#cbs ghost fic

[roanofarcc]

UNVEILED

pairing. ghost-bride!reader x trevor lefkowitz

summary. requested. Out of all the mysteries that lived within the walls of the Woodstone Mansion, Trevor was only curious about the mystery of you and the veil that constantly covered your face.

warnings. fem!reader, mentions of death, dead!reader, bodily injuries, talk of insecurities, murder, hurt/comfort

word count. 2.8k || masterlist

a/n. this came out a bit angstier than intended lol but don’t worry there is comfort too! also…maybe I write a part two to this?? feel free to request for all of the ghosts; I love this show so much <3

It often felt like you were on the outside of things, peering in but rarely interacting. The ghosts that shared their purgatory with you in Woodstone had tried and still sometimes did to include you in their TV-watching nights and other ghostly shenanigans. They tried to be kind, but deep down you knew the mystery that shrouded your presence unnerved them. You were the one death none of the already established ghosts had witnessed nor had they seen it coming. One day you simply were one of them, hidden behind a veil and forever stuck in your wedding dress that was ruined with deep crimson smudges.

Only Hetty, Thorfinn, and Sasappis had seen you hours before you met your fate on your wedding day. They saw your features illuminated with a blissful wedding glow. The next thing they knew, chaos had erupted throughout the mansion and you, bloodied and veiled, could see them. What had happened, they only caught pieces from wedding guests as they fled the mansion without any kind of celebration. A groom who flew off the handle and a poor almost-wife caught in the crossfire.

The three of them held more sympathy and kept the secret of your death, what little details they knew. But they had established their own friendships amongst each other and the new ghosts that later joined their strange collection. You could never find it in yourself to truly be a part of their tightly-knit circle. You floated about the house, not quite as estranged as the basement ghosts, but with an uneasy air of mystery that made it difficult for the core group of ghosts to befriend you genuinely. They were never unkind to you, but your presence seemed to unnerve them, sometimes. All you were was a sheet of off-white, faceless, and gory bride.

Your husband, the man you once swore had loved you more than life itself, had covered your face with your veil after he killed you. For a while, you wanted to believe the gesture was one of love but the more you sat in it, you knew it was one of self-preservation. He didn’t want to look at what he did to you, and you thought why would anyone else? You hadn’t even seen what you looked like, but you could feel the deep grooves of your injuries across your face. When you brushed your fingers along your cheeks and down across your chin, you were back at what was supposed to be your wedding night, lying on the ground as the man you once loved saw nothing but red. When he was done ruining the delicate skin along your face with something sharp you hadn’t even seen coming, he placed your veil back down where it had remained since.

Your blood was visible to anyone who looked at you, but your face was obstructed by the ivory, pink, and red veil. It was for the best, you believed. The ghosts and Sam already saw you as some peculiar horror movie figure that lingered in door frames and only spoke from time to time; your sudden input made them jump like they had forgotten you’d been there but you were quite hard to miss. Maybe they blocked you out, pretended they were ghosts haunted by some poor little bride in a costume people now bought in stores and wore on Halloween.

Well, that wasn’t the whole truth, necessarily. Not all of the ghosts tip-toed around you. There was one person in the mansion who seemed to be the opposite of turned off by your quiet and awfully haunting nature.

“Knock knock.”

“It’s not a courtesy knock if you’re already sticking your head inside the room, Trevor,” you said, followed by a gentle sigh.

Trevor was a stark contrast to the other ghosts, while they tried to be your friend but ended up tip-toeing too much around you, he seemed to not be put off by you in the slightest; it was odd and you weren’t sure how welcome it was. You didn’t know how to feel about his flirtatious comments or friendly attitude. Since your fiance, you didn’t have the best feelings toward men in general. You never knew what they were really thinking. One moment, they’re ready to walk down the aisle for you, and the next, they’re the reason you’re a ghost. It wasn’t like you could die again, but there were a million ways to hurt someone, even when you both were dead, which was another reason you didn’t cross the distance between you and the other ghosts.

With a shrug, he stepped fully inside your room with a smile on his lips. “Hard to be courteous as a ghost.”

“I don’t think you try too hard,” you replied, curled into your chair beside the window. You sat with your knees pulled up to your chest, the skirt of your dress spilling out along the ground. Trevor helped himself to the chair beside yours, making himself comfortable. “Is there something I can help you with?”

He shook his head. “There’s only so much of Thorfinn’s ‘cod-talk’ that I can handle. So, I figured I’d pay you a visit. You didn’t come to our morning TV time. Sam showed us another reality show called ‘Jersy Shore.’”

“I don’t think I’m the most welcome to TV time.��� They invited you, sure, but deep down you knew they only did it as a formality. You often felt like you were butting in.

Trevor looked at you like you had grown another head; his brows furrowed and a little crease formed across his forehead. “What? Of course you are. You live you too, you know?” He scooted to the end of the chair that was angled toward yours and leaned forward. “And I like having you there.”

You looked at him, head tilted slightly. He couldn’t see your face nor the expression you made underneath your veil but he heard the scoff leave your lips. “You don’t have to say that, you know? You don’t have to pretend like you…” you trailed off, unsure of the right word. You don’t quite know what he was pretending to do. To like you. To see you as a friend when he hardly knew anything about you. Your presence unsettled those inside the house. The air of mystery around you wasn’t inviting but rather cold and confusing. You had made yourself that way, with the help of your fiance who had lost his mind on what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life.

“Like I what? Like you? Because I’m not pretending,” he said, his voice so matter of fact it was hard to believe he was lying, but you knew he had to be. Trevor hung around you, talked to you like a friend, but you couldn’t help but feel like it wasn’t real. How could it be?

“Stop,” you signed, hanging your head and dropping your legs back down to the ground. The taste of blood forever stuck on your tongue made you wince. “Look at me.” You weren’t something lovely anymore. And sure, the other ghosts all had something that signified their death forever stuck on them, but it was bigger than a simple appearance. You had loved someone so much and they hurt you so terribly that even in the afterlife the thought of showing your face, your wounds and blood and bridal makeup made you feel ill. Because if someone you loved had looked at you before that, someone who knew you so intimately, and still hurt you, how was anyone supposed to look at you now and feel any semblance of love or even like? What if someone looked at you again, face ruined, and decided to hurt you just as your fiance did?

“I’m trying,” Trevor said. “But it’s a little hard to see you.”

A pang, hot and deep, ricocheted through your chest as you stood up. “That’s the point.”

You weren’t sure if you wanted to cry or scream, perhaps a bit of both but you had resorted to silence considering you weren’t alone. You didn’t want to make more of a scene than you already did with your presence that felt too large and uncomfortable.

“Do you want me to get rid of them?” Sam asked, her voice laced with concern and a gentleness that was a bit lost on you. She and Jay had been cleaning out some old boxes they had found shoved into a closet. In one of them lived a couple of framed photographs of you and your fiance when you were dating. They were a little worn and so old you were surprised they held up after all that time.

You looked too happy in the photos, smiling widely in his arms. There was another taken shortly after your engagement. Your family had brought them to Woodstone to decorate with for your wedding and after the events of that night, they must’ve forgotten them. Somehow they got shoved into a box and remained inside the home ever since. A part of you felt like it was a sweet sentiment, cementing your presence inside the mansion but another part felt like it was some kind of sick joke.

“Oh, so that’s what you look like,” Flower said, peering over Sam’s shoulder. There was no malice in her voice, only the usual airiness, but it carried an unknown weight to her and everyone else.

You felt sick as you stared at the smiling face of the man you almost married. He looked happy too. The two of you together had once been a charming sight. Your families and friends always told you how good the two of you looked together like you had been put on the Earth to find one another. But you no longer looked like the person staring back at you in the photograph, and the last image you had of the man you once loved looked nothing like he did in those photos.

Tears pricked your eyes as you shook your head at Flower’s words. “No anymore.” And never again.

Back inside your room, you paced, chewing on your fingernails. Something had a tight hold on your chest, squeezing your heart was no longer beating tightly. You were so caught up in your awful, crashing waves of nasty emotions that pulled you under, that you missed someone enter your room.

“Hey,” Trevor said, softly so as to not scare you but you jumped anyway and dropped your hand quickly as your veil fell back over your mouth. “Sorry. I just wanted to make sure you were okay after that. Sam feels really bad about showing you the photos. She didn’t mean to make you upset she just-”

You cut him off with a wave of your hand. “I didn’t know they’d make me feel so awful,” you said, glad he couldn’t see the tears that trickled down your cheeks. “That’s not her fault. I…” you trailed off, falling onto the edge of your bed with your hands held tightly together in your lap.

Trevor sat beside you, leaving a space between you two. “The other dude in the photo. He was your fiance, right?” You nodded, solemnly. “And he was the one who…”

“Kill me? Yes.” The pieces weren’t impossible to put together. You were sure in Sam’s research about the house and the ghosts your story was among them. Maybe Hetty or Sass or Thor told the others what little they knew about your death. They had been off doing something else when you were murdered, but that wasn’t something that occurred silently. In the aftermath, the house was in chaos and your almost-husband was taken away red-handed.

“I’m sorry,” Trevor said.

“He wasn’t.” Your voice came out with a bite, but it wasn’t directed at Trevor. You bounced back and forth between sadness and anger, stewing it in decade after decade. You wanted it soothed but you feared you’d forever be the bitter bride roaming the halls of Woodstone. “He did more than just kill me that day. It was like he knew I’d become a ghost, stuck here forever in this stupid dress, and my face-” You stopped yourself, ghosting your hand against the fabric of your veil. “He ruined me. Both in life and death.”

Carefully, Trevor reached out and grasped your hand. His hand was cold, but as he squeezed yours, you felt warmer. “Don’t let him,” he said, simply as if he knew anything about how you felt. You rolled your eyes; he couldn’t see it but he sensed it in the stiffening of your shoulders and the slack of your hand in his. “He’s not here, you are. Yeah, he fucked up your life but…I don’t know, don’t you ever feel like us becoming ghosts is a weird second chance?”

“It doesn’t really feel like a second chance. It feels like I’m stuck.” Stuck in your dress, in your veil, in your wedding venue, in the sinking feeling that no matter what you do you’re doomed.

“But it can,” Trevor said, scooting closer to you. “It can feel like a second chance. No one here should be friends; no one here should know anything about each other but we do. That’s a second chance if I’ve heard of one.”

“And you don’t think it’ll end badly?” Because doesn’t everything good?

He smiled lightly. “I try not to think about how it’ll end, only how it’s goin’.”

You had once thought that way too. The inevitability of death or something coming to an end was one of the last things that used to occupy your mind. You lived in the moment, swept up in happiness and falling in love with every stranger you met. The ‘till death do we part’ promise your fiance made when he proposed had never weighed on you because you always thought you’d make it into your old age with him. Since you felt death, endings in your mind became bitter and you couldn’t help but believe they’d always be bad. Every end would be tragic in life and death.

“I don’t think I can do that anymore,” you admitted in a whisper, staring down at your intertwined hands in your lap.

“I could show you.” You could feel his eyes burning into the side of your face but you were too scared to look at him and see how genuine he was. You heard it in his voice but seeing it on his face, you were afraid you’d cave. A small piece of you, the part of your heart still intact that wanted nothing more than to be in love again, wanted to cave so badly. The loneliness of your act of pushing everyone inside the home away despite their efforts was tiresome.

You blinked back a couple more tears and sighed. “That might take a while.” You didn’t know if you even had it in you to take back what your fiance stole.

“Good thing we have eternity, then.” You heard the smile in Trevor’s voice and caved, looking over at him looking right at you. He was close, closer than you were sure he had ever been. “Do you trust me?”

The first answer that sprung forward in your head was yes, despite everything, every twisted worry that had accumulated in your body, your instinct when he asked was to say yes. He’d never done anything to make you say no. Unlike your fiance, you never had a troublesome inkling in the pit of your stomach that he’d lose his temper one day or that you got on his nerves when they were already inflamed. No, Trevor stayed with a cheeky grin, a crude joke, a compliment here and there, and an air of trustworthiness that everyone in the house felt but never said aloud.

Swallowing thickly, still tasting the blood on your tongue you answered, “Yes.”

He let go of your hand and touched the end of the veil’s fabric, holding it between his fingers. “Tell me to stop and I will,” he said, quietly. You held your breath and stayed still, not moving a muscle as he slowly started to lift the veil, giving you plenty of time to tell him to stop. It wasn’t until the fabric was fully off of your face that the fear of him turning away in disgust or horror fell over you. He was looking at, looking at what your fiance had done in his successful murder attempt. While you had no idea what you truly looked like, you knew the placement of every cut and groove. You knew it was unsightly and you couldn’t blame Trevor if he pulled the veil right back down over your head, just as your fiance had done after the deed was done.

You waited in thick anticipation, fear encroaching on the corners of your mind. But, Trevor did nothing you feared he would.

His lips pulled upwards in a smile, bright and warm, as he held onto the sides of your face. “Hi,” he said, seeing you for the first time really.

“Hello,” you replied.

[player188654]

ALIVE/MODERN T-Money aesthetic

[multi-fandom-lunatic]

due to all the ai scraping happening on ao3, my fics are now only visible to ao3 users with an account :/

[afrsconp]

So this account was only going to be used to reply/comment to other people's posts, but then CBS released new Nissac pics and this happened, instead.

Inspired by the photos from S04E07, and especially this one:

“– you don’t even like dinosaurs, you’ve never cared for them, and you know that I myself love dinosaurs dearly – just as much as you love your ants! So you see–”

“Take it.”

“I–you–what?” Isaac exclaims, unsure if he’d heard correctly.

Nigel sits very still and keeps staring straight ahead, not even glancing at Isaac beside him on the bench. 

“Just take the bed,” he repeats.

“What are you– After all the arguments and fights and squabbling, now you’re just letting me take it?” Isaac stares at Nigel’s profile, more than a little disbelieving. “Just like that?”

Nigel takes a deep breath. “Do you know why I even wanted it in the first place?”

Isaac frowns. “Petty revenge?” he guesses.

Nigel smiles thinly. 

“Perhaps,” he acknowledges. “Partly, at least. But no. That wasn’t the real reason.” 

He's silent for some time, and when he speaks again, his voice is so quiet that Isaac has to lean a little closer to hear him.

“When we were engaged,” Nigel begins, “we were unable to exchange rings. We had no tangible, physical evidence that we were – that what we had was –”

He cuts himself off there, pressing his lips together, as though forcing the words to remain inside his throat, unspoken and unheard.

“And I thought,” he continues eventually, “I thought the bed could become that for me. One that came too late, I know, but still. A keepsake, if you will, of… what we once had.”

Nigel turns to look at him, finally, but the expression on his face is utterly blank: the kind of look one would give a featureless wall, or an empty canvas, or a – a complete stranger, Isaac thinks, as he tries and fails to read something of Nigel’s thoughts there, and finds nothing at all.

“But it’s becoming clear to me now,” Nigel adds, “that what I thought we had... was not what we actually had, and so–” He stops suddenly, swallowing whatever it was that he was going to say. “What’s the point of a keepsake that signifies nothing?” he asks instead.

He smiles again, but it's an awful expression, one that reminds Isaac of the way Nigel looked at him right after the aborted wedding, when he'd tried to explain why he called it off and Nigel told him, eventually, that it was all right and he understood.

"Besides," Nigel adds now, still smiling that awful smile, "it's the perfect replacement for the new daybed you always wanted. Symbolic of something you love... and only sleeping one."

Isaac jerks back slightly, the unexpected reminder only sharpening the sting.

“So take the bed, Isaac," Nigel says. "Take whatever you want.”

Then he stands and walks away, and though his shoulders are visibly tense his steps don’t falter and he doesn’t look back, not even once. 

Isaac watches him go, until his figure disappears into the woods in the distance, and all at once he's struck by a strange sense of inevitability. That now, that hard-won bed will no longer remind him of fun little dinosaur facts or an afterlife-changing lapdance, but that it will forever remind him of this, instead: the sight of Nigel's red coat vanishing into the trees; Nigel never saying the actual word but the last thing he said still sounding very much like goodbye.

Isaac glances at the bed's box nearby, then looks back at the woods again. He's won the battle; the bed is his now. But for some reason, this doesn’t feel like a victory at all.

[lauracylon12]

The HC/Fic Ideas List

Hetty is autistic - like really autistic. She is very sensory seeking, she likes her corset it gives her the good pressure,

Special interests: Gilbert & Sullivan, wax flowers (they’re somewhere in the house), embroidery, crochet (I’m based).

Outward signs: The T-Rex arms, easily overwhelmed, echolalia.

Stims: Crochet (when she was alive), singing (some of the Ghosts are very tired of “I am the Very Model of a Modern Major-General”), talking w/ her hands.

Bad Feelings: Being touched first, sack cloth (the occasional hug from Nancy is an exception), ringing phones, loud knocking, people yelling.

Hetty could see all of the ghosts. She remembers Gordon the most, but has faint memories of Firefly, Ruffles, Patty, and Nanny.

Firefly would tell her stories.

Ruffles taught her about the government and to hate Alexander Hamilton.

Patty taught her how to be a good and pious girl.

Nanny taught her about periods and how to have a sense of humor. She was the last ghost Hetty saw, she was 12 and it was right after her mother was taken.

Thomas loved theatre, Hetty would take him to opening nights. {kidnapped idea from folie à deux by binina on AO3}

The Merry Monarch w/ book by J Cheever Goodwin and music Woolson Morse.

Tuxedo (vaudeville) George Thatcher’s Minstrels - 1891

one of Alberta’s family members toured w/ this group

Dr. Syntax with music by Woolson Morse and a libretto by J. Cheever Goodwin - 1894

Hetty’s first word was ‘cod’, followed by ‘Dada’ directed at Thorfinn. He was a mess for months. Nancy had spent weeks trying to get her to say it. Hetty calls Nancy ‘Nanny’ next. {kidnapped from @catsandclassics}

When Sam announces that she’s pregnant all of Ghosts are saying that she should name the baby after one of them - except Hetty. When Sam comes home from the hospital Hetty is the first person she tells the name to - Henrietta Champa Arondekar. They’re going to call her Henri.

Stephanie called Hetty ‘Mom’ when she was being put to bed after “I Know What You Did Thirty-Seven Summers Ago”. Stephanie was stoned out of her mind and doesn’t remember, but it meant everything to Hetty. Trevor held her while she cried.

Alberta/Pete/Trevor/Hetty polycule. It’s sickeningly cute. Alberta/Pete are requited love. Tretie are an adorable pile of golden retriever bi boy energy. Albetty the snarky judgement is really. Alberta/Trevor they make jokes about the others and are more platonic than romantic. Petty Pete helps to soften Hetty’s sharper edges, Hetty helps him be more assertive.

Creepy Dirk: Relationship Counselor

Thor will have bad nights when he needs to hold someone. Preferred options are Flower, Hetty, Trevor, Pete. He’s really cuddly.

Age Regression - Hetty is suddenly physically 5. It’s adorable, until it isn’t. The others thought tiny Hetty would be all cuteness, she is an adorable little girl bright blue and bouncy red curls, but she is a small child who’s world is now very different than what she was used to. She cries for hours, Thor holds her and sings until she falls asleep. They try to rotate who she sleeps with, but that is easier said than done. They can’t put her down - Hetty+ground=tears. Thor, Sass, Patience, and Nancy take turns carrying her. Isaac does not know what to do with a baby and tiny Hetty has never seen Alberta, Flower, Pete, or Trevor. Sam and Jay haven’t slept in days, turns out tiny Hetty has nothing against the Irish and can be seen all the time (Jay sees tiny Hetty floating through the air when one of the older ghosts was carrying her, that almost broke him). The biggest problem is hiding her from the guests. Luckily they find that like all other small children she loves television. They have only watched Bluey, Thomas the Tank Engine (model series), and the Wiggles for weeks. Sass is so far behind on It’s Getting Hot in Here. There are a few people they can’t really hide her from like Bela, who loves tiny Hetty, she’s been waiting on a nibling for years and like magic here is an adorable little girl. Hetty’s temper tantrums were legendary when she was an adult, but at 5? The pouting, the tears? Thor has a backbone made of Jell-o, whatever his little princess wants she gets. As the only father who was alive for those tiny human years Pete is disappointed in the Viking. Hetty finally turns back and has no memory of having been turned into a child. Life goes back to normal and then one night at 2am Jay hears tiny Hetty’s giggle.

Trevor wants to propose to Hetty, so he reads up on Gilded Age etiquette and realizes that he’s supposed to ask her father’s permission. Samuel is dead and was never really a good dad, so he asks Thor. Thor tells him he must court her properly - gifts and poems (he would demand cod, but Trevor can’t go fishing). Poems he figured out, turns out Hetty really likes Chappell Roan and Taylor Swift. Gifts that takes a little bit more work, but Trevor has a job - he buys her a television, the Bodices & Barons boxset, and an iPad for their bedroom (it works as a digital remote for their television touch screen is easier to use compared to a regular remote, also all the naughty novels Hetty could ever want to read {kidnapped from binina}).

High School Rivals AU - A friend of mine and I came up with this H$ high school plot where they're rivals(he's on a bunch of sports teams and she's got every academic group on lock) and don't care for each other but then the last year, Hetty needs a good grade in gym in order to keep her perfect 4.0 and he needs a good grade in english to have good enough grades to get into UPenn so they strike a deal to help each other. Suddenly they're spending all their time together and they're NOT dating but then Hetty meets Esther, who basically adopts Hetty because Samuel is low-key abusive and absent and then Hetty's at his house ALL the time. {@tabbyofwisdom}

Hetty is mute and Trevor is deaf. {anon ask sent to @hettywoodstonenumberonefan}

Sam and Jay find a creepy Victorian doll belonged to Hetty. {hettywoodstonenumberonefan} They think it is well chosen hair and texture, they are very freaked out when they find out that’s actually her hair. Trevor starts moving it when Jay isn’t looking.

Jealous Hetty - Trevor makes one too many jokes about short blondes.

I think I have everyone tagged. Does anyone have anything to add?

@miniarchiives @silvershewolf247 @sunofmae @hettywoodstonenumber1fan @catsandclassics @tabbyofwisdom

[plegdoctor]

Girls when they start writing a cbs ghosts and Yellowjackets cross over fic where Jackie’s ghost is attached to the necklace, and Sam and Jay find it in an antique shop (after a particularly traumatic hiking trip through a certain Canadian wilderness) and they take it home so Jackie can meet some new friends

[hettywoodstonenumber1fan]

Sneak peak of my high school au chatfic

-----

-Pete created the group “The Main Eight”-

Pete (11:07)

Hey guys!!!

Flower (11:08)

hi :)

Thor (11:08)

HELO

Alberta (11:08)

Damm big guy turn off your caps

Thor (11:09)

I DONT KNOE HOW

Sass (11:09)

press the button in the corner of your keyboard

Thor (11:09)

NO

Thor (11:09)

I LIK SHOUTING

[frogsndogs]

okay but what if theresa (alberta's sister) also knew she was murdered but no one believed her and no one cared and she spent her life trying to track down her sister's killer? what if she suspected earl and only dated him to get closer to him to try and find the truth? what if she died before ever getting justice?

[kimtiny]

That feeling when the fandom finally started to stop villainize your favorite character

[roanofarcc]

UNFINISHED BUSINESS

pairing. sasappis x ghost!reader

summary. (requested) as the two youngest ghosts at woodstone, you and sasappis understood each other and your laundry lists of unfinished business. at the top of the list for both of you? falling in love

warnings. dead!reader, fem!reader, mentions of death, sad sasappis, happy ending!!

masterlist

“Good morning!” you greeted cheerfully as you entered the living room where the rest of the ghosts were hanging out, lounging and waiting for today’s adventure to spring to life. Usually, when you awoke, you could gauge how the day would go from the looks on their faces. More often than not, they were a little bored as they awaited to see what Sam and Jay had on the agenda for the day, but today was slightly different. When you greeted them, the looks on their faces were a mix of boredom, worry, and confusion. 

“There you are,” Hetty said, standing up with a small huff. “Is Sasappis with you?” 

You furrowed your brows. “No, why?” 

“We not know where he is. We thought he with you,” Thorfinn said, looking slightly distressed at his seemingly missing friend. 

It wasn’t possible though for Sasappis to be missing. If he had been sucked off, or passed on to whatever awaited you after ghosthood, someone would have seen it. And it wasn’t like ghosts could wander off the property. You thought for a moment, longer than it should have taken you to realize just where Sass had run off too. 

“I’ll get him,” you said, starting toward the back door. The other ghosts began following you, but you paused and turned to look at them. “Um, maybe I should talk to him first.” 

You hadn't known Sass the longest, not by a couple hundred years, but the two of you had bonded as the youngest ghosts to haunt Woodstone. All of them had unfinished business, that’s why you all were stuck in the mansion, but you and especially Sass had so much unfinished business that it felt overwhelming at times. That was when you’d each need to get away from everything to mull it over. But as you quickly learned, mulling it over alone was even more isolating. Then, one day you stumbled upon Sass sitting alone by the large pond on the property. From that point on, whenever the two of you felt extra jaded about your untimely deaths, you’d find yourself by the lake with each other, slightly soothed by each other's company. 

There were protests from the other ghosts, except Thor. He knew Sass the best since they had been dead together the longest. He stepped forward and placed a heavy hand on your shoulder, offering you a nod before he turned around and did his best to explain to the others why it was best that you go speak to Sass first. While he did that, you slipped outside and headed toward the lake. 

You found Sass in his usual spot, with his feet pulled up to his chest and his chin resting on his knees. 

“Hey,” you greeted quietly, as to not scare him, before you sat down beside him on the slightly overgrown grass. 

He offered you a weak smile in return before his gaze returned to the rippling water. The rising sun glittered across the surface and it bathed everything in a warm orange glow. 

“Everyone was worried about where you ran off too,” you said. “I think they thought you got sucked off or something.” 

Sass shook his head. “Like that’ll happen.” The edge in his voice made you frown. “I’m never leaving this place.” 

“You don’t know that,” you said, gently. 

He laughed bitterly. “I’ve been here 500 years and still have unfinished business. I don’t think I’ll ever finish it all. It's not like it was one thing I wanted to do; I had everything left to do.” And it wasn’t fair. All of the ghosts at Woodstone had potential in their lives, lots of it, but died before they reached it. But Sass, one of the youngest at the mansion, had his whole life ahead of him. He had hardly started it before he passed, and after five hundred years it was probably hard to see a point of even trying to continue completing any unfinished business in a world so different than the one you’d been alive in. 

There was little you could say to make him feel better. Instead, you scooted closer to him and placed an arm around his shoulder. Like second nature, he shifted his head from his knees onto your shoulder, melting into your side as you both kept your gaze on the lake. You stayed like that together for a while, until the sun had risen, and the sky was a brilliant, cloudless blue. Only after that did he lift his head and turn towards you with a small, sheepish smile on his lips as he rubbed his eyes. 

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I didn't mean to dump that all on you. I just…” he trailed off with a sigh. “It’s just nice having someone who understands.” 

You brushed a couple of rouge pieces of hair from his forehead and smiled. “Don’t apologize. That’s what I’m here for. We both have unfinished business, a lot of it, but at least we died on the same property. I think that makes up for some of it, us getting to be…friends.” Friends didn’t quite feel like the right word. What you and Sass had was more than just friendship, it was a connection that no one else really understood. You were still practically just kids who had died on the verge of their lives starting and you were trying to figure it out.

Sass’s expression became unreadable for a moment before it turned into a small smile. “Yeah. Friends.” He stood up and offered you his hand before pulling you to his feet. Together, you walked back to the mansion, where Sass was swept up in whatever daily plan the other ghosts had to keep their boredom at bay. You, however, broke off from the group and found yourself in front of the series of photographs that Sam had put up along the upstairs hallway. She said it was a little homage to the ghosts of Woodstone, some of them anyway. She had found old photographs abandoned in the basement from the many lifetimes of Woodstone. There was a family portrait of Hetty that Sam had smartly cropped in the frame not to include Elias. There was a photo of Alberta on stage and a hand-drawn photo of Isaac and his regiment that Jay found for a couple bunks on something called E-Bay. It was sweet, you thought. There was even a photograph of you when you were a little girl at your aunt's wedding that took place at Woodstone ages ago. In the picture, you stared up at the bride with a stary gaze full of admiration and hope that one day you’d fall in love and have a wedding of your own. 

The list of your unfinished business was long, but near the top of the list was to fall in love. You’d come close in your lifetime, a couple of times, but you had died before anyone became serious enough to plan a wedding. As a ghost, you still sometimes felt like the little girl in the photograph, captured by the idea of love with a dream to feel it yourself. As foolish as it was, you still held out hope that it would still happen to you. How, you weren’t sure. But the large and bleeding heart of the little girl you had once been still existed inside of you, underneath cobwebs. 

“There you are,” a voice came from behind you. “We’re about to play charades.” 

You threw a glance over your shoulder as Sasappis approached you, seemingly in better spirits than earlier. “I might pass today,” you replied. 

He stepped in line beside you, nervously playing with the beads on his clothing out of habit. “I didn’t bum you out earlier, did I? Because I’m sorry if I did-” 

You cut him off with a shake of his head. “Stop apologizing for how you feel, Sass” 

“Sorry-” You shot him a look and he sighed, hanging his head. “What I mean is, I didn’t want my bad mood to rub off on you.” 

“There was a lot on both of our lists,” you said, earning a slightly confused look from him. “Our list of unfinished business. There was a lot we both wanted to do. I really wanted to fall in love like my aunt in this picture. Look how happy she looks.” Your aunt was practically glowing beside her partner, dressed in white with a look of pure admiration and love that one could feel radiating off of the framed photo. 

He gazed at the photo for a moment. “You looked happy too.” 

“I was. I remember that the whole day here felt like a dream. That’s why I came back a couple of years later. I didn’t know I’d end up dying here. though.” 

After a beat of silence, Sass said, “It was on my list too, falling in love. Well, technically I was but I was too scared to tell her. Then I died and that was that.”

“Looks like we both fell short there, huh,” you said, laughing breathily in an attempt to lighten the mood. 

Sass’s brows furrowed and he pressed his lips together in a thin line as he stared at a spot on the floor for a prolonged moment. “Maybe…Or…” He snapped his gaze upwards, falling onto you. “Can I say something that might be, uh, a little crazy?” 

You smiled. “We’re ghosts living in a haunted house, Sass. There isn’t much you can say that could be crazier than that.” 

“I wouldn’t say that yet,” he muttered under his breath, but you still heard it. He turned his body toward you and rolled his shoulders back. “I missed my chance when I was alive to tell someone I liked them. I was scared and a little bit of a coward. But, you know, I’ve had five hundred years to think about what I would have done differently if I ever liked someone again. But I never thought it would actually happen.” He spoke quickly like he was trying to push out his thoughts before they got too jumbled inside his head. Even as he took a quick breath, there wasn’t enough time for you to say anything before he started again. “And maybe this isn’t…I don’t know. Maybe it’s a long shot and a stupid one. Maybe you just see me as a friend and that’s fine. But I,” his breath caught in his throat for a moment as his gaze fell off of you. “I like you.” 

Your eyes widened at his admission; speechless and breathless. You body moved without help from your brain as you stepped right in front of Sass and placed on hand on the side of his face, getting him to look at you. His eyes were swarmed with unease and nervousness, like the young kid he was and not a five-hundred-year-old ghost. 

“Really?” you asked, voice just above a whisper. He nodded. Your lips curled up in a smile. “I like you too.” 

He let out a breath in relief and matched your smile for only a moment before his arms encircled your waist and pulled you in closer before he pressed his lips for you. You hugged your arm around his neck and kissed him back like you had silently wanted to do for years. 

The kiss was short but sweet, as it was interrupted by a hardy laugh that startled both of you. “Thor knew it!” You both spun around to see all of the ghosts as they made their way to the usual room for charades. 

“About time,” Hetty scoffed. 

You gazed back at your photograph and smiled brightly at the little girl. You had been wrong. Not all of your unfinished business had to stay unfinished. Perhaps there were things you weren’t to accomplish in death just as the things you had accomplished in life. 

[iaimforstress]

Tumblr broke and switched these blogs up..And now it looks like Isaac and Jenkins swapped bodies or something😭.

@higgintoothsblog @jenkins-private

[player188654]

I wish Stephanie would wake up for longer. She’s so chaotic and has so much promise

[trevorsimp]

Hey! I really love your fics they are fire!! I was wondering if you could do a Sasappis/male ghost reader and/or an Alberta/male ghost reader? I’m not picky on specifics I just love these two so much. Thanks! 🫶🫶

Confessions of a Confirmed Bachelor

Request: ^^^

Pairing: Sasappis x male!ghost!reader

Summary: You and Sasappis

Notes: 759 Words. confessions. mention of previous angst/undertones of past angst.

--------

You and Sasappis lay on the lawn of the Woodstone estate on a particularly warm summer’s day. The wind blew just right through the grass and over the two of you. You kept your eyes closed as you embraced the sun.

“Sasappis, friend, did you often find yourself bathing in the sun during your lifetime?” you asked.

“Not often,” he said, “I was usually doing something to help my family or tribe.”

You hummed, “Neither did I. Ever the eligible bachelor, I was oft up late in the night, sleeping the day away or keeping indoors. I so wish I had spent some time to warm my living flesh.”

Sasappis turned his head to look at you, “Did you enjoy partying?”

“Why yes,” you said, “The attention was magnificent. I would visit the city to visit the parties and meet the ladies out on the market. In the marriage market, when a woman came of age to be wed, her parents would doll her up and introduce her to the proper men. I would bask in their eyes, but I was not looking to be tied down. Nor did I let a young lady believe she had caught my attention. It was a pity to see them heartbroken. Oh but truth be told, if I had my way, I would have stayed unmarried for my life, my long life, and lived with my good friend Leonard.”

“Leonard?” Sasappis asked.

“He was a handsome fellow. I never went too long without finding his company, nor did I ever dare to attend a party without him. He held my hand when my heart failed me the night, from all of the cocaine he and I did before the party, I died in the manor.”

“I remember him,” Sas said, “He looked heartbroken.”

“He was my closest friend. I suppose we could have been lovers in another era… I hope he lived a long and happy life. I hope he managed to escape the draft for the Great War and live in a big house with lots of money and people who loved him.”

“Do you miss him?”

“In a sense,” you said, “I miss him fondly, but my heart does not break over him anymore. I have made a new life, afterlife, I suppose, here. I have friends and a new fancy.”

“Really?” Sasappis sat up, “Who?”

You laughed and sat up too.

“Why Sasappis, you, of course.”

“Me? Why me?”

“I thought you had noticed that I dedicated a vast majority of my time following you around for nearly the past 25 years,” you said, “You make me laugh and smile, you are a joy to be around, you always find a way to fill your day with entertainment. Sasappis… I am so enamored by you. Tell me your heart beats the same way.”

You took his hand in your gloved hand, holding it gingerly as you looked at him in earnest.

“I, I didn’t realize you felt the same way about me, Y/N,” he said, “All this time I thought you were… more like an Edwardian-era Trevor-type.”

“Oh please,” you laughed, “Trevor and I may be similar in manner but we do not have the same type.” You stopped as his words finished marinating in your ears, “You do?”

You threw yourself over Sasappis to embrace him. The two of your rolled a few times before stopping beside each other.

“Sasappis, my story-teller, where should I begin?” you asked, “With my more recent soul-crushing heart-throbbing feelings? When I realized I love you? Or the moment when I woke from ym cocaine crash out and laid my eyes on you?”

“Start from the beginning,” Sasappis said, “I want to hear it all.”

You cleared your throat, “The night was December 23, 1911. It was snowing outside, and I had just taken the very last of my cocaine. I do wish I had kept my backup tin on me, then, we might have been able to get high in the afterlife. Alas, I have just taken my last bit of cocaine. I was going back down the stairs to rejoin the party when I felt my heart seize up. I blacked out, and when I opened my eyes, standing over my corpse, I saw you. There you were, smoldering gaze and luscious long hair, standing at the top of the stairs. There were other people with you, but I only remembered the way I felt I must be in heaven to see a man so dapper waiting to greet me…”

xxx

Masterlist

[afrsconp]

A little holiday gift for the Tumblr Nisaac ghosties, with extra thanks to @yourstrulyray, whose post partly inspired the ending.

Thanks everyone for being so welcoming to a latecomer like me. <3

Written for the prompt: Your fave ship had some troubles and broke up but they're getting back together during the holidays.

(Which is obviously a Nisaac prompt if ever there was one.)

He finds Nigel on the little stone bench outside, where they’d first decided to try just being friends. And by anyone's measure, they’ve succeeded–more than a year has gone by since, and it's been one of the best of Isaac's afterlife that he can recall.

It wasn't until they started spending time together again that Isaac really understood why he'd been so out of sorts before. Not just lingering upset over the failure of their nuptials, but just the simple fact that he missed Nigel. Missed walking with him, conversing with him, even arguing with him. Isaac hadn't realised how much time they'd come to spend together once they started dating, nor how much he'd come to rely on Nigel's advice, or wit, or comfort whenever he needed it.

And Nigel never failed to provide it. Never fails, Isaac corrects himself now, as Nigel is as thoughtful and considerate a friend as he was a romantic partner. Isaac hopes he's done as much for Nigel, but in truth, he's really not so sure.

“Isaac,” Nigel says in greeting, when he sees Isaac coming towards him.

The noise of the Christmas party is muffled out here, but they can still hear the laughter and the music spilling out of the windows, still feel the warmth of the happiness and joy of their friends–living and ghost alike–inside the house proper. Isaac isn't really a sentimental man but the thought makes him smile, as does the sight of a man that's occupied a great deal of his thoughts for the better part of 300 years now.

“Nigel,” he greets in return, and sits beside him on the bench. Nigel's uniform suits the surroundings, the red of his coat a festive flash of colour amidst the grey stone of the house and the pristine white of newly fallen snow. He looks like something out of a postcard, or a picture book, or a–

A dream, Isaac thinks. A dream he's held for a very, very long time.

“I was wondering where you'd gone,” Isaac adds. His voice is soft; for some reason, it doesn't feel right to speak too loudly out here.

“I just needed a moment,” Nigel replies. His voice, too, is quieter than it usually is.

“For?”

Nigel is silent for some time, looking into the darkness beyond the yard and towards the woods in the distance. Isaac can't see his face clearly; not only is it dark but he's also in profile, keeping his eyes from Isaac's view. It makes it difficult to guess what he's thinking as his eyes have always been the most expressive thing about him. Often even more so than his words, which is saying a lot considering how eloquent the man can be.

“To get my thoughts in order,” Nigel says eventually. He turns then, and gifts Isaac with a small smile of his own. “I'm sorry,” he adds. “I don't mean to bring the mood down. This time of year just tends to draw the melancholy out of me.”

Isaac sits back a little, surprised. “It does?” he asks. “You seemed quite happy when we–”

Too late, he remembers what happened the last–and only–Christmas they spent together. The mistletoe, the liaison, the long-awaited kiss in the shed. Nigel must know what thoughts cut off Isaac's words and he smiles again, but now that Isaac can see his eyes it's obvious that the expression isn't genuine. Indeed, if anything, it just makes Nigel look even more sad.

“I'm sorry,” Nigel repeats. “It's just… old memories, that's all. I promise you, Isaac, I value your friendship a great deal, and I'm very glad to have it.”

Isaac knows him well enough now to know that he's being sincere, but he can also tell that there are things Nigel is holding back, too. Kept locked away and secret behind his sad eyes and carefully worded answers; kept silent and unspoken for as long as Isaac refuses to hear them.

And there's the catch, really; there's the rub. Isaac does hear them, and perhaps always has. It's just taken a lot longer than any man should need to endure for Isaac to really understand what they mean. And by some miracle that Isaac is sure he doesn't deserve, Nigel did–and does–endure it, and likely always will.

“As I'm glad to have yours,” Isaac tells him, and gets another, sweeter smile in response. It warms Isaac down to his bones, and gives him the courage to do what he'd come out here to do in the first place.

He doesn't really know why it feels so much harder now than it did before; surely the second time should be easier, since he's already had something of a practice run. But the weight of everything that’s happened between them hangs heavy in the air, and the full knowledge of what he's admitting to, and accepting, is almost overwhelming.

I like you, he'd said the first time. A vague and somewhat childish statement, for a vague and somewhat childish feeling, made by a version of himself who, despite an existence that spanned centuries, was likewise rather childish and vague himself. Please don't make me say it again, he’d added, when Nigel looked equal parts confused and hopeful, unsure of what Isaac really meant.

But Isaac is not that man anymore, and neither is Nigel. Childish and vague are the opposite of what he wants this second time to be. Second and last, if he does this correctly. If he's right about the nature of the secrets Nigel keeps so close to his chest.

“Nigel,” he starts. He stares at his hands, unsure if he can look Nigel in the eye for this.

“Yes, Isaac?”

Isaac opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. His jaw works but his throat does not, closing up and choking off the words he'd planned so carefully to say. Nigel just looks at him, however, and doesn't rush him; patient in a way he wasn't before, when Isaac’s denials prompted him to walk away.

You're not that man anymore, Isaac reminds himself. And neither is he.

“I love you,” Isaac says. It's a simple statement, simply said, but what it conveys for both of them is immense.

Nigel stares blankly for a moment, before the words sink in and his eyes go wide. He looks more shocked than when Isaac proposed, and his voice is faint when he stutters, “W-what?”

“I love you, Nigel,” Isaac repeats. He takes a steadying breath, then says the rest of what he prepared to say. “I think perhaps I always have; I just didn’t really know it until now. Perhaps I wasn't ready to. But… after everything I've done, and how much I hurt you, I'll understand if you no longer feel the same wa–”

He's abruptly cut off when Nigel's lips crash into his, Nigel's hands cradling his face like he's holding something precious, palms shaking against Isaac's cheeks. Isaac kisses back, unable to stop himself even if he wanted to–and he doesn't want to, not now and not ever.

And that, really is the heart of the matter. Because for them, forever is not just a trite little phrase, to be uttered in the heat of the moment or woven into vows that only last a single lifetime. For them, it's a real and true commitment, with real and true consequences that both of them understand all too well.

And now, it's a promise made and accepted. Because when Nigel pulls back and meets Isaac's gaze, every secret he'd kept hidden away is revealed in full in those wide green eyes, as arresting now as when Isaac first saw them through a spyglass more than 250 years ago. More arresting, really, because now they look at Isaac with clear joy and love spilling from them unhindered, and Isaac can only hope his own eyes mirror even a fraction of the same emotion, because he certainly feels it, in every single part of himself. In his chest, tight with happiness; in his stomach, fluttering with relief; in his heart, swelled to bursting with–

“I love you, too, Isaac,” Nigel says. He strokes Isaac’s cheek and stares at him with something like wonder on his face. “Always.”

Isaac leans in and kisses him again, soft and gentle, taking his time. He doesn't need to say anything more; the look on Nigel's face confirms that he understands what Isaac is offering him now, as well as Nigel's own answer to it. But if this really is the last time he’ll do this–with Nigel, or with anyone–Isaac wants to make it count.

"Always, Nigel,” Isaac confirms. Promises. Vows. “And forever, too.”

[jurassic-cunt]

Of the Devil's Party by mermaiddrunk ( @mermaidandthedrunks )

The quote is from Sylvia Plath's poem Mad Girl's Love Song

[hettywoodstonenumber1fan]

Hey does anyone here have knowledge about that American foster care system? Specifically the process of becoming a foster parent