brain, he may have conceived of this as the secret way the Master had survived at least some of those past exterminations? Sure, the Disciples of Saxon were something set up by ol’Harold (the clue’s in the name), but it would be child’s play for a Time Lord with a working TARDIS to set up convenient cults for himself on a dozen worlds, just to be on the safe side. 

I’mt thinking, particularly, of the Tremas Master’s annihilation on Sarn in my beloved Planet of Fire, which seems particularly conclusive. We see him burn away on-screen; it’s not as simple as saying he teleported to safety in the nick of time. Either time was rewritten, or he was resurrected by… means unknown.

And here’s the thing, despite his panic, the Master does seem to assume he’ll survive. What does he say to express it? 

Oh yes… “I’LL PLAGUE YOU TO THE END OF TIME FOR THIS!”

Full circle, eh what? (Yes, that’s a cheap one, but fun nonetheless.)

And on that note, look at the imagery! Of course, having gone down in a column of flame, he would be reconstituted in the same way. 

“I had people who were clever enough… to calculate the opposite.”

[ducktoonsfanart]

Scrooge McDuck in Australia in search of a shiny crocodile egg - The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck - Donald Duck and Joey the Kangaroo - Daddy Duck - Australia Day - Duckverse

Yes, I am late, because Australia Day is celebrated on the 26th of January, but for some reason I didn't get to finish it until now. However, since I'm currently in the spirit of Australia, I'm going to publish some drawings of our heroes related to that country.

By the way, Australia Day is celebrated because on that day, in 1788, the first fleet made landfall and raised the British flag under the command of Arthur Phillip and founded Sydney there. Admittedly, the first settlers were prisoners.

The first drawing I drew was related to The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck and the comic "The Dreamtime Duck of the Never-Never", which was the seventh part of the cult album by Don Rosa and tells about Scrooge's trip to Australia and his many misadventures . Scrooge met the highwayman and saved the aborigine from that highwayman. That aborigine is called Jabiru the aborigine and he is a representative of the indigenous people who lived in Australia. Scrooge found a brilliantly decorated egg that was worth a fortune, yet hearing from Jabiru the dream stories, otherwise known as Dreamtales, which were painted in the cave, he gave up on it and moved on in search of greater riches. I drew Scrooge, Jabiru, and a bound highwayman in a cave that was painted with various images that foretell Scrooge's future (you can see the Money Bin and Scrooge's future family members Donald and Huey, Dewey, and Louie). By the way, I used painting motifs as used by Aboriginal people and as used by Don Rosa in his comics, but I combined them in my own ways. Yes, and music related to these drawings: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KLVPgNjQ5kg

The second drawing is a redraw from the Donald Duck classic short "Daddy Duck" from 1948, directed by Jack Hannah, where Donald adopts a baby kangaroo named Joey the Kangaroo. Although mischievous, that kangaroo still loved his adoptive father Donald, as he loved him, and in my opinion it is one of the few moments (at least as far as Jack Hannah is concerned) where Donald finally had a happy ending. Yes, I drew it, because after all, kangaroos live in Australia.

I hope you like these drawings and these ideas and feel free to like and reblog this! And happy belated Australia Day!

[rallamajoop]

Goats as a protective symbol in Miranda's cult

By and large, goats are to fictional pagan cults as zombies are to Resident Evil: you don’t have to include them, but they definitely come standard with the starter kit. Even if your cult don't worship some demonic, goat-headed deity, there’s no more classic candidate for animal sacrifice than the humble goat. So it says quite a bit that RE8 fascinates me so much with how goats figure into the titular village’s cultural landscape – and all the more so because there isn’t a single explicit word of lore to spell it all out for you.

To be a little more specific: there is a recurring motif in this game of the goat’s head as a potent symbol of protection – and even some hints that this one might even go back before Miranda herself.

Probably no-one who’s played the game will need me to point out the latest bobble-head collectable that is the ‘Goats of Warding’ – or the grisly spectacle of the hanging goats heads you find on your way into the village. Eugen’s diary explicitly mentions the sacrifice of goats to Miranda, and goats are among the livestock you can find wandering the village and butcher for ingredients. There are even images of goats included in the iconography decorating Miranda’s shrines: one image pictures Miranda accompanied by a goat and a flock of crows, and another (unused) picture shows a monk holding a severed goat’s head (more on the latter here). Goat-headed statues guard the way to the ceremony site too. They're all over the place.

Read a little closer, and you might spot yet more goat imagery scattered around. Ever noticed all those strange ornamented staves you can see erected in Luisa's field in the early chapters of the game?

Well, there's a note in with the concept art that describes them specifically as goat bone constructs, erected to ward off evil.

Maybe the 'horns' at the top are even meant to represent goat-horns? And once you start noticing these constructs, you're also going to notice that the saint with the goat's head seems to be carrying one himself. In fact, there are even more of them in Miranda's religious imagery.

Even the Duke was supposed to be identified by a "lantern decorated with goat bones [...] to let the player know it was a safe location."

You can find those lanterns in the game, even, though I'd never especially noticed them.

Still, of all the other symbols associated with Miranda, goats remain something of an odd one out. Crows are a natural inclusion, given Miranda appears in a six-winged-form and can transform into a flock of crows, and the images of the foetus-like megamycete or of Miranda posed with a holy child in her arms need no explanation. But why goats? (Other than long tropic tradition, of course.)

Well, there’s one more bit of goat-imagery to explore, and it’s from the legend depicted on the gates to the castle, and by the Maiden of War statue in the village square. In both images, the maiden is armed with a sword and shield – the latter emblazoned with a goat’s head.

Let me underline that last bit: defended by her goat’s head shield, this maiden supposedly protected the village from a monster. The symbolism there is pretty obvious.

There are a few words about her attached to the concept art, but who this maiden was or when she supposedly existed we don’t learn, let alone what why the goat would be her chosen emblem. But given what’s growing under this particular village, local legends about monsters from centuries past shouldn’t necessarily be written off as fiction, and this is one bit of prominent local folklore that seems entirely unrelated to Miranda’s cult. Miranda herself plays the role of both mother and crone, but there’s no maiden aspect involved, and no grand battles with monsters pictured in any of her shrines. A sword and shield would be ludicrously anachronistic even for Miranda’s day, back in the 1920s.

So it’s reasonable to assume that this legendary maiden actually predates Miranda, possibly by centuries. Goats, presumably, represent an older superstition that was simply appropriated by Miranda’s cult to lend additional legitimacy (much as local culture heroes were often appropriated as saints when Christianity was introduced to the region). Miranda’s cult has plainly appropriated plenty of local orthodox Christian imagery and moved into church buildings once painted with vivid scenes of saints, so why not other local superstitions too?

In fact, you can still find unused assets in the game files that show that the goat’s head was at one point supposed to be a third stone crest that Ethan would have to find and place to open the gate, along with the surviving maiden and monster faces. Even in the finished game, you can still see the circle where it would have been removable. Players were meant to notice it.

Actually, while we're talking about the gate relief, have you ever looked closely at the sides of the thing? Because you'll see a scene of many people in flames or impaled on spears on the left, and people falling off a ledge into a sea of grasping hands on the right. Serious hellfire-and-brimstone imagery!

And if you look closely at that demon, you may notice he's actually eating someone. Nasty stuff!

Now, as a huge historical trivia geek, I love that you can find evidence around the village of pre-Miranda superstitions – that I can sit here connecting the ‘Goats of Warding’ collectable-bobble-heads to a symbol on a statue is a wonderful little piece of environmental storytelling – but was it intended? Or are we looking at more literal relics of an earlier phase of game development, where goat-symbolism was meant to play a bigger role?

There’s some reason to suspect the latter: the cult aspect of the village legitimately did predate Miranda, who was originally supposed to be a foreign researcher (she’s not even present in storyboards for early versions of Ethan’s trial, though all four lords are already accounted for). Goats also feature prominently in multiple pieces of early concept art for scenes that didn’t make the final game – and the mere fact the goat’s head relief is no longer a part of the puzzle in the finished product could suggest that goat-related symbolism was deliberately downplayed by the writers as the focus shifted. So on the meta-level, the goats remaining in the game could be a very literal relic of an earlier-conceived version of the local cult.

But either way, the bottom line is that details like goat heads and the maiden statue don’t really need explicit justification. If a slightly-tangled development history has produced something with the feel of real, organic folklore, then the game is better for it than it could ever be for any number of multi-page in-game documents spelling out the lore behind every statue you might wander past. Environmental details that build on common motifs are more than enough to get the imagination going.

Still, I’d love to see more fan-theories about the missing pieces. Was there some even older local folklore about some monster that would flee at the sound of a bleating goat? Was it all some ascended version of the old troll-and-the-billy-goats story? Was the maiden herself a fungus-mutant, appearing in earlier depictions with goat’s feet and horns? It’s all possible.

[messysketchyobeyme]

A Minor Lapse

Lucifer/Reader

Summary: What's a better excuse to take a break from work than an impromptu movie night with the love of your life?

A/N: This was written for @lavenderafterglow for the OM Secret Santa event by @omsecretsanta2022. This was fun :) Happy holidays!

By the way, MC was written with She/Her pronouns in mind! However, this fic was written in such a way that I happened to not use any gendered language to refer to the MC. Oops. Anyway, I just thought this might be something to keep in mind if someone other than the person I am gifting this fic to wants to read it.

Word Count: 3135

AO3 Link: [Here]

---

Lucifer prided himself on rarely making mistakes. His actions were cold, calculated, and made in the best interest of his brothers. Aside from a few notable exceptions, the important decisions in his life were made devoid of emotion. That was, until you came along, and flipped his entire world–and sense of self–upside down.

Falling in love with you was a mistake, but it was one of the few that Lucifer was glad to have made. He sat at one end of the couch with you curled up into his side. Your eyes were glued to the television, fixated on the black-and-white movie playing on the screen. Although Lucifer was the one who suggested the movie in the first place, he could hardly pay attention to it with you so near. He drank in your features. Even in the dark, he could make out the way your eyes lit up at every dramatic twist or how your lips would curve up at the jokes.

The movie was a Devildom cult classic that he and Diavolo would enjoy with a glass of wine during their younger years. It had been so long since then that Lucifer found he could hardly remember any of the plot or the characters. However, he wouldn’t dare to forget the set design with its elaborate outdoor scenes lined with hellish fauna or extravagant palace decorations. Despite the lack of color, the set glittered and gleamed with each shot. It was no wonder you were so mesmerized.

An imaginary weight dragged Lucifer’s eyelids down, so he reached toward the side table and grabbed the cup of coffee that you had specially brewed for him in his favorite mug. According to you, it served as an apology for dragging him away from his work. Lucifer suggested the movie, but you were the one who forced him to take a break in the first place. You were so insistent with your sweet words and pleading eyes that he couldn’t help but agree to pause his student council duties for a few hours to spend some time with his beloved. 

He didn’t need, nor want any sort of apology. Lucifer was more than willing to throw any task away at your bidding, but he had accepted your coffee graciously. He needed the caffeine to prevent him from conking out in the middle of the movie. Lucifer took a long sip and immediately winced at the bitter taste. He normally enjoyed his coffee as bitter as possible, but this was a little too much, even for him. 

Ah, it was hell coffee. He should have known. He drank some more, allowing the bitterness to overwhelm his senses.

You had only served him hell coffee once before you had started dating him. It was purely by accident, but the drink was as bitter now as it was back then, maybe even more so. Lucifer’s body warmed up as he traced the thinnest of cracks etched along the side of the mug. 

He wondered if you had brewed him hell coffee on purpose this time as a way to show your feelings. He set the cup back on the side table and glanced over at you. There was no knowing smirk or mischievous eyebrow raise evident anywhere on your face. Instead, you continued to watch the movie with an earnest grin, blissfully unaware of his longing gaze.

His arm was lazily draped around your shoulders, but there was a sliver of space between the two of you. That sliver could have easily been miles for what he was concerned about. 

You tucked your hands underneath your underarms and leaned into the crook in his arm. After a minute, you repositioned yourself, and, after another minute, you did it again. You were trying to be discreet about it, but Lucifer could feel you shiver from a mile away. He silently pulled you closer to him. 

For the first time since the movie started, you tore your eyes from the screen to smile sheepishly.

Lucifer said, "I want you to be comfortable."

You mumbled something that sounded similar to 'thank you' before resting your head against his chest. You were now so close that he could feel your body's steady rise and fall with every breath you took. It comforted him. He pressed his lips on the crown of your head, and you hummed in response. 

He was about to kiss you again when a song started blaring on the television. It was laden with static and just a tad too slow to be considered pleasant to human ears. However, the soft tinkling of the piano in the background never failed to tug on Lucifer’s blackened heartstrings. 

He did not have to look up to know that this was the ballroom scene where the demon and their lover danced their hearts out in front of a crowd of guests. Although Lucifer had always appreciated the movie’s soundtrack (he had a weakness for the classics), he had always made sure to take an extra long sip of wine whenever this scene had come on in the past. It was too cheesy for his taste with the gaudy dresses and overacting. He could never understand the appeal of dancing while everybody else does nothing but watch. Wasn’t there a better use of their time?

But now–

Lucifer caught himself staring at you again. He usually did it unabashedly, but now he was starting to get embarrassed. He took another sip of his coffee, allowing the bitter aftertaste to burn in the back of his throat.

He felt you speak rather than hear it. "That's so pretty," you said. Your cheek was squished against his chest, which muffled your words.

"It truly is." Lucifer wasn't referring to the movie.

…When did he get so cheesy? It was a mistake to watch this with you.

You nodded, "Yeah, I wish I could do that." You drummed your fingers against Lucifer's knee.

He frowned. "Do what?" The characters weren't doing anything of note to be envious of. They were just…dancing. The demon's dress flourished and swished with every step they took, and their lover was not far behind with their outfit sparkling under the light. Lucifer pressed his lips together. 

"Oh, you know…" you sat up, but you stared bashfully at the floor, instead of at him, "...dance." You scratched at the back of your neck when you finished your sentence, turning your head away from him.

"You don't know how to dance?" He asked. There was a hint of a chuckle in his tone, and he had already given up on hiding his smile. Lucifer hadn't meant to sound so amused at that tidbit, but you had caught him off guard. As he had gotten to know you over the years, you had become stronger and more talented than he thought any human was capable of being. During your time here, you learned how to wield your pacts, how to use magic, and, most audaciously, how to wrap one of Devildom's most powerful demons around your finger. He had never imagined that you didn't know how to dance of all things.

"No," you answered, "That's why I always hung out at the beverage table during Diavolo's parties." You picked at a stray thread on your shirt. Instead of snapping, it elongated, and you clicked your tongue.

"You told me you liked the punch."

"That too."

Lucifer laughed but had the grace to cover his mouth with the back of his wrist. You shot him an unamused look with a stiffened frown. That only made Lucifer want to laugh harder, but he maintained his composure after that initial moment of weakness. Lucifer stood up and held his hand out.

You recoiled into yourself, hunching over and bringing your knees together. "What are you doing?" You asked after a brief second of hesitation. Lucifer didn't miss the way your gaze shot over to the television.

"What do you think? I'm asking you to dance." He kept his hand stretched out in front of him.

You glanced back and forth between his eyes and his hand before shaking your head. "Oh, no, no," you said, "I could never. I'd probably just trip or trample over your feet or–" you let out a dry chuckle, "or do something else embarrassing." You were smiling, but it was half-hearted and wistful, utterly different from the blissful expression plastered on your face five minutes ago.

"You won't."

Your breath hitched. One side of your face was illuminated by the low light of the screen. He could see the demon and their lover reflected across your dewy eyes. The haunting music lulled in the background, filling the silence between you two. "Okay," you said, your voice was quiet, holding that vulnerability that captivated him. 

You tentatively placed your hand in Lucifer's. He wasn't wearing his gloves, so he was well aware of the warmth of your skin against his. Your palm brushed against his. Your touch was so light that you were practically hovering above his skin. Lucifer's fingers curled around your hand. You tensed under his grip as a reflex before allowing yourself to relax. Slowly, you stood up and held your other hand out toward him. Before he could react, you drew your arm back into yourself. Your eyebrows were furrowed in silent uncertainty. Lucifer placed his free hand along your upper back, near your shoulder. You stepped closer on instinct, shortening the space that separated you two. Maintaining eye contact, you hovered your hand over Lucifer's shoulder. The look in your eye silently asked him if you were doing the right thing.

Lucifer gave you a reassuring smile and nod. He trailed his hand from your shoulder to your wrist and guided your hand to its rightful place. You squeezed his shoulder for reassurance, and Lucifer held your back again.

"Follow my lead," Lucifer said as he began dancing to the music. He stepped forward, but you kept your feet awkwardly planted on the ground. He nudged you slightly. "Hurry," he tilted his head toward the television, "The song is about to end." He kept the sound of his voice scarcely above the macabre music emanating from the movie.

You bobbed your head and stepped backward, taking care to follow Lucifer's footsteps. He matched his steps in time with every note.  Lucifer led you around the room, dancing in circles. You kept your head down, and he wondered why you suddenly seemed so uninterested until he noticed you mouthing numbers. He raised an eyebrow. Were you keeping count of each step? How…cute.

He leaned in closer to say, "You have to look at me, dear."

You didn't move your head, but Lucifer noticed that you were now peering at him through your eyelashes. "I know," you responded, "I just don't want to step on your feet and trip you up." Lucifer spun you around, and you yelped.

With a small stumble, you landed back in his arms. "What did I say earlier? You won't," Lucifer said. You gulped in lieu of a reply. It was barely audible, but Lucifer could hear the way you sucked in a short inhale as he led you up and down the room. 

And then, you tripped.

Lucifer had taken a step forward, but you, mistiming the music, also stepped forward. You stomped on his toes, and Lucifer barely staggered back before regaining his footing. He quickly steadied himself and was about to grab your shoulders to steady you, too, when you slammed into his chest, sending him tumbling down. 

Seemingly by instinct, you jutted out your hands and grabbed him by the waist. Lucifer took a sharp, but imperceptible, breath once you caught him. He allowed himself time to blink once before smirking. You had dipped him. It was inadvertent, of course, but still shocking.

Lucifer brushed his thumb against your forehead to wipe the bead of sweat that threatened to trickle down the side of your temple. “And you said you didn’t know how to dance.” He hoped his smug aura would mask the sudden onset of tachycardia. 

Your face was pinched up into a tight grimace, which only worsened at his remark. Upon catching wind of your expression, Lucifer immediately stood up. That seemed to break you out of your stupor. 

“I’m so sorry,” with shaky hands, you smoothed down his collar that had partially popped up after the kerfuffle, “I didn’t mean to bump into you like that.” You began to dust off his shirt.

Lucifer tenderly grabbed your hands and pulled them off of him. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said. He was speaking softly but not quietly enough for his words to be classified as a whisper. 

“Alright, but I really am sorry.” You took a deep breath to, presumably, calm yourself down. After a beat, you chuckled faintly, “You should have seen your face.”

“What about my face?”

“Nothing!” you laughed out loud, “I mean, there was nothing. Your expression was completely blank, even as you fell.” You rocked back on your heels, “Though, I did hear you gasp when I caught you. What was that about, huh?” You beamed at him in such a way that Lucifer could only describe as endearing. 

Any retort he might have had died on his tongue. Instead, Lucifer gave you a helpless look. “You are far too perceptive...much to my detriment.” He let go of your hands in favor of cupping your cheeks, “But, I must admit that it’s one of the many things I adore about you.”

He felt you flush at the sudden compliment. 

The music shifted, and Lucifer took the opportunity to loosely wrap his arms around your lower back. “Shall we continue where we left off?” he asked. 

Your arms awkwardly hung in the air before finding their way around his neck. “I’d love to,” you said with a certain lilt that was absent before.

Instead of guiding you around the sofa and back, Lucifer swayed in place in time with the now even slower song coming from the television. You rested the side of your cheek against his shoulder. The sudden intimacy made Lucifer hold you tighter against him. He took note of the scent of your shampoo, searing it to memory.

"We should do this every night." When you merely hummed, Lucifer elaborated, "I mean, I can teach you how to dance. If you would like, the next lesson can be conducted in the privacy of my own room." 

You buried your face in his shirt. After a beat longer than he would have liked, you answered, “Yeah, I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.” You bit your lip. It was evident that something else was on your mind, but Lucifer didn’t pry. He kept holding you in his arms until you pulled away slightly to look him directly in the eyes. He tilted his head quizzically, which is what made you sigh. “Lucifer, are–” you paused, seemingly thinking about the best way to word your next sentence, “are you going back to work after this?”

Lucifer peered over at the forgotten, half-empty cup of hell coffee he had left on the table. It hadn’t been long enough for the drink to be cold, yet, but it was probably lukewarm at this point. If someone did not know where to look, they would hardly notice the crack that ran up and down the mug. He had no idea how it broke: he took the mug out of the cabinet one day, and the crack was there. Not that he was expecting anyone else to, but nobody had dared to confess to the crime. Lucifer supposed that was due to the fear of the punishment that may arise, which he fully intended to dole out, until he realized the cup was still usable. 

That mug was his favorite for a reason: it was one of the first gifts you had gotten him as a couple. He could hardly throw it out, so he continued to use it for his breakfast coffee, late nights in the office, and pick-me-ups on especially emotionally taxing days. You never commented on the sudden crack, but he did catch you throwing a few curious glances in his direction whenever he would drink from that cup. You stopped after a few weeks and even started to use the same cracked mug to surprise him with a midnight brew in his office, just like you did tonight.

He turned his attention back toward you. “No, I changed my mind,” he pressed his forehead against yours, “I would rather spend the rest of the night with you.” 

“I’m glad,” you said, “You’ve been working hard lately. You deserve a break.”

You took advantage of the proximity to give Lucifer a chaste peck on the lips. He was hardly satisfied with how short it was. Lucifer caressed the sides of your face and pulled you in for a kiss. Although he was the one that initiated, you still stole his breath away. You ran your hands through his hair and sighed in contentment. 

A tinkling of laughter echoed behind you, causing you to jump back. You whipped your body around in the direction of the sound. It took a second before your eyes settled on the television. The ballroom scene was long over, now replaced by the characters, still in their gowns, drinking tea in the garden. 

You rub your upper arm and let out a small, sheepish laugh of your own. “Oh, I completely forgot about that movie,” you shook your head.

“That’s surprising. You were so enthralled by it earlier that you could hardly take your eyes off of the TV.”

“I suppose I got distracted by something a bit more interesting.”

Lucifer gestured toward the sofa. “Would you like to continue our little movie night?” he asked. As much as he enjoyed dancing with you, he couldn’t forget why you were here in the first place.

Without further prompting, you flopped back down in the spot he was pointing at. “Of course,” you said, “Hey, after this movie is over, can I play one of my favorites?”

He pretended to contemplate your request, “Hmm, a movie from the human world.” He sat down next to you, “Sounds fascinating.”

“Oh, it’s so good. You’ll love it!” You scooted over so that you were practically sitting on top of him. 

Lucifer smiled involuntarily, which was something he always did when you got excited. “Alright, alright.” He wrapped his arm securely around your waist. You leaned your entire body weight against him, resting your hand on his thigh as if it belonged there. Warmth radiated throughout his chest, causing his heart to swell. Lucifer needed to make mistakes more often.

[koishua]

i most DEFINITELY need hatsune song recs

YOU'VE COME TO THE CORRECT WEEB

fav miku songs:

world is mine: my intro to miku and the world of vocaloids it was... SOMETHING ahahaha i adore it to bits it's so so sassy and unhinged (like all vocaloid song lol)

cendrillon: duet with kaito and it's so pretty and melancholic and dark i am obsessed also there's a miraculous ladybug amv of it it's insanely good with the vocalist covering it oh my GOD

cantarella: also with kaito!! same-ish vibes with cendrillon very royalty but this one is more like passionate romance i also love love love it ugh

popipo: for the most insane hilariously good vibes pls watch the video for it too you'll cry laughing it's so ridiculously adorable and just insane

senbonzakura: so so catchy i also adore the video for it with all of the cameos from the others' they're adorable but also this song has so many political undernotes lmao

look this way, baby: INSANEEEE so sassy so so sassy i know it WORD by WORD i strut and flick my hair to this in the middle of the night on full blast it makes me feel so happy i can't explain it

online game addicts sprechchor: it's so adorable it's about being addicted to gaming 🤭🤭 i adore the graphics too i had screenshots of the video as my laptop screensaver for so long

tell your world: this!! this i cry every time i listen to it it's just so so hopeful and positive and sweet the lyrics make me tear up and the melody is so beautiful and the chorus will always make my heart feel lighter!!

cat food: world is mine was my first intro BUT!! this was the song i heard afterwards and spiraled afterwards oml i had this downloaded on my old tiny laptop and mind you this was 9 years ago i knew the words to this by heart and somehow still do 😭😭don't look at the lyrics. don't look at most of project diva arcade's lyrics lmfaooo

decorator: THIS TOO!! this one came out after i got into vocaloid and it's so festive and the main lot are included and they're all so adorable and the lyrics are so so wholesome and nice and this one fills my heart with so much warmth and joy i also know this one by heart!! i also learned the choreo ahahahah and performed it to the wall of my room ugh it's just so upbeat and happy i have a very special connection to this one

odds&ends: the lyrics for this one kills :( i sometimes feel so overwhelmed with how heartbreaking the lyrics are but miku saying you should my voice and that you can use her if you can't do it yourself gave me so much courage ;-; her saying she'll be the voice you can't let out ;-;

others!:

echo by gumi: this one is devastating and i used to relate to the lyrics so much back when i was dealing with the depths of my confusion and anger and loneliness ugh

copycat by gumi: actually you know what i generally adore vocacircus so you can check out their songs

meltdown by rin: a cult classic you just vibe to this you just have to it's one of the catchiest vocaloid songs imo i also was obsessed with this for a whole three years so the lyrics are in the bag.

electric angel by rin and len: MY GOD THIS ONE IS ONE OF THOSE TOO gets me so happy and just really my heart feels so full the lyrics are so cute and adorable and quirky it just makes me tear up from how much better i feel every time i listen to it

lie by luka: (also made by vocacircus im telling you!!) this one is heartbreak packed into a song. one sided love hurts, breakups hurt (apparently lol and i got to feel the extent of it thru this song) and the lyrics punch you with every word. some of my favourite heartbreak lyrics. ("and maybe one day i'll get to see your smile in the arms of someone who loves you like i do / i'll play along writing our song, we are perfect, i love you / why dont i cry for you? / why aren't you gone? / i know you're not that strong") and maybe they aren't the saddest thing you've heard and i know it isn't mine, but the production is so empty-feeling and you can feel the ache from every single instrument and sound in the track and the visuals tell a story and—

reboot with miku, luka, and zimi: this one wrecked me after my first watch and listen. it's about three friends who drift apart after a tragedy and just. the resentment and guilt shown there. and the ending just. it's such a melancholic song. the video makes me sob every time esp 3:25-3:35 if you decide to watch it!

teddy bear by rin: don't watch or listen to this is you're not okay mentally bc i wasn't when i came across it. many sad and disturbing ideations (like a ton of other vocaloid songs istg ppl create to vent) and trauma dumpings but the song is genuinely so good

[bardicbeetle]

How do you do research for your vampire wips? Like do you watch movies or read and like what's your favourite inspiration

oh gods i've been experiencing every flavor of vampire media i can get my grubby little hands on since I was like, eleven. bear with me, it's been a long day and i am sleepy.

So a lot of it is reading and watching movies and finding podcasts and music and folk tales and modern opera (looking at you night library of sternendach) and vampire adjacent horror media like cannibalism and infection and reanimation and body snatchers and necromancy and the not yet dead or the not quite alive.

Technically. Technically. After a childhood reading of Bunnicula and the absolute 8 year old terror of Batman vs Dracula, my first foray into...you know. Book Form Person Vampirism would be Amelia Atwater-Rhodes Shattered Mirror. (Along with In the Forest of Night and Demon in My View). I got a lot of early things from the mythos I saw her doing there (ignoring that two of my original antagonists are straight rip offs of Nikolas and Kristopher).

Admittedly (and obviously) my main inspirations for a lot of the how of my vampirism come from 1987 cult classic The Lost Boys because I saw that movie at age 11, rediscovered it at 14, and then proceeded to watch nothing else for four straight months. I love the necessity of the first kill, I love the constant weakening of the body and the uptick in bloodlust while in the half-vampire state, I love the stupid decorated wine bottle full of blood.

But I am constantly seeking out new vampire media. It is almost the only thing I buy if I'm going to a brick and mortar bookstore. I buy them without vetting them, I watch shitty B and C movies just to see if they did anything halfways interesting with (usually no, but i've been surprised before), I dig up any video game I can find even if I hate half the characters (Crimson Spires), and I constantly screw around with my own mythos to see what works and what doesn't.

My vampires aren't even the same across all my projects. Safe in the Dark is very much more typical sort of Lost Boys/Near Dark/Grounded Mostly In Reality Aside From the Whole Teleporting Thing vampirism. And then you have Damask, 2005/Vee the Vampire where I am fucking about with religious horror and some low magic aspects and alchemy and just, adding way more supernatural fuckery.

I love vampire media, I love creating vampire stories, I love finding new vampire stories to experience. There is no monster I love more, there is no horror I gravitate towards faster.

A Favorite Book: The Lights of Prague by Nicole Jarvis

A Favorite Movie: It's the Lost Boys, I can't not say it's the Lost Boys, I will have my card carrying Lost Boys Whore Status Revoked. I owe the late Joel Schumacher many things.

A Favorite Song: Shake It Out by Florence + The Machine has been synonymous with regretful self-despising vampirism for me since 2011 and i'm not about to give up its spot to anyone. (But shoutout to Good In Red by The Midnight as well)

A Favorite Podcast: That Vampire Show by @tandonshows (because wow if I was not Kat Wright as a teenager I am a goddamn liar)

- stevie

[sinfulwrites]

Halloween Festivities

Happy Halloween, everyone! I rise from the crypt to bring cute little Halloween themed drabbles. I hope you enjoy!

Costumes:

Bubba Sawyer

Your expectations were admittedly low when October came around this year. You were sure you would have to forgo celebration in the Sawyer home; did they even celebrate the holiday?

In a way, the answer was no. Sure, the bones littering the home as decor could pass as Halloween decorations, but there were no pumpkins or bats to be found in the home. No candy, no movies, not even any pie despite Drayton’s constant ramblings of a so-called “award winning” pumpkin pie. Then again, everything Drayton said had to be taken with a grain of salt.

One tradition seemed to reign supreme in the Sawyer home, however. Costumes. 

Waking up that morning you were greeted with the shocking sight of Drayton in a chef’s outfit. Roughly sewn together, and albeit missing the big hat, but you could tell what he was going for. Chop Top was sporting a new wig with a tie dye shirt and headband. Most likely taken by some unfortunate trespassers. Your lover, Bubba, was sporting a brand new mask he had made the night prior; one with black lipstick and an attempt at winged eyeliner on the eyeless lids, with some purple eye shadow to bring it all together. He was wearing a long black shawl over his nicest dress pants with the broom in his hands wherever he went. He was a beautiful witch, in your eyes. 

It was just you who was lacking a costume, though you had an idea quickly brewed into your mind. With some quick improvising, you were eagerly waddling over to your lover in the kitchen, one of his masks on your face with his chainsaw in your arms and one of his aprons on. You had underestimated the strength needed to hold it, but you somehow didn’t drop it. 

“Look baby, I’m you!”

Bubba let out an excited squeal when he saw you, holding your cheeks over the mask and taking in your quickly thrown together costume. His apron was like a dress on you! He thought it was adorable.

Just… Put the chainsaw down. He doesn’t want you getting hurt.

Jesse Cromeans

Extravagant holiday parties were the new norm after getting together with Jesse. Sure, he wasn’t exactly a social butterfly, so you never stayed long, but they were quite enjoyable for the time you did go. Besides, the after parties he always had waiting for you in bed were always more enjoyable. 

Halloween had Jesse showing a rare level of excitement. The man loved to dress up in costumes, one could argue his whole aesthetic was exactly that. He will gladly take a day of wearing a mask without getting weird looks for it. This year he got a custom ram skull mask made, painted in a black chrome with a red pentagram painted on along with a luxurious robe he wore over his classic dress shirt and pants, lined with various medallions and gems to go along with his theme of some kind of cult leader. Jesse was rather proud of it, and he looked incredible in it.

You were rather proud of your own costume too. You kept it a surprise from Jesse, so you were rather giddy to approach him at the front door in a pair of his own dress shirt and pants, in your size of course, with one of his chrome skull masks stuck to your face with the medical adhesive he used to put the mask on his own face. You had his briefcase in your gloved hands too, though you left it empty. Admittedly, you had no idea what he kept in the thing, it was always empty when you saw it in the closet. 

His expression was robbed from you by his mask, but you saw his shoulders shake in a chuckle at the sight of you. You puffed your chest out with pride and placed your hands on your hips so he could take in the sight, as well as teasingly mock his own attitude. If you’re gonna look the part, you’d better act it as well!

[Cute.] Was the message he flashed to you on his phone, and you grinned behind the mask.

“Thanks. Shall we go?”

Jesse nodded, and held the door open for you before the two of you left his pent house and made way to the garage to get his car. 

“By the way… Can you even see in that thing?”

[Kind of.]

“So… How are you gonna drive?”

Jesse had no response to that, he simply held the garage door open for you. He did shrug his shoulders after a while, though. Wonderful…

Movies:

Bo Sinclair

There were no trick or treaters around in Ambrose to entertain this time of year. While you could have driven to town for some festivities, you instead decided to indulge the Sinclair tradition of watching scary movies this time of year. Each of you got to pick a movie to watch; Lester chose Dawn of the Dead, Vincent chose The Exorcist, Bo chose The Shining, and you had picked Scream. The urge to choose Halloween was strong, though.

It would be a marathon, starting at 9pm and only finishing once everyone’s movies were watched. The third bowl of popcorn was being made around 1 am when The Shining was inserted into the old DVD player. The exhaustion was beginning to set in on you, Lester had already fallen asleep in the middle of Vincent’s movie in the recliner. Vincent himself put the next movie in, but was tapping out now. 

“I’m tired. Going to sleep.” Vincent signed to you on his way to the basement.

“Goodnight.” You responded through a yawn. 

The infamous shot of Jack Torrence peeking through the hole in the door stared you down for a couple minutes before Bo sat himself next to you, placing the bowl of popcorn in your lap. Bo took a glance around the room before chuckling to himself and wrapping an arm around you.

“Guess it’s just us.” He said before shrugging. “I ain’t surprised. I’m always the last man standing for these movie nights.”

You snuggled right into Bo’s side, wrapping an arm around his stomach while chuckling to yourself. Bo hit the start button for the movie, dropping the remote on the coffee table before snatching some popcorn. 

“Not this year, I’m still here.”

“Sure, darlin. You look ready to pass out any minute.”

Your attempt at a fake gasp was interrupted by a yawn.

“What? No, I’m fine…” Yet another yawn slipped past your lips.

Bo rubbed your arm as he just shook his head and focused on the movie. Even when tired though, you weren’t going to let him doubt you. 

“I am fine.” You reaffirmed. “Besides, I wanna watch Scream. I’m not going to sleep.”

“Mhm. Sure, darlin.”

Your stubbornness was prevalent, but the exhaustion was quickly overtaking you. It wasn’t long after the title card of the film before Bo heard soft snores under his arm. The man simply smiled down at you and stroked your cheek with his knuckle before placing a kiss on your head. 

Bo turned back to his film, deciding to finish his marathon before taking you to bed. 

Asa Emory

“Happy Halloween, bye bye now!” You finally shut the door on the latest batch of trick or treaters rolling through the neighborhood with a heavy sigh, the candy bowl in your hand gliding out of your grip and onto the table placed by the front door. The scent of an apple pie wafted through the antique cladded home, but you felt you didn’t have a moment to even enjoy it without having to get up and answer the door once again. Your feet dragged to the kitchen where Asa was, slicing into the finally cooled pie he had made for tonight.

“I’m sick of answering the door. I think I’m just going to put the bowl on the porch.” You planted yourself at the dining table, your head laying on the wood once your butt was planted.

“You told me not to do that because someone will take the entire bowl.” Asa pointed out while cutting into the pie. 

You sighed. “I know, and it’s true. I’m just complaining.”

The pie was finally cut and plated, and your eyes were finally able to behold it when Asa slid it in front of your face. He pet your head as it was laid on his table while shaking his head at your exhaustion. 

“Just put the bowl outside. We’ll cut the lights and watch a movie.”

The sight of the pie made it hard to continue refusing the easy method and give in to his suggestion. 

“Can you make a take one sign for me?” 

“No.” Asa answered before taking a slice of his own pie. “But I’ll put on a movie.” 

You groaned to yourself, but willed yourself up after taking a bite of the delicious pie slid in front of you. 

With your candy bowl and sign placed on the porch atop of Asa’s antique chair, you came back inside and cut the lights in the house. The only light illuminating the home was the TV beginning to play a movie. You came into the living room with your pie and sat beside Asa to watch the movie with him. The sound of whistling filled the room following the opening credits of the film, though it  wasn’t an opening you were familiar with.

“What are we watching?” You asked.

“Hostel.” 

You’d never seen this film, but you had heard some people talk about it before in the past. 

“Isn’t this just a gore porn movie?”

Asa shrugged his shoulders while eating a piece of his pie. “You’re not gonna wuss out because of some gore, are you?”

“N-No. I like gorey movies.” 

“Mhm.”

The movie was rather misleading at first, and you were about to write it off as a shameless boobfest, but when the plot really took off you realized where the movie had gotten its reputation. The gore had increasingly intensified until you were finally jumping and hiding into Asa’s arm. While he didn’t comfort you, he let you hide into his bicep as he watched his movie with a stone cold expression. 

You could have sworn you heard him chuckle, though. 

Pumpkin Carving:

Michael Myers (2018)

Halloween was always something to be feared in Haddonfield. With each year that passed, no one was certain if the Boogeyman would return and kill again. You were one of these people once. Your parents would scare you with stories of the Boogeyman to keep you in line. As a child, you were terrified of that story. Now as an adult, your parents would have a heart attack if they knew who you let into your more intimate life. 

The spooky holiday wasn’t as scary as it once was with the evil on your side; and only your side. The sad part of Halloween with Michael was the lonely night. He was gone for the entire night most years, and sometimes he is gone for an extra day or two after Halloween. Michael was around during the day, though, and you took advantage of it any way you could with your forbidden lover. This year, you chose to carve a pumpkin.

Michael was very intrigued by the pumpkin you brought home with you that morning. It was pleasantly round, and the perfect size for a big pattern. It also had a curly stem. 

Michael took the pumpkin from your hands, letting you show him the carving tools you had stashed under your arm.

“Want to carve a pumpkin with me?” 

The white mask moved briefly in a nod. 

A simple, traditional pumpkin design was chosen by the two of you, and Michael was already getting to work on the pumpkin. Instead of using the carving tools, Michael instead used your kitchen knife to begin cutting the hole around the stem for you. You peeled the lid off, and Michael immediately put his hand in the pumpkin to begin pulling the seeds and guts out. You took turns with him to gut the pumpkin until it was hollowed out for the pattern. You used the pick to add the pattern, and Michael used his knife to cut out the triangles and smile onto the pumpkin. The nose had an additional line on it, resembling a knife. You were sure it was on purpose.

A tea candle was placed into the pumpkin before it was put on your porch, to be lit once nightfall hit. Michael accompanied you on the porch, watching you angle it how you wished with a tilted head. His head straightened out when you stood back up and began shuffling closer to him.

“Will you say bye before you leave?” You asked Michael.

He didn’t answer you, but you didn’t expect an answer. You just smiled to yourself and laid your head on his shoulder. 

“... Just be careful, okay?” You whispered into his shoulder. “I don’t want to see you all beat up again…”

Your request was met with even more silence, but you did feel a stiff arm wrap around you and pat your back. That simple gesture was worth more than any words, especially coming from Michael. It was enough to make you teary eyed.

Vincent Sinclair

“Hey, will you remind Vincent to tell me what movie he picked?” 

You looked up from the bat decorations you were planning on hanging in the kitchen when Bo stepped in and made his request. 

“Oh sure. Ain’t busy or anything.” 

“Great. Thanks.”

You internally sighed. Even on Halloween, Bo was a dick. A loveable dick, but a dick nonetheless. 

Your paper bats were placed on the pool table before you made your way to the late Victor Sinclair’s office to make your way down the trapdoor to Vincent’s workshop. His various wax molds sculpted on the walls all fit the Halloween spirit in your mind, even if it wasn’t deliberate. Vincent’s art always tipped into the creepy, and you personally enjoyed how it all looked. He had a very creative mind, with the artist talent to execute it flawlessly. Even if he had his own doubts and insecurity about it.

You were excited to see your partner hunched over his work desk in his stool with a pumpkin. A closer look of the pumpkin made you realize he wasn’t carving a pumpkin; he was molding a pumpkin made of wax. There was a drawing beside him, showing a pumpkin with bulging teeth and realistic eyes that the wax made much easier to create. Though you were confident Vincent could pull it off with a real pumpkin as well.

“This is amazing, Vince.” You said to him.

Vincent jumped, nearly dropping his wax pumpkin and making you jump as well. 

“S-Sorry, sorry! I thought you heard me.” 

Vincent made sure his pumpkin was alright before he got out of his stool so he could stand by you and hold your hands. You melted into him, wrapping your arms around his back and stuffing your face into his chest. His soft hands ran along your head and down your back before returning the embrace. 

“Can I watch you make your pumpkin?” You asked into Vincent’s chest.

Gently pulling you off his chest, Vincent signed to you. “It will take a long time.”

You smiled at that. “So? That’s the opposite of a problem.”

Even this long into a relationship, Vincent was still flustered by your vocalizations of love. He could only nod in response before giving you a quick peck on the head over his mask. Vincent pulled away to bring his second stool over for you to sit on. You gladly took a seat next to him, and once he was settled in his seat, you placed a kiss on his wax cheek.

You couldn’t see it, but his face had erupted in red under the wax mask.

Eating Candy:

Jason Voorhees

Halloween was never a thing for Jason. His mother never got to take him trick or treating before the tragedy happened. The most he ever experienced of the holiday was random candies his mother would bring him this time of the year. That was years ago, though, and the holiday had long passed Jason’s mind. The concept of days and months have passed as well, he never knew what day it was, he didn’t have to.

You knew what day it was, though, and you wanted to celebrate it with Jason. He seemed indifferent, though. Not even a “Happy Halloween.” You figured he just didn’t celebrate it; understandably. What could you even do with him out here? Maybe he would like carving a pumpkin, but it was too last minute to get a pumpkin.

Instead, the answer lay in the small bag of candy you had in the backpack you had when you made a sudden permanent residence in Crystal Lake. There were only a handful of hard candies left, but it was plenty to share with Jason, who was wiping his machete clean after a hunt of a deer earlier that morning.

“Hey Jason?” 

Your large lover turned around to face you, the excitement to see you clear in his body language after he stuck his machete in the dirt and came over to you, his large hands cupping your cheeks and stroking them with his thumbs. A smile melted onto your lips, but you couldn’t let yourself melt into it since you had something to give him. Gently peeling one of his hands off, you place some of the candies into his hand. Jason eyed them curiously before tilting his head at you. You just smiled at him while unwrapping a candy for you to have. 

“Happy Halloween, Jason.” 

Jason blinked at you for a moment before looking back at the candies. The memories of his mother came flooding back after forgetting them all these years, and he couldn’t stop the tears from pricking at his eyes before he unwrapped a candy and stuck it under his mask to eat. 

“Happy Halloween.” Jason signed to you, before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a tight hug to hide his tears from you. 

But you knew. You simply rubbed his back and kissed his arm as you both sucked on the sugary sweets.