#fall challenge

[baronessvonglitter]

Forever’s Gonna Start Tonight

Max Phillips x gn!reader | WC: 1.7K

Summary: When your vampire boyfriend Max Phillips agrees to turn you, you enjoy one last day as a mortal.

WARNINGS: Rated T, reader is gender neutral, established relationship, some kissing and fluff (as fluffy as Max can get), mentions of vampirism and ways a vampire can be hurt/injured, mentions of blood drinking, one mention of "intimacy" but is not detailed, no gore, mentions of eating food, reader wears a hoodie but is otherwise not described, use of hypnotism, mentions of being bitten, no use of y/n.

Author's Note: This work is for the jolabrew + withcheese fall challenge 🧡 I chose Max Phillips and apple picking 🍎

I'd kept this idea on the very, very back burner because honestly I love the mythology about vampires, and I wanted a soft!Max story, just to shake things up, and this fic challenge helped kickstart that idea into motion. There was absolutely zero information on our guy Max, so I just kind of messed with the lore and added some good ol' vampire myths just for fun 😊 Also, "Total Eclipse of the Heart" was meant to be a vampire love song, hence the title I used 🖤 (Side note: if you don't already squeeze lemon on your apple slices I highly suggest it. It keeps them from turning brown and gives them a little sour bite if you don't like them too sweet)

Thank you to @jolapeno and @goodwithcheese for hosting this lovely challenge!

divider by @strangergraphics👑

Honestly, you made your choice two seconds after Max told you he was a vampire. There were no two ways about it: if he was one, you wanted to be one too.

"Honey.. you need to think about this seriously. It's not some knee-jerk decision. We're talking about the rest of your life.. or afterlife.. unlife?.. that's at stake here."

"You'll outlive me one day," you reminded him. "I don't want that to happen." You snuggled against him, feeling how warm he was, though now that he'd revealed his secret, you started to feel the cold that seeped through his skin, was ever-present in the physiology that still made him a human male, but also something else.. some preternatural creature that was just under the surface. Hiding.. or suppressed.

"I try not to think about that. I haven't been undead that long," he admitted. "Can't we be happy with what we have now?"

It stung, but you tried not to take it too personally. Max was the type to say whatever thought flitted across his brain, be it snarky or sweet, though around others it typically tended towards the former.

From then on, once he knew you would keep his secret, once he put that trust in you that he didn't place in anyone else, you had so many (too many) questions to ask, and Max was as open as he could be regarding your curiosity. Yes, he could walk around in the daytime, but it was a necessity to slather himself in the highest grade SPF that he could only purchase online from a small business in Romania and cost ten times as much as you made in an hour at your job. And it explained why he always had a scent of coconuts beneath the layer of Tom Ford cologne he practically bathed in.

There were some things that could kill him, primarily a stake through the heart. Garlic and holy water made his eyes water and skin burn, temporarily subduing his powers, and you understood why he dissuaded you from eating Italian food when you started dating.

Speaking of the powers (and that was a huge point of curiosity for you), he had strength, speed, hypnosis (although he preferred the term 'powers of persuasion' -- ever the salesman, that one.) Drinking blood powered him, made him strong, and he managed to drink a little to get him through the day, only succumbing to his deeper cravings after hours.

It was this part he didn't want to talk about. He didn't like you thinking of him prowling after his prey, planning his attack, taking what he needed from unsuspecting victims. He'd drunk from you during moments of intimacy, the small, sweet sting of his fangs was something you'd come to like, but you knew it had to be different for those he hunted. You could paint your own picture of such a scenario-- you'd seen enough movies and read enough Anne Rice and Charlaine Harris to put the pieces together of how he had to survive in the shadows.

If anything, it only further endeared him to you.

But when you'd try to press the issue all he did was sidestep it.. at first. When you were persistent he was firm, telling you in no uncertain terms, "No."

"Do you not think I have what it takes?" you'd asked.

"Babe, I don't doubt your ability--"

"Do you just want to keep all your vampiric secrets to yourself?"

He'd sputtered out a laugh despite trying to keep a serious facade. "You're being ridiculous now."

"Then.." you'd used your puppy dog eyes on him, "you don't love me?"

He'd taken your face in his hands, his gaze insistent. "Don't say that. Ever. Okay?" He'd kissed your forehead, taking in the scent of you, just at your hairline.

You'd been patient, dropping hints until one day you'd stopped, a part of you giving up.

But Max didn't like seeing you unhappy.

"All right, all right," he'd relented one night, during a viewing of American Psycho while hanging out at your place. "If you really want me to turn you, I'll do it."

"Max, you will? Really?" you'd beamed with excitement.

"Yes, sweetheart. If you really want it, I'll do it for you."

You'd pounced on him, kissing him as he pulled you down on the sofa with him, the sounds of Patrick Bateman chasing his victim with a chainsaw playing in the background.

You decide on a date: mid-October, your favorite time of year when the leaves crackle underfoot, and there's the sweet odor of chimney smoke in the air. Max tells you you should spend the last day of your human life doing whatever you want to do, and though it's something small, though it probably ranks low on most people's list of priorities before they begin a new life as a vampire, you tell him you want to go apple picking.

A part of you is relieved that Max doesn't poke fun at you, which he usually does when you tell him you want to watch Dead Poets Society instead of The Wolf of Wall Street, or when you'd rather go on the Ferris wheel than the Zipper with him at the carnival.

You typically play it safe, and he respects your playing it safe with your last day as a mortal, because he loves you.

The apple orchard is an hour and a half away, and Max holds your hand over the center console during the entire drive, letting you choose the radio station, and you spot the small twitch of his eye when you turn up the volume on a Taylor Swift song. He keeps his thoughts to himself but his opinion is written plain on his face. Ever the peacemaker, you switch the radio to an oldies station, listening to Bonnie Tyler belting out "Total Eclipse of the Heart" and even though Max refuses to sing along with you, a smile curves the corners of his pretty mouth as he indulges in your joy.

Upon arrival you jump out before the car is even in park, and are greeted with the scent of the sweet and crisp fragrance of the orchard. The skies above are pale blue, tinged with gold from the late afternoon sun's delicate rays. Grey threatens in the corners of the firmament, and you recall checking your phone's weather app and seeing there would be rain that night. You've come on the right day.

Max grabs your hand as you join the others in line, some families with young kids, some couples, and when he's not expecting it you plant a soft kiss on his cheek. Not typically one for PDA, he one-ups you by taking you in his arms and practically bending you backward in a passionate display of romance, lips claiming yours. "My baby doesn't deserve to wait in line," he whispers, and with a devilish grin he pulls you to the front of the line where the cashier is taking payment.

"We don't need to pay," Max tells her, and from the look in the woman's eyes you can tell he's mesmerizing her with his powers.

"You don't need to pay," she repeats in a monotone, handing over a wicker basket for you to collect the apples.

Max smiles at her charmingly, pulling you along as you enter the apple orchard.

There's a chill in the air as you walk into the wide expanse of land, the green of the apple trees and the ruby fruit of their production providing the perfect backdrop for your date. You cross your arms over your hoodie just as Max puts his arm around you.

"I'll never get cold, just like you," you wonder aloud, thinking ahead to your immortal life.

"Right. One of the perks," he grins. He's wearing a dark grey nylon bomber jacket, hair perfectly coiffed, and even though other people are checking him out as you walk by, he only has eyes for you. "You'll never grow old, either. You'll still be hot. Like me," he grins.

"Which ones look good?" he asks, directing your view to the apples red and ripe, swelling with sweetness, their tangy aroma dancing in the air.

You look up and select a few, holding each one in the palm of your hand before twisting the stem off and placing it in the basket looped around your arm. Max watches you, in awe of your thought process, and the careful way in which you make your selections. When the basket gets too heavy he carries it for you.

"Are you going to eat all of these tonight?" he hides a smile.

"Don't underestimate me," you tell him. "I might just do that."

He envisions what your blood will taste like later, at the time of your turning: bitter with hints of spice and sweet, the flavor inhabiting every blood vessel, flooding into his mouth as he begins the process of forever changing you.

Soon the basket is brimming over with sweet, tart apples. Some of them fall out of the basket on the walk back to the car, leaving a scarlet dotted trail behind you.

At home, you gorge yourself on the crisp flesh of your fresh-picked apples in all your favorite forms: sliced plain with a drizzle of lemon juice, some dipped in caramel, others covered in crunchy red candy. Your lips are sticky and sweet when Max kisses you, savoring the warmth of your skin that, come tomorrow, will be colder, room temperature at best, but still soft, still delicious.

"Are you ready?" he asks, his eyes glinting, irises blown full black, like a shark detecting blood in the water around him. You're settled on the sofa, hands linked, fingers intertwined as your heart races. Max senses it and his tongue flicks out across his pink lips.

"Yes," you answer, and for a brief, sweet moment your life flashes before your eyes, a memoriam to all the things you held dear, the good and the awful, the trail of tiny moments, the heartbreaks you thought you'd never heal from, that ultimately led you to Max and the love you uncovered within him as you broke through his egotistical outer shell.

You kept his promise. He knows his trust is well-placed.

As you offer your neck, the last thing you see before you close your eyes is the Castlevania poster Max gave you for Christmas last year, hanging on the wall above the sofa.

Only the death matters now..

You hear the click of his fangs protracting. Soon you'll be just like him. You have no regrets.

"Thank you, Max," you whisper before you feel the hot sting of his bite on your tender throat. "Thank you for the best day of my life."

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Will Binx get dressed up for the annual Curtis and Honey Halloween party? (I've decided it's an annual thing now, no takebacksies 🤭)

Babes, you say its a thing, It is now a thing. I deem it so, they have a annual halloween party with their friends. And of course Binx is gonna get dressed up! He wouldn't miss out getting all the attention because he was so cute all in costume. That cat is a fiend for affection.

How about we call this my first little entry to Horny Hoe's Hootenanny. Prompt is in bold.

Party Prep

A Curtis and Honey Drabble

Curtis came in with a grocery bag of odds and ends tucked under his arm for you. a few last minute ingredients for making halloween themed snacks.

He wouldn't have minded doing the errand for you regardless, but you promised to let him taste test everything before anyone else and that was a job Curtis very much enjoyed.

Just being with you in the kitchen, watching you hum and chat excitedly while you were cooking, the man was smitten. He could watch you all day doing what you loved.

"I'm back." He called out, sliding the bag onto the table, figuring you were upstairs doing another one of your projects, so he went about taking care of the cold stuff when he heard a scuffle and mewl at his feet.

Glancing down expecting to see their black cat with sharp green eyes staring back up at him waiting for affection or treats wasn't what greeted him exactly.

Instead their were a pair of flimsy bat wings fluttering off Binx's back, making him huff in a laugh. "I see she got you too, Kid." Binx mewled again, stretching his front paws up Curtis's shin while he placed his hands on his hips, grinning down at the cat.

"I didn't make him do anything!" You protested from the kitchens entryway. "He wanted to dress up."

"That's what he told you?" Curtis arched an brow, amusment making his stoic features look softer, almost boyish.

You nodded while slipping in your pair of fangs, Curtis eyes narrowing on them. He remembered what they were, how you used them. Your voice was muffled a bit when you responded. "Yeah, told me he really wanted to play the part. Goes with the fangs." You snapped them teasing, backing up a step when you saw Curtis tense up.

"Well if that's the case... we better get upstairs, finish getting you in costume Pretty Girl." His foot nudged Binx back. "Get lost Kid, I gotta go play Count von Count for a bit."

"Count von Count?" You snorted, preparing yourself to bolt. You felt the anticipation travel down to your toes, just waiting for him to make his move. "Why the sesame street vampire?" You backed up a step towards the staircase, Curtis taking a step forward. "You gotta make this quick. I still have a lot to do." You warned him.

"Because we're gonna count all the times I ruin you till the party starts." He leapt, making you squeal and jump back, twisting to race for the stairs, Curtis right behind you following you up. "Fuck being quick Pretty Girl, Imma take my time. I will help you make your snacks." His hand swatted at your ass as you both tumbled into the bedroom.

Binx took all of two seconds to watch his people before bolting after them, his little bat wings fluttering in his actions.

[bluestar22x]

Maze Find

Summary: When your dog runs into a corn maze, you run into Frankie Morales

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Rating: General

Word Count: 900(ish)

Warnings: None, pure Hallmarky fluff

Author’s Note: This is my submission for jolabrew + withcheese fall challenge ( @goodwithcheese and @jolapeno ) - I picked Morales Mocha with corn maze mishap (more like meet cute).

xxx

"Biscuit, where are you?" you called out, eyes scanning your surroundings, trying not to panic.

There wasn't much to see beyond corn stalks, given you were in a corn maze, but you had to try.

Your new dog Biscuit, a rescue from the local animal shelter, had managed to wiggle his way out of, you could admit, his too loose collar to chase after a squirrel during your afternoon walk.

The last you'd seen of him, about three minutes ago, was his wire haired sandy colored body slipping into the corn field, which was unusually busy due to the time of year.

The owner was hosting a corn maze, open to anyone, for a small price. A price the farmer had waivered for you when you explained why you needed access to his field.

You hadn't seen the dog since his initial escape, and you were starting to worry that he was no longer even in the area. Hounds were well known for running off far.

You were nearing the end of the maze when you turned a corner and sagged with relief, finding Biscuit sitting in front of a tall man with a well trimmed beard and a Standard Heating Oil cap perched on top of his head. A nearly fully eaten ice cream cone was in his right hand, a paper shopping bag in the other.

"This wanderer yours?" he asked when he saw you appear, an amused expression on his face.

"Sorry, he got off the leash," you explained, "Saw a squirrel and it was too hard to resist."

He chuckled and you smiled at him as you approached and slipped Biscuit's collar back around his neck, tightening it in the process. You liked the sound of the stranger's laughter. It was warm, hearty. "Thanks for distracting him while I caught up."

"It was purely by accident," he told you, shrugging. "He was interested in what I'm eating."

You nodded. "Ice cream is a weakness of his."

The man's lips curved up. "Mine too."

"So what are you doing in the maze?" you inquired. "Got a lost dog of your own?"

He had to be either a farm hand or a parent, but you were curious. He was very easy on the eyes, and you were pretty sure you'd never seen him around before. The town wasn't so small that not knowing him was impossible, but still.

"No, just a lost kid," he said, "Except not actually lost. I can see from here where he's hiding." He glanced over your shoulder. "Nic come on out. It's time to head home."

A young boy, maybe four, shot out from between the stalks to your left. "Aww...already?"

"Yes, already," the man said in a tone you immediately recognized as fatherly stern. "Your mom will kill me if we're late."

You cocked an eyebrow at him and he laughed. "She won't actually kill me, but Nic's mother is planning to take him to see a movie tonight and she doesn't like being late to anything."

"Ah, Nic's mother," you repeated. That didn't sound like they were still together. You shouldn't care, but you did. Because he was handsome, especially in the green plaid shirt he was wearing, and seemed nice.

"Yeah, we divorced three years ago. On good terms. But she likes her schedules."

"Can I pet your dog?" Nic interrupted.

You grinned at his politeness, most kids didn't ask, even though they should with strange dogs. "Of course, Biscuit would love it."

Nic kneeled down and started petting him under the chin and the dog flipped over to expose his belly, making everyone laugh.

"Looks like you've made a new friend," you declared, grinning.

"He's so silly," Nic said, "What kind of dog is he?"

"A Basset Fauve de Bretagne," you answered.

The young boy blinked at you, confused. "A Basset what?"

You chuckled. "It's a French breed. You know France?"

The boy nodded. "Mrs. Bran is teaching us how to read maps."

"Oh...interesting."

"It's...okay."

You laughed again at his honesty. "Well, I promise the country is more interesting than its map."

Nic's father gave him a few moments more to stroke Biscuit then repeated that they had to go.

The boy pouted but did as told, heading out for their car at the end of the maze.

"Thanks again..." you trailed and the man took the hint.

"Frankie. Most people call me Frankie."

"Thanks again, Frankie."

"I didn't do much, but I'm glad to have helped..."

You gave him your name and smiled again. "Help is help."

You rummaged through your purse after and pulled out a pen and notepad.

"Those still exist?" Frankie joked as you put ink to the lined yellow paper. His dark eyes were curious as you jotted down something on it - your phone number.

You weren't usually so bold, but if he wasn't interested he just wouldn't call right? No big deal. But you'd regret not making an attempt at a date. You'd been single for far too long.

You passed him the note. "I'd like to thank you over coffee or something. My treat. Just call me when you're not busy sometime?"

He smiled and folded the paper up nicely. "I think I'll take you up on that offer. Let me drop off Nic, his mother's house isn't far, then I'll call."

"Sounds good."

You shared warm smiles and parted with your boys.

As promised, Frankie called a few hours later.

xxx

Tagged: @harriedandharassed

xxx

Main Masterlist

xxx

[mr-crabboid]

Dragalia Lost-vember day 5!

Curran in a nice comfy sweater

Wonder where his partner went...

[scurvyboy]

doomed polycule dynamic

[wormspoodle]

something something personal hell paved with good intentions

[staff]

Tumblr Tuesday: Huevember

Hues, colors, shades. From pink to red to orange to yellow to green to blue to purple. You know what has those? Huevember. This Huevember, like other Huevembers before it, is demonstrating the delightful and very broad spectrum of fandom here on Tumblr (we've snuck a couple OCs in here, too, because they were too good to leave out). You have a few more days to get involved in one of the many challenges, or you could just sit back and enjoy these hues 🌈

@mflanart:

@razelv0:

@tuttilium:

@ellohcee:

@mimicha-arts:

@izzybluebell:

@otherwolves:

@floweroflaurelin:

@melognut:

@incaseyouart:

@oatmealdoodles:

@m-oshun:

@jagalart:

@carlozw:

@jazzkolart:

@mx-paisley:

[kae-pancakes]

💙💛

[beepophobia]

Did a bit of an art style mimic challenge where I added myself into my favorite cartoons

[rebelsafoot]

and then they did both

[joicecubes]

the implications of ford pulling this photo out of his trenchcoat in the last episode you guys… THE IMPLICATIONS.

look at the state of this thing!! look at its rips! the stain in the bottom right corner! it’s dog-eared, the color is faded, the paper has browned… he’s kept this photo of them since they were kids. through all the years he stubbornly swore to hold a grudge, all the years he and stan never spoke, he kept this photo.

and we can assume he probably didn’t have it dimension-hopping, since i find it hard to believe he would’ve had it on him when he initially got sucked in, but ford pulling it out of his trenchcoat here!! implies!! that he had been CARRYING IT AROUND WITH HIM for some time after he got back!

imagine if he found it in some of his old stuff the night he returned, after punching and yelling at stan, after being sure to keep as much emotional distance between them as possible, and he finds this photo. would he have stared down at it? for a little while? smoothed the creases out on his desk? thumbed the torn, loved edges while he mourned a simpler time? then pocketed the thing to always have it with him?

i dunno. maybe i’m looking too far into it. but i can’t help but wonder if ford kept it because, against all his big dreams and ambitions, deep down he always wondered what his life might have been like if he sailed away with his brother when they were teenagers. never able to throw it away because doing so would symbolically destroy the last remnants of a childhood fantasy, the last piece of him that remains young and hopeful of a future at his brother’s side.

[pinetreeshack]

some old doodles

[mr-crabboid]

Dragalia Lost-Tember

Day 6! Heinwald pondering his orb!

[kelddaa]

mornings in the desert

[scurvyboy]

relativity falls but fidd is a member of the losers club or something

[starry-bi-sky]

bruce and danny being fuckign nerds together,,,, they are being the BIGGEST nerds. geeks. if you will

these losers are color-coding the most inane bullshit. they are making diagrams for things you've never even thought of. they are having the time of their lives

"what are you two doing?"

Danny, sitting criss-cross on a table, hunched over a spread of papers and a bunch of different jello cups, his back is gonna hurt SO much: color-coding jello

Bruce, sitting in a nearby chair, also criss-cross, scribbling on a graph paper: hm [agreeing]

Alfred, already exasperated and SO fond: may i ask why? and on what parameters?

Danny: we're basing it off which flavors are the most mentally stimulating and for which subjects :}

Alfred, SO fond: ah. i see.

Danny, snapping his head over to Bruce and leaning over: wh- no-- no. Buzz, I told you: lemon-flavored jello stays strictly in the 'smelling salts' category--

Bruce, still writing on the graph paper: mn. no.

Danny, nearly sprawled across his back, faux-outraged: strawberry is NOT good for math-- you fucken HEATHEN--! Give me that pen!

Bruce, did that solely to rile up Danny, now trying not to smile: hnm.