#HeadlessSeriesFic

[shipwreckedcomedy]

Announcing our #HeadlessSeriesFic contest! Get writing, folks! From now until next Friday the 9th at 11:59 pm Pacific (we decided to extend the deadline), write a fic inspired by Headless, or a legend of your own, and tag it #HeadlessSeriesFic to be considered. Feel free to link to other sites like ao3, just make sure that you tweet/gram/tumbl the link with the hashtag so we can find it! The winner will receive a signed character poster of their choice from the campaign. Happy writing! 

[jaynaneeya]

The Legend of Quebec James

If you know, you know. If you don’t, I’m so sorry. Either way, please back Headless on Kickstarter.

Most people waded into the stream rather hesitantly, dipping a toe in here or there, hoping to be noticed without drawing too much attention to themselves, at least until they became accustomed to the temperature of the water. Some jumped in oblivious to the disturbance they caused as they pontificated about other forks of the main stream that had branched off long ago, ignoring the wreck of the ship that was this path’s sole purpose. These eventually either shifted their focus or evacuated the stream in a huff. Occasionally, one of the trolls emerged from under one of the few bridges spanning the stream to spew unrelated filth, only to be quickly chased away. But Quebec James was different from any of these.

Quebec James entered with the biggest splash in anyone’s memory. He claimed to be attempting to enter a stream that was not even connected to this one, yet every time he tried to dive into it, he found himself in ours. His voice was almost deafening, but as he seemed incapable of controlling its volume, this became endearing rather than annoying. Before long, he abandoned his attempts to find his other stream and began asking questions about the wrecked ship we were all discussing. To our delight, he seemed genuinely fascinated.

When it was time to leave the stream, he disappeared into the fog along with everyone else. Some wondered if he had been a figment of our collective imagination. But the next time we waded in, he returned, still with the same booming voice, the same innocent confusion, the same sincere curiosity. Before long, frequent stream-waders started specifically searching for him. The water didn’t feel quite right anymore without Quebec James. Happily, he rarely disappointed. Almost every time we gathered around the wreck in the stream, he at least put in a brief appearance before vanishing again. In a way, he was becoming one of us, his knowledge of our lore and customs growing with every meeting, and yet, he remained unique.

While many waders frequently met in other venues, nobody seemed to know who Quebec James was outside of the stream. Many scoffed and said he was merely one of the more polite bridge-dwellers – the conflicting stories he told and the way he yelled were consistent with troll behavior. Others claimed he must be one of us in disguise, as he “learned” our ways far too quickly for one who was truly unfamiliar with them. But the believers knew in their hearts that he was who he claimed to be, that somehow he had crossed over from another stream, perhaps another realm, to bless us all with his presence.

We may never know the truth about Quebec James, but really, can one ever know the whole truth about any legend? We know his story, and that’s enough.

[sonnetthebard]

On Losing One’s Head

Or, in other words, my entry to @shipwreckedcomedy‘s fanfiction contest. I have had a really fun time reading the works of Washington Irving to prep for this, and it’s only made me more excited for this series. Even though I know in a modern adaptation it may be changed I’m sticking to a lot of the facts that Irving gives us about the Headless Horseman. Thank you to everyone on here who gave me ideas/ inspiration/ let me rant to you for a bit while I figured this out. It took a bit longer than I had anticipated, but I’m really happy with it. This is probably so far from canon, but I got a prompt from the wonderful ‘S’ anon on here and I had to write it. Enjoy!

Genre: Comedy/ Fluff/ Mystery/ A Pinch of Angst

Words: 4249

TL;DR: Ichabod Crane tries to unravel a bit of the Headless Horseman’s past in order to try and figure out where his head might be. 

TW: Minor bullying, Mentions of war, mentions of PTSD, mentions of decapitation

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Ichabod Crane navigated the hallways of the school, eyes trained on his feet. He normally wouldn’t allow himself to walk with such a closed posture- it exposed him for how nervous he was (which was, contrary to popular belief, a more recent development in his personality). This town had put him a bit on edge. This town and his roommate, who was as inexplicable as he was persistent, and happened to be the reason he was allowing himself to walk with such a closed posture. He had a series of questions to ask his roommate at the forefront of his mind, and he’d spent a majority of the day figuring out how to word them so that he didn’t sound completely heartless. He didn’t want anything or anyone distracting him, because the talk he was about to have was very important- well, he thought it was anyways. It was important to him. His roommate seemed like a good person, and he really did want to help him (though it seemed like his roommate was doing more ‘helping’ at the moment than Ichabod was). 

Ichabod’s roommate was, of course, the infamous Headless Horseman. It had certainly made his life interesting- especially given that he was only just settling into this new town and his new position. He was just navigating his new life, and now on top of that, he was also trying to find his friend’s head. So far, no luck on that front. He hadn’t had a lot of luck on many fronts. It didn’t seem like his colleagues were particularly fond of him- especially not Douffe Martling or Brom Bones and his cronies. He wasn’t quite sure what it was with Martling other than perhaps a naturally uptight attitude, but he could at least venture a guess on why Brom Bones didn’t like him. It seemed they both had their eyes set on the same woman- which was another front on which Ichabod had not been very lucky. Katrina Van Tassel, the woman his heart had decided to set on, did not seem to reciprocate his affections in the slightest. Mind you Ichabod also found her incredibly hard to read. She was confident and smart, and one could interpret nearly everything she did as flirtatious. But you also got the overwhelming sense when interacting with her that she was not flirting in the slightest. 

Ichabod needed to stop distracting himself, he thought, as pleasant of a distraction as Kat was. He was on a roll. He was trying to get back to his room in a timely matter because (and I cannot emphasize this enough) this conversation was important. It was also a conversation that his friend would prefer to keep confidential, so he needed to get back to his room and have it before anyone could decide to tag along. He wasn’t the only person in Sleepy Hollow who wanted to help the Headless Horseman find his head. In fact, he had many supporters. But this particular conversation was delicate. Ichabod intended to ask how precisely his new friend had come about losing his head. Ichabod believed that perhaps even though this head wasn’t the Horseman’s original one, it may be able to help with some of his memories- physical memories, that was. It would likely be a hard conversation, Ichabod considered. Losing one’s head seemed like it would be traumatic. Remembering that feeling wouldn’t be pleasant for his friend. He would eventually need to share the necessary details with those who were intent on helping him and his friend, but perhaps the Horseman might feel slightly more comfortable having the initial conversation privately where he could express his emotions without judgement- if, of course, he had any. It was more of a precaution. 

Ichabod found himself so consumed in his thoughts that he neglected to notice a foot extended in front of him. He was looking at his feet. He really should have seen it. But he was in a state not uncommon to him where the world within his head had taken precedence over the world outside of it. Ichabod tumbled to the ground with a thud, and it was not long until a roaring chorus of laughter resounded above him. He did not even need to look up to know precisely who he had encountered and what had happened. He did the courtesy of looking up anyways- though it was probably only feeding their egos to see the embarrassment flush on his face. As Ichabod had suspected, the figures of Brom Bones and his three usual companions Tripp, Cal and Blair loomed above him, their bodies racking with every laugh. Ichabod sighed, fixing his glasses and trying not to pay them much mind. The more upset he got with them and their shenanigans, the more satisfied they would be with their results (which meant that they’d be inclined to throw something else his way). He stood, brushing himself off and starting back on his way. Before he could get very far, though, he felt a strong grip on his arm pulling him back. Even once he had stopped walking, it didn’t let go. It seemed Brom wasn’t through terrorizing him yet. 

“Where are you going?” The strapping Brom Bones smirked. It was a smirk Ichabod was all too familiar with, and one that he had very much hoped he wouldn’t be seeing. Brom was holding him up intentionally. He knew Ichabod didn’t want to be there. “You look like you’re in a hurry.”

“Well-” Ichabod started before being cut off.

“You going to try to pick up Katrina?” Tripp teased, pouting and cooing mockingly at the mention of the woman Ichabod had taken a liking took. He sighed as all four men found amusement in that and erupting into laughter again. 

“What? No!” Ichabod blushed.

“Ichabod and Kat, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-” Cal and Blair cooed before Brom raised a hand to signal for them to stop. 

“That’s enough, guys.” Brom told them, trying not to show how much that bothered him. There was only just a hint of jealousy in his tone, but it was enough for the boys to know they’d gone too far. He seemed to size up Ichabod again, before letting go of Ichabod’s arm. Ichabod sighed in relief, thinking that he was finally free... until Brom wrapped an arm around him in a seemingly friendly gesture, putting on his smug smirk again. Ichabod seized up a bit. He was not too fond of physical contact at the best of times, but especially not from Brom Bones. It took everything in him not to scowl. “So if you’re not going to see Kat... what’s the rush getting out of here?”

 “I’m going to have a talk with the Horseman.” Ichabod told him plainly, hoping that was enough to get him out of this. Whatever Brom Bones had against Ichabod, the feeling was entirely mutual.  

“But don’t you, like, live with him?” Cal pointed out. 

“You could literally talk to him any time.” Tripp nodded. 

“Yes, but I’ve spent all day planning this conversation.” Ichabod sighed. There were very few people Ichabod knew who would understand his situation, and these men were most certainly not among them. “I have to do it soon before I forget what I was going to say.”

“It’s just a conversation, man!” Tripp laughed. 

“It’s not just any conversation.” Ichabod told him, getting an idea. “It’s about his head.”

“You’re still on that, are you?” Brom rolled his eyes, letting him go. He knew he didn’t need to hold Ichabod there anymore. Not only did Blair, Tripp and Cal have him surrounded, but... now Ichabod felt socially obligated to stay. Brom Bones was a lot smarter than he let on (at least socially). Most bullies were. 

“Well... yes. I’d like to help him find it.” Ichabod shrugged. 

“Don’t get your hopes up.” Brom warned him in what Ichabod might almost consider to be a genuine tone. He hand a hand through his hair subconsciously, and Blair reached forward once he was done to fix a strand that had fallen in Brom’s face. Brom gave him a clap on the back as a silent ‘thank you’. Ichabod had always found those four men to be strangely close. “Listen, bud... he’s been missing his head a long time.”

“Since before we were born.” Blair added. 

“It’s not like you’re just going to waltz in and find it.” Brom sighed. “This head probably isn’t going to know anything.”

“We don’t know that.” Ichabod countered. “We’ve finally got people taking the search for his head seriously, and I think we’re making good progress!”

“Right... you keep telling yourself that.” Brom rolled his eyes. “Alright, guys, let him go.”

“But you said-” Tripp furrowed his brows. 

“He’s doing enough damage himself.” Brom sighed. The boys cleared a path for Ichabod, and he meekly started to walk away. He felt oddly embarrassed, or ashamed, about what he was doing. He tried to shake it off, but Brom had successfully gotten under his skin and he knew it. Brom chuckled, almost gloating. “Have fun, dork!”

“Thank you?” Ichabod tried, unsure as to how he was supposed to respond to that. 

Ichabod made his way out of the school (but not without a cold glare from Douffe). Perhaps what Brom Bones had said had some merit. His headless friend had been missing his head for a long time. Did Ichabod really think things were magically going to go better this time around? He wasn’t even dealing with the original head. He couldn’t expect to find anything new. But then again... Ichabod himself had also posed a good point. They did seem to be making progress. And how were they supposed to know if his head could ever be found until they tried? No, Brom was wrong. Brom was wrong a lot of the time, but especially about this. He walked down the streets of the town, head down but significantly more aware of his surroundings. He’d learned his lesson- at least for now. His room was within walking distance from the school. In this town, just about everything was within walking distance. He exchanged nods of acknowledgement with a few people on the street, a smile or two. Luckily, he was running into people who knew better than to bother him when he was like this. People like Judy, Rip Jr., Verla, or Matilda. Verla and Matilda probably didn’t want to talk to him anyway. But Judy had given him a nice smile, and it had raised his spirits. It’s funny how small things could do that. 

“Ichabod!” A light voice called out from behind him. Ichabod pivoted, recognizing it instantly. For anyone else, Ichabod would have simply waved, continuing on his way. But this wasn’t anyone. This was Katrina. Ichabod smiled softly upon finding that he was right. It was a dopey sort of grin commonly found in people when they saw the person that brightened their lives. “You’re out early!”

“School ended half an hour ago.” Ichabod furrowed his brows, confused by her implication. 

“Oh, I know.” Kat clarified. “You usually stay a bit longer, though.”

“Oh.” Ichabod nodded. And that was when it hit him: he had absolutely no idea how to respond to that. He’d always been a little socially awkward- especially when he was under as much pressure as he was with Kat. He bit his lip, trying to think of what to say next. Luckily, Kat took care of that for him. 

“Any particular reason you’re out so soon?” Kat asked, finally catching up with him. She kept walking as if silently asking him to walk with her, or maybe telling him it was okay for him to continue on his way. That she would follow. Either way, it was a great comfort to Ichabod.

“I thought of a few questions to ask the Horseman.” Ichabod told her. 

“What kinds of questions?” Kat asked. Ichabod could tell she wasn’t teasing him. She was genuinely interested. But there was also an air of amusement to her that was undeniable, and admittedly rather attractive to Ichabod. It made him feel like she genuinely enjoyed his company. A light blush covered his cheeks.

“Well... I was hoping to ask him about how exactly he lost his head.” Ichabod admitted. “See if maybe his history might be able to help us figure out where to look in the present.”

“That’s a really good idea! Maybe this head will know!” Kat hummed in agreement. “I’ve always wondered about what happened... People say he was a Hessian soldier. You know, during the revolution.”

“Yes, I’m familiar with the concept of Hessian soldiers.” Ichabod hummed. “German regiments for hire, if you will, employed by the British to fight in the Revolutionary War. Do you really think he’s a Hessian?”

“That’s what the lore says.” Kat shrugged, smirking. 

“All the more reason for me to talk to him about this alone.” Ichabod decided. He blushed again, not having meant to think aloud like that. “Sorry, I-”

“No, it’s okay. You’re right.” Kat assured him. “He’s probably not going to want a lot of people around if you’re talking about... you know, war. It should be just you and him.”

“I’m glad you understand.” Ichabod sighed softly in relief. 

“I don’t like to talk about war anyways.” Kat admitted. “I don’t... I mean...”

“I understand.” Ichabod hummed sympathetically. No one liked talking about war. But on top of that, he knew Kat was very against slaughter of any kind. “Have you thought about how to approach it if he has... you know, PTSD?” Kat asked. “It’s pretty common in soldiers, even if this isn’t his original head.”

“I... haven’t.” Ichabod admitted. “I did work out how to ask the in a way that I think will be the least upsetting or offensive.”

“That’s a good first step.” Kat encouraged him. “Just... respect his boundaries. Give him the space and time he needs to answer- if he can answer. Don’t pressure him if he can’t.”

“Right.” Ichabod nodded, taking mental note of those things. “Thank you, Kat.”

“No problem.” Kat smiled softly. It was smiles like those that made appearances in Ichabod’s dreams as he rested his head. She had, Ichabod thought, the most beautiful smile in the world. It was so kind. They approached the inn, and Kat sighed. “Well, this is your stop.”

“It is...” Ichabod chuckled semi-nervously. He stopped, shifting his weight awkwardly on his feet. She had him so nervous that he couldn’t quite stand still. 

“Good luck, Ichabod.” Kat smirked. Ichabod blushed. It seemed that nearly everything Katrina did, intentional or not, made him blush. 

“Thank you!” Ichabod called after her, watching for a few moments as she continued down the street. 

Ichabod sighed, imagining very briefly what their family would look like. He imagined they would be a very handsome family (though the children would get their looks from their mother- he was of the opinion that he was a bit homely). He snapped himself out of it before he could go too far down that rabbit hole. He wondered for a moment if it was weird that he was already thinking that way about a woman he hadn’t even worked up the nerve to ask out. It likely was. But his heart tended pine after things and his mind did no helping, running wild with even the smallest of fantasies. When he was a child, a teacher once told him that his appetite for the fanciful was unsurpassable. He was now rather more a man of reason than he was then, where he was willing to believe just about everything he heard. But his mind did still run wild with whims about more everyday pleasures. Rational joys, like love, romance, and food. Mostly food, until Katrina came along. For a man his size, he had a surprising appetite...

“Hey, Ichabod!” Someone called. Ichabod snapped his head, looking for where it was coming from. Oh. It was Judy again. He waved. “Do you need me to call Lucretia to get you a new key?”

“What?” Ichabod blinked. 

“You’ve been standing there for a while.” Judy pointed out. “Did you lose your key?”

“Oh...” Ichabod blushed. He pulled out his keys, holding them up. “I’m fine!”

“Okay! Just wanted to be sure!” Judy chuckled, going back to her own business.

“Thank you!” Ichabod called after her. It was lovely that she cared. He quickly and carefully opened the door to his room. He saw his friend the horseman busy at work taking a tray of what appeared to be either muffins or cupcakes out of a microwave oven he’d been gifted by the family of one of his students. The room smelled wonderful. “Hello...”

“Oh, hey Ichabod!” The Horseman turned, his- or, rather, her (for now)- hair splaying out behind her in a fan-like motion. She gave him a brief smile before busying herself with her work again. Ichabod liked this head on the Horseman. “I hope you don’t mind, but while you were out I thought you might be hungry when you got home, so... I made some carrot cake muffins.”

“I don’t mind at all.” Ichabod sighed contentedly. So long as she didn’t burn the room down, he had no objections to food. 

“We just have to let those sit for a bit.” The Horseman muttered, removing the last of the muffins from the pan. “There! I’ve got a cream cheese icing in the fridge for when they cool if you want.”

“Lovely.” Ichabod chuckled. 

“How was your day at school?” The Horseman asked. 

“Good.” Ichabod told her, sighing and taking a seat on his bed. The mention of school had reminded him of why he had left school so promptly in the first place. She seemed to be in such a good mood... he hated to ruin it. “Would you... I have a few questions.”

“Oh... sure.” The Horseman shrugged, sitting down on the small chaise in the corner of the room. “What is it?”

“I... know this isn’t your body.” Ichabod bit his lip. “But... do you remember anything about it?”

“I... don’t know. I think, a bit.” The Horseman considered. 

“Do you think you might remember how you lost it?” Ichabod asked carefully. Well, that wasn’t what he’d planned on saying. He winced. “Your head, I mean. Do you remember how...”

“I... can try to.” The Horseman offered. "I don't know what I'll be able to get, though... I don't have the eyes, ears or mind of the original body"

“You could still find something.” Ichabod reasoned. 

“Just give me a moment.” The Horseman nodded, sighing. She closed her eyes for a moment, head in her hands. 

Ichabod gave her space and silence to think. Each new head the Horseman donned seemed to unveil a bit more about his personality. He hadn’t thought to ask about any memories before because it didn’t seem entirely logical to assume that any head other than his own would hold them. But... he’d gotten the idea at school today that maybe the body had a few memories of its own. Like a physical memory. It was silly. And it might lead to nothing. But the chance that it might amount to something was too much for Ichabod to pass us. He was a man of science. And with science comes experimentation. It’s how humanity evolves and grows. This was an experiment that might prove fruitless but was still necessary. Because like many experiments, you can never be certain of what you’re going to find until you conduct it. After a moment, the Horseman raised her head and opened her eyes. 

“Anything?” Ichabod asked cautiously. 

“Not much.” The Horseman shook her head. 

“Not much is better than nothing.” Ichabod blinked, pleasantly surprised. “What did you remember?”

“Well... I don’t have anything visual or auditory... because like I said, those are kind of gone...” The Horseman warned him. “But I can remember... I think the body was fighting. I mean, obviously it was on horseback. That’s how it got its name. But... I think it was holding a gun of some sort. Maybe a musket?”

“Interesting... so perhaps you were a soldier...” Ichabod hypothesized. “Anything else?” 

“Well... you’re not gonna like this.” The Horseman chuckled nervously. She clearly didn’t like it either. “I don’t think this body’s head was cut off.”

“What?” Ichabod blinked. 

“From what I got, it felt more like the head was ripped off. Or blown off. I’m kinda leaning towards it being blown off...” The Horseman winced. 

“With a gun?” Ichabod asked cautiously. 

“I’m thinking something a bit bigger than a bullet.” The Horseman shook her head. “I don’t know what, though.”

“Well, a cannonball would be too big...” Ichabod thought aloud. 

“You know what, I don’t think it would.” The Horseman snapped her fingers. An almost cartoonish ‘lightbulb moment' look graced her features. 

“A cannonball?” Ichabod gulped. 

Well... she was right. he didn’t like that. Because if his friend had lost his head to a cannonball, the odds of it being in good shape were slim. He certainly hoped that this Headless Helper, as he’d named her, was wrong. That maybe the head had been cut clean off. Or that if it hadn’t, it was at least in usable shape. Mind you, he realized, his friend was certainly not around by any natural means, and it was wrong to assume that his head would have been preserved by any natural means either. This entire situation was unlike anything Ichabod had ever been through. It was terrifying... and absolutely thrilling. Ichabod had always imagined himself playing hero, and though these circumstances were odd ones, he was finally living that reality in a way. But back to the matter at hand... perhaps he now had more clues to his Headless friend’s identity.

“I’m sorry...” The Horseman winced. “I know that’s probably not what you wanted to hear.”

“Actually, it really helps. Very useful information.” Ichabod assured her. “This is the closest we’ve gotten to finding out who the Horseman is. Thank you.”

“I’m just happy I could help.” The Horseman smiled shyly. 

“Are you okay?” Ichabod asked carefully. 

“I think so.” The Horseman shrugged. “I just... I feel bad for this guy. What he went through sucks.”

“Yes it does.” Ichabod hummed sympathetically. 

“I mean, I guess it was a quick death.” The Horseman reasoned. “I just... wow.”

“I’m sorry for-” Ichabod started. 

“No. Don’t be. I really want this guy to find his head.”  The Horseman cut him off. “I’m fine.”

“As long as you’re sure.” Ichabod nodded, not wanting to push. There was a moment of silence between them. “You know, it’s okay not to be.”

“What?” The Horseman blinked, confused. 

“It’s okay not to be fine.” Ichabod told her. “And if you’re not, or you need anything... I’m here.”

“Thank you.” The Horseman sighed. There was another moment of silence. Ichabod didn’t know what else to say. "I think the muffins have probably cooled enough for us to try. Want one?”

“I would love one.” Ichabod nodded getting up, walking to his desk, and pulling out his notebook. 

And so Ichabod Crane took some rather detailed notes on his findings, however scarce, and his new hypotheses about where they might find his friend’s head. While he did this, he snacked on one (or two, or three) of the Headless Helper’s muffins- which were exceptional. Especially for the grade of the oven they’d been baked in. This head had a knack for knowing precisely what Ichabod needed and providing it to him. The other heads he’d encountered... not so much. It was a finicky business working with his headless friend because with every new head he changed fairly drastically- almost as if he were an entirely different person. What a mess Ichabod had gotten himself wrapped up in... Truly, he’d only come to Sleepy Hollow to teach science. Teaching was his passion, and he was very much enjoying his job in Sleepy Hollow. But his mind had always wandered towards the inexplicable, and that was a term that more than aptly described his friend the Horseman. 

In a sense, Ichabod felt that maybe that had been the true reason he was drawn to this little town. That perhaps a higher purpose did exist in his life than simply to teach. He had always thought teaching was his calling, but perhaps it was simply a step on the journey that was meant to be his life. Or a vessel, he supposed, for it was teaching that had brought him to where he was. Whatever the case may be, Ichabod knew that what he was doing in helping the Horseman felt right. He wasn’t usually a man to trust pure gut instinct, but this was different. This felt like the start of something. Ichabod hoped that it was a good something. He would hate to be on the wrong side of history. The Headless Horseman had been a beloved legend for so long, and Ichabod felt it in his bones that he was now building onto that legend. That was a scary prospect. Because if he made a wrong move, all that he was building could crumble as quickly and as easily as a Jenga tower and leave him buried under the weight of his failure, the villain of a story he had never intended to be written into. 

[celestialflights]

Chapters: 1/1

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Fandom: Headless: A Sleepy Hollow Story (Shipwrecked Comedy)

Characters: Matilda Bishop, Original Characters

Additional Tags: Character Study, of a character we know very little about, Witches, Witchcraft, Backstory

this is my entry to @shipwreckedcomedy's headless fanfic contest! it was really fun to write, and i'm really excited for the series to see if what i've written is at all accurate /lh

[i-only-know-fandoms]

A Headless Prelude

Ahhhhh, okay I love @shipwreckedcomedy so much and they have a new project (here) (give them money if you can, this is going to be so good!) And they’re having a fanfic writing contest  #HeadlessSeriesFic and I love writing so I pushed myself to actually write it because I love them so much and I keep putting off actually writing and just making notes of my ideas because I’m literally a garbage person who has no clue what she’s doing in life but I did this and now I’m rambling and !!!!!

So! Here is my little Prelude about Ichabod Crane for them <3 

At the very least I hope ya’ll will look at their stuff because they are amazing

And if anyone acknowledges this in any way (like, comments, reblogs) I will probably cry. I wanted to post on AO3 but I didn’t know there’s be a waitlist to make an account and the contest ends Friday so...... (see above about me being trash). Maybe in the future it will be there?

So without further adieu, my story

(Maybe called ‘To Have a Home’ because I am also StarKid trash)

-------

Ichabod Crane was a simple man with simple pleasures. He found joy in science and would see the science in everything, everywhere. When he was a child, he would share his excitement and the facts he found interesting with everyone who would listen. The problem was that no one was very interested in what he found interesting, and so very few people would listen. Without meaning to, he found himself shrinking into himself, becoming less and less outgoing to others, keeping his enthusiasm to himself. There were a few fellow students in his school days who shared some of his interests, and they were enough to help him though his school years, but they were more acquaintances than friends; he never felt he truly connected with any of them, or anyone at all.

Part of him still hoped to share his passion for science; he thought maybe that’s why he went into teaching it, hoping to find at least one student who was like himself at that age, one who would appreciate and be excited about what they were learning in his science class, and in doing so give something to them that he never had. But when he returned to his middle school, to teach this time instead of learn, all he found was lackluster students who clearly didn’t want to be there and who couldn’t care less about science. (Well, maybe they could care less, but not by much. They were by no means excited about it, and the most any student cared was just enough to pass his class).

He thought he might find comradery with his fellow teachers, but he soon found they too cared little for what they were teaching, isolating him once again. Plus, some were teachers from when he was a student there, and there was no way he could bond with them or treat them as peers when they had been authority figures of his for so long. (Can you imagine?)

Needless to say, he felt stuck, but at least he was stuck in what he knew. That’s why when he got an invitation to teach at a middle school in Sleepy Hollow, New York he wasn’t sure if he should if he should take the offer or not. Sure, he wasn’t thrilled where he was, but it was the devil he knew. There would be so many unknowns if he moved. What was the town like, or the people? A teacher’s salary wouldn’t allow him to live on his own; who knows what oddity he could end up with as a roommate?

But then again, what if he found his people there. What if he found a place he actually enjoyed being in, and people he could count as his own? A home, instead of a place he was living.

 ---------

Also, it’s not enough for a full fic yet but I’m imagining Ichabod blasting ‘Don’t Lose Your Head’ from Six whenever the Horseman is being extra. XD

(Good Golly I hope I’m tagging this right. Maybe I’ll link through Twitter? Just to be safe?) Anyways, I love you Shipwrecked <3 I hope this isn’t terrible

[vhs-ghost]

Here’s my second fanfic for the Headless fanfic contest! Just a little blurb kinda thing where Matilda has a chat with the narrator lol 

Getting Ahead of Myself

The Sleepy Hollow cemetery was filled with an array of different citizens of the quaint town from years past who had passed on. No one leaves Sleepy Hollow they say, and these poor folks surely hadn’t. It was a quiet, foggy, and bitter cold morning in Sleepy Hollow. Most people had not yet awoken. The only soul stirring in the cemetery, and possibly the whole town, was an alluring woman dressed in all black, not for a funeral, but for fashion, perusing the gravestones. She drifted in and out of the rows of headstones, a lone-

“HEY! I’m not lonely! I just like the quiet of the early morning, jeez!”

I- I wasn’t going to say lonely! I was going to say-

“I didn’t think anyone was gonna bother me this early, but here we go! And it’s the narrator! I’ve already been catching a ton of flak from Ichabod going on about me being lonely or whatever and I’m NOT! I think he’s just projecting because he’s the one that’s lonely!”

Look Matilda, I didn’t mean anything by it-

“Like bro, you know I can hear you! Like at least let it be complimentary I mean-“

Well, I did say you were alluring.

Matilda paused thoughtfully, mulling this information over. She was thinking about how she would take pity on her poor narrator who’s just doing their job…

“Ugh, fine. You’re right. I’m just in a bad mood. Just dumb Horseman stuff. I’m sorry, narrator.”

Thank you, Matilda. And I’m sorry for your aggravation. Now, what were you doing in the cemetery on this bleak October morning, anyway? Is it about the Headless Horseman?

“Sure is.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s always the same thing, ya know? It’s like, yes, I’m magic, but NO I don’t know anything about Double H OR why he picks the corpses he does! He’s a mystery to me!” She paused. “Just like Verla…”

There are some things even YOU can’t figure out, Matilda.

“Yeah, but I just wanna figure out why Sleepy Hollow is so weeeeeeeird,” she said with a sigh. Her eyes lit up. “Do you know the answers to my questions?” she asked hopefully, lifting an eyebrow.

I’m not a magic 8 ball. And I’m not omniscient.

“Thanks,” she said curtly, and very sarcastically. She rolled her eyes.

If I could sigh right now, I would. But look, fine, I’ll help you.

“Really!?” she asked hopefully.

Yeah. As best I can, anyway.

“Yes! I knew creating a 4th wall breaking spell would come in handy! And not just for a great friend,” she said smiling.

Flattery will get you… everywhere. Well let’s begin; we have a lot of research to do.

[nodick-energy]

Might fuck around and delete this tomorrow bc I lowkey hate it but hey. I wrote this on an executive dysfunction high with about a 20% understanding of the source material.

Also cba to put it on AO3 tonight I might later idk

Headless Horseman|Abraham Van Brunt & Ichabod Crane

(I didn't mean to but I kinda made it gay. Only very loosely implied tho)

-----

"So let me get this straight," Ichabod pulled himself back up onto the rock he'd been occupying, having finally admitted defeat and slid down onto the grass below him, "you can see and hear things fine, but you can't speak."

It was quite late. The moon was now hanging high in the sky, shining through its last quarter. Sure, they could find a bed for the night, but it was quite difficult to go with their friend anywhere in public, considering he was rather lacking in the top half of his body which, though it was not unheard of by the residents of Sleepy Hollow, did still cause a bit of a freakout. Although Ichabod wasn't complaining; he liked resting under the night sky. And they were too far away to just go back to their living space.

In case you haven't noticed, I don't have a fucking head. I've stopped questioning it.

It had taken far longer than perhaps it should have, for Ichabod to have the idea of teaching the horseman sign language. Truth be told, he wasn't a fast learner, but it was a great deal easier than watching him wave his arms around madly trying to get Ichabod to understand what he was trying to tell him.

The horseman himself sat opposite him, down on the grass with his legs crossed and his back to a tree. Ichabod wasn't sure the man was ever relaxed, but at least he'd ditched the sword somewhere nearby. He felt a little safer without it around, although he seriously doubted he would actually hurt him now.

"Fair enough." He had to admit, being well-versed in science, he hated not understanding how something worked. He was also aware that pushing the boundaries of a murderous undead lunatic was not a good idea. He'd already had the intrusive thought of the horseman using his head as a replacement far more times than he wished for, "So, what do you plan on doing when you finally do get your head back?"

The horseman gave what he assumed was a shrug, though it was hard to tell. He was only just beginning to get used to reading his body language. It was quite incredible, he found, how much people relied on faces to read emotion.

Haven't thought that far ahead yet. Last time I had freedom it ended with a fucking cannonball to the face, I think I'll find somewhere peaceful to settle down. Maybe travel a bit beforehand.

"Mhm. Maybe give Texas a look. If you can ignore some of the people, I think you'd like it there."

What makes you say that?

"Lots of horses." It was almost comical, the way the horsemen's chest rose and fell despite the lack of noise that escaped him. He laughed silently.

You're not funny.

Ichabod laughed quietly, which only got louder as the horseman sent one sign he'd been getting particularly good at his way. Ichabod sighed loudly, pulling his knees up to his chest. He shivered slightly as the wind picked up.

Cold? Ichabod nodded.

"My own fault. Should've thought to bring a jacket with me." The horseman leaned back against the tree.

If I had eyes, they'd be rolling right now. Here, dipshit, he reached up and unclasped his jacket. Ichabod slipped off the rock to take it from him as he offered it. He hesitated as he straightened up. He could get back on the rock, but was there any point now he was down here? Before he could change his mind, he threw the horsemen's jacket over his sweater and dropped down beside him.

It wasn't warm, exactly. Being dead, the horseman didn't exactly produce any kind of heat. It was heavy on him, though, and comforting despite the very evident bloodstains of both old and new. He wasn't really much smaller than him (he was actually taller than the horseman, although that was kind of a given), but the jacket felt huge. Ichabod wrapped it around himself.

"Won't you get cold?" He asked. By the way his shoulders moved, the horseman would now be looking at him. He could imagine the 'are you kidding me?' look that would be in front of him if his friend had a face.

For the last time. I. Am. Dead.

Ichabod was honestly quite impressed by how well the man managed to convey sarcasm with just his hands. He nodded, curling in on himself slightly.

It wasn't until now that he realised just how heavy his eyelids felt. He fought for consciousness, eyes falling closed for a few seconds at a time. The horseman looked over at him again.

You look exhausted. You should get some... Ichabod watched him struggle, eventually signing out 'love.' He shook his head.

"That was love. I'm assuming you meant rest? Here, I'll show you. They're kind of similar, so they're easy to confuse." Tiredly, he managed to sign both, showing them in contrast. The horseman copied his hands, for once picking it up almost immediately, "Yeah, like that."

Thank you. Now, get some rest. Ichabod chuckled quietly, leaning into the horseman. It was funny, just a week ago he wouldn't have dared to be within several feet of him. Now, he was more or less using him as a pillow in the middle of buttfuck nowhere as if he wasn't extremely dangerous. And, more to the point, the horseman was letting him.

"You sure you don't want me to stay up with you? I don't mind."

Ichabod, go the fuck to sleep.

"Mm, if you're sure," if he wasn't so out of it with exhaustion, he might've been surprised when the horseman put an arm around his shoulders. Instead, he just leaned further into him. He managed to slide one hand between the horseman and the tree he leant against, holding his own hand around the dead man's waist. He wasn't exactly known for his warm personality, but the horseman didn't push him away at least. Ichabod rested his head against his shoulder, where he would have leant into his neck. This worked for now.

"Goodnight, Abraham."

[readingbeauty16]

watch your head

A small twist on one of my favorite classic tales. Oneshot. Written for @shipwreckedcomedy's Headless Fic contest!

Ao3

.

.

The crows were watching him. Ichabod Crane, a lanky young fellow, took in an evening stroll through Sleepy Hollow, despite the tall tales he had been told by Brom Bones. He was trouble with a capital T. The brawny man got a kick out of scaring locals, newcomers, and tourists alike. “A headless horseman,” Ichabod chuckled to himself, “what a foolish notion.” It was what he told himself to keep his fear at bay. Those who knew him would tell you, and laugh, about his strong belief of the supernatural.

He pulled his coat tighter around him, fighting off a chill, the autumn air crisper than a fresh apple. As he passed the Van Tassel house, thoughts of Katrina helped ease his troubled mind. The moment they met, Ichabod was besotted with her—the fact that Miss Van Tassel felt the same angered Brom Bones to the very core. It was the sole reason he wanted to spook the schoolmaster. The wind picked up, causing Ichabod to hold on to his tricorne hat.

“Come now,” he told himself, “there’s nothing to be afraid of.” He ignored how his voice quivered. A rustle of dead leaves had him quickening his pace. He would be back at the inn soon. Perhaps, he thought, I’ll take a shortcut through the pumpkin patch. It looked to be a bountiful harvest, pumpkins of all shapes and sizes growing out of the ground. A crow stood on the shoulder of a scarecrow that obviously wasn’t doing its job. The house beyond the patch was a rickety old place. He swore he could hear its creaks and groans as he slowly made his way through, being careful not to trample on the pumpkins.

A light rain began to fall, leaving poor Ichabod shivering in the late evening. Thanks to the weather change, a wispy fog rolled in. The clopping of a horse’s hooves was heard in the distance. With all of the bad omens, he knew he could no longer attempt to deny the truth of the legend. The ominous tune that had been shared by the townsfolk began playing on a loop in his mind.

If you stay in Sleepy Hollow

Be sure to watch your head.

The Horseman will be sure to follow

And you shall end up dead.

The sound grew louder, edging closer. He turned back, only to regret doing so. Ichabod was frozen with fear. The rider was headed straight for him, with no head to be seen. The schoolmaster shrieked, his eyes wide. He finally attempted to run, tripping over a large pumpkin in the process. A laugh sounded from behind him. Ichabod watched as the coat was pulled down over the face of Brom Bones. Of course, he thought, nearly ready to laugh at himself for believing in such a thing.

Ichabod stood up, dusted himself off, and saw in the distance, a glowing jack-o’-lantern, floating in mid-air. FLOATING IN MID-AIR!? As Brom laughed himself silly, the second rider with the pumpkin head closed the distance. The buffoon was completely unaware of it. Not wanting to stay for another moment, Ichabod scrambled through the pumpkin patch, only turning back once, but once was enough. There, he saw the infamous Headless Horseman take Brom Bones’s head, the brute’s body slumping off of his horse with a sickening crack. Ichabod ran the rest of the way to the inn and never looked back again.

[prismartist]

He Swears To The Longest Day He's Dead

Fandom: Headless: A Sleepy Hollow Story (Shipwrecked Comedy)

Characters: Horseless Headless Horsemann, Ichabod Crane (implied)

Word Count: 452

CW: Referenced character death, mentions of blood and injury

A/N: for @shipwreckedcomedy's fic competition!!

Also on AO3!

♤ ♤ ♤

Tell me, traveler, what is it you seek?

Is it a soft shoulder to lay on, a graceful hand running through your hair, someone to pluck the stars from the night sky and lay them into your hands, as she smiles with the epitome of beauty?

Is it laughter, the joy that friendship provides, the light feeling to fill your chest that you’ve sought for all your life?

Or is it merely stability? The opportunity to manifest your skills into something useful, so you may finally have that comforting monotony, the time to enjoy yourself for once?

(The traveler pushes his glasses up, confused, but listening nonetheless. His checkered polo shirt looks restricting around his throat.)

Let me tell you something, traveler. There is a man who seeks his head.

He does not need it, really; death had claimed him long ago, when it laid its hands upon his bleeding wounds amidst a cacophony of gunfire, and screams, and smoke seeping out of angry muskets. Being dead, there should be no need for him to chase after a rotting piece of flesh.

But murder and death do not always give the same result.

When the end comes, natural and calm and kind, it simply lays its victim down in an everlasting sleep, afloat the soft dirt that reclaims their body.

When the end comes, quick and brutal and with no mercy, the earth hardens with rage, suffocating the victim-turned-spirit and filling their decaying torso with heavy resentment.

And they rise again, their uneasiness fueling them, ready to search for closure in whatever they can find. Something. Anything. Even the easiest target will become their lifelong goal.

Still, what the Headless Horseman truly seeks is still vague. It’s as ineffable as the power the universe had given to make him live again.

(Though is it truly living, when you are merely lost?)

What will he fulfill once he finds his head? What will he gain solitude in?

Will he recollect all his memories, all his joys and sorrows?

Will he remember his face, and revel in the comfort of finding himself, of feeling whole, as he once was?

Will he understand more about the world that he no longer belongs in?

Will he finally rest then?

Or… did he give himself an impossible task for a reason?

Death, after all, is cold and endless.

Death, after all, is a long slumber.

If you are prepared for it, it is comforting and gentle. If not, it is unrelenting and restless.

Maybe it is better to live in the ghost of a home than in a crushing void.

So tell me, traveller.

(You say it with a smile.)

How long are you willing to search?

[gerrycoco]

My entry for Shipwrecked Comedy's Headless Series Fic contest. I've always loved the Socially Awkward Poe video where Edgar and Lenore try to write out the invitation to announce the series. So I figure I'd give it a bit of a twist for Shipwrecked's latest project. I'm posting it here below but I've also uploaded it to my ao3 page.

Summary: Ichabod Crane is new in town (cue John Mulaney voice) and decides he wants to throw some sort of social gathering so he can get to know people that aren't his roommate, the infamous Headless Horseman.

Note: I have no clue how the Shipwrecked gang is actually going to be doing this aspect but it's my Headless headcanon (badum tss) that the Headless Horseman can't actually talk unless he has a head and therefore makes use of AAC (alternative/augmentative communication) in order to communicate with others. The speech language pathology student in me couldn't pass up this opportunity especially since we don't really get to see that kind of thing much in media.

Ichabod Crane’s game night VIP barbecue picnic for neighbors luncheon

Ichabod Crane had arrived in the quaint town of Sleepy Hollow only a few days ago. He was to begin as a science teacher at the highschool in a few weeks. Until then, he hoped to make some connections and possibly friendships with the townsfolk. As of yet this had not proved very successful, his only real connection beyond the most basic of acquaintances was his new roommate.

For lack of a better idea Ichabod decided that he could throw some sort of social gathering for the whole town in hopes of getting to better know the residents of Sleepy Hollow. Well okay, maybe one resident in particular more than others.

Ichabod settled himself at the kitchen table and opened up his laptop. He opened up a blank word document to start writing an invite.

"Greetings fellow Sleepy Hollow citizens...wait no… Sleepy Hollow folk...Sleepy Hollowans?" Ichabod muttered to himself as he typed away, erasing and composing increasingly worse attempts at a greeting.

"Oh my God you've been writing the first sentence for the past 15 minutes please for the love of everything unholy just move on."

Ichabod jumped at the sound of his roommate's voice coming from the living room. Well, not exactly his actual voice. Being the Headless Horseman, his roommate didn't exactly have a mouth to speak with. Instead he used the text to speech function on his phone or a specialized app to communicate verbally when he needed to. Ichabod still didn't understand how his roommate could hear him since he obviously also didn't have ears but he'd learned to stop asking questions. Despite being a man of science he had decided to let it go lest he go insane at the anatomical implications involved in his roommate's literal lack of a head.

"Sorry, I hadn't even realized you were here," Ichabod said, feeling rather flustered.

"Well I was trying to have a nap but who could with you yammering away forever," the Headless Horseman, or HH as Ichabod had started calling him, replied, audibly annoyed. "What are you even going on about anyway?"

"Oh, I'm trying to write up an invite for a party," Ichabod answered.

"You? Throw a party?" HH responded, followed by some sort of odd wheezing sound that might have possibly been a laugh.

“Well maybe not a party,” Ichabod conceded, though he didn’t appreciate his roommate’s tone. “I was thinking maybe more along the lines of a picnic. I hear the weather is supposed to be nice this weekend.”

“The weather is never nice in Sleepy Hollow,” HH stated. “And I hate to break it to you but the only place nice enough for that in this town is the cemetery.”

“A barbecue then?” Ichabod asked, scrambling for different ideas.

“You and what barbecue?” HH retorted. “Besides I wouldn’t trust you near an open flame.”

“Excuse you but I’m a science teacher!” Ichabod exclaimed, as if this explained everything. “I’ve used a Bunsen burner countless times. I can’t imagine it would be very different.”

“That still doesn’t change the fact that we don’t own a barbecue,” HH reminded him.

The exchange went on for some time, Ichabod throwing out every possible type of social gathering he could think of, only for his roommate to shoot down every single one categorically.

“Well what about a game night? Or maybe even a murder mystery dinner party?” Ichabod said, seriously starting to run out of ideas.

“Dude no that’s totally lame. And before you say it, no Gatsby themed party either this isn’t a film noir or whatever,” HH added, finally coming into the kitchen and sitting down at the table across from Ichabod.

“Ugh you are absolutely impossible!” Ichabod cried out, thoroughly frustrated.

“Why are you even bothering making such a big deal over organizing something?” HH asked. “There’s already the annual bowling tournament that’s happening on Saturday.”

“Are you… are you kidding me right now,” Ichabod squeaked out, suddenly feeling his frustration reach a boiling point.

“Yeah the whole town is gonna be there,” HH explained, completely oblivious to Ichabod’s indignation. “Come to think of it, it's the perfect opportunity for you to properly meet everyone.”

“If you had a neck I swear I’d be strangling you right now,” Ichabod grumbled, slamming his laptop shut and storming off to his room.

Great, another new crazy person, just what this town needs, the Headless Horseman thought to himself before going back to the living room to continue his nap.

[shipwreckedcomedy]

Sleepy Hollow's about to get...sleepy. Join us this Sunday, July 11th, from 7 - 11 pm Pacific for our fourth livestream of the Headless campaign. We'll be in our pjs, maybe telling ghost stories, and definitely announcing the winner of the #HeadlessSeriesFic contest. Don't miss it!

[jaynaneeya]

The Headless Criminal

First of all, Headless: A Sleepy Hollow Story, the next big Shipwrecked Comedy project, is getting very close to its Kickstarter goal, so if you haven’t checked that out yet, and you’re seeing this before July 18, 2021 at 7:00 pm PDT, head to this link, and consider contributing a few bucks if you can.

Second of all, as soon as Ryan Garcia was revealed as one of the heads, I knew I needed to write a sequel to the fic I wrote a few years ago about time traveling Eddie’s ghost. If you want to read it, it’s here, but it’s very long, so in summary: Eddie is brought back as a ghost against his will after the events of Poe Party and is told that he has to either complete his unfinished business or forget about it in order to move on. He learns how to time travel and encounters James and Lily from kitr, who remind him of Edgar and Annabel, so he decides to ruin their lives, which leads to him bringing Lily back in time with him. She keeps meeting and falling for people who remind Eddie of Poe, so he has to keep breaking them up for revenge, and definitely not at all because he’s jealous. When Lily dies as Vivian Nightingale, Eddie realizes that he has to go back and establish her memorial ball so the events of Poe Party will happen the way they’re supposed to, and we left him hoping that this would complete his unfinished business. So here’s what I’m currently imagining happens next:

Eddie was out of ideas. He had gone back in time, established the Vivian Nightingale Memorial Ball, even orchestrated the meeting between his living self and Oscar Wilde just to make sure everything happened the way it was supposed to, and still he could not move on to the other side. Perhaps that psychic had been wrong about unfinished business. Perhaps being summoned as a ghost was permanent.

He went back to the future and haunted Lily’s grave again. Part of him wanted to find a way to bring her back, but to his surprise he found that his biggest reservation was that he didn’t want her to also be stuck with no way to find peace. This made no sense, of course. Eddie reminded himself that he wanted her to be miserable, because she reminded him of Annabel, and well… now that Eddie thought about it, that didn’t make any sense either. “Ugh, what am I even DOING with my afterlife?” he shouted, kicking her headstone in frustration.

Suddenly, the cemetery began to melt away. Had Eddie lost his ability to control his time travel? He felt a peculiar sensation in his neck, and he looked down to find that his body had disappeared. He quickly shut his eyes and begged everything to return to normal, but when he opened them again he found himself in an unfamiliar room, face to face with someone unpleasantly familiar.

“Well, well, well,” Eddie sneered. “Edwin. Allan. Poe.”

The other man furrowed his brow in confusion. “I thought Poe’s first name was Edgar,” said a voice behind Eddie that he thought sounded like Lenore.

“Are you sure it wasn’t Edward?” asked the man who looked like Poe but clearly was not.

“Good thing you’re a science teacher and not an English teacher,” quipped the Lenore double as she wandered into Eddie’s line of sight.

Eddie felt like he’d landed in his own worst nightmare. He wanted to leave, but his limbs seemed reluctant to move when he willed them to. “Where am I?” he demanded. “And who are you? And why can’t I-?” Eddie was interrupted by his own arm, which had finally decided to move, but not the way he’d wanted it to, and he ended up whacking himself in the face. When he glared at the offending arm, he noticed that it bore absolutely no resemblance to the arm he was normally attached to.

“I’m Ichabod Crane, and this is our – well, my – I mean, it’s my house, and it might be yours, too. My roommate doesn’t have a head, you see, and we found yours hidden under some floorboards in a haunted house. Matilda’s a witch and she knows how to attach heads to bodies, so that’s how you got here.”

Ichabod smiled in what he clearly thought was a friendly manner, but all Eddie saw was a smirk. Roommates with Poe’s doppelganger? Even if this had been his body, which it obviously was not, he wouldn’t have been able to stand it. Using all his willpower to remain calm, Eddie began, “I am most certainly not your roommate, and this is not my-”

He was interrupted once again, this time by a scream from the doorway. Eddie was prepared to see someone who reminded him of Annabel, but he was unprepared for the startled look of wide-eyed astonishment on her face. She recognized him.

Ichabod rushed over to her. “Kat, darling – I mean, not darling, that’s awkward, I would never call you that – well, not never, but we don’t know each other well en- sorry, I mean, uh… Kat, what’s wrong?”

For a moment, she looked as though she might faint, but instead she spoke, in the same desperately trying to remain calm tone that Eddie had just been using. “That head looks terrible on Headless’s body. It’s clearly the wrong one.”

“True, it doesn’t seem to fit, but I feel like we should at least give him the same courtesy we gave the others and allow him to tell his story-”

“No!” cried Kat, lunging toward Eddie.

Was this somehow Annabel’s ghost? Or was it, could it possibly be… “Lily?” he whispered as she approached him.

Instead of responding, she put one of her hands under his chin, grabbed his hair with the other, and tried to yank his head off of the body. Eddie hadn’t been able to feel physical pain since his death, but this hurt. “Stop! Let me talk to you!” he protested, but she ignored him.

“Ichabod! Matilda! Help me get this hideous head off!” Kat shouted as Eddie yelped in pain and anger. Hideous?

“Do you know this guy, Kat?” Matilda asked, sounding amused.

“Do you?” Ichabod repeated, sounding anxious.

Kat seemed to suddenly realize what she was doing. She released Eddie’s head. After taking a few steps back and a few deep breaths, she said, “Sorry. No, I don’t know him, but I do know that his head doesn’t belong on that body, and I’m so desperate to help you find the right head. We’ve been trying for so long, I’m starting to get frustrated and impatient. So can we please take this head off and try another one?”

Matilda narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but when Kat met her gaze unflinchingly, she shrugged and said, “Well, I certainly agree that this is not the correct head, so I guess you’re right, might as well move on.” She began chanting a spell.

“No, wait!” Eddie cried, but it was too late; a moment later he found himself back in the cemetery, his head reattached to the rest of his ghost.

Was Lily still alive somehow? Or had she come back as a ghost without telling him? That couldn’t have been Annabel; that girl had never been capable of violence, and if she had somehow developed a taste for it in death and now wanted revenge on him, surely she would have tried to strangle him, not pull his head off. But Lily had been his friend. Why wouldn’t she want to see him? If she’d figured out that he’d been sabotaging her, surely she would have confronted him. He resolved to get to the bottom of this. All he had to do was figure out where and when Ichabod Crane lived, and then he could take his whole ghost self there. She wouldn’t be able to get rid of him as easily that way. If nothing else, she at least owed him an explanation. Whether this was Eddie’s final bit of unfinished business or another wild goose chase, only time would tell.

[vhs-ghost]

My third (and final) fanfic for the Headless fanfic contest! What were the Sleepy Hollow residents like in high school? Well, Matilda will tell you! I really hope to write more about them in high school! I wrote SO many notes on it lol and i have a LOT more ideas!

The Washington Irving High School Yearbook

Ichabod knocked on the old door briefly before letting himself in. “Hello?” he said to the dimly lit witch’s shop. Katrina Van Tassel had insisted that Ichabod see Matilda, the town witch, for a tarot reading. Ichabod was a very skeptical man, but he was also a very smitten man, and he couldn’t say no to Katrina. He didn’t believe in magic, or the supernatural, or anything like that. He was a man of science. He was very smart when it came his studies, but he was a bit clueless otherwise. For example, he set himself on fire while cooking. Multiple times.

“I’ll be out there in a minute!” Matilda’s annoyed voice called from farther back in the store.

Okay!” Ichabod called back. He decided to poke around the shop while he waited. There were many odds and ends lying about. He wondered how much of it was for aesthetic and ambiance, and how much she actually used. There was a large horoscope tapestry on the wall, and tables and shelves were covered with crystals, tarot card boxes, books, candles, incense, and other witchy stuff like that. It also smelled quite good, like lavender and woodsmoke. He started to walk around, and his bodyweight made the floorboards squeak. He picked up a crystal point, that was much heavier than it looked, and promptly put it back down. He picked up an astrology book and began to thumb through it, not really taking note of it’s contents. As he glanced over the pages, another book poking out of the pile caught his eye; the Washington Irving High School Yearbook, year 2008. He tried to carefully pull it out from the stack, but the pile of books fell to the floor anyway. Matilda hurried in.

“Ugh, what are you doing??” she whined, looking at the pile of books now on the floor.

“I- I’m sorry. I, um-“ he stammered, and then looked at the yearbook in his hand. “I was trying to grab this,” he said, lifting the book sheepishly.

“What did you wanna look at that for?” she asked him, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Well I just happened to see it in this pile, and now I’m curious about how you all were in high school,” he said, hoping to not make her any more angry. “Was this your senior year?”

Matilda softened, but only a bit. “Yep. Here, I’ll show all the people you’ve met. It’s always fun to see what someone looked and acted like in high school. More to make fun of them for.” She opened the yearbook. The spine cracked after not being opened for many years.  

She first pointed to a picture of a pretty girl with red hair. “Let’s start at the beginning. Here’s Ramona when she was Ramona Birch. So before she was Mrs. Eugene Trousers and before she was running definitely not a cult with him. The two of them were the pride and joy of the drama club, imagine that,” she said sarcastically. “They were talented, though,” she added.

She moved on. “Now here’s the most important one.” She pointed to a younger picture of herself, looking even more goth and spooky than she did now. She had mall goth vibes. “Look, it’s ME! Wasn’t I adorable?” She did not wait for Ichabod to answer, and pointed to another picture.

“Oh look, it’s Brom,” she said with a roll of her eyes. He basically looked the same. “His first name is Abraham, but he’s gone by Brom even since he was a kid. It definitely sounds cooler, and Brom always wants to be the coolest guy in the room.” She paused. “He used to be a real jerk back in the day, until Kat flipped her lid on him, yelling at him in the hallway, asking him what his problem was. It was SUPER funny, watching him go all pale and stammer, but it worked, and he’s been less of a jerk, but kind of still a jerk, ever since. But hey, character development; we love to see.” Ichabod nodded, taking this information into consideration.

She flipped ahead a bit. “Hm, Diedrich. He’s been making annoying songs about our personalities since he could talk. In high school, he was the kind of dude who’d bring his guitar to class, to every party, everywhere. I mean, he still does that now, but in high school, it was even more douchey.”

She pointed to another picture, of a girl with bold style and pink streaks in her hair. “Lucretia moved here a couple of months in to senior year to live with her aunt, who owned Storms Inn. She was kind of mysterious in school. Still is, in my opinion, like she has something to hide. Anyway, she got most of the WI High senior experience, but she missed the Battle of the Bands auditions when we did that, so she had to be a judge.”

“You had a Battle of the Bands??” Ichabod asked with surprise.

“Yep. Winner even got a record deal, too. But that’s a story for another day. Anyway, Lucretia fit in well with Sleepy Hollow, and has immersed herself in the town ever since. Moving on to-” Matilda turned the page and pointed at a picture of a girl with bags under her eyes, forcing a smile, “your uptight boss!”

Ichabod looked uneasy. He didn’t want to gossip about his boss.

“Eh, she was uptight then, and shes uptight now,” Matilda said. “Douffe was also hella burnt out back then. See those eyebags?” Ichabod nodded. “She also used to drink coffee like water. She always stretched herself too thin. I guess she learned though?”

She continued to scan the page. “There’s Brad, or as you might know him, Officer Meinhof.” She rolled her eyes. “He was super gossipy, and always getting us outcast kids in trouble. Kinda nice, kinda not.”

She turned the page. “Ah, the package deal!” she said, pointing at three pictures in a row; Tripp Stevens, Calvin Stone, and Blair Sullivan. “The Babes have always been inseparable. They even tried to all be in the same photo, but no one was having that. They’ve always been fun. Having class with them was always an experience,” she said with a bit of a laugh.

She ran her finger across the page, pointing at Eugene Trousers. “Look, it’s Mr. Not a Cult Leader! He was annoying, and his mom was the drama teacher. Despite his obnoxious theater kid attitude, drama club was actually pretty fun.”

“You were in drama club?” he asked.

“Yeah, it was that or suspension. We did Beauty and the Beast. It was pretty cool. I’ll dig out the poster to show you next time.” Ichabod nodded, actually very invested. 

She turned the page, and her eyes lit up. “Ooooo look, Ichabod! It’s Kat Van Tassel!”

Ichabod blushed at her name. Matilda proudly laughed at his nervousness. She continued, “She was super popular, but also very rebellious and opinionated too. I think that’s why everyone likes her; she hella down to earth.” She paused, “Also I’m not being sarcastic. She’s just a really cool person. We’re still friends kind of, but she and I used to be a lot closer,” she said, sighing wistfully. Ichabod looked at her pensively. She snapped back from her nostalgia, looking back at the book. “Anyway..”

She pointed to two pictures. “Here’s the Van Winkles, Rip and Judy. They could not have been more different from each other,” she said with a laugh. “Rip was super smart without trying, but also a super slacker. He was always falling asleep in class and coming in late. Amazing choreographer though. And Judy was super studious and ambitious. She also changed her last name to Gardenier a couple years back. I don’t blame her. Van Winkle is uh, quite the last name. Anyway, they were cool. Rip and I were always good friends, and Judy was nice enough.”

She scanned the page. Her eyes landed on a picture, and her cheeks turned the slightest tinge of pink. She talked fast, “And here’s Tom. He was an outcast like me. He liked to set stuff on fire. Some things never change. He was cool. He is cool. Um-” Ichabod noticed her change in demeanor, but didn’t say anything. She’d just get mad at him if tried to bring attention to it. She pointed to one more picture, not lingering on Tom much longer, even though she wanted to.

“Aaaaand, here’s Verla.” She looked exactly the same as she did now. “I don’t know what her deal is, and it bothers me. I think she’s a haunted doll. Or 500 years old. Either way, she’s weird.” She paused. “Here, I’ll show you some more pictures from stuff.”

Matilda flipped to later in the book, pointing at candids and group shots. “Here’s some pics of drama club.” Ichabod was enthralled. “And here’s a pic from Battle of The Bands-“

RING. An alarm on Matilda’s phone rang as she pointed to the page. She looked down at the phone. “I’ll have to continue with the history lesson later, my dude. I’ve got a tarot card reading appointment to do now,” Matilda said, standing up. Ichabod tried to protest, but she stopped him, “Sorry, I can’t cancel… again. I need the money. But look,” she pointed out the shop window across the street. “Looks like Kat just left the post office. If you go now, I’m sure you can catch up with her.”

Ichabod turned, and did in fact see her. “Well, thank you for all of that,” he said. “I definitely want to hear more about your high school days later.”

“You will,” she told him.

“Bye Matilda,” he said, reaching for the door. He paused. “That was actually pretty fun, hearing about your high school days. Again, thanks.” She nodded back to him, and he rushed from the store, catching up with Katrina. Matilda continued to straighten up the shop, waiting for her next customer, and wondering what kind of high school stories she’d tell Ichabod in the future.

[shipwreckedcomedy]

hi!! sorry if this is bothersome, i'm just wondering if the winners for the fic contest were already announced? i wasn't able to catch the stream :(

Not bothersome at all! The winner of this fic contest was "All You Have is Your Fire" by coldairballoons, and the runners up were "Who Is Headless" by silverpetals97 and "The Legendary Brom and His Babes" by tinydetailsqueen. As with the fan art contest, we had a very hard time deciding! So many wonderful entries and we enjoyed reading them all!

[vhs-ghost]

Okay, here’s my first fanfic for the Headless fanfic contest! Based on Shipwrecked Comedy’s other series, Kissing in the Rain!

Kissing in the Rain - Ep. 13: Ichabod & Katrina

Rain poured in sheets over Sleepy Hollow. This was common here; weird and gloomy weather for a weird and gloomy town. Katrina Van Tassel stood in the old gazebo in the middle of town. Rain splashed in through the open sides, misting her face. The thundering rain kept her from hearing footsteps coming up behind her.

“Hey.”

Katrina let out a small yelp. “Ichabod, you scared me!” She hit him playfully. “I’d like a warning next time!”

“I was literally yelling to you!”

“Oh. I guess I couldn’t hear you over the rain.” She looked at him, seeing his clothes were drenched and his glasses were speckled with rain. “Here,” she said, taking his clear-frame glasses off his face. She wiped them on her dry shirt. He watched her intently. Well, as intently as he could; he was pretty blind without his glasses.

“You didn’t get caught in the rain?” he asked.

“No, I’ve been here for a while.” She handed him his glasses back and sat down on the bench inside the gazebo. Ichabod joined her. “It’s my favorite place to think, always has been. And you know I’ve been doing a lot of thinking these days. More than I’d like to.” Her cheeks were stained with tears. She sighed and looked out into the rain wistfully. Ichabod could only gaze at her with deep adoration. She turned back to him, “I’m really glad you’re here now, Ichabod. Things are better when you’re around.” She smiled at him. There was a bit of sadness in it, but it was genuine. Katrina felt more at ease with Ichabod than with anyone else. She reached out and grabbed his cold hand. He sat stunned and unmoving, staring at her. her. He wondered if she felt the same way about him that he felt about her, or if she was just a friend in need of comfort. Either way, he would do anything for her, whether she had romantic feelings for him or not.

Katrina had a lump in her throat now. She stared at his stunned expression thinking that maybe grabbing his hand was a mistake. She looked down at their hands. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know why I did tha-“ In the middle of her word, Ichabod squeezed her hand and pulled her closer, shielding her from rain blowing into the gazebo. They shivered against the cold together. She turned her head away from him, so that he could see her cheeks burning at their closeness. 

“Don’t be sorry,” he told her. “Never be sorry for grabbing my hand,” he said with awkward laughter. She smiled fondly at his reassurance.

“You know, you’re the greatest thing to ever happen to this town, Mr. Ichabod Crane.”

“And you’re the greatest thing to ever happen to my life, Ms. Katrina Van Tassel.” Ichabod peered down at Katrina, who now turned to look at him again. They locked eyes. Katrina mustered up all of her strength and leaned up to kiss him, just a second before he was going to do the same. As they kissed, a gust of wind blew rain into the gazebo, drenching the pair. They broke apart their kiss to gasp at the cold together. They smiled at each other, and continued to kiss in the rain.

“CUT! That was great guys. 5 minutes and let’s go again.”

Lily and James kept kissing a bit after the cameras stopped rolling, slightly lost in the moment. As they broke apart from one another and the rest of the Headless series crew was busy with various tasks, their attention was taken by a familiar face crossing the set towards them.

Audrey approached them, dressed head to toe in black. “Ugh, I can’t believe you two still get cast in so many projects together now,” she said with a playful eyeroll and a laugh. “Everyone knows that onscreen chemistry dies as soon as there’s real life chemistry,” she said, quoting an annoying review of Lily and James’ last movie to annoy them. It got to James more than it got to Lily. James rolled his eyes back at her “Audrey…” while Lily grabbed James’ hand and smiled at the two of them.

“How is playing Ichabod and Kat going, anyway?” Audrey asked them. Before they could respond, she quickly added “Playing Matilda is awesome by the way. I have a killer wardrobe.” She spun around.

“You do!” Lily told her. “And I really like all these characters! Kat’s so sassy!” she looked up at James “and I’m never like that!“ she said jokingly. The group laughed.

James began to speak, “And you know, Ichabod’s chill but awkward-“

“Wow, these characters are basically you guys,” Audrey interjected, annoying James yet again, but making Lily giggle. A voice from somewhere on set called Audrey’s name. “Well guys, I have to be off now. Don’t lose your head!” she said with a wink, walking off. Lily and James waved at her as they moved back to their positions, ready to do another take.