#monster mash up

[justalonelyslytherin]

A Place To Come Home To

Pairing: tabby!shifter Ransom Drysdale x fae!Reader

Summary: “If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.” Had the fae told the shifter as she offered up her home to him.

Warnings: reader had female pronouns but is otherwise not described, fluff, not proofread/beta-read

Wordcount: 2.1k

If you enjoyed reading this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging. I don't allow for my content to be copied, translated, or reposted on other websites/apps. Please don't steal my work.

A/N: A little different kind of a story, but one I hope you still enjoy. I contemplated long to even post this since it felt so different from my usual writings and I was really unsure how it would be received. Monster Mash-up request by @nana1000night, Dividers are by @/firefly-graphics

“If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.” Had the fae told the shifter as she offered up her home to him.

It had been a gloomy and stormy day. The sun hadn’t peeked out of the clouds once. Thunder rumbled through the air in alternation with the lightning that briefly lit up the sky. Rain poured down endlessly. 

And yet even in that more than unpleasant weather she had been out and about. Coming back home, she had the hood of her coat pulled deep into her face. Her eyes were glued to the ground to avoid the puddles littering the path to her small hut. While she simply sidestepped most, occasionally she had to jump over bigger ones.

Nearly at her hut, something to the side caught her attention. Stopping in the middle of the gravel path, still exposed to the pouring rain, she looked to the side of her hut. There under the protruding roof, she had rested a big stack of firewood against the house wall. Just beside it stood a small bench, she loved to sit on and watch her garden from time to time. 

Both objects were looking like always, still the way she had left them. What was different was the small brown tabby cat rolled up on the stack of wood. Its eyes were closed, but its whiskers and ears occasionally twitched. Even from a distance, she could clearly see the ruffled fur and the drops of rain still sitting on top of it, meaning the cat must have taken shelter from the rain.

As she took a step forward the cat's eyes opened and the corners of her mouth raised upward. That was no normal cat, she could tell. It was a shifter. How could she tell? The clue of the cat’s eyes. That piercing, clear look. No animal looked at someone so clearly, so calculating. It was a distinctiveness that separated shifters from real animals. They were close but not close enough for the keen eye to spy the differences. There was always the slight feeling of uncanny valley underlying.

“Horrible weather, huh?” she asked and watched the cat’s tail twitch. Living so far out she wondered what a shifter would do here. How had one of its kind lost their way to her home? Usually, all other kinds of creatures kept far away from her small abode. Only the ones desperate enough to make a trade with a fae dared to venture there. Something however told her this shifter wasn’t here for that.

“The rain caught you off-guard?” Relaxed, she walked over to the front door, where she stood under the small roof. Under the cover, she pulled her hood down and shook a couple of drops of water from her hair. Her ring of keys giggled as she pulled it out of her pocket, the right key slid into the lock and with a clack opened her front door.

“If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here,” she offered, glancing towards the tabby. The cat hissed at her, its neck hair raising in display. Quietly she chuckled once more and shrugged her shoulders before she slipped into the house where it was warm and dry.

The rain didn’t want to let up. It carried into the late evening, still persisting as it had already turned dark. Just before she was about to go to bed she remembered the visitor before her house. It had her wondering if the shifter was still there. On her way toward her bedroom, she glanced through one of her windows. As she did she spied on the shifter still laying on the wood stack in their cat form. Feeling bad for the shifter, she pursed her lips. Ultimately she turned away and went to bed, thinking and hoping the rain would have let up by tomorrow morning.

Come morning, she woke up to the sound of the steady tapping of the rain. It wasn’t pouring anymore but still continuously raining down. Maybe the shifter had left by now, even with the rain. There surely must be a better place for them to go. Back to their home or wherever they had come from. 

As she walked into the kitchen, movement outside of the window alerted her. It was the cat - or rather the shifter - stretching and looking out at the rain. She watched them lay down and close their eyes once more.

Since yesterday already he was there, lounging on the wooden stack and waiting for the weather to get better so he could go. In vain. It wouldn’t stop raining and he refused to set even one paw into that dreary weather and get his fur wet. He hated when his fur got wet, it was the most uncomfortable feeling ever. Rather he would have been at home, rolled up on a soft pillow and in front of a warm furnace. Had he still had a home to return to. There was nothing more for him to do than to wait for the rain to lessen so he could continue his search for a new home. 

When he opened his eyes - there wasn’t really anything to do except nap or watch the rain - there was a small bowl of food and water standing on the wooden bench beside the stack of wood. It looked to be steamed chicken and some vegetables. Suspiciously he eyed not. Traitorously his stomach growled as he hadn’t eaten in a while, but he’d rather starve than take food from a Fae.

“It’s not poisoned,” her voice rang up, causing him to look to the right where she leaned against the windowsill. He hadn’t heard the window opening in his sleep. “And there is no trick, no spell nor cheat. Nothing that will bind you to me or that will place you in my debt.” Her words were spoken glumly, maybe even sad. They sounded genuine, yet he still wasn’t sure if he could trust a fae. They were treacherous creatures, known to fool anyone.

“Don’t want you to starve,” he heard her mumble, now sure it was sadness carrying in her voice. Ransom watched her pull away from the window with a sigh and vanish into the house, out of his sight. Keenly he listened for more noises from her before he turned back to the bowls. He sniffed cautiously in the direction of the food as his stomach growled loudly. It didn’t smell out of the ordinary, like normal food. Carefully he took a tiny bite and was surprised. It was simple, plain food. She had been truthful. He ate it all then.

Over the next few days, her feeding him turned into some sort of routine. The weather didn’t want to turn better, harsh winds had added to the thunder and rain. Every morning and every evening she fed him and every day she offered him to enter her home but he never did. She stopped then, after four days of inviting him in and him not reacting. 

Nearly she had asked again the morning of the fifth day, mouth already open when she caught herself and clamped her lips tightly shut. She placed the bowls down on the bench and looked up at him. 

“I’ll have to go somewhere for a while. I won’t be back before tomorrow morning.” With that, she stood up and turned towards the house again. Her shoulders were drooping down and her feet shuffled against the gravel on the floor. His eyes followed her until she disappeared into the house. She emerged not long after, wearing her travel coat and a bag slung over her shoulder.

“The rain is supposed to light up by the afternoon.” It looked like she wanted to say more to him, however, she didn’t. Once more her lips pulled into a thin line and her eyes stayed on him just a moment longer. Then she turned around and left the garden, vanishing between the trees. As Ransom watched her disappear he realized she was just as lonely as he was, living alone in this hut in the middle of the forest, where everyone was too scared or judgemental to visit her. Just as he realized he hadn’t truly felt lonely these last couple of days.

Coming home after her trip felt like a relief. She was exhausted, wanting to flop down in her bed and sleep for the rest of the day. Yet there was also a small inkling of fear and uncertainty swirling in her belly. Would the shifter still be there or would he be gone? The rain had let up, besides everything being still damp nothing indicated that it had rained so heavily for days straight. As she trudged up the small gravel path toward her hut her heart sank. She couldn’t see Ransom in his usual spot on the wood stack, the small pillow she had placed out for him on the second day empty.

So he was gone. It was what she had expected, yet a sadness encompassed her no less. Some hope in her had remained, he’d be still here, keep her some more company. While the shifter hadn’t once shifted out of his cat form or spoken a word to her, his presence had been nice for her. She hadn’t felt so lonely.

With the heavy feeling of sadness prevailing she walked up to her house, briefly confused about the opened window as she could have sworn she had closed them before leaving. She didn’t even notice the small swirl of smoke coming out of her chimney from a fire she had never lit.

As she entered the house she was surprised. There on her kitchen table in the sun that fell in through the window lay the tabby cat curled up and sleeping. In the corner, a small fire had been lit in her fireplace, and on the kitchen counter, she saw the bowls she had fed the shifter with. So he had cleaned up? 

A smile rose on her face upon the sight. Silently she stalked closer, for the first time touching the cat as she softly caressed his fur with a finger. The cat’s ear twitched but he remained sleeping.

“You stayed,” she mumbled quietly, smiling at him, “Thank you.”

A yawn left her as she removed her pouch and coat and hung both up. The trip had exhausted her. Without thinking she walked over to the cat, gathering him in her arms before she trudged towards her bed. Carefully she laid him down on the pillow, crawling into the bed beside him and cuddling him until she fell asleep.

Waking up a couple of hours later from the nap something was different. She noticed it the moment the drowsiness of sleep left her. Her head no longer rested on the bed but now on a warm and strong chest. There was no cat curled up in her arms but a firm and thin waist. Strong arms in turn encircled her. Slowly her eyes traveled up from the chest to broad shoulders and ultimately to the same blue eyes the tabby had had but now they were the eyes of a handsome man.

Her skin warmed as a smirk slipped onto his lips. “Hello, Kitten." His voice was deep and smooth as velvet. It caused a shiver to run down her spine. Then she felt his hand on her back, slowly tracing her spine. His hand dipped down low to toy with the hem of her shirt.

“Lost your voice?” He crooned, his nose scrunched as he grinned and leaned towards her until their noses were touching.

“So you do have a voice.” Her words produced a loud, rumbling belly laughter from Ransom and in turn, let a smirk of her own slip onto her features.

“Had I known you were such a good cuddle partner I would have taken you up on your offer much quicker.” That made her heartbeat quicken. 

“So you’ll take me up on the offer?” She bit her lip, hoping he would.

“Ask me again,” Ransom crooned into her ear before he brushed his nose gently against hers. It made her gasp and lean into his touch.

“If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.” Her voice shook similarly to her body with anticipation. With a squeak she was turned, her body hitting the mattress as Ransom was suddenly above her. He hummed quietly, plopping down on her, his head on her chest and his arms around her smaller frame. “Offer accepted.”

[the-greatest-magic-of-all]

🎃Happy Halloween from the Bad Kids! 🎃

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Vincent Price dancing to The Monster Mash

The Monster Club (1981)

[landoffreaksandfrogs]

based on a convo in discord. do you understand. do you understand my vision.

[venomgaia]

Guys that go bump in the night

(minorly inspired by @karniss-bg3 's response to this ask)

[petricorah]

yall know any good songs about vampires and/or werewolves (or other monsters too)

[strawberrystepmom]

a trick, a treat, a few tweaks later and i am proud to present...merman naruto uzumaki for @tired-biscuit! happy halloween and thank you for participating!

contains: NSFW, MDNI. merman!naruto x afab!reader. established friendship with mutual pining. mentions of courting and courting rituals, piv sex, nontraditional genitalia (he is a merman he has TWO DICKS!!!), monsterfucking, corruption kink (he is a mervirgin)

The sun hangs bright and beautiful in the sky but you are too worried about what’s below to be concerned with what hangs above, your head dangling over the dock that leads straight out to the water you’re resting above. You know it’s there because it warms your back and legs and makes the water shimmer below, but you’re far too preoccupied with who should be popping his head out of the water rather than worrying about what’s going on around it.

Where is he? 

You know Naruto doesn’t have an exact means to tell time, the species divide big enough that he relies on you and the sun to know when he needs to be somewhere but he’s late and you want to get off to the secluded cove the two of you have managed to carve out as your own space before the day gets any hotter and people and boats start filling the water.

Groaning, you roll over onto your back from your belly and squint when sunlight washes over your face, raising an arm to cover your sensitive eyes. Flopping across the warm wooden deck, you feel droplets of water sizzle on your face and flip back over to see an all too familiar orange tail receding beneath the deck.

Giggling, you chase it to the other side of the deck and dangle over the edge. A head pops up, blonde and blue eyed, and you grin in return to the one he’s giving you.

“About time,” you tease and he frowns, splashing you again with a flick of his tail. 

It has been months since the first time the two of you stumbled upon each other and the summer has passed quickly, giving way into the dog days that will soon become crisp fall. You spent lazy weekends sunning yourself on the rocks just outside of your shared cove, teaching him additional words in your language that he hadn’t learned from passersby and swimmers. 

“Race you,” he shouts from the water below and you grin. He’ll win and you’ll let him but you run down the dock and across the shore anyway, loving the feel of sand squishing beneath your feet. It’s freedom that you don’t get to embrace on a regular basis and you look out to the water to see persistent splashing, an orange tail glinting as he heads in the same direction as you.

The first chance encounter with this merman months ago quickly became something more, an occasion you look forward to every single day. You have had to suspend disbelief many, many times but you hold Naruto in such high regard that it isn’t difficult to do so. It’s something straight out of a fairytale but it’s your fairytale and not many others can say that.

Slowing down as you get closer to the mouth of the cove, you see him waiting there with a grin across his handsome face, the end of his tail swishing in the water while the rest of him rests against the sand.

“Hey, you must have cheated!”

He laughs and shakes his head, watching you approach with eager eyes because he has something very important to ask you and he isn’t certain how you’ll react. It’s why he was late to your usual meeting, a feeling he lacks the words to describe filling his gut just thinking of you.

“That’s your mate, you need to fuck her and finish the job.” Shikamaru, who has also taken a human mate, informed him a few weeks ago after he returned from an evening spent watching the sunset with you. He learned most of the words he uses to communicate with you from his friend and fellow merman but one doesn’t sit right in his mouth.

Fuck. To fuck you. Someone who makes him feel warm and cared about, like the sun itself. It feels like a vulgar way to view you but he can’t deny the natural urges his body is presenting to him whenever he catches the sight of your face and your scent on the breeze. He’s filled with longing, a need to claim and possess that he has been told is natural, but he wonders if you’ll find the idea of that off putting. 

He’s never asked but perhaps you already have someone you return home to. The mere thought of that being the case makes the smile fall from his face but he plasters it back on when you come closer, panting slightly to catch your breath and plopping down in the sand next to him. Your legs stretch toward the water and he swishes his tail, glad to be sharing this time with you.

“Can I ask you something?”

The rasp in his voice never ceases to make you feel butterflies, knowing it’s from the lack of use. He has his own ways of communicating with his brethren beneath the cover of the ocean but he prefers the way he communicates with you. The words and actions and eye contact are all undeniably alluring to him and he lives for the way that your face lights up when you hear him. 

“Of course, anything.”

An uncertain smile covers his features and you tilt your head, reaching out to grab his hand. It’s a little cool to the touch and wet but you don’t mind, used to the way it feels different from any other hand you’ve ever held. The physical differences between the two of you aren’t something you think that deeply about during the daylight hours, saving most of that pondering for the blessed cover of nightfall while you’re buried beneath your blankets.

“What do you know about fu…mating?”

Naruto changes his choice in words at the last minute, the term Shikamaru used earlier still sitting with him uncomfortably. You gasp, mouth open momentarily before snapping it closed, and wonder why on earth he’s asking you this. 

Has your interest in him become something you can no longer hide? He isn’t completely oblivious, simply naive, and you worry that some silent boundary has been crossed in your too long to be friendly glances over the last several months. You try to keep your face impassive while thinking about how to answer his question but you figure stalling the inevitable will only make it more difficult to discuss your feelings if you’ve been caught.

“I know that it’s something we all have to do eventually,” you offer with a tight smile. “Fall in love, get married, at least that’s how we do it as humans.”

Naruto nods and you watch his brows furrow in confusion, his blue eyes darting toward the ground. You scoot closer to him, hand still in his and he looks back up at you with a faint dusting of pink across his cheeks. It’s easy for you to forget he’s something inhuman given how human he is.

“Have you already…done that with someone?”

Your eyes widen and you laugh, squeezing his hand in yours. 

“Married? No. Noooooo,” you draw out the word as comically as possible and he chuckles along with you, eyes crinkling at the corners charmingly. In fact, if you had to describe him using a single word, charming would be it. He has charmed and enchanted you since the first day the two of you met and you’re embarrassed imagining that he has caught on.

“Good because I think you’re my mate.”

These words are the ones that truly catch you off guard and your eyes widen, blinking rapidly. You didn’t assume your crush on the merman was mutual but you’re delighted that it appears to be, laughing nervously and grinning.

“Really? Why do you think that?”

He sighs and turns his body toward you, tail flipping onto its side while he leans his weight on his elbow. He keeps your hand pressed to his, rubbing his cool thumb over your smooth knuckles.

“My body feels different when you’re around me.”

You watch his face contort as he searches for the right words to explain how he’s feeling but you think you understand, dropping his hand to reach out for his face. Petting the damp blonde strands off of his forehead, you smile and move closer.

“What do you mean, Naruto? Tell me.”

He sighs, still searching for the words and coming up short.

“Maybe I can show you,” he starts, looking down toward his tail that keeps everything he wants to show you concealed. His cock stays retracted until he’s ready to extend it outward, a flap on his tail lifting to show you not one engorged head but one larger with a smaller positioned right above it. 

You raise your eyebrows, leaning down closer to his tail to make out what you’re seeing. The organs present themselves further, a girthy and ridged length on the bottom and a shorter length that reminds you of a tentacle with a mushroom tip above the head. It’s not so different from what you spent your evenings imagining and it intrigues you that it’s human enough not to be shocking.

“It’s always like that when I see you,” he mutters nervously. “Wanting to come out.”

Looking up at him through your lashes, you slide your hand down his face, his arm, his body until you reach where his cocks sit. Your hands are eager to touch more of him, the slippery slide of his tail promising that the appendages feel the same, and you feel yourself growing wet at the thought of what could happen next.

“Can I touch you?”

He nods, that same simmering feeling beneath his skin stirring and burning as soon as he witnesses the way you glance curiously at his anatomy. Your hand shakes as you reach out to run your fingers along the smooth expanse of his cock. It’s smooth and not unlike his tail and you gingerly crane your neck to press a kiss to the tip of the larger of the two. It feels a little slimy and warm beneath your lips.

He gasps and the tip of the smaller one tickles your nose, making you giggle and back away.

“Is this alright?”

Another nod, eyes growing in size as you crane your neck to repeat the same motion. The tip of your tongue flicks out of your mouth this time and you dance over the larger head, humming at the pleasantly salty taste of what you’re assuming is his precum. Smacking your lips, you now explore with your hand, closing your fist around the larger and girthier length.

“Have you ever mated before?” 

He shakes his head and you give him an experimental pump, his tail swishing in the water and sending droplets flying across your arms. A throaty groan is all he can manage as you repeat the motion, your own pussy dripping at the thought of going further than even this, right in your secluded little cove. 

Arousal makes your inhibitions drop, shrugging the oversized t-shirt you wear covering your bathing suit off of your body in a quick motion with one arm, and you return to pumping his silky precum over his length. The smaller of the two cocks twitches and you gasp when a pearly bead oozes out of it as well, the sight of the glistening tip making you rub your thighs together to relieve some of the heat curling through your body.

“I want to make you mine.”

The words finally come to Naruto after much contemplation and he says them without a second thought. You look up at him with your hand still gripping his larger cock and nod, eyes gleaming with enough excitement to match his own. 

“I’m already yours,” you confirm, helping him shift so that he’s lying flat on his back. You climb over him, straddling his tail with your legs spread and you work at untying the ties keeping your bikini bottoms affixed to your body. Groaning impatiently, you decide you’re satisfied to let them hang off of your hips as long as you can get him inside of you immediately.

“You’ll be mine always, right?”

Nodding, you make a note to discuss what all of this really means later after you’ve been able to feel what he’s like inside of you. You’re already dripping wet, the sheen of your slick making your cunt gleam desirably as you run the larger tip through your folds. You can’t bite back your moan. It happens so quickly, the sensation of the fat head of him catching your clit making you shiver, so you let him hear you.

He’s overwhelmed by the sight, smell, and sound of you but eagerly follows your lead, moaning and shutting his eyes tightly when you finally position him at your entrance and begin sinking down. His larger cock is bigger than you expected, your pussy stretching to accommodate every single inch and you realize that the shorter, tentacle-like dick must be solely for your pleasure given the way the head of it prods at your clit.

“Fuck,” you moan, your hips flush with his base finally. He feels like nothing you’ve ever experienced before and you rock your hips experimentally, listening to his breaths stutter and catch while he sees your body ripple beneath the sunlight. Your legs are on either side of him and he reaches to grab your thighs, glad to have some part of you to grab onto. 

Another roll of your hips and he shuts his eyes and hisses. You decide to leave the rolling for another time, eager to take him base to tip as deep inside of you as he can go, and you begin to bounce. Shallow bounces, enough to see how deeply he reaches, but they grow as you realize you can accommodate more and more of him. 

“Naruto,” you call and he opens his eyes to watch you, a goddess working her body above him. He’s in awe and he can’t describe how warm he feels so he simply watches, his top cock spasming and twitching while the blunt head of it remains snug against your clit. He refuses to look away, not when he can see the sweet sticky web of your arousal mixing with his coating his cock with every bounce and drop of your hips.

“I think something is happening,” he pants out and you grin, leaning over his torso and increasing the pace of your hips. The wet plop, plop, plop of your ass and sticky pussy dropping against his tail fills the cove and you know that you’re close too. You scratch your nails along his defined abdomen, all man in that aspect, and he groans, feeling himself cumming inside of you. 

His cum feels different than you imagined it would, warm but sticky and viscous, and you cum alongside him. Your cunt pulses in time with your moans and you gradually slow your hips, eventually stuttering until they still completely and you bury your face in his chest to catch your breath.

“That was…” your face is still buried against his skin, it smells clean and salty like the air around you, and he simply laughs in agreement. Usually he’s the one who lacks the words but this time he has left you speechless and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

The sun soars higher in the sky and you stay pressed against his chest for as long as you can, his cocks eventually softening and retracting back into his tail, the same flap covering them falling back into place. It takes awhile for you to catch your breath, his release oozing out of you and flowing back onto his tail, but he breaks the contented silence.

“Did you mean it when you said you’re mine?”

You nod, smiling up at him from where you stay pressed against his body.

“Always.”

[imtrashraccoon]

here’s a drabble idea!

Nightmare sans x dog monster! reader

so the premise is that the dear reader is a dog like doggo, greater dog, lesser dog, etc

and if we want to get REAL specific the dog breed reader is a konoki dog!

Hi! Thank you for submitting this idea!

I was shocked how quickly I managed to think of something for this prompt. I hope you don't mind that I made it a fantasy and soulmate au. I actually haven't written this sort of thing before and I am still buzzing with ideas.

I never heard of a Konoki dog before this and they look super cute! I haven't written this type of character before so I hope you like them. I certainly have fallen in love with them! (I affectionately call them Koko in my notes!)

By the way, I renamed Nightmare (and a few others!) for this to make him a more unique character. There's a note at the bottom for the meanings of their names too.

The Dark Fortress

Nightmare x Kokoni!Dog Monster Reader

Fantasy & Soulmate AU

Word Count: 6, 219

You woke up to the sound of rain softly pattering on your tent. The light was rather dim so you estimated the sun wasn't up just yet. Still, it couldn't hurt to get up and do some quick exercises before your day properly started.

The rain made the air smell good - slightly earthy with a hint of the harsher scent of ozone. The only bad thing was that you didn't like having wet fur, especially when on a mission, since it stuck to your armour and meant your weapon was harder to hang onto.

The scent in the air reminded you of a reoccurring dream that you'd been having your whole life. While the circumstances were different each time, there was always a distinctive smell present. It was earthy and sweet with aromatic undertones similar to liquorice or fennel. It was also slightly spicy or maybe salty was a better description? This smell seemed to belong to someone but you'd never been able to see what they looked like.

Not everyone believed in the concept of soulmates but you couldn't find any other explanation for why you kept dreaming about this one smell. There were instances where a few dogs had been plagued by a particular smell and then ended up finding their soulmate, but this was always in real life and never only in a dream.

With a sigh, you meticulously fastened the straps and buckles that held your armour together. While many of your fellow soldiers preferred full plate, you liked the mobility that light armour provided. This combined with your smaller size and slight frame made you the perfect scout or assassin for the Royal Guard.

You didn't have time this morning to contemplate the possibility of meeting your soulmate. You had a duty to perform and any distractions could put the lives of both you and your comrades in danger.

Your mission was to investigate the dark fortress that had appeared overnight a few months ago in the neighboring Kingdom of Shiftingtails. The kingdom's forces had apparently been completely overrun and destroyed in a matter of days. Word on the conditions inside the country had been scarce but the handful of refugees that had made it out all told harrowing tales of their escape.

Whatever magic that had created the fortress was dangerous. It corrupted the land, killing both plants and animals alike, so that nothing could survive. It was said that it could kill people as well but no one knew exactly how. There were also accounts of the dark horde and their master but no one could decide on what they looked like.

Some claimed that an army of the dead suddenly came to life and raided their homes. Others claimed there were only three skeletons responsible for the destruction. Yet there were other accounts of a single skeleton covered in the dark fortress' corruption with black tendrils. No one wanted to talk about this one any more than they had to though.

You hadn't known what to make of the accounts at first, but the deeper you and your comrades pressed into enemy territory, the more truth they seemed to hold. Thankfully, the Royal Scientist had found a way to counteract the majority of the corruption's effects, so as long as the protective coating on your armour remained intact, you would be safe.

It didn't ease your anxiety though and you knew that your comrades were also suffering from restlessness. It had been days since you had even been in combat, even longer since killing anything, and you just wanted to get this over with.

You weren't particularly bloodthirsty but even you had to admit that you secretly enjoyed the rush that came whenever a person died by your hand. It wasn't something that you went out of your way to do, even though being a soldier often put you in those situations. Everyone knew that while sometimes unavoidable, gaining EXP and especially LV, was a slippery slope to insanity. And so during basic training, it was stressed that it was preferable to incapacitate your foes and only kill as a last resort.

You emerged from your tent and stretched your limbs. It seemed like a few of your fellow soldiers were already up and about, which meant another day of marching was upon you. At least you were within sight of the dark fortress now. It wouldn't be long before you would be able to hear the satisfying sound of your meteor hammer crushing bones and inhale the scent of fresh blood again.

~ ~ /⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\ ~ ~

Breaching the gate had been difficult but not impossible.

There had been a small horde of tall black skeletons but against the heavily armoured likes of your fellow guardsmen, they were soon cut down. While the skeletons had also been heavily armoured and wielded greataxes, a well placed blow was pretty much all it took to fell them. Even you managed to take one down, although its body didn't turn to dust and simply faded away, and you didn't even get any EXP from it.

That was strange but not unusual if they were merely summons and not actual monsters. Still, whoever summoned them must have an immense mana pool, especially if they were also the one who'd created the dark fortress in the first place.

The moment you and your fellow soldiers entered the courtyard, you were suddenly set upon by three assailants. They were fast, and with how easily they could dodge attacks or appear behind you, must have some form of instant teleportation ability.

You were forced to fight back to back with Sir Draco, which meant your ranged attacks were less effective since you had to be mindful of your meteor hammer's arc. Your own mana was limited so you were forced to fend off blows with your trusty dagger, which you normally only used for finishing off your enemies.

The three skeletons looked similar, like they could be cousins, but at the same time they were quite different from each other. They were on a whole other level from the dark hordes earlier and you were starting to worry that this could soon turn hairy.

Greater and Lesser Dog were currently taking on a giant of skeleton who had half his skull caved in, a blood red eyelight in his left socket, and wielded a massive, wicked-looking greataxe. He wore a suit of mismatched armour of various materials and styles that had been pieced together seemingly at random. It looked to be mostly plate and hide armour though.

Captain Undyne and Sir Bunbun were holding off a wiry skeleton, who had what looked like corruption pouring out of his eye sockets, a crimson glowing target floating above his chest, and wielded nothing but a cruel dagger as well as his own magic against them. He wore a form-fitting suit of black leather armour that was reminiscent of what the former Shiftingtails Kingdom's scouts used to wear.

You and Sir Draco were focusing on a shorter skeleton who was constantly switching between bone attacks and trying to stab both of you with a well-polished shortsword. He had red eyelights but the left one also had a ring of blue and he wore a red cuirass with a hood and dusty chainmail over top.

"Fall back!" You heard Captain Undyne shout. "We can't let them separate us!"

You and your comrades began shifting towards the gate in an attempt to keep them from attacking your flanks. Although, you'd only taken a few steps when your nose caught a particularly familiar scent. It was sharp, earthy and yet sweet at the same time - the exact scent from your dreams. But where was it coming from?

You noticed a flicker of red out of the corner of your eye and just managed to dodge yet another strike from the hooded skeleton. He scowled and you bared your teeth in response before he darted out of your reach again. He smelled like smoke and death so it certainly wasn't him.

"Come on, pup. If we don't move now, they'll cut us off from the others," Sir Draco rumbled as he blocked another volley of bone bullets with his shield.

You sniffed the air intently, barely hearing what he'd said. That scent...they were here somewhere... Your soulmate was here!

Without really thinking, you darted off in the direction that you were certain the scent was coming from, disregarding the fact that you were also running away from your comrades. You just managed to dodge a bone bullet the hooded skeleton summoned, although it did graze your side. You could hear Undyne shouting at you to return but you didn't listen and kept running. It seemed like no one was actually chasing after you but you could still hear the clash of weapons at the gate, so maybe your comrades had kept them occupied?

The scent was coming from further inside the fortress and only grew stronger the further you ventured, until you managed to slip into a dark building and close the door behind you.

Your paws were great at muffling your footsteps and thanks to your nose, you knew that you were close to the source of the scent. You stepped cautiously around furniture and through passageways until you entered the largest library you'd ever seen.

There was light here, from various lanterns and candles peppered throughout the room, which you were grateful for since you couldn't really see in the dark, although you couldn't help but feel uneasy. You slipped between bookshelves and your ears twitched as you strained to hear the slightest sound. Other than the clinking of the length of chain in your paws and that of your own armour, everything seemed quiet.

Too quiet.

The scent was everywhere and you were starting to have a hard time pinpointing which direction to keep moving in. The fur on the back of your neck suddenly stood on end and you quickly turned, only to come face to face with another skeleton.

He was covered in corruption and four tendrils undulated restlessly behind his back. He wore no armour but underneath the black ooze he seemed to be wearing fancy clothing. He had a gold circlet on his skull and a single cyan eyelight in his left eye socket, as his right was covered by the ooze.

You had barely registered his appearance when he lashed out with his tentacles, slamming you against a nearby bookshelf. You let out a yelp from the impact and heard your meteor hammer clatter to the ground as you lost your grip on the chain.

"Who let a mutt into my home?" the skeleton hissed.

You squirmed but your attempts to escape only caused his tendrils to coil tighter around your body, until it was difficult to breathe.

He drew closer until you were only a few inches apart and narrowed his good eye socket at you. "Are you even a soldier?"

Your eyes widened as it occurred to you that the smell that had haunted you for years was from him. He was your soulmate. Him...the one who'd overthrown an entire country singlehandedly was your one and only.

You pawed at the tendrils around your body. "You're... You're the one..." you managed to gasp.

His smile widened and he let out an amused chuckle. "I'm what? I assure you that whatever you're about to say, I've heard it all before." He let out a sigh and loosened the grasp his tentacles had on you ever so slightly. "But I suppose I can humour you a little bit..."

You couldn't help but cough the moment you could breath properly again. After taking in several lungfuls of air, you looked up at him before trying to explain.

"You're the one I've been dreaming about all my life. My soulmate..."

He stared at you for what felt like an eternity but in reality was probably only a minute. He raised his bonebrows slightly but otherwise showed no further reaction to this revelation.

"Well... That's actually a new one." He chuckled and stepped back a bit but noticeably didn't let go of you. "My apologies, it seems I underestimated you slightly. You're amusing at the very least..."

You huffed and crossed your arms. "I'm serious! I've been looking for so long and now I've actually found you."

He rolled his eyelight before giving you an odd look. "I don't believe you. I don't have a soulmate," he muttered.

"Of course you do! I wouldn't have sought you out if we weren't meant to be together!"

"It's not possible, alright?"

"But-"

His tendrils suddenly constricted once more, although your ability to breath wasn't as impeded this time. You couldn't possibly break out of his hold now and you were all but forced to stay still.

"I mean it," he growled. "Now, I'm going to ask you some questions and you're going to tell me the truth, understand?"

"Yeah, okay. Just, not so tight please?"

He pointedly ignored your request as if you hadn't said anything at all. "Why are you actually here?"

"My comrades and I were ordered to investigate this place and if possible, take down the source of the corruption. Although, it seems that's you, isn't it?"

"Yes, I am. My name is Lord Donovan, the new ruler of this land." There was a twinge of pride in his voice and he puffed out his ribcage slightly. "Where are your comrades?"

You didn't like how ominous his tone sounded but there was no reason to lie to him. "They're probably still fighting your men at the gate, at least they were before I caught your scent and sought you out."

He gave you an incredulous look. "You broke rank on the off chance that I was your so called soulmate? What a foolish thing to do, almost as foolish as coming here in the first place."

You wrinkled your nose and let out a frustrated huff. "You are my soulmate!" you growled. "How many times do I have to tell you that before it gets through your thick skull?!"

He abruptly yanked you closer until your foreheads were nearly touching, but so that he was leering down at you. "Listen well, mutt. I am not your soulmate. I am an entity of pure hatred and spite. I am incapable of love or any remotely positive feeling for that matter."

"S-surely there's a way to find out?" you whimpered.

He sighed and ran his hand over his face. "Yes, there is a divination ritual that can be performed, but such a thing takes time, something you don't have right now."

You squirmed in his grip. "I don't need some fancy ritual to prove that you're wrong. If you just, let me go for a moment, I'll show you."

He eyed you warily before taking a glance around the library. "Fine, but don't try anything. I would prefer if you didn't ruin any of these tomes with your useless dust."

You gave him a curt nod, although the casual threat wasn't lost on you. "Same goes for you."

He released his tendrils, dropping you unceremoniously to the ground but you managed to land your feet. After straightening your armour and retrieving the weapon you'd dropped earlier, you turned back to him again.

Lord Donovan stood with arms crossed and a critical expression on his face. "I'm surprised that you would risk turning your back on an enemy," he commented.

You chuckled, "Well, you just said that you didn't want to ruin these books."

He narrowed his eye socket. "I could've lied..."

You snorted but chose not to needle him further. Instead, you took a deep breath and closed your eyes before pressing a paw against your chestplate.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm baring my soul to you. What does it look like?" you retorted.

You could feel him judging you but he made no move to interrupt. "You're a fool," he finally stated.

You ignored him and drew your soul out, letting the upside down white heart float lazily in your palm. It wasn't perfect like it had once been but the faint cracks spoke of the many battles you'd survived to get to this point. You could even see your stats, which was only further proof of your strength and the deeds you'd committed for it.

When you met his gaze again, you noticed that he looked a bit uncomfortable. His permanent grin had fallen and he was doing his best not to look at your soul directly. He actually reminded you a little of a bashful child at the moment.

"How does this," he vaguely gestured at you, "actually prove anything?"

You had to grit your teeth to keep from laughing at him. Had he never been taught how these things worked? Even an eight year old could understand the significance of baring your soul to your fated.

"The frequency of our souls are the same and that means we are soulmates," you responded.

He scoffed at that. "I'm not showing you my soul."

"Come on... If you'll just do this one thing, you'll know that I'm right!"

He frowned and shook his skull.

"Please, I'm not trying to trick you..." When he made no move to respond, you sighed and held out your paws. "I understand that you don't trust me; I probably wouldn't either if I was in your position. You can hold my hands if you want, I promise I won't hurt you."

He eyed them for a moment. "Fine...but on one condition..."

You nodded vigorously, "Of course!"

"If you really want to see my soul, then I can't have you leave, at least not alive... Are you actually willing to give up everything, including your friends and family, on something as improbable as being soulmates?"

"With all due respect, I am a soldier. I live each day as if it were my last, as does my family. When I was ordered to come here, I did so knowing that I likely wouldn't return and if this is the price I must pay to find my soulmate, then I am willing."

He seemed to consider your words for a moment before meeting your eyes again. His cyan eyelight flickered for a moment before a new look crossed his face. It almost seemed like one of respect but you couldn't entirely be sure.

"Very well then, if you're certain you won't live to regret it."

He hesitated for a moment but when you didn't pull away, he stepped closer and coiled two of his tendrils around your wrists. His grip was firm but surprisingly gentle and he lifted your paws over your head, so there was no way for you to attack him. In this position, your height discrepancy was much more obvious and you felt rather small next to him.

You felt completely exposed like this, even though you were still wearing your armour. Having your soul floating freely with no way to shield it from anyone else's eyes was honestly a little terrifying. He could strike you down in an instant and there wouldn't be anything you could do about it.

Lord Donovan brought his hand to his ribcage, mimicking the gesture you had made earlier. He focused for a second before pulling his own soul from his body. It wasn't shaped anything like you'd expected, instead it was more oblong than heart-shaped, much like the cross section of an apple. It was jet black with a cyan flare around the edges and seemed like it too was coated in corruption like the rest of his body.

You couldn't help but find his soul oddly beautiful but you kept your comments to yourself for a moment. Instead, you watched him calmly for what he'd do next.

He seemed to be contemplating something before gingerly bringing his soul closer to your own. You were thankful that he didn't let them touch, instead holding it a few inches away.

You waited with baited breath.

At first, your souls simply floated there, slowly thrumming with latent mana.

Suddenly you felt an intense pulse pass through your soul.

It was unlike anything you'd ever felt before, although slightly similar to the high that you'd experienced a few times when your LV increased, except way better. There was a rush of power but also a strong euphoric feeling that made all your uneasiness ebb away.

Donovan seemed utterly stunned. His cyan eyelight had shrunk down at least two sizes and he stood stock still like a statue.

"You felt that?" you whispered, although you couldn't keep yourself from grinning like a maniac.

He seemed completely at a loss for words and it took him a moment to even register that you'd asked a question at all. "I... Yes...I felt that..."

"Do you believe me now?"

"You were right about the frequency being the same..." He finally tore his gaze away from your souls and gave you an intense look. "You can't leave me."

You chuckled and tried to move your arms, only to remember that he still had you restrained. "A deal's a deal. I saw your soul and we're soulmates now; seems fair to me."

"Indeed..." he murmured, before guiding his soul back into his ribcage. You noticed that he hesitated to do the same for you.

You chuckled softly at his apparent awkwardness. "I can do it myself if you'd rather not, you'll just have to let me go first."

"No, it's fine..." He took great care not to graze your soul with his claws as he returned it to it's proper place in your chest. His movements were rather stiff though, almost like he was handling fine china and was afraid of smashing it.

His hand lingered for a moment, as if he was debating if he should actually touch you or not, before pulling away. "Forgive me...but this is a lot to take in at the moment. I never thought-" He cut himself off and changed the subject. "I never even asked for your name..."

You smiled and told him your name as his tendrils around your arms loosened, allowing you to lower them back to your sides, but not actually letting go just yet. The tips wound softly through your fingers like they were curious or maybe they just wanted to hold you like a lover might.

"I suppose there is still the matter of your former comrades." He looked off in the direction you thought the gate was in before asking a question. "How would you prefer I deal with them?"

You felt your heartbeat quicken. "I'd prefer they leave with their lives, but knowing Captain Undyne, she wouldn't give up until every one of her men got out safely."

"That poses a problem," he hummed and tapped his mandible thoughtfully. "As my own won't quit until they eliminate all resistance."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "Maybe I could talk to my comrades and convince them to leave?"

"No." His expression darkened and he turned back to you. "They won't leave if they see that you're alive."

"So what do we do?"

He thought for a moment before turning to leave the library, tugging you along with his tentacles. "I have an idea, come with me."

You let out a small yip as you nearly stumbled over your own hind feet while trying to follow him. He spared you a glance over his shoulder but kept quickly moving through the dark passageways. He did mercifully let go of one of your arms so you would have a bit more balance though.

He led you into a room that, from the shelves of tonics and the racks of drying herbs, reminded you of an apothecary. The various herbs and ingredients all melded together into a slightly musty smell that you weren't fond of.

Donovan pulled a specific vial down from the shelf and brought it over to the work bench. You walked over and leaned against it to see what he was doing. After adding a few ingredients and swirling it together, he turned back to you.

"I need you to trust me..." He trailed off and glanced away before muttering, "Not that I've done anything to deserve your trust so far..."

You gave him a gentle smile and stepped closer to put your paw on his arm. He inadvertently jumped at the contact but didn't pull away.

"Of course I trust you. Whatever your plan is, I'll go along with it."

His bonebrows furrowed and he lightly stroked the fur on the side of your face with his claws. "Can I have your dagger?"

"I'm surprised you even noticed I had one," you chuckled as you drew the blade from its sheath and held it out to him.

He hummed and took it from your grasp. "I think you'll find that there isn't much that escapes my attention." He eyed the sharp edge for a moment before glancing back at you. "How attached are you to this?"

You frowned slightly. Your dagger wasn't too special to the naked eye but it had served you well ever since you'd been gifted it after your first successful mission. Even though it wasn't your primary weapon, any of your comrades would recognize it as yours if they saw it.

"It's just a dagger," you answered. "It's a small sacrifice to be with you forever."

He watched you for a moment before nodding. "Very well. This will hurt, but I'm only going to do what's necessary for you to be free of them."

You felt his tendrils coil around your body, cradling and holding you in place. He caressed your face and seemed to study your eyes for a second longer. You took a steadying breath and nodded.

And then he ran you through with the dagger.

You should've found something to bite down on before agreeing to this but your scream of pain was cut off when he abruptly yanked you into a kiss. It was a rough kiss and, if he wasn't holding you in place, you might've fallen over from the forcefulness.

He pulled away quickly and pressed the vial to your lips. It had a harsh taste but you managed to get it down without choking. Almost immediately, you felt an odd warmth flood your body and your eyelids began to grow heavy.

Lord Donovan laid you down on a bed that hadn't been in the room and you wondered if he'd brought you somewhere else. You knew he'd just inflicted what would normally be a mortal wound but somehow your body wasn't falling to pieces. If it weren't for the pain and sudden exhaustion, you probably could've run a mile. Whatever was in that tonic was obviously far stronger than any healing potion you'd ever been able to afford.

Your gaze met his own and when you held eye contact, he seemed relieved. He still held your dagger but it was thoroughly coated in what you instinctively knew was your own dust so that not even the handle was spared. He then took it in two of his tendrils and snapped the blade in half, as if it were nothing but a twig and not hardened steel.

Your shocked expression must've been concerning as he frowned and moved closer to you again. He combed his claws through the fur between your ears in a comforting manner.

"I'm sorry, but this needs to be as convincing as possible if they are to leave and not return in some foolhardy attempt to rescue you."

You swallowed thickly and managed to nod.

"Rest now, I will deal with them myself. You have my word that they won't be unnecessarily harmed."

You were out before he even left the room.

~ ~ /⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\ ~ ~

You awoke to the sound of several unknown voices. There was a loud voice that spoke the most and the fastest, a softer and more raspy voice that occasionally answered the first's questions, and then there was a third much deeper voice who only spoke in clipped one word answers. They immediately fell quiet as soon as they realized that you were awake.

When you risked cracking open your eyes, you came face to face with one of the skeletons from earlier, specifically the one that had corruption leaking from his eye sockets. His skull took up most of your field of view but you could just barely make out the other two skeletons near the doorway.

"well well, look who's finally awake~" he teased.

You narrowed your eyes at him. "I suppose so. Now can you back up a bit?"

He smirked but mercifully stepped away from the bed so you could sit up. Your armour had been removed at some point although you were still wearing your tunic. You would likely need new gear after Donovan stabbed you anyways, but you didn't like being in the same room as three very dangerous people while unprotected.

There was still some pain but you seemed perfectly fine otherwise. Maybe later you'd have to check where the wound had been to see how it had healed. You could feel that a bandage had been wrapped around your abdomen but that was all that seemed to have happened.

"so, word is you and the boss are thick as thieves all of the sudden..."

You glanced up at him sharply. There was no point in denying it but should you really tell them why he'd spared your life?

He chuckled and glanced over at the other two, who seemed like they could care less. "we've just been dying to meet you, haven't we?"

The large skeleton huffed and the hooded one merely rolled his eyelights.

He didn't seem phased by their lackluster enthusiasm and soon turned back to you again. "you got a name then, cutie?" he asked way too sweetly.

You raised your head and squared your shoulders before introducing yourself.

"aw, it suits you!" He grinned, although it was a tad too wide. "i suppose introductions are in order then..."

"the big guy goes by maul," he said and pointed him out to you. He bent down to whisper in your ear, "he doesn't talk much, but between you and me, it's rumoured that he used to be the headsman during the coup in the horrur kingdom."

You believed it. The way you'd seen him swing that greataxe was proof enough of his strength. You were curious how he got the head wound if he was just the executor, but you weren't about to ask.

Maul's single red eyelight observed you coolly before he nodded slightly. At least he didn't seem like he wanted to tear you apart right away.

"mr. broody goes by reven." He directed your attention to the skeleton in question before repeating what he'd done earlier. "pretty sure he still wears his old paladin armour, despite breaking his oath after his brother got dusted. he's the one responsible for the crimson stabbings, didn't you know?"

You pulled the sheets slightly closer and swallowed nervously. You remembered how afraid everyone had been during that time and how at a loss your superiors had been. The murders had gone on for years before just stopping without any conclusion being reached.

Reven narrowed his eye sockets suspiciously but he seemed to like the effect that his supposed reputation had on you.

"it's actually kinda impressive you held him off for as long as you did back there~"

Reven scowled at his loud mouthed compatriot's words and crossed his arms. You certainly didn't feel proud of yourself and if it wasn't for Sir Draco, you knew he would've overwhelmed you quickly.

Trying to distract yourself, you turned to the last unnamed skeleton in the room, who was still a bit to close for your comfort. "And who are you?" you asked.

"You can call me Dirk, or anything else you feel partial to~" He practically beamed at the revelation that you were even remotely interested in his backstory. "I used to run with some brigands and we made a decent killing for a while. Although, I was always meant for something more than that boring life so I killed them instead."

You didn't know what you had been expecting but how flippant he was about committing murder was more than a little unsettling. You really shouldn't have been so surprised though.

"Your armour doesn't belong to you, does it?" you asked carefully.

"oh yeah." He grinned before adding, "i stabbed a guy for it!"

You ran a hand down your face and sighed. "Of course, why did I think you would've done anything otherwise?"

In an effort to change the subject, you glanced at the others and asked a different question. "What happened to...my companions?"

Neither Maul nor Reven seemed interested in answering although the latter suppressed a small chuckle.

Dirk pulled a face and shook his skull. "they ran like cowards," he muttered.

You frowned. "That doesn't sound quite right. Are you sure?"

"well... the fish lady got pretty mad when the boss revealed that you were 'dead'..." He made finger quotes and chuckled. "she actually tried to fight him but he taught her a lesson real quick."

Reven chuckled as well. "she had to be hauled away by the rest of them..." he muttered under his breath.

You felt your heart drop. Donovan had promised that he wouldn't kill them, but you still couldn't help feeling concerned. What if she succumbed to her injuries before getting to safety?

"hey."

You glanced over at Dirk and immediately noticed that his permanent grin had fallen slightly.

"how do we know that you didn't just trick the boss into thinking you two are... what's it called?" he paused for emphasis before continuing, "soulmates, or some other dumb crap?"

He took a step closer to the bed and you inadvertently tried to back away from him. Seeing movement out of the corner of your eye, you noticed that the other two had seemed to take interest as well. Maul stayed by the door, although his grin widened in an unsettling way and he crossed his arms. Reven narrowed his eye sockets and took a few steps closer.

"Of course not! I wouldn't-"

Your protest was cut off when Donovan suddenly materialized on your other side. The boys paused and turned to look at him, although at first he said nothing and shot each of them a look of displeasure. Without saying a word, he wrapped your body up in a few of his tendrils and pulled you closer to him.

"If any of you so much as look at my soulmate wrong, I will not hesitate to strip your souls from your miserable bodies and torment you for eternity," he growled quietly.

You felt a shiver run down your spine but his threat seemed to have an effect on the boys. Maul glanced away and Reven seemed to visibly deflate. Dirk seemed to grow uncomfortable but outwardly didn't appear intimidated.

Donovan eyed each of them for several long seconds before he turned to you and seemed to visibly relax. He gave you what was supposed to be a comforting smile but it still looked a little scary on him.

"I didn't go for a killing blow but holding back is a little difficult for me. She'll probably just lose an eye if treated properly," he stated. His tone came across as pretty ominous but you did feel some relief that he'd at least attempted to keep his word.

"Thank you, I appreciate that you still tried."

~ ~ /⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\ ~ ~

Later, once you were properly healed, Dirk approached you in the common area while you were attempting to salvage what you could from your old armour. You inadvertently tensed up but he flashed you a smile that was probably supposed to look friendly.

"so, i've been thinking," he started to say.

You raised an eyebrow. "That's worrying," you responded with an awkward laugh.

Across the room, you heard Reven snicker but he didn't bother trying to join in.

Dirk's smile grew wider. "heh... anyways, each of us has a place on the team. maul is the muscle, reven is good with both melee and ranged fighting, and i'm the assassin but i dabble in ranged attacks too. so, what do you do?"

You took a moment to think it over. You wanted to get along with them and if proving yourself a competent teammate would help, you were determined to do your best.

"Well, I'm generally a forward scout but I'm more than capable of holding my own in melee combat."

Dirk nodded, "fun! i guess we'll have to eventually come up with a nickname for you." He held out his hand and tilted his skull all the while smirking at you. "welcome to the dark fortress."

You grasped his hand and smiled. Maybe you'd like being here a lot more than you originally thought.

Notes:

A meteor hammer is kind of like a flail. It is a weapon with one or two weights attached to a length of chain. It may be impractical, but I had a distinct mental picture of MC swinging it around that I loved.

Donovan is an Irish name and means dark warrior.

Maul is actually named after the weapon of the same name (although the verb is kinda fitting too!).

Reven is short for revenant and a nod to one of the coolest characters in Star Wars (Darth Revan).

Dirk is named for a type of dagger.

Did you catch what kingdom was taken over by Donovan and his gang? I had a hard time coming up with one that made sense so Storyshift it was. In this world, each AU is its own kingdom, meaning pretty much every major AU can and probably does exist somewhere or somehow.

[onbearfeet]

Whump Wheel request for our favorite werewolf!

✨ High fever ✨

but he's ambulatory somehow

"Sit your stupid ass down," Bucky snarled.

Jack shook his head, more slowly than usual. "I'm fine," he insisted, and it would even have been convincing if he'd managed to avoid slurring the second word.

"You are not fine," Elsa snapped from where she was fiddling with what she claimed was a ghoul gate but that Bucky could have sworn was a garden-variety pipe bomb with funny writing on it. "You're running a temperature of forty degrees, according to Barnes' arm sensors." She rolled her eyes. "A hundred and four in idiot units."

"Hey," Bucky warned her, then returned his attention to Jack, who had begun methodically pulling books off the shelves of the Newport mansion in which they'd gotten themselves trapped. "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, stalking over to where his prey had managed to escape. "Do you wanna cook your brain or something?"

"I dunno, would it help?" Jack's eyes were glassy as he flipped pages without appearing to read. His cheeks and forehead were flushed with fever.

"What kinda stupid question is--hey!" Bucky grabbed Jack by his bicep and spun him in place so the werewolf had no choice but to face him. "Listen to me!"

"'m lissning," Jack slurred, staring at a point in space that seemed to be just off the end of Bucky's nose.

Bucky brought his metal palm up to press against Jack's cheek. Jack leaned into the cool touch with a barely suppressed moan.

"Hey," Bucky said, more gently this time. "You need to rest. You're sick."

"Don' get sick." Jack sounded offended at the very thought.

"He's right," Elsa put in. "Werewolves are immune to just about everything humans can catch." She paused. "Everything other humans can catch," she corrected.

"So what?" Bucky shot back. "Maybe he's got parvo or something!"

"Tha's racist," Jack informed him, swaying on his feet.

Bucky closed his eyes and silently counted to five thousand. Then he reopened then.

"Jack," he said, watching the werewolf's head wobble in response. "You want some water?"

Wobbly nod.

"Yeah, something to drink probably sounds good right about now. But you gotta sit down to drink your water, okay?"

Scowl. Wobble-nod.

"Good man." He gently guided the swaying man over to a chair near the cold fireplace. Jack didn't sit so much as collapse into it like his strings had been cut, but his head didn't hit anything on the way down, which was a win in Bucky's book.

"Try the drinks cabinet," Elsa suggested, still fiddling with her definitely-not-a-pipe-bomb.

Bucky grunted acknowledgment and headed for it. He'd give Jack alcohol if he had to--fluids were fluids, right?--but he wanted to find something low-proof if he could.

Good thing every rich evil bastard he'd ever net had kept the good stuff locked up and left the watered-down shit where guests and tippling servants could find it.

"Are you planning to blow us up with that thing?" he called to Elsa as he rummaged through the cabinet.

"If I can disable the sigils," she replied distractedly, "I can turn it from a ghoul gate into a perfectly ordinary explosive to use on the door."

The bottles were what he expected. Shit bourbon, shit scotch, fake cognac, real vodka... "Do you know how to disable the sigils?" he asked.

"Not as such, no."

Bucky paused, his metal fingers wrapped around a bottle of bitters. "Then should you be fucking with it?"

"Only if we don't want Jack to die."

The bottle shattered in his grip. He thought vaguely that he was going to have to clean the plates in his hand later.

"What?!" he yelped.

"Nobody gets a high fever in ten minutes flat," Elsa snarled. "It's a curse. Probably attached to this bloody gate. Jack knows more about most curses and sigils than I do, Barnes. He's had centuries to learn, and my education was rather more specialized. And now the curse is cooking his brain before he can break it!"

Bucky glanced over at Jack, who was slumped in his chair. "Fuck. I think he passed out."

"Bastards. Time for plan B." Elsa bit the fingertip of her left glove, tugged it off, and spat the glove aside. Then she bit the cuticle on her thumb, hard.

"What are you doing?" Bucky asked, in a higher register than he'd intended.

"Duct tape for curses."

"What?"

"Duct tape fixes everything, right? Most curses break with either blood or true love's kiss. Do you see any true lovers in here?" She squeezed her index finger against the wound in her thumb and began smearing blood across the definitely-a-bomb-now. "Get Jack behind the davenport."

"The what?!"

"The couch, Barnes!"

The oh-shit-that's-just-a-bomb began to beep.

Bucky lunged for Jack, scooped his limp body up, and was up and over the dav--couch, it was a goddamn couch--in seconds.

Elsa landed beside them just as the beeping stopped and the world went white.

[justalonelyslytherin]

Hey if the monstermashup thing is still valid

I would like to request one😁

Werewolf ari levinson + human female reader

Prompt-i don’t have any specific in mind but some implied sexy times between them..

Thanks😘

Yes, it is, or it was at the time you sent this in. Took me quite a while to finally work on it too. Apologies for that. This is also really short and not my proudest work. It certainly is something but I'm not sure how to feel about it. I hope you'll like it still.

She woke up in a too-wide bed, groggily and disoriented. Around her were pillows strewn, a blanket partially covered her as it messily twisted over the sheets. Soft rays of light shone into the empty room. They were faint, yet she struggled to keep her eyes open against them, lazily holding a hand up to shield herself from the morning sun. Her hair was flowing over her shoulder as she moved, fanned out around her, it tickled her cheek and neck.

A cool breeze traveled through the room, it caressed her body, sending goosebumps in its wake. Blinking, she glanced down. 

Bare. 

Minus the blanket covering her sparsely. Then she looked around the room, turned her head, and looked over her shoulder to take it all in.

Empty.

As she slowly stretched and moved, a groan slipped past her lips. She was sore. So sore. There was a sweet burn in every muscle. Her shoulders throbbed, her neck and scalp felt raw. A tingling swept down her spine and ended in her tailbone, where pressure spread over her hips and sank deeply into every pore of her pelvis. Not to mention the soreness in her middle. She felt the remnants of the night still deep in her core, the heat and stretch a phantom of the night. Her thighs were tender, tiny nibs and bigger half-moon shapes throbbing in competition.

Slowly she came to sit in the middle of the big bed - too big and too mulled up for only her to have slept in. Too messed up for it to have just been sleeping either. The lovebites and marks littering her legs, hips, and stomach spoke to agree with the theory as she pulled the pooling fabric from her lap.

A particular strong throb in her neck made her flinch and her hand reach out. Her eyes widened in surprise as the soft pads of her fingers ran over scarred, scabby skin. What had been pristine, porcelain-like skin before was now marred. She’d been untouched till the day before.

Not entirely trusting her legs yet, she carefully scooted to the edge of the bed, where her bare feet touched the chilled ground. Testing it out, putting some weight on her feet, and ultimately standing up took a try, or two, or three. When she stood somewhat securely, she found her goal. Her first steps were awkward, more limp than step, caused by the profound feeling of soreness and tightness running through her muscles until they relearned to function again. On silent feet, she padded over to the oval mirror standing on a vanity and pointing with an angle towards the ceiling.

“What?”

A gasp left her parted lips upon the other person staring at her through the reflection. Familiar yet not entirely her. Eyes zeroed in on her neck. The angry, red, scabbed-over bite mark was as prominent as a giant, blinking neon sign. She inched her shaking fingers closer until the pads could once more run over it. It sent a shiver down her spine, making her gasp once more. 

Throwing forward her arm, she braced herself on the top of the vanity as memories from the previous night broke over her like a spring downpour.

Blue eyes.

So deep and intense. Staring at her. Their gaze penetrated her, causing warmth to spread through her.

A mysterious man.

Big and strong. The pull she’d felt toward him had been unimaginable.

They’d rounded on each other, circling and slowly encroaching like a moon orbiting around a sun.

His closeness. His scent. Everything about him had made her dizzy. He had lit a fire deep in her. One that spread over her body and threatened to set her ablaze until nothing of her remained.

His lips had been devilish yet soft and pulled into a never-wavering grin as they’d discovered every inch of her skin. As they’d planted kiss after kiss, nibbling and licking and biting. He’d felt like heaven and then like sin as he’d pulled the greatest pleasures she’d ever felt out of her at a torturously slow pace.

She remembered how her hands had fisted into the sheets, her back arching off of the bed. How his hands had wrapped around her throat, then her hair as they’d yanked in the most delicious way. 

Feeling herself growing warm and bothered at the explicit memories, she crossed her legs and rubbed her thighs together.

Where was he?

Looking around once more, she spied a shirt laying at the foot of the bed. She shrugged it on. The white fabric easily glided over her skin and pooled around her body. It was too big to be hers, so it had to be his. It felt amazing under her hands and even better on her skin. Her fingers wrapped around the collar and carefully lifted the fabric to her nose. It even still smelled like him.

“Oh!” she gasped as big, strong hands landed on her hips and a chest pressed against her neck.

“Good morning little mate,” his deep voice cooed into her ear, his breath tickling her as his lips hovered near her temple.

“Morning,” she mumbled quietly, leaning against him with closed eyes. She reveled in his strength and presence.

“Missed me already?” He asked her, fingers skating along her side, up and down and with every time a little further down until they reached the hem of the shirt. He toyed with it, his fingers ultimately crawling under them to caress her bare skin.

“Need me to take care of you again?”

[juls-art]

Harpie Lady Casity, y'know, like from yu-gi-oh just for fun~

-- Kofi | Patreon  

[high-quality-tiktoks]

A modern yet timeless romance🎶🎃👻✨

[omaano]

The desert witch and his.... something tooths-y

A last one (for now) for my witch!Cobb AU for Monster Mash on the Dincobb server *kisses to all of you*

[moonshine-nightlight]

Nothing's Wrong with Dale: Part Thirteen

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Chapter 13 - MoonshineNightlight - Original Work [Archive of Our Own]

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six][Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight][Part Nine][Part Ten][Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] Part Thirteen [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two] [Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four] [Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

You try to distract yourself by fussing with your hat, angling it so it best blocks the morning sun from your eyes. It’s too easy to resituate though and so your gaze is drawn back down the jousting lane where Dale waits at one end for his first jousting round of the tournament.

Already the archery competition had been held, in which Dale had competed last in deference to his recovering injuries. He claimed to be more than sufficiently healed from his wrestling with the boar and the doctor took full credit for this recovery. In the end, he’d placed in the top third of the competition and seemed pleased with that, archery never having been even former Dale’s particular passion or strong suit. 

The martial tournament had three competitions: archery, jousting, and melee. Everyone competed in archery, which determined the tournament match-ups for jousting. The top four competitors in the jousting rounds then also fought with melee weapons in a champion tournament—although there were certain exceptions within jousting that could result in mounted swordplay, something you knew happened but had never understood what actually called for it. Heavy armor was worn for the jousting and then chainmail for the melee. Though no one is supposed to be aiming to kill, injuries are not uncommon. Despite protests to the contrary, plenty of knights bring grudges from outside the competition into it. 

For the first round, every knight jousts against two different opponents, resulting in the elimination of anyone who was fully unseated or too injured to compete. People could also simply choose to no longer compete, but that came with a fee and a significant blow to one’s pride. Then a bracket is drawn up based upon how well each did as well as random lots drawn for those judged to be of equal skill. While no special consideration is given to Dale any further with regards to his injury, he has still ended up being one of the last few to tilt.

At first you had been grateful for the reprieve, but you find it's only given your nerves more time to grow sharper. You’ve never enjoyed jousting, never having been able to watch any of your family members or friends do it and barely able to tolerate watching strangers either. And now, with Dale’s condition, there is a whole range of new factors and considerations and chances for things to go wrong.

Not that he seems nervous, you think a bit impetuously. Dale is already mounted on his horse, a sturdy and beautiful black gelding. If the rumors about animals sensing demon possession are true, they evidently don’t apply to horses as Blacklock appears completely at ease with having a demon on his back. Right after Dale puts on his helm, a trumpet blast signals for the combatants to get into position for the first pass.

Dale’s horse walks over where he needs to go with barely any signal on Dale’s part, clearly used to this activity. Dale lowers his lance into position across his horse’s withers, the blunted tip seeming to sharpen the longer you contemplate it. With his helm on, you can’t read his face, but he seems confident enough in the high tilting saddle with the long lance in his hand. Has he done this before? You rather thought demons were particularly feral with their fighting and had little need for weapons, but who knows how many times he’s been on the Surface. You hope he has experience of his own, or at least can rely on Dale’s.

All you can do is watch as the flag lowers and they charge at one another. It happens both slowly and too fast as they brace and clash together. No one ends up on the ground and nothing breaks, but it's still clear that Dale’s opponent, Knight Catherine of Alry—recognizable to you only because her lands border your family’s—is the superior jouster. Dale hadn’t risen in time to strike well and had been knocked firmly back in his saddle hard enough you doubt its padding helped much. Her follow through was far more clean and confident than his own.

The next pass resulted in her lance breaking off and while Dale had improved his timing, his lance did not break. As such, it’s no surprise that she is awarded to win. Despite the loss, you feel only relief—no one has been injured, no particular mistakes were made, no demonic signs were obvious, and no unusual strength was notable.

You nearly jump out of your seat when a loud ‘harumph’ interrupts your thoughts. You turn to see one of Dale’s uncles—Wellington, who’d been on the hunt—frowning at the field. “Boy’s out of practice after all that time abroad,” he grumbles to Breighton on his other side. “After how he performed on the hunt, I was expecting more.”

While a small part of you wants to speak on Dale’s behalf, mostly this comment makes you want to breathe out in relief that no one suspects anything. Breighton rolls her eyes at her brother, “He did fine—didn’t even get unhorsed. You’re simply still sore over your loss to Alry in that race last year.”

Wellington scowls and Grandfather laughs, clapping his son on the shoulder from his spot in the row behind you. “That so?”

You take the opportunity to surreptitiously check how Grandfather seems to be reacting. He’s rather good at keeping up his usual attitude in public, but he’d been tense in the lead up to this part of the tournament. You hope he hadn’t noticed you’d been the same. He seems to have lost some of that tension, although not all of it. He catches your eye and you resist the urge to duck down and away—trying to think of how you would act if nothing was out of the ordinary. You smile politely, returning his look, before gazing back over to Wellington as he says, “That has nothing to do with this tournament nor Dale’s showing in it. He clearly kept up with his woodscraft and hunting, but obviously his jousting was neglected. That is all I was trying to say.”

Breighton continues to needle her brother, with Grandfather assisting, about whatever race he participated in against Alry while you finally feel that your stomach has settled enough to have something to eat. You help yourself to the platter the family has continually replenished, noting since Grandmother is the grand judge, Grandfather’s tastes are more obviously represented. As such, there’s more dark meat and generally a plainer array of offerings. You don’t mind the change, preferring such simpler fare when your stomach is still rather stirred up from stress. 

Desiring something warm, you help yourself to the stew. Blowing on it lightly, you take a sip. Blinking in surprise, you notice that, unlike how you expected it to be, it is rather heavily seasoned. Primarily with rosemary and thyme you identify after another sip, the dish having been so heavily seasoned you needed extra time to identify the herbs.

In fact, your next mouthful causes you to cough a bit at the overpowering taste. Once you’re able to have a drink to help your throat and are reaching for a piece of bread to help with the strong flavor, you realize Grandfather’s eyes are on you. Abruptly, you recall rumors about both of those herbs supposedly helping to purify those tainted by demonic energies. 

Resisting the urge to look to see if he actually is looking at you, you make the decision to finish off your bowl at least, no matter how heavily seasoned. You don’t want him to turn his suspicions to Dale himself, but you want to do your part in discouraging him from this line of thinking entirely. Also, there have definitely been meals since Dale’s incident that involved those herbs, so he’s obviously only trying very basic testing methods at this point, which makes you feel better.

You’d taken advantage of both Dale’s absence and Steward Bilmont’s knowledge of what had happened, to spend some time in Dale’s study and peruse some of his more illicit books on demonology with mild confidence of privacy. Most of them were too dense and theoretical for you to get much from, but yesterday night you found that Steward Bilmont had slipped one volume in particular into your rooms regarding possession and influence, including signs and symptoms. 

You believe Dale had gone to great trouble to bring these tomes in, given Northridge’s heavy regulation of such materials, and hope Grandfather is having trouble getting his hands on similar books. You also hope that you’re not misplacing your faith in what Steward Bilmont reported regarding Breighton’s disbelief and how he believed Dale innocent of any such studies and therefore would not be searching his study. That did bring up the idea of him searching your chambers, which seems far too overt for him to attempt at this moment. Nevertheless you resolve to read quickly, taking shorthand notes only, and getting the volume back to Dale’s study as soon as possible.

It had a whole section on herbs and plants—identifying which were actually potentially useful in detecting demonic influences and which were mere myth. Most, you are grateful to remember, are not useful generally, let alone in their raw state. However, you didn’t have a lot of time to study that section yet and you make a note to do so once you retire for the evening, before Grandfather stumbles upon something that does more than result in overly seasoned soup.

You finish the stew slowly, with more bread than usual, but no other signs of discomfort as Dale’s next round comes up. This one goes far more favorably for him, even if primarily due to his opponent’s poor horsemanship rather than his own skill. At least no one can claim favoritism on behalf of the judges even if Grandmother is heading the panel—a pair of strong opera glasses to combat her usual sight challenges. Both of Dale’s matches have had obvious winners to be ruled in favor of and all other grandchild—two of his cousins competing as well—matches have been judged similarly. 

The other judges are another of Dale’s uncles and a neighboring Lady. None of the heckling you’ve occasionally heard has started, although perhaps it's simply not late enough in the day for people to be drunk enough to do so. After each bout, they declared a winner after debating and considering each competitor's technique, horsemanship, skill, and strength. Grandfather and Wellington discuss each match on their own, likely mirroring the conversation being had on the other side of the field. Breighton chimes in as she pleases, though you are able to piece together she’s no interest in the lance and is instead holding out for the melee later on, or perhaps even with plans to join the fencing duels tomorrow.

There’s a pause while the tournament brackets are finalized, the remaining spots assigned, and the stew is thankfully taken away—you have no desire to eat anything with thyme in it for a week at least. Grandfather seems to have gotten caught up in the tournament atmosphere and has lost all tension—or perhaps that’s just the wine he’s been drinking. 

Dale ends up one of the first rounds after the break and he wins the first two tilts easily. It's only the third, which hits at an interesting angle, that is at all ambiguous. You keep getting caught between relief as he continues to perform similarly to the others—humanely—while also nervous that he might be more likely to slip as he gets tired, though it's hard to tell how he’s holding up from the stands. When he’s not actively tilting, he’s out of sight with the other competitors and their squires—you hope he won’t slip out there either. Some part of you feels as if letting your guard down will cause something to go wrong and resists the urge to relax.

Dale’s next bout takes time to come about and you distract yourself from the tournament by talking with some of Dale’s cousins on your other side, who joined late having slept in—and who also luckily have no problem carrying the conversation with minimal input on your side.

This time, the first pass goes to his opponent when his shield splits neatly in two. Wellington scoffs, “He should have replaced his shield after his last round, Jellsum got lucky going after that hit from Voothkain.”

“I agree,” Grandfather says, echoing your thoughts, “however, there are still two more tilts. Dale can recover.”

Sure enough, Dale manages to nearly knock the knight from Jellsum off their horse next round and in their attempt to stay seated, they steer their horse into the barrier between lanes—practically guaranteeing their loss by the judges. 

This time between matches you try to pay more attention to the others participating, the competition will be fiercer as only skilled opponents remain. Could one of them be strong or skilled enough to make Dale forget himself? Or perhaps it's the less skilled ones, getting by on the luck of their opponent’s horse getting frightened who might throw Dale off.

Either way, by the time Dale next tilts, the last one of the day and the round that determines who fights in the champions melee instead of the all around, you’re strung tight with tension once more. Seeing who he’ll be competing against does nothing to quell that feeling. The knight from Eastmount had made a few waves as the first person to unseat their opponent, particularly given his less than burly build. However, both Grandfather and Wellington had remarked that he’d done well in other tournaments recently and so weren’t terribly surprised. He’d shattered a lance nearly every tilt in this tournament and is one of the favorites to make it to the final four.

Dale lines up for his tilt, fresh lance in hand. You catch a glimpse of Eastmount’s face before he pulls his helm on, he certainly looks confident. Soon enough they charge down the lane at each other, lances lowered. Both connect with shields and break, cracking about a third off in length each, showing a similar amount of strength and precision from their wielders. 

When they both retreat to their sides, you think you see Eastmount turn to say something to Dale, but it's impossible to say what. Dale is hard to read with his helm on, but his horse is a little clearer, prancing more than usual to offload some tension in his rider as he retrieved a new lance. Something about his demeanor seems more serious, more focused. Eastmount seems cocky still, adjusting his bejeweled gauntlets that glint in the sunlight, ostentatious enough for competition that one of Dale’s cousins remarks on them too.

The trumpet blast and thunderous sound of hooves brings your focus sharply back to the jousting lanes. They hurtle at each other with even more momentum, or so it seems to you, than before. Both their lances shattered in an explosion of wooden splinters. You blink at the sight, and upon remembering the tale of the man felled by one such splinter in his eye, immediately check Dale for signs of distress. To your relief, he seems to have no trouble guiding his horse, though he’s shaking out his hand from the impact.

For some reason that strikes you as odd. Perhaps Dale has gotten particularly good at playing his role, but you’re really not sure he would have thought to do such a thing. That means either it was a normal amount of pressure and he was simply surprised at what could affect humans or… Or that something else is going on here, that the impact was precisely as devastating as it seemed and even Dale, with whatever accordances he had still felt it significantly enough for him to, without thinking, flew his hand.

Still, it's not unheard for both lances to break with particularly strong opponents and they acquire their replacements, lining up for another tilt. This second tilt has the same prickling tension concentrates once more and you find yourself holding your breath as they meet and both lances shatter once more, drawing murmurs and raising your hackles.

Technically, despite the three passes already completed, the tilts have Dale and his opponent at a tie. As such, Grandmother orders a delay in the round while a new set of lances is procured and thoroughly inspected.

The other knight takes off his helm and motions for his squire. He’s a moderately built man with a large mustache that you think must get uncomfortable in the helm. He looks angrier than you expect, not frustrated or bewildered, but furious and, more importantly, trying to hide it. He keeps glaring impatiently at the squire dashing to him or Dale, as if he thinks what’s going on is their fault. He doesn’t look to the judge or to the man who made the lances—currently being questioned by the judge. He’s not checking any of his equipment, just—his squire finally joins him and he dismounts.

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Dale’s done the same, but you keep your focus on the opposing knight. His horse is blocking him from view by your side of the arena, but there are dozens of highly polished and decorative shields all around the stands. You find the right one and watch as he seems to berate the squire, gesturing first at Dale and then brandishing his removed gauntlet in the man’s face. 

The squire appears to be protesting, likely trying to explain whatever standstill these two are at isn’t his fault. But why would it be? How could it be? The furious knight jabs a finger at his horse, thrusts his gauntlets and shield into the squire's hands before stalking away. Tents fill the field near the jousting arena, one for each competitor to wait in, and he leaves likely to return to his own. 

Instead of following the knight, you keep watch on the squire, noticing the way he runs his hands over the equipment in his hands, appearing to possibly be check the back of his shield, before running fingers over the saddle and possibly even the saddle blanket underneath? He only does so for a few seconds before he freezes, barking an order to stablehand. To your surprise, he gives the man who comes over the shield and gloves, not he reins for the horse and together the two hurry out of the arena.

Only a few seconds after watching them leave did you realize what else struck you as odd—the stablehand had been dressed as one, but did not look like one. He’s too clean and too pale. They are obviously up to something nefarious—some form of cheating that evidently was not working as expected, hence Eastmount’s anger.

Tuning back into the chatter around you, the twin shattered lances two rounds in a row is causing some talk to fly, but not much. From what you hear, no one in your immediate surroundings thinks anything in particular is happening, merely commenting on the amount of strength the two men must have. Impressive given neither are particularly large or muscular. 

Of course, while Dale is managing his strength better, you know why he might have more strength than he appears to have. But it’s not as though this man likely also has the same condition. But perhaps, given his fixation on his tools at hand, Eastmount is using something to that effect. If he gets careless with such a thing, if either he pushes so hard Dale missteps or enough to reveal what he’s doing and Grandmother judges they must start testing the competitors…

You stand before you even realize you’ve made the decision to, making an excuse to Dale’s family around you about needing  a private moment. Once back on the ground, instead of heading towards the outhouses, you picture the series of tents in your mind and try to deduce where Dale will be waiting to be called back. You aren’t sure if your information will would be at all helpful—he probably already knows what’s happening and who knows if he’ll believe you—but you can’t in good conscience continue to watch this without warning him.

You spot his squire and walk determinedly in that direction to relay what you know.

[Part Fourteen]

[theyareweird]

Monster High: Frankie Stein's Ghouls Rule —Aesthetic

Movie Description

Among humans, Halloween is a festive holiday for candy and fun. Unfortunately, this is a different story for monsters as it's normally a night of fear and staying indoors. However, Frankie and her friends decide the rules are going to change this year.

[onbearfeet]

Bloodstone Manor Location Masterpost

Okay, since the next bit of Monster Mash is gonna have to happen at/near Bloodstone Manor and Ted needs to go for a walk in the woods nearby, where do we think it is? The US and UK are the leading candidates in the fandom, but I need to pick a spot so my characters can get the fuck out of Ohio. My money is on the US, but I'm open to counterpoints.

Things to bear in mind:

1. Ulysses had a British accent. Elsa's accent is posh British. Verussa had an American accent, with some Broadway Mid-Atlantic that could suggest fancy New England OR just putting on airs. It's entirely possible one of the couple moved to be with the other, but that doesn’t settle which side of the ocean it happened on. Elsa's accent could be from a UK childhood OR a UK boarding school OR a choice to emulate her mother and annoy Verussa.

2. The house is old--or at least full of old stuff--but there's something of a history of Europeans bringing their weird-ass shit across the Atlantic and building absolutely batshit mansions in the US. Probably because there's more open space for it here.

3. The establishing shot of the rotunda shows it in hilly or mountainous terrain, with what looks like pine forest around it, and it sits on a parcel that is either big enough or far enough from neighbors that no one expects any outside response to roars, screams, explosions, etc. Either there's no one around to hear it or people REALLY mind their own business.

4. Of the hunters who make it to the funeral, one has a Scottish accent, two have American or Canadian accents, and one has what sounds like a South Korean accent (although apparently the actor was born in Argentina and moved to the US in the 90s, and I'm going off the many Korean-American voices I've heard at work, so "Korean-American" might be a better descriptor). Those are the people with connections to Ulysses and the time, resources, and motivation to show up to wherever this is. That suggests the location is most accessible to these people and not others. (Yes, I know, I've left out Jack's accent, but he was going to travel to wherever Ted was anyway; he had enough motivation that distance alone wasn't going to stop him.) North America has the numbers here; it's more likely that one Scot got on an international flight than that two North Americans did.

5. The guards are wearing "tacticool" BDUs and carrying some kind of zappy sticks or stun batons. The lack of guns is interesting and may indicate a location with stricter gun laws than the US ... or just that Verussa didn't want to accidentally kill her captive and that a lot of monsters are bulletproof anyway. The guards look and move a hell of a lot like an American tactical team and sound vaguely American when they're screaming. Would Verussa import guards, or hire local muscle? My money is on the latter.

6. Ulysses was old as balls. In the comics, he was positively ancient, and the opening narration implies he was old enough to be wearing pre-20th-century clothes in a flashback. He's definitely old enough to have gotten his hands on a nice piece of property in the UK, but also rich enough to have just bought a mountain in the US. He was also around for the last century-plus of history, and that may have affected his choice of headquarters. If the original Bloodstone Manor got bombed out during World War 2, for example, he might have moved to a less bomb-filled location.

7. Corpse Muppet! Verussa found somebody willing to turn her husband's remains into a Cryptkeeper animatronic. I have no idea whether that's a thing in the UK, but there are definitely enough weirdo taxidermists, puppeteers, and general pieces of work here that someone would take Verussa's money to do it. There are even subcultures here that traditionally sit the corpse up at the table for the wake, so it might not even be that weird to the right professional.

8. Flaming Tuba Guy is available for the funeral. Real Flaming Tuba Guy is American and takes his flaming tuba to Burning Man. I have no idea whether the UK is also a likely place to find a dude with a flaming tuba, but I have difficulty imagining a smooth process for getting a combination brass instrument/flamethrower through customs. I don't think there's a lot of international Flaming Tuba action unless private jets get involved. Wherever Flaming Tuba is from, I'm betting that's the jurisdiction where Bloodstone Manor is.

9. Jack makes it to Bloodstone Manor. Now, I've talked before about his being highly motivated and distance not being an obstacle for him, but if we assume he didn't use a magic portal or something (big if, I know), he had to go by land, sea, or air, and that takes time, no matter how motivated he is. Jack is centuries old, has a history of involvement with violence, and speaks with a Mexican accent. Wherever the Manor is, a dude matching that description was able to get there in time without setting off a ton of international alerts. The fact that Jack is as old as he is AND unknown to the hunters despite being a werewolf suggests that he prefers to keep a low profile, and by now he's practiced at it. He wouldn't want to leave a paper trail, especially when he's on a rescue mission that he knows will likely involve killing people. (I know he doesn't WANT to kill anybody, but the odds of him and Ted getting out of there with a zero body count were always slim. And he brought a bomb in his pocket.) Between his money and his accent, Jack would have an easier time moving around undetected in North America; he could reach a North American Manor by car rather than having to smuggle himself on a boat, charter a private plane (with a flight plan!), or go through customs at Heathrow or wherever. Not that he wouldn't risk getting on SHIELD's radar to save Ted, but if the hunt happened soon after Ted's capture, Jack would be more likely to physically reach the Manor in time if it were in North America.

10. Ted! Ted is at the funeral, obviously. In the comics, Ted canonically lives in the Everglades and honestly that's the best place for him. Verussa would have to have Ted transported from Florida to wherever the Manor is. All the logistical problems of moving Jack across an ocean are magnified in moving TED across an ocean. Again, it's much easier to move him within North America, which I'd consider a point in favor of a North American Manor. If the Manor were in the UK, wouldn't Verussa have gone for a victim based closer to home?

11. Sushi. "Let's do sushi; I owe you that." Apparently Jack and Ted have a history with sushi. I have absolutely no idea how common sushi restaurants are in the UK, but on the west coast of North America, you can pretty much throw a stick and hit one. (I know this because I moved last fall, and one of my first priorities in the new place was Find The Good Local Restaurants. Google was like OH, YOU WANT SUSHI?! HERE ARE TWENTY PLACES. Seriously, it's almost as common as pizza, at least in California.) I assume the boys aren't heading into a major urban center for food after their escape, so wherever Bloodstone Manor is, Jack thinks he can find a rural, exurban, or suburban sushi restaurant within a couple hours' travel (close enough that he can go, pick up their order, and make it back to Ted before raw fish goes funky). Sushi restaurants, at least in the western US, tend to be run by East Asian immigrants--part of the larger culture of immigrants starting restaurants within the first or second generation of arriving here. For stupid racist reasons, most East Asian immigration to the US took place after 1965, so there are a lot of sushi restaurants here that were established in or after the 1980s. Sushi restaurants also tend to be more common in coastal regions here, presumably because REALLY fresh ocean fish get more expensive and harder to acquire farther inland. Jack proposing sushi, if he and Ted are sitting on a log in the US, suggests they're somewhere near a coast, in a region with a sizable post-1965 East Asian immigrant population. (BTW, the reason I keep saying "East Asian" instead of "Japanese" is because a LOT of these restaurants in my area are run by Korean families, more rarely Chinese or Vietnamese ones. I've been in exactly one sushi restaurant here that was run by a Japanese family, and it was 40 years old.) Of course, I don't know shit about the takeout culture of the UK; maybe Yorkshire is full of sushi restaurants or something.

Conclusions.

Between the geography, the accents, the material culture, and the logistics, I think the balance of probability suggests that Bloodstone Manor is in North America, most likely the United States. There are multiple hilly or mountainous regions with pine forests near coasts, close enough to centers of East Asian immigration that the boys can reliably get their sushi.

So with all that in mind ...