#paranormal fantasy au

[thatsmydaydream]

The Investigation

Chapter 4 of Guess Who?? Series(yandere!bts(OT7)*Reader)

Guess Who?? Series masterlist

Warning: This story will contain yandere themes

Info: This story is a work of fiction and the characters or places mentioned do not exist in real life nor do I believe that any members of BTS behave in such way. Do not take this story seriously.

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“Can you recall what happened miss?"

"I was with Anna Myres when I heard the emergency alarm ringing we could also hear loud, hurried footsteps and someone screaming so I told Miss Anna to stay where she was and ran to investigate, I followed the sounds and reached the intern department but by the the time I reached there were no sounds anymore not even the alarm could be heard so I walked a little further towards the door where I discovered the body." You recalled the strange events of today but the officer still looked unconvinced.

"So you didn't see anyone??or any footprints, shadows or I don't know any clues at all??" The officer asked.

"No as much as I can recall I didn't see any kind of clue and according to me I think I was completely alone on the floor at the time." You replied.

"Okay, then. Why were you meeting with miss Myres at the time?"

"I wanted to know some specific details about a evidence of the case I am currently working on." You told him and it was it fact the complete truth but he didn't seem to believe you.

"Can you elaborate it?" He further asked.

"No, I cannot. Giving details to someone outside of the team working on the case is against the law."

The officer raised his eyebrows in shock.

"I don't think non cooperation during an interrogation would do good for your job, miss Y/N."

It was a subtle threat but a threat nonetheless.

"I AM cooperating to the best of my abilities but I don't think any details about an evidence from another case is needed here."

After the long hours of interrogation you had gone through you could not help but feel a little irritated by him, he was clearly trying to gain information from you that he had no right to attain and yet here he was trying to threaten you for it.

"And why do you think that? You are a important witness in this case and I need to know the exact reason why you were near the crime scene in the first place." He was trying to appear calm but you could tell he was starting to get annoyed through his tone.

"Then I suggest you follow the procedure for that. Get a permission letter, show it to the head investigator of the team, which is detective serye in this case, and I will tell you all the details you need to know." You said smiling, which was clearly fake, and it made his jaw tick.

"I already knew the procedures but thank you." He didn't even try to hide his annoyance this time.

"Great then but can I leave now?" You asked though you already knew you can now, he had nothing more to ask.

"Yes, you can and thank you for your time and cooperation." He replied not even trying to fake a smile while standing up and shaking your hand though he squeezed it a little too hard, you didn't hesitate to return the favour. He tried to hide his squirming at first before he gave up and snatched his hand from yours.

You smiled at him before exiting the room. There were still some high ranking detectives checking the whole floor for signs of break in, nearly the whole building gathered at the crime scene a few moments later and from then on every detective in the building is trying to find the killer with no luck, all they could find till now is from where the killer escaped which was a floor below the crime scene and till now no one could find how he broke in or what kind of weapon he used or even how he managed to trick the security cameras into a loop heck nobody even knows what triggered the alarm.

You  made your way to the elevator and down to seyre's office where you knocked once before entering. Seyre was just putting the receiver  back down when you entered but then he quickly stood up while gesturing for  you to take a seat and started boiling water at the coffee stand near his desk.

"I just got a call from Mr. Len, the main head of the case, and he said you are not a suspect anymore but you are still a witness so you are not allowed to take a part in the investigation that means you are dismissed for today but from tomorrow you will continue investigation on the cases you are assigned." He finished while placing a tea cup in front of you.

"So, how you feeling? " He asked, clearly concerned but thats just how seyre was a tough looking officer on the outside but a sweetheart for the people he cares.

"I feel fine, don't worry." You lied, you were completely exhausted both mentally and physically from the days events but decided not to worry him, he still had a long night of work ahead of him.

"Liar. How was the interview?" He questioned not buying a word of your lies.

"Exhausting. Mr. Han even tried to threaten me into telling him some details of our case." You told him while blowing and sipping on the tea.

"Mmmm. Chamomile?" You asked.

" Yes, I bought some a few days ago and don't worry about Mr. Han I've heard he does this often. He has not been the same ever since one of his case went wrong." He replied.

"Case gone wrong? How? When?" You inquired.

"Enough questions for today, you should finish the tea first then Petricia is going to drop you home." He said immediately shushing you when you opened your mouth to protest.

"You are tried today so just accept it." He insisted.

"Fine, I will just go get my charger from the break room." You said putting the empty cup down.

"Then just go to the parking lot she will be waiting for you there." He said standing up to give you a hug. "And take these with you."  He handed you a plastic bag from the coffee table, it contained a pouch of loose chamomile tea, a couple of lavender teabags, strawberry flavored cupcakes an some chocolates. You accepted them with a grin and bid him goodbye.

The corridors leading to the breakrooms were completely empty and silent, you just turned to the final corridor when you heard a light scratching sound, the empty corridor made it seem more eerie, the sound itself was creepy like someone was scratching something blunt against a rough surface. You picked up one charging cable from one of the charging points outside wrapping it in your hands, todays events still fresh in your mind.

'Anything can be a weapon in times of dire need'

The sound seemed to be coming from the breakroom itself now starting to become more persistent, more desperate. You slowly eased the door open as to not alert the person inside but as soon as a sliver of the door was opened your eyes landed upon a pair of whitish grey eyes surrounded by lashes covered with dried blood.

You stumbled back from the shock when you saw the familiar face ..........

"Aliza........."

She was scratching the wall with her nails, her nailbeds covered  in blood tons of it, it was  streaming down her hands and arms in thin streams then falling to the floor in drops staining it red.

Perhaps your mind was too weak to fight back the waves of fear and confusion and think rationally that when she ran out of the room through the other door you gave her the chase purely out of instinct.

You sprinted through corridors following the traces of her shadow, the sound of your feet slapping the ground a constant sound and in the middle of the chaos your mind could make out only one thing: the girl was making no sound.

Even as her feet slapped against the ground, even as the girl ran harder than you she was still making no sound. That's all you could think as you bolted through a door following her, locking the door behind you.

It was the woman's washroom.

You carefully scanned the area trying to find any traces of her before opening the door of the stalls one by one. There were no other windows or vents big enough to fit a adult body even one as frail as hers and yet you could find no trace of her.

You searched the area again and again and again yet you could find nothing but like a madwomen you tried again and again and again like a madwomen.

Maybe that all you were becoming, a madwomen or maybe you already are.

'I need to fucking get back to my senses.' You didn't have energy to analyze todays events anymore so you dragged your feet to the sinks intending to splash your face with some water, that's where you saw the milky grey eyes staring right back you through the glass .

[rotisseries]

the age old "two cakes" mantra of fandom creation is so true in that genuinely you should not worry about doing what someone else has already done because your take on the same ideas is valuable anyway but I do so hate when all of a fandom's popular content is sort of the same thing. its like going to a bake sale and everyone brought a red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting. it's so good, but I can only eat so much cake. the frosting is getting to be too much in my mouth. I just want someone's homemade specialty cookies

[tchallasbabymama]

Blossoming Ashes

[Coming 2024, 18+]

Amita Ngani has seen too much darkness over the years, but when an old classmate re-entered her life and brought a certain Jabari chief with her, Amita’s life was forever changed. Will her new life be satisfactory, or is there more out there for the formerly dark aziza?

This story is set in the same universe as Troubled Waters. You can absolutely read it without reading the first, but I suggest doing so anyway.

M'Baku x Amita (OC)

angst, smut

Be sure to check out my full masterlist and let me know if you want to be tagged!

[ilovecherries2]

Prompt 2

A detective was fired over getting too close to information he shouldn't have whilst solving a case.

Now he's stuck in another dimention/plane trying to get home, fending off monsters.

Is there a connection?

[kanthonyficrecs]

Featured Fic (Historical/Fantasy AU)

someone to watch me die by wmthackeray Rating: M Status: Complete Summary: kate and anthony at the end of the world. a modern!apocalypse coworkers-to-lovers au.

[mcytblraufest]

MCYTBLR AU FEST - The Gifts by the Numbers

How Many Gifts? 

Over the course of the event, we saw gifts delivered from 133 gifters, of which 24 were pinch hits. Some of these gifters gave multiple gifts, because you are all just incredibly dedicated!

What Gifts?

The most commonly given gift was writing, but we also saw a considerable amount of art, and a good amount of other types of gifts. 

Writing: 78 gifts

Art: 46 gifts

Web Weave: 12 gifts

Playlist: 8 gifts

Stimboard: 2 gifts

What AUs?

We had a LOT of different AUs. A number of the gifts were tagged with several different tags to properly sum them up, but still— just look at all the AUs!

Fantasy: 32 gifts

Modern: 21 gifts

Paranormal: 13 gifts

Science Fiction: 13 gifts

Crossover: 7 gifts

Magic: 6 gifts

Superheros: 6 gifts

Cyberpunk: 5 gifts

Dungeons & Dragons: 5 gifts

Gods and Goddesses: 5 gifts

High School: 5 gifts

Mob Hybrids: 4 gifts

Royalty: 4 gifts

Coffee shops & Cafes: 3 gifts

Different Ending: 3 gifts

Dimensional Travel: 3 gifts

Fae: 3 gifts

Mermaid: 3 gifts

Soulmates: 3 gifts

Urban Fantasy: 3 gifts

Werewolf: 3 gifts

Assassin: 2 gifts

College/University: 2 gifts

Family Dynamic: 2 gifts

Horror: 2 gifts

LOTR: 2 gifts

Mafia: 2 gifts

Magical Girls: 2 gifts

Mystery: 2 gifts

Phantom of the Opera: 2 gifts

Pirates: 2 gifts

Post-apocalyptic: 2 gifts

Prank War: 2 gift

Sports: 2 gifts

Theatre: 2 gifts

Time Travel: 2 gifts

Vampire: 2 gifts

Villains: 2 gifts

30000 leagues under the sea: 1 gift

Age of Sail: 1 gift

Apocalypse: 1 gift

Age Reversal: 1 gift

ARK: Survival Evolved: 1 gift

Bad Guys Won: 1 gift

The Breakfast Club: 1 gift

Canon Divergence: 1 gift

Circus: 1 gift

Cowboys: 1 gift

Cryptid: 1 gift

Dinosaurs: 1 gift

Dystopian: 1 gift

Fairy Tail: 1 gift

Farm/Ranch: 1 gift

Forest Spirit: 1 gift

Heist: 1 gift

Historical: 1 gift

Idols: 1 gift

Isekai: 1 gift

Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell: 1 gift

Mechanic: 1 gift

Minimum Wage: 1 gift

Monsters: 1 gift

Musuem: 1 gift

Over the Garden Wall: 1 gift

The Owl House: 1 gift

Pokemon: 1 gift

Prequel: 1 gift

Roller Blading: 1 gift

Raft: 1 gift

Robots: 1 gift

Road Trip: 1 gift

Room of Swords: 1 gift

Sacrifice: 1 gift

Science: 1 gift

Shapeshifter: 1 gift

Shop: 1 gift

Slime Rancher: 1 gift

Small town: 1 gift

Soul Reapers: 1 gift

Space: 1 gift

Space Opera: 1 gift

Speedrunning: 1 gift

Spies and Secret Agents: 1 gift

StarCraft: 1 gift

Summer Camp: 1 gift

Supernatural: 1 gift

Teacher: 1 gift

Tokyo Ghoul: 1 gift

Twitch Streamers: 1 gift

Vegas: 1 gift

Warlock: 1 gift

Warrior Cats: 1 gift

Winx: 1 gift

Witches: 1 gift

Wings: 1 gift

Zombie: 1 gift

What Servers?

As above, we had several crossovers! DSMP was the most popular server, but 3rd LIfe, Hermitcraft, Origins and Empires all made a good showing, and we had several smaller servers that people still made gifts for. 

DSMP: 85 gifts

3L/LL/DL: 23 gifts

Hermitcraft: 21 gifts

Origins: 21 gifts

Empires: 13 gifts

30 Day SMP: 2 gifts

Afterlife: 2 gifts

Mianite: 1 gift

MCSR: 1 gift

SMP Live: 1 gift

Vault Hunters: 1 gift

What Characters?

Who did people choose to put in AUs? Well TommyInnit, Ranboo, Tubbo, and Grian led the leaderboards, but there were a lot of different characters who had the spotlight, even if for a little bit. 

TommyInnit: 34 gifts

Ranboo: 31 gifts

Tubbo: 25 gifts

Grian: 24 gifts

Wilbur Soot: 23 gifts

Technoblade: 21 gifts

GoodTimesWithScar: 19 gifts

Philza: 19 gifts

Dream (tagged as Dreamwastaken): 15 gifts

Quackity: 15 gifts

Sapnap: 13 gifts

PearlescentMoon: 12 gifts

Charlie Slimecicle: 10 gifts

GeorgeNotFound: 10 gifts

Jschlatt: 10 gifts

Jimmy Solidarity: 10 gifts

Joel Smallishbeans: 9 gifts

Niki Nihachu: 8 gifts

Mumbo Jumbo: 8 gifts

Karl Jacobs: 7 gifts

Scott Smajor: 7 gifts

Fundy: 6 gifts

GeminiTay: 6 gifts

Rendog: 6 gifts

Awesamdude: 5 gifts

Ethoslab: 5 gifts

ImpulseSV: 5 gifts

LD Shadowlady: 5 gifts

Zombie Cleo: 5 gifts

Captain Sparkelz: 3 gifts

DocM77: 3 gifts

Eret: 3 gifts

fWhip: 3 gifts

Foolish Gamers: 3 gifts

Jack Manifold: 3 gifts

Jellie: 3 gifts

Joe Hills: 3 gifts

Martyn InTheLittleWood: 3 gifts

Purpled: 3 gifts

TangoTek: 3 gifts

Bdoubleo100: 2 gifts

Friend the Sheep: 2 gifts

Iskall: 2 gifts

Ghostbur: 2 gifts

MythicalSausage: 2 gifts

Ponk: 2 gifts

Sneegsnag: 2 gifts

Xornoth: 2 gifts

Zedaph: 2 gifts

Aimsey: 1 gift

Boatem: 1 gift

BadBoyHalo: 1 gift

Captain Puffy: 1 gift

Chat: 1 gift

Couriway: 1 gift

ConnorEatsPants: 1 gift

Dr. Renstein: 1 gift

Evil Xisuma: 1 gift

FalseSymmetry: 1 gift

Feinberg: 1 gift

Granola the Fox: 1 gift

Hannahxxrose: 1 gift

Hbomb94: 1 gift

Joey Graceffa: 1 gift

Katherine Elizabeth: 1 gift

iijerichoii: 1 gift

Ianite: 1 gift

Michael _Beloved: 1 gift

omgitsfirefox: 1 gift

PeteZahHutt: 1 gift

Pixlriffs: 1 gift

Poundcake: 1 gift

Punz: 1 gift

Renbob: 1 gift

Ranboo’s Mother: 1 gift

Sam Nook: 1 gift

Skizzleman: 1 gift

SynHD: 1 gift

StressMonster101: 1 gift

The Red King: 1 gift

TinaKitten: 1 gift

VintageBeef: 1 gift

Yogurt the Fox: 1 gift

Xisumavoid: 1 gift

Check out the blog for more of the art and playlists, and you can check out the Ao3 collection for the fics! (73 submitted fics on the Archive, of which four broke 20k, and one was a twine game!) Thank you all for participating, this was tons of fun. 

[mooniekive]

i have never written fantasy i think (publicly, I certainly have privately) and I'm out here outlining this fic lmao

[wordsbymae]

(I will probably complete this later because I started to think of an answer but lost my mind)

I'll start by talking about bitter reader because I was already thinking about more things about her and you had exactly the same line of thought as mine regarding Alwyn

I also like the concept of persephone and hades and honestly it's one of my favorite promps mainly because I find it very realistic, I think a depressed reaction on the part of the reader is very logical and expected because she only married for money and even though Alwyn already has her loved it she didn't know him well.

The reader's breach of expectation is probably one of the main reasons for your reactions, remember when you mentioned that the reader imagined Alwyn as a blond and handsome guy like a charming prince, not talking about appearance but about personality I see what the reader wanted a charming prince (a gentleman) ++ the romance that accompanies the stories, much of her attitude comes from the sadness of having to see all the girls being courted and acclaimed while she is ""auctioned"," grabbed and thrown on top of a horse for a stranger.

But still the reader feels the need to at least make an effort to love Alwyn because it was """he""" (among many quotes because it could have been anyone) who saved her people from poverty and hence the lack of attitude against Alwyn.

I feel like I just rambled too much so a summary: reader is sad that she couldn't have a traditional romance, that she didn't go through this experience but still lives with Alwyn out of obligation

What else could have helped her sad attitude: her sisters who would probably condemn her for marrying a thug, watching her father fall apart, the fact that Alwyn is a no-nonsense person (I imagine she gets even sadder when Alwyn mentions any sexual relationships past and worse compare her with the prostitutes), and also the change of environment because even if there are other women in the gang most are probably made up of men who laugh whenever her new husband talks about her breasts

Communication between the two is extremely complicated as in this AU there was not all that conversation that led Alwyn to show a more sentimental side so he just took her to bed and took what he wanted and later on while Alwyn has a death grip around her reader and mutters nonsense reader can feel tears running down her cheeks.

Alwyn realizes something is wrong when the other day he asks reader what she would like to eat/do she mutters a "You choose I don't care"

He takes you around the place and introduces you to the members and the whole time you keep a polite smile and he realizes why when he saw these nobles at events they had the same kind of smile

And from there the flattery begins, the dresses, rings and necklaces never stop arriving and the reader is just suffocated

The reader's attempt to stop the flattery is to try to initiate more affection with Alwyn just leaning her head on his shoulder while you sit together hug his arm as you walk reader is just trying to live one of those novels she always read in the library books but this one dumb man thinks that everything is an initiative for sex and tries to have sex in totally random places and the reader gets uncomfortable which makes her start to look at him with disgust and try her best to not start some kind of contact which only makes the situation worse

There comes a point where the reader is just depressed around the corners and seems like she doesn't even listen anymore when alwyn asks which of the dresses you want him to steal for you and Alwyn is on the verge of insanity

I don't remember what I was going to say

I'm sorry if it's hard to understand or the punctuation/grammar is wrong because I use google translator and it doesn't always understand what I mean

Also I'm sorry if it's a bit ooc for Alwyn because I talked so much about the reader that I forgot to talk about Alwyn

*For anyone else reading, the following is all discussing an Alternative Universe where the reader is a lot more miserable marrying Alwyn and thus it does not affect my 'canon' unless explicitly said. I hope you guys still enjoy it! I love the thoughts anon^^^ has and how realistic, in-depth and multidimensional they are :D

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Anon you just get me. You understand everything going through my mind before I can even make sense of it all. To be honest, if I hadn't been in such a (needy/insecure) mood when I wrote the original fic (and I actually thought everything out rather than winging it as I wrote), I would have done something very similar. Cause it was a vent fic I did base the reader off of me in certain ways and I made it have a happy ending cause I wanted a 'resolution' as such that I could control. But if I was to be completely honest I love the idea of the reader being so depressed and sad at the prospect of her fairy tale romance being ripped from her.

I almost don't want to say this but hell why not, I can relate to it a lot in the sense that the reader has watched as her sisters have fallen in love and have gained true romance. Their husbands actually fell 'in love' with them (i did quotations cause they got married in like a week) and they got everything the reader has prayed for and she has just had to sit and watch it happening in front of her. I think I said something in the original fic where the reader's hope was shattered of ever finding love when some men took steps back when her name was called by her father. It was at that moment everything fell apart and she realised that she really might never fall in love. She was forced to finally face the prospect that she really was undesirable or unattractive to men (You do not need to be attractive to anyone to be deemed worthy of a happy life!!) In her eyes that last chance has passed, cause now her father is seeing it as a business transaction rather than ensuring his daughters' happiness. I mean think about it, if he really wanted to he could have married them all off to the highest bidder first thing, but he gave them a chance at love, and seeing that his youngest daughter failed to ensure a match changes his attitude towards her. He still loves her don't get me wrong but now he is forced to act like a Lord rather than a doting father. So yeah, the reader feels like she has lost her chance and will never get to fall in love or do all the romantic stuff that comes with it. Like shy hand-holding or secret notes or long walks in the gardens or outrunning their chaperones to sneak sweet kisses in dark corners. She'll never get that.

I think she still would have held out hope though (no matter how small) for her future husband to be (like you said) a charming prince, a person who would be romantic with her. But when she got told Alwyn was to be her husband that illusion shattered. All the stories of him were of a bloodthirsty, rough, vile man, so she really just was heartbroken at the thought of it all. To her there was to be no romance between them, instead of gentle touches, he would grab and grip and pull, instead of sweet words, he would shout vulgar and horrid things. And he didn't help himself at the wedding threatening the priest and saying he wanted to be balls deep in her by sundown, it really just reinforced her thoughts and feelings of him. In this verse I see her crying walking to the altar and her father getting quite mad with her. Telling her this is all her fault and that if she had just submitted to his wishes she would have married an old rich man who would have died within the year at best and at worst in 5. She doesn't stop crying and just stands there silent with tears slowly dripping down her cheeks. Alwyn was honestly expecting this reaction but he's got the rest of his life to make her love him so he doesn't really care (at this stage, he is impatient though and snaps in like 4 days).

And yeah Alwyn is not a romantic guy, he very bluntly stated that he was expecting sex at the end of all this in front of dozens and then slaps her arse as he has her thrown over his shoulder. To this reader it makes her feel like a very expensive prostitute, like you said she doesn't know he actually loves her (more like obsessed) so she views this whole thing like him just wanting to brag about fucking a Lady or having her around like an accessory or to be frank like prized livestock.

This was not the wedding she dreamed about at night. There was no sweet kiss or loving vows, there were no butterflies at the sight of him or an intense love between them. I don't know if you know the show Vikings but there is a scene where a princess is forced to marry a Viking and it is very much like that. I have linked it here so hopefully it works! The reader is coming to terms with the fact she will be bonded to this man for life and it terrifies her. And when there is no carriage?? And he begins to rip at her dress? when she is forced to 'pleasure' him while riding (Him making her grind against him doesn't really go anywhere, he was just teasing her, but to her, he might have well slapped her, it's humiliating).

And yes!!!!!!!!!!! it really could have been anyone!!!!!! It was just fate (and my writing) that had Alwyn being the first man to walk in to ask for her hand (he demanded it) and the reader would have been willing to try and be a doting and 'loving' wife to anyone who wanted her (its medieval times so feminism doesn't exist, my bad). She doesn't speak out of turn, she doesn't get mad when riding he says all those vulgar things about her, and she does what he says and submits to him. And Alwyn being an idiot sees this submission as almost an act of love (at least at first)

I LOVE THIS THOUGHT!!!!! In my verse, all of her sisters have left the castle except her eldest, but let's say they came for her wedding. I think those three would be so disgusted with her. Why did she have to have such high standards for men, why not marry some old man or whoever else father wanted you to marry. To them you dragged out your people's suffering, to them you were selfish and shallow, and now you have ruined your father. He will forever be known as the lord who married his daughter to a criminal. and let's not forget he fell to his knees in sorrow at the sight of you leaving him with Alwyn, to him you are ruined (not a nice thought but he is a medieval man so he really just sees you now as corrupted).

And I also really like the thought of him comparing her to past women (in a creative way, it would not be nice to the reader), she was obviously a virgin when they first were together and in this verse I see him getting frustrated with how unresponsive she is. She has been told by her sisters to just lay there and be quiet and to not fight him (they may be mean but her sisters still love her and they were worried he may hurt her) and to think of somewhere nice. But he is getting frustrated that she doesn't make a sound or won't touch him so he says something nasty about how he wished you at least faked it like a prostitute or showed excitement like all the other women he's taken to bed, don't you know how lucky you are? don't you know how many women wish to be in your position?

and yes! The casual mentioning of them having sex or him going into detail about how her body to his men makes her really uncomfortable. In canon, he stops telling his men all that when she is listening (he does it now behind her back) but that is because she had such a physical reaction to it, this reader is trying to be a good wife so she holds that all in which makes him think it's ok to talk about all that to his men when she is sitting right there.

Yes yes yes!!

" Communication between the two is extremely complicated as in this AU there was not all that conversation that led Alwyn to show a more sentimental side so he just took her to bed and took what he wanted and later on while Alwyn has a death grip around her reader and mutters nonsense reader can feel tears running down her cheeks."

exactly right!! He just takes what he wants and then holds her in a death grip afterwards maybe this is when he compares her to past women before going on to tell her what would happen if she tried to leave him.

"he’ll whisper to you in the middle of the night when he doesn’t think you’re awake that he doesn’t think he’s good enough for you, the bastard so of a lowly knight married to a lady. he talks of how he is terrified some lord is going to catch a glimpse of you and steal you away from him or worse you’ll freely go. he whispers how he will never ever let you go and if you try to leave he will butcher your father’s people before stringing your family along the castle walls, then he’ll find whoever you runaway with, watch as he disembowels them and then how he’ll fuck you next to their corpse. he says all this before kissing your head and going back to sleep."

(I didn't want to write it again so I just copied it from his alphabet and cut the bit where it says she loves him. )

But yeah after all that you just lay there crying.

Exactly right! when he figures something is wrong (wow what an emotionally intelligent person figuring out the wife he practically kidnapped might be having a hard time adjusting) he is going to try everything to get you to show affection.

"The whole time you keep a polite smile and he realizes why when he saw these nobles at events they had the same kind of smile"

I love that^^^^^^^ remember he is a master liar so he can see it from a mile away. he can tell you hate it here, that you almost hate him. But he thinks it's because you're a lady and you're not getting what you're used to. So yeah he'll steal all these expensive things and the reader is there drowning in gifts and jewels, while all she has ever wanted is gentle affection.

I love the idea of the reader trying to stop it, she's not silly she knows hes' trying to buy her love like he already bought her body. so she gives it to him in small doses, almost replicating the falling in love she's always wanted, shy hand holding and sweet notes left in his pockets about how she hopes he comes home safely (he's off burning a village down). and I ADORE the idea of the reader reading romance. as someone who only started reading romance start of this year but absolutely loves it, I love the idea of her trying to escape into romance books (giving him a small list of books she would like asking him to please get them for her, he's a dumb man so he doesn't realise what they are about but he sees it as a step in the right direction because he can prove he can provide for you and that you're starting to rely on him) and trying to replicate all that love into her life. Maybe with time, she would grow to love him.

and yes he would see everything as a yes to sex and the reader gets soooo uncomfortable and upset cause all she wanted was a nice picnic under a beautiful oak tree where they might finally get to know each other and now she is on her hands and knees while he ruts into her from behind, and her hand is smushing the cake she baked for him.

Oh yeah, she looks at him with disgust. she tried to fall in love with him but he makes it impossible, he is always calling her a heifer, always trying to have sex with her in the most uncomfortable of places, always discussing her body with anyone who would listen and he makes fun of her romance books when he finally figures out what they are.

I really like the idea of reader just falling apart mentally while he makes a list of all the colours and fabrics he thinks would look good on you and what dress styles he likes on you and which ones you like as he plans for a new heist while you just sit there, stewing in all this frustration and depression (not the mental illness just the extreme sadness) and he can see that and just snaps and like I mentioned in the last one he grabs whichever man he dislikes the most and forces you to tell him you love him while holding a knife to the poor man's throat. No matter how many times you say it he doesn't believe you.

Hope you liked it!!!!

Also no need to apologise!!! English is my native language and yet I still can't spell very well and kinda suck at grammar, so don't apologise for the mistakes google translator makes! Also if I put too much slang or abbreviations in please tell me and I can fix them up for you! And I love the thoughts you have for him! They are very much like the ones I have as well when I think of what could have happened if I made the canon a lot darker than what I have planned.

Thank you for your thoughts and all the best!!

Lots of love mae xx

[parcxysm]

CAMELLIA ALDEN / TAG DROP

[windholm]

LOST GIRL PROJECT #3

Hi everyone, and welcome, to another Woodend!

For whoever's back, so glad and thankful you returned. For whoever's new to it, thank you for joining this """""little""""" fanfiction project, and please be sure to check out the introducting post for everything you have to know about it and to read its prologue, or Foreword, just as both the previous posts.

DISCLAIMER: coarse language and hints at themes as kidnapping and child abuse

First things first, sorry if I'm a bit late, but I've been having a trip to Germany right this time of the month (and while I'm writing this, I'm on my way back home).

Now, about the new paragraph itself, I really hope you like it. Here we can finally get a bit more of a glimpse of Miss Jammal, Finney and Gwen's new PE teacher, an OC I based on Miss Collins from 1976 Carrie (the kind of teacher every child in the world should have in their life) and especially Razane Jammal's character, Maggie, in the tv series Paranormal (where she did fantastic, too bad the series was kind of a letdown). As well as her family name, I decided to reprise miss Razane Jammal's heritage as well, since in late 1970s/early 1980s, similar to what happened with Vietnam, Australia experienced a slight immigration of refugees from Lebanon because of its Civil War (that I mean to reprise for the character, every now and then).

I hope this won't bother miss Razane Jammal, that like this I actually mean to homage more than anything else, as I hope Miguel Cazarez Mora won't be bothered by the way I added a music inclination to Robin's character after seeing some of his guitar videos. The thing is, the more I thought about it, the more I thought "Why, what a nice way to deepen Robin would that be."

... and I know, I know you want me to explain why "The Black Phone". The thing is, when I left the cinema, the first time, I immediately searched for Backstage at Budokan on Youtube, jammed as hell, only to find out it was an original song for the movie. But since it fit so well with late 70s/early 80s rock, carried a lot of symbolism with it, and here could work with a lot of ideas I have for the story development and my own symbolism, I just had to feature it one way or another. It will return in the future, so stay tuned.

Well, that's all. Sorry again if I'm late, and looking forward for your feedbacks, as usual.

WARNING: I do not own Picnic at Hanging Rock, nor any of the other movies/series/books/songs this fanfiction was inspired from. Again, this is just a fanfiction, and a homage to many of them.

[disciple-of-frost]

Oh. Oh no. I just had a thought.

Werewolf Zenos...

Just imagine how big that fucker would be. He's already jacked and he would just get bigger! This massive 8-9ft tall, golden wolf man.

[constablewafflebottom]

Dream A Little Dream of Me

"Stars fading but I linger on, dear,

Still craving your kiss.

I'm longing to linger til dawn, dear.

Just saying this,

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you

Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you

Stars fading but I linger on, dear,

Still craving your kiss.

I'm longing to linger til dawn, dear.

Just saying this,

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you

Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you

But in your dreams whatever they be

Dream a little dream of me."

Chapter One

My name is Moira Fenton. I know what you’re thinking: that sounds like the name of a plump little housewife with a brood of unruly children somewhere in the British Isles. Well, part of that is true, the plump little housewife part. I’d been married for five years to a man who seemed, at the very least, ambivalent to my existence most of the time. True, we’d married young, fresh out of college and practically still children ourselves, but we’d been together for years before. My relationship with Michael was essentially the only real experience I had with one. The only word to describe me at the time was ignorant. I had no idea about red flags, or what sort of behavior I should expect or demand from my partner. I had no idea what course our marriage would take once he had me all to himself. After a few years, I didn't think his behavior would necessarily be classified as abusive, but it was… problematic.

From watching my parents, I assumed every couple was affectionate and loving, but once Michael and I married, all of the tender touches and heated kisses came to a startlingly abrupt halt. That seemed entirely natural to my new husband and I came to the conclusion that my parents must be anomalous, that that sort of relationship only happened in movies and the occasional real life situation, but it was far from the norm. I just accepted it. And besides, my husband still seemed to take enjoyment from engaging in intimacy with me, he seemed to always reach completion rather quickly, surely that must mean he enjoyed being with me. He just reserved his romantic attention and affection for the moments when we were truly alone and wouldn’t be interrupted. That’s what I’d told myself in consolation, anyway. Another word to describe me: deluded.

My marriage was a farce, and it felt as though my husband saw me as nothing but a 'glorified housekeeper he got to fuck occasionally.' Then the fucking stopped all together, and I was left as a ‘housekeeper that shares a bed with him.’ But I’d taken vows and permanently bound my life to his, and so I had to make the best of it, and just hope it would get better some day.

The lonely horniness was getting to a breaking point when the dreams started. Every night for the last year, I dreamed of a beautiful man. Although, how I knew he was beautiful was a mystery, because all I could remember of his face when I woke was pale skin and piercing green eyes. But his body was ingrained in my memory, he was larger than any man I’d ever known, tall, broad in his shoulders and trim in his hips, and his red hair shone in silky waves down to his shoulders. His voice was deep and knowing, as if he heard my every secret desire and wished to fulfill it, and so smooth and convincing that a single word from his lips had me happily submitting to his commands. His scent, though again, how I could recall something like a smell from a silly dream was beyond my understanding, was both soothing and arousing. It was earthy and clean, like ice and pine and musk. And his touch, his big hands and soft lips on my body, lit a fire under my skin and made me feel alive for the first time in my life.

It never took long for the dream to come to me, it seemed all I needed to do was close my eyes and will myself to sleep, and there he was, ardent and eager. Some nights he made tender love to me, holding me close with his sinewy arms, those brilliant green eyes locked onto mine as he told me how perfect I was. Others he ravished me like an animal, his strong hands and long fingers gripping and plunging, teasing me to my peak and clawing to hold my curves to him as his length battered my insides so deliciously. It filled me over and again until I could take no more and the ecstasy took me away. And still others, he did no more than hold me to his muscular chest and comb those nimble fingers through my thick sable curls, stroking my hair and skin comfortingly; those sinful lips that brought such pleasure when they drew on my neck or tasted my feminine flesh, pressed gentle kisses to my forehead; the voice that commanded my submission whispered words of love and encouragement. Each circumstance left me satisfied, but it was the latter that left me heartbroken and missing him when the morning came.

Every day, I would wake when the thrice cursed alarm rang, ripping me away from him, and the day would start with Michael rudely urging me out of bed. I would fix his breakfast, prepare his lunch, help him get ready for his day at work, and just hope an argument didn’t start that early, otherwise both of our days would be ruined. I never wanted to fight with him, I would have been much happier if we could have peace between us, but he was implacable and unpredictable in his wishes, such that I felt no matter what I did, it was never the right thing. I lived in a perpetual state of wondering what I’d done wrong this time, and what I would do wrong the next. It induced unbearable anxiety and depression, and filled me with self depreciation and loathing that I could not do something as simple as make my husband happy. He hardly touched me anymore but I would not go seeking outside of my marriage for satisfaction and validation, and so I was left unfulfilled in every way.

That was the only one explanation for the dreams: that my mind had concocted a man to love me, to meet my needs in the only way it could in order to fill the void left by the ever broadening chasm forming between myself and my husband. As devastating as the knowledge was, it was true; my dream man was not real.

 

--------

     The day had been particularly hard on me, another argument with my husband had left my voice weak and hoarse from screaming just to be heard, and all of it in vain. I was tired, physically and psychologically, and I knew that this would be one of the nights my dream lover would not sate my carnal desire, but fulfill my emotional needs. He would hold me close, stroke my head and reassure me that everything would be alright in the end. It was no small disappointment then, when I fell asleep that night and found nothing and no-one waiting for me as I floated in the nebulous darkness of semi-sleep. I feared that the dreams had come to an end and I would never see him again, just when I felt like I needed him the most, and I would grieve the loss of him. 

 

     When I woke again later in the night, I lay there for a long, quiet moment trying to figure out what caused it. With nothing more than a subtle pressure in my bladder, I slipped out of bed with a glance at my snoring husband as I tip-toed into the bathroom to relieve myself; he certainly hadn’t done it, his snoring was something I’d gotten used to in our years together, the sound all but faded into background noise every night as he kept to his side of the bed. Once I put my pajamas back in place, if you could call my short, lacy nightgown ‘pajamas’ when it barely covered my bottom, I started to return to bed but halted with another glance, this time at the door to our bedroom. A faint glow emanated from beneath it, a narrow line of soft light peeked through the crack leaving a streak of green across the carpet. We weren’t in the habit of leaving lights on in the house, and I couldn’t think of anything that would cast a light of that color anyway. Perhaps Michael had awakened before I did and gone to the kitchen for a drink or into the office beside our bedroom, and simply forgotten to turn a light off? 

 

     Briefly, I considered waking him to find out where the light was coming from, what if it was an intruder burglarizing our home? But why would they use green lights, I asked myself. And, if I did wake him only to find nothing of interest or concern, he would be annoyed that I’d disturbed his rest when he had to work in the morning, and that didn’t bode well for the day that would follow. I would have to investigate myself. With any luck, the source of the light would be innocuous enough that I could go to bed and maybe my lover would still visit me again once I’d fallen back to sleep. I stepped quietly to the door and slowly turned the knob until it cleared the latch and pulled it open just a crack to peek through. Nothing was immediately outside, and the absence of light from down the hall said that the office door was probably still closed. I then pulled the door open a little wider and carefully stuck my head out with a glance in both directions. Sure enough, all the doors along the hallway were closed, and the light seemed to be originating from the living room of our apartment. Thinking that it must be the television or sound system lights, I padded down the hall to the living room and froze in the doorway.

 

     A man was standing on the other side of the couch, peering at the shelf of framed photographs. I should turn and hurry back to the bedroom to get my husband, I should scream, I should… I stopped mid-turn as the visual of the man registered in my mind. It was hard to tell in the dark, but his hair, wavy, voluminous and down to his shoulders, looked red. He was taller than my husband, his shoulders were broad, his waist was narrow, and the way he held himself... it seemed familiar. It wasn’t possible, but the light seemed to be coming from him and it faded as he turned toward me. He must have known I was there, as unperturbed and unsurprised as he appeared to be by the sight of me.

   My eyes scanned his body, trim and strong, before they landed on his face. On their own, my feet took me a few steps into the room before I realized what was happening. It couldn’t be, it wasn’t possible, but… though I had never physically set eyes on this man before, I knew: it must be him. And when he approached me, slowly like a prowling panther and carefully as if earning the trust of a frightened animal (which I supposed were both the case in this instance), I did not run, I did not weep, I did not tremble. I watched him draw closer until he was gazing down at me, the green of his eyes was unnaturally bright in the darkness of the living room, as they devoured my upturned face.

 

     In a heartbeat, I was in his arms. One of his hands held the back of my neck, gently holding me in place as his lips crashed into mine, his other arm wrapped possessively around my waist, tightening as he deepened the kiss and pressed me into the length of his body. My arms hovered awkwardly at my sides for a moment, shocked and confused, unsure of what to do with them before I wrapped them around him and eagerly returned his embrace. Everything about him overwhelmed my senses. The sight of his much beloved eyes and the face that only now could I say was definitely the same one from my dreams. The scent of ice and pine and musk filled my head even as the taste of his tongue filled my mouth. The feel of his hands moving over my body, from holding my waist and neck to smoothing down my back and gripping my lace-covered bottom as he held me to him, and the distinctive and arousing hardness pressed into my belly. The satisfied hum rumbling from his throat lowered to a growl as I rubbed my body and tongue against his, my own fingers threaded into his hair tugging unconsciously on the curls. 

 

     His mouth slanted over mine, dominating me and taking what he wanted until the need for oxygen tore my mouth away from his. I gasped for breath, vaguely aware of how his hands lifted to cup my face, hunching his shoulders as he pressed his forehead to my own as if unwilling to part from me just yet.

 

     “I am no longer content with dreams, my little dove,” he whispered. His low, accented voice, dark with promise, sent shivers down my spine and gooseflesh over my skin. “I will return to you, be ready for me.”

---

You can find chapter 2 here: https://at.tumblr.com/constablewafflebottom/dream-a-little-dream-of-me/umqqgje20720

And the Master List here: https://at.tumblr.com/constablewafflebottom/master-list/82s3wqp0jp4p

[blackwood4stucky]

blade of nightshade, be my strength not my ruin | aspen blackwood

It is only across the skies that witches can be found between sunset and moonrise. It is here that a tale of love transcends time, that two souls will be twined in the shadows as they dance in the light. Oh shadow princess, oh quicksilver, why do you hide? Oh liquid fire, oh sunshine and air, why do you push away thy metaled moon?

──────.·:·.☽✧ ☆ﾟ ✦  ☆ﾟ ✧☾.·:·. ──────

✧☾.·:·..·:·.☽✧ all the fire that ever burned you has turned you into gold

A tale of transformation and acceptance, battle and frustration, fear and blood, devastation and reconciliation, rehabilitation and a hope for the future.

──────.·:·.☽✧ ☆ﾟ ✦  ☆ﾟ ✧☾.·:·. ──────

✧☾.·:·..·:·.☽✧ tell me a lie to keep me in line, you swear it's a sign but it's the tortured who rise

A tale of struggle and pride, desire and blood, longing and suffering, and the discovery of a witch.

next up in the series: those that live between sunset and moonrise

[wwpia]

That weird cafe/plant shop au where nothing is okay and there is only sadness.

Faustus: don’t be suspicious, don’t beeee suspicious 🎵 🕺🏻

Sydney: ……. 👀 🔫

Edit: Texts lol

[prompt-heaven]

100 different AUs

academic au

alien au

alpha/beta/omega au

amnesia au

apocalypse au

artist au

arranged marriage au

assassin au

athlete au

babysitter/nanny au

bakery au

bartender au

billionaire au

bodyguard au

bodyswap au

bookstore au

bounty hunter au

brother's best friend/dad's best friend au

camgirl au

camp counselor au

chef au

circus au

coffee shop au

cowboy au

cult au

dark au

deserted island au

dog walker au

dystopian au

enemies to lovers/rivals au

fairy tale au

fake relationship au

fantasy au

farm au

firefighter au

fisherman au

flower shop au

friends with benefits au

ghost au

grocery store au

guardian angel au

haunted house au

historical au

hitchhiker au

holiday au

hospital au

hunter/prey au

kidnapping au

law enforcement au

library au

lifeguard au

lumberjack au

mafia/mob au

maid/butler au

magic au

master/slave au

mechanic au

mermaid au

model au

modern au

monster au

mundane au

music store au

neighbour au

office/coworker au

paranormal investigator au

pen pal au

pirate au

prison au

private detective au

reincarnation au

road trip au

rockstar au

roommate au

royalty au

scientist au

sex worker au

single parent au

slasher au

soulmates au

space au

spy au

stalker au

stepcest au

street racer au

sugar daddy au

superhero au

surfer au

tattoo artist au

teacher/professor/tutor au

time travel au

treasure hunter au

undercover au

vampire/werewolf au

veterinarian au

vigilante au

wedding planner au

western au

witch au

yandere au

[aquaquadrant]

Philophobia

Word Count: 5,271 Warnings: Shipping, inappropriate/crude humor, paranormal activity, suspense/mild horror, descriptive kissing, mild language Summary: For architecture major and paranormal skeptic Grian, his friends’ after-hours ghost hunting group was just an excuse to spend time with his crush, Scar, without having to actually ask him out. But one fateful night, he finds there just might be things in this world that are scarier than emotional vulnerability… even if only by a very slim margin.

A/N: Did someone ask for a Phasmophobia-inspired Scarian au? Oh yeah, my friend @lunarcrown did! Inspired by the art she made here.

So this is kind of a modern-day college au (not set within the fictional universe of Minecraft), howEVER there are some fantasy aspects in that non-human species (like mob hybrids/monsters) still exist cuz they’re fun and I’m not giving anyone a normal modern name cuz that’s too weird. This is only Phasmophobia-inspired in that GIGS have a ghost-hunting group that functions the same way, but rarely find any conclusive evidence, and don’t have unlimited lives cuz they aren’t playing a game. With that out of the way, hope y’all enjoy, please reblog/comment if u do! - Aqua

~*~

Philophobia

~*~

“I think this is gonna be the one, guys,” Impulse says, turning their van into the driveway.

The suspension creaks as they roll over gravel, rattling the frame in a way that hums through Grian’s hollow bones. His arm is cold where it presses against the window; it’s almost sunset and Impulse has yet to get the van’s heater fixed despite his promises. Stupid demon blood keeping him warm while Grian shivers in the stupid custom pleather jumpsuit that Scar insisted they had made, for their stupid ‘brand’ as a stupid ghost-hunting group. Great, his stupid zipper’s come down again- he stubbornly zips it back up because unlike Scar, he doesn’t like constantly having his bare chest out on display.

Of course, he hasn’t got as much to show off as Scar, who must be getting up at 3 am every morning to work out in order to maintain all that muscle. No wonder Scar prefers to keep his zipper down to his belly button, and doesn’t seem to have ever met a shirt that fits him properly.

… Not that Grian’s ever paid much attention to that sort of thing. 

Grian gives an exasperated sigh. “You’ve been saying that about every case we’ve had for three years!”

“No, no, I really mean it!” Impulse insists. “I feel it in my bones.”

“Yeah,” Scar agrees, leaning forward so his shoulder brushes against Grian’s, “you know Impulse bones good!”

The earnest nature of his statement- and the unexpected physical contact- makes Grian flush. “Scar!” he shrieks, swatting Scar’s shoulder.

“What?” Scar defends. “What, he- he’s got big and strong bones, wonderful bones…”

He acts as if he’s got no idea he said something that could be taken the wrong way. And if it weren’t for the upturned corners of his mouth and the barely-restrained laugh in his voice, Grian might actually believe him.

“Dude,” Skizz chuckles from the front seat, “shut up, that’s awesome.”

Impulse sighs. “Anyway,” he says pointedly, “the place recently had a change in ownership. Previous owner passed away-”

“From murder?” Scar gasps.

Another sigh. “No, from liver failure.”

Grian snorts. “From all the drinking he did to forget about the ghostly hauntings?” he presses, exchanging a cheeky grin with Scar.

“No,” Impulse says, with the patience of a saint, “just normal old-age organ failure. The guy was ancient, and some kinda recluse. House had been in his family since it was built, but uh, he had no living relatives, no will when he died. So the bank took ownership and it’s been sitting off-market for like, fifteen years, til some hot-shot investor thought he could flip it-”

“Ughh,” Grian groans, tipping his head back against the seat. “Investors are the worst-”

“I know, I know,” Impulse soothes, “but um, he’d barely begun when things started happening. Contractors reported it day one, then the owner experienced an event himself and called us. So it’s basically still untouched.”

They haven’t even reached the end of the driveway yet, passing by seemingly endless rows of tall, gnarled pines. Admittedly, Grian’s curiosity is piqued. When he agreed to join this stupid ghost hunting group three years ago, he didn’t do so in the hopes of actually discovering any real paranormal activity. The whole idea is laughable. Ghost hunting is a pseudoscience, at best. Just a bunch of idiots scaring themselves silly in an empty house- and now they’re the idiots! Even their name is stupid: Ghost Investigation Group Services, or GIGS, embroidered on their ill-fitting pleather jumpsuits.

But despite his outright skepticism and dislike for pulling late nights in his already extremely limited free time, Grian’s got one very good reason for agreeing to join.

And his name is Scar.

Grian spent half a semester pining away at the fellow architecture major from across the lecture halls of their many shared classes. Charismatic and easy on the eyes, it was inevitable that Grian would develop a bit of a crush. But as they spent more time together during class projects and conversations in the hallway, he found out just how kind-hearted and passionate Scar was, and how easy he was to talk to, and how strong his arms looked in long-sleeved shirts…

… Yeah, ‘crush’ perhaps isn’t the right word.

So when Impulse- the engineering major who Grian was partnered with for physics lab- got the brilliant idea to start a ghost-hunting group with his best friend and roommate Skizz, and Scar expressed interest in joining, Grian made a split-second decision in a moment of weakness. He maintained his skepticism, claiming that he wanted to tag along just to prove how silly the whole idea was. Impulse was fine with it, while Scar said Grian had to wear the same uniform as them, and the rest was history.

(To be fair, that was before Grian knew it’d be a pleather jumpsuit.)

So here they are now nearly three years later, rumbling down a long gravel road in the dark and cold, up late on a Saturday night even though he still isn’t finished with his condominium model that’s due at 8 am on Monday and he’s fresh out of popsicle sticks. Moments like these almost make Grian wish he could just ask a guy out like a normal person, so they could spend time together without chasing pretend ghosts around dusty houses all night.

But that’d require him to talk about his feelings. Ugh, he’d rather let the ghosts get him.

“Alright.” Impulse slows the van to a halt. The doors unlock with a heavy clunk. “What do you guys think?”

Grian isn’t expecting much when he glances out the window. But the sight that greets him immediately prompts a hasty exit from the vehicle, scarcely noticing the sudden chill, his jaw dropping open in awe.

It’s a Victorian. Not a house that someone has mistakenly called ‘Victorian’ just because it looks old. A genuine, honest-to-goodness, Queen Anne’s style two-story Victorian manor with an asymmetrical facade and a rounded corner tower and a generous wrap-around porch, silhouetted against the fading light of the evening sky.

Grian reaches for his flashlight. Sweeping over the exterior, his breath catches. Knots of ivy creep up the walls, and there are a few places where the intricate wood trim has been lost to previous repairs and weather damage. A couple of the windows are bricked up. Most of the paint is faded and peeling. But overall? It’s beautiful.

“Oh man,” Grian murmurs, pushing his glasses back up, “look at the shape of it... look at the dormers!”

A second beam of light joins in; Scar’s emerged from the van. “Lots of character,” he says, sounding similarly entranced. “And still in great condition! Oh, it’s beautiful. It’s enough to make a man cry.”

Impulse hops out of the driver’s seat, chuckling. “I knew you two would like it. It’s an ‘85.”

Grian gives an appreciative whistle. “Look, I still don’t think we’re gonna find anythin’,” he says with a sideways look at Scar, “but I gotta tell ya… if- if I were a ghost… I think I’d haunt a proper house like this. Not those builder-grade boxes in the suburbs.”

“Right?” Impulse says, his forked tail flicking through the air. “That’s what I’m sayin’... I uh, I think this place has real potential.”

Skizz, who’s come around the van to stand with them, nods thoughtfully. “Definitely somethin’ special ‘bout it, that’s for true,” he says, exchanging a look with Impulse. Then he claps his hands together. “Alright gentlemen, let’s get movin’!”

Impulse and Skizz turn towards the van, heading to open the back.

Grian stares after them, squinting suspiciously. That wasn’t just any look. That was a Look. A Look that he knows all too well. They had that same Look on their faces at last year’s frat mixer, when they rigged the speakers at the Heta Kappa house to play ‘Margaritaville’ every time someone flushed a toilet.

It means that they’re Up To Something.

… Grian’s sure he’ll find out sooner or later.

“Well, Grian,” Scar says, hands on his hips as he surveys the property, “if it’s any connotation, at least we’ll get to study some real architecture tonight.”

Grian gives him a bemused look. “Consolation?”

Scar blinks. “Cono- what, what’d I say? Con- coronation?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, ey,” Grian chuckles, patting him on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”

~*~

“Check it out, dude,” Skizz calls excitedly, “temp’s dropping in here! Five degrees colder than the rest of the house!”

Grian makes a noncommittal noise. “It’s an east-facing room and the sun’s only just set, of course it’s colder than the rest of the house,” he says, idly passing his UV glow stick over an armchair. No prints, of course. “I doubt they’ve updated the insulation anytime within the last two decades.”

“And hey, look,” Impulse chimes in from the corner, “I’ve got EMF 1.3!”

Grian doesn’t even look up. “There’s an exposed outlet in here and I’ll bet the wiring’s older than I am. And in any case, it’s still below the recommended threshold.” Ew, okay, now that’s a suspicious UV stain on the floor, but not of the supernatural kind…

“Oh, it’s definitely not up to code,” Impulse agrees. He waves his EMF reader around a bit, making the pitch warble. “But I dunno, I think this must be the ghost’s favorite room. Might not be here right now, but I’m getting some real vibes…”

Grian rolls his eyes. “Sure…” 

Twenty minutes in, and despite the house’s hauntingly elegant construction, it’s been the same old story. The house is empty and quiet, as abandoned houses tend to be. Quite sparse, as most of the furnishings probably went to auction. The furniture that’s left is covered with tarps and every surface is coated with a fine layer of dust. He can smell mold somewhere in the floorboards and there’s apparent water damage in the ceiling.

The only renovation attempted thus far was the removal of some cheap linoleum tiles that were laid in the kitchen at some point- a renovation Grian can heartily agree with, there’s some absolutely gorgeous hardwood underneath- but they didn’t get far. The removed tiles are still sitting about in a haphazard pile, hammer and chisel abandoned on the floor beside them. Frantic footsteps smeared in the dust and powder paint the scene of a terrified contractor fleeing for their life from the reported ‘ghostly hauntings’. 

In any case, they haven’t heard any activity from the spirit box, nothing unusual has stood out on UV, and the salt Impulse laid out is still undisturbed. Surprise, surprise. Grian’s spent most of his time admiring the elaborate wooden trims lining every wall, scuffed as they are. What he wouldn’t give to properly restore this place…

“Hey, Dipple Dop?” Skizz calls suddenly. “Your radio working okay?”

Impulse gives him a curious look. “Huh? What, is there-” He pauses, glancing down at his radio. “Oh. Oh, yeah. Yeah, actually, mine’s on the fritz, must be overdue a battery change.”

“Oh?” Grian tilts his head innocently. “You don’t think it’s a ghoooost?”

Impulse purses his lips. “I don’t think everything is a ghost,” he says mildly. He clips the radio onto his belt, turning to the door. “I’ve got extras in the van, hang on…”

“I’ll go, too,” Skizz says quickly, slinging an arm and his wing around Impulse’s shoulders. “Buddy system! You know what, I- I’m tellin’ you, you never split up when hunting ghosts. That’s how they get you, dude.”

Oh. Oh, no.

Grian gives them a warning Look.

They give him a cheeky Look back.

“Yup, yeah, that’s true,” Impulse says with obvious feigned sincerity, steering Skizz out of the room. “So uh, you two keep at it, okay, and we’ll be right back…”

“Oh, okay!” Scar says cheerfully, busy setting up the tripod over in the corner and completely oblivious to their scheme. “Have a great time not getting murdered!”

Grian opens his mouth to protest, but Impulse and Skizz are already gone out the front door. Leaving him and Scar completely alone. Totally by coincidence, surely. Oh, he knew his drunken confession to Impulse at the school’s annual bar crawl fundraiser night would come back to bite him eventually.

It’s almost insulting, in a way. Like they think the only reason Grian hasn’t made a move is because he hasn’t had ample alone time with Scar. Like he needed them to give him an opportunity. But if he’d wanted to confess to Scar, he already would have. He’d have had it well done by now. They could give him a little credit.

See, the thing is, he’s thought about it. Plenty of times, in fact. But the issue he keeps coming back to is that if he tells Scar about his crush on him, then Scar will know about it. There’ll be no going back at that point. And if Scar doesn’t feel the same way- well, Grian can kiss their friendship goodbye. So yeah, no, he doesn’t think he’ll be making any dramatic love confessions tonight, strangely enough.

The risk of an awkward silence developing is astronomical, so Grian clears his throat. “Man… isn’t this place somethin’,” he says, then immediately fights the urge to cringe.

Scar, luckily, gives an emphatic nod. “It is, it truly is amazing.” He straightens up, dusting his hands off as he turns to Grian. “You know who’d really love this place, is Gem?”

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” Grian agrees. He busies himself with the UV, so he’s not just standing around. “We should take some pictures for her.”

“Oh, good idea!” Giving the tripod a final once-over, Scar wanders over to Grian. “So, any fingering goin’ on, yet?”

Grian nearly drops his glow stick. “Sorry- any what?!” he screeches, whirling around on Scar.

“You know, ghost fingers!” Scar says, perfectly innocent. He holds his hands up, wiggling his fingers in demonstration. “On the- on the glowy light?”

Grian takes a deep breath, face burning. “Oh Scar, buddy, you gotta think through your words better before you say them, alright?”

“Whaaat?” Scar pretends like he doesn’t know. “What, I’m just- you’ve got the stick, you know, little glow stick for when the ghost touches, uh-”

“Nevermind,” Grian groans. “Anyways, no, I haven’t found any ghostly handprints and I never will, because ghosts aren’t real.”

Scar folds his arms. “Well, hey, maybe the ghost is just polite! You know, he- maybe he’s just minding his business, not touching anything or- or anyone. Just because we don’t get anything on UV doesn’t mean ghosts aren’t real, I’ll have you know.”

Grian sees the challenge for what it is. “Alright…” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his spirit box. Holding the transponder to his lips, he belts out, “Where ahhre yewww?” in his best imitation of an over-exaggerated pop-punk accent. If Impulse and Skizz are eavesdropping through their radios, he hopes he gave them a start.

Scar laughs. “Oh man, been a while since I heard that one! You-”

I’m close.

Grian jumps so badly he nearly drops the box, his wings puffing out involuntarily. “What?! Wha- who said that?” he demands, spinning around.

Scar blinks at him. “What? Did you hear something through the box?”

“I- I dunno?” Grian says uncertainly. The box seems to be working as normal; when he holds the receiver down, there’s a faint hiss of static, and the bulb remains white. No further noises come from the speaker.

After a couple seconds of tense listening, Grian feels silly. Way to play it cool. He switches the box off with an exasperated sigh. “No, of course I didn’t hear anything through the box. Like I said, ghosts aren’t real.”

Scar hums noncommittally. “Oh, Grian... you know, there are some things in the world that can’t be explained.” 

Grian snorts. “Oh, yeah? Well, I- I got a few explanations for ya.” He counts on his fingers. “It could’ve been this old house creaking in the wind, or an electrical surge causing feedback through the transponder, or- or, not to mention, Impulse and Skizz pranking us through the radio?”

Scar snickers. “That does sound like something they’d do, I’ll give you that.”

“Yeah.” Grian slips the box back into his pocket. “And y’know, being in a creepy abandoned house, after dark, out in the middle’a nowhere... it’s easy to think you’re hearin’ things.”

Scar rolls his eyes, but his expression is fond. “I know, I know, so you’ve told me. But one of these days, mister, you’re gonna eat your words.”

“Right,” Grian drawls. “I’m so scared…”

The front door slams shut.

That makes Grian pause. They always leave the front door open while out on a job. It saves time when they have to go back and forth from the van, and saves battery life on their radios when they can just shout to each other through the open doorway. Obviously this job is a little different, because Impulse and Skizz have clearly got it in their heads to try and get him and Scar together, but he wouldn’t think they’d go so far as to-

The lights suddenly flicker and go out. But in the split-second before they do, Grian sees a shadowy figure silhouetted against the door.

Pure instinct takes over. Grian spins on his heel, grabs Scar by the arm, and absolutely flies down the stairs to the basement. He knows they’ve disturbed one or two piles of salt but right now, he can’t bring himself to care. His wings are bumping against the walls and he’s certainly never tried carrying someone as big as Scar before but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even process the ache of it rattling through his body. He bursts into the basement, feathers flying, and careens towards the back of the room, around a tall shelving unit, and into the corner.

There’s a heap of boxes stacked up in this corner; Grian unceremoniously shoves Scar over top of them, dropping him in the narrow space between the boxes and the wall. He’s wedged in as far as he can himself, laying across the boxes, his double pair of wings preventing him from squeezing in beside Scar. He’s still got the UV light clenched in his fist, he realizes belatedly- he braces his forearms against the wall to try and cover it, fanning his wings out behind him to block it out from the rest of the room. Glancing back over his shoulder, he tries to gauge how much light is getting through when a noise makes him freeze.

Footsteps.

They’re soft and light- certainly not the heavy boots of Impulse or Skizz. No, they sound almost barefoot. And as they gently tap down the stairs, the sound of giggling fills the air. It’s a feminine voice. Young, like a child. Like a little ghostie girl is prancing down the stairs to murder them.

Grian thinks he might pass out. Can ghosts actually kill people? How would they do it if they’re incorporeal? He’s never considered the question before, he never thought he’d have to because it’s ridiculous, ghosts aren’t real, of course they can’t kill people-

The footsteps stop. 

Grian isn’t sure if he’s still breathing. He doesn’t dare move. A chill runs up his spine, making every single feather stand on end. He can almost hear the high-pitched violins that would be playing right now if this were a horror movie; the cheesy, overdrawn kind of horror movies that are always playing at the drive-in that the four of them watch while piled into the back of the van in a tangle of limbs and spilled popcorn and oh god he’s spiraling now because he’s about to be killed by a ghost-

Bye-bye!

The chill recedes. Somewhere in his peripheral vision, he sees the faint glow of light from upstairs return.

It’s over.

Grian’s mind is spinning. What was that? What was that? It seems impossible, it doesn’t even feel real to be in this situation right now but he is, there was a ghost, there was a ghost. It feels insane to even think it. But the residual adrenaline coursing through his body reminds him it was very real, he just encountered a ghost.

A ghost! Oh, after three years of very loudly decrying the entire concept as rubbish. He can’t believe it. He really can’t believe it, this is the absolute last thing he expected to happen tonight. Ghosts are real. Ghosts are really, really, real. He doesn’t know what to do, who would ever believe him? Is this how the others have been feeling this whole time? God, he can’t believe this-

“G...?” Scar’s voice pipes up hesitantly. “What... what are we doing?”

Oh, right. Grian glances down at Scar- and his heart jolts. He’d been so focused on getting away from the ghost, he’d acted without thinking, so only now does he realize the... predicament he’s put them in.

Scar’s slumped against the floor beneath him, head tucked just below Grian’s arms. His long legs are still draped over the box that Grian’s laying across, resting on either side of his waist. And due to the odd posture Grian’s in, his chest has been thrust rather close to Scar’s face, lit by the soft purple glow of the UV.

This is probably the closest Grian has ever been to sitting in Scar’s lap.

Grian’s not proud of the yelp that escapes him. “Sorry, sorry!” His wings flail as he struggles to push himself off of the wall, stumbling back onto his feet. It’s clumsy and uncoordinated and he nearly falls backwards, his heart pounding.

Scar manages a laugh, easing himself up off the floor. “No, no, it’s okay, I- I just... what- why’d you bring us down here?” he asks, dusting off his jumpsuit.

Grian catches his breath. “Wait, you... didn’t hear the creepy ghost on its way to kill us?” he asks, frowning.

Scar‘s eyes widen. “What? There was a ghost?”

No way.

“Are you-!” Grian throws his arms up. “Honestly, I- I know avians have better hearing than most but that’s insane. She was laughing! Laughing and skipping down the blumin’ steps! And you didn’t hear any of it?”

“No…?” Scar shrugs helplessly. “I’m sorry, okay! I- I don’t know, I was- a lot was happening, you- you’re grabbin’ me, pulling me down the stairs and into this little corner, I didn’t know what was going on! I didn’t know, I- I was all disconbodulated- disco- bobo, bobumated? I was a little distracted, okay. Jeeze, give a man a break…”

“Distracted?” Grian repeats incredulously. “You’re the one who actually believes in ghosts, here, how could you get distracted? What do you…”

He trails off. Scar is very clearly fighting to avoid looking at Grian, but for the briefest moment, his eyes dart down to Grian’s chest. Suddenly confused, Grian follows his gaze, and-

Oh, for goodness sakes. At some point during his frantic flight, the stupid zipper on his stupid jumpsuit came down again, exposing a frankly scandalous amount of skin. Not Scar-level of scandalous, but pretty close.

Grian immediately feels himself turn red. “Oh. Uh- right,” he hastily pulls the zipper back up, “sorry ‘bout that…”

Wait. Wait just a second. 

Scar was distracted from a literal ghost hunt going on... because Grian’s bare chest was showing? Does that... does that mean he liked it? 

Scar’s avoiding his gaze again. His cheeks are tinted pink.

“Scar...?” Grian ventures carefully. “Were you... lookin’ at my chest?”

Scar’s cheeks darken. “Ah, I- I- don’t- I mean, why would you- I didn’t mean to, it’s just...” He fumbles for the words. “What- what am I- hey, your pecs were basically in my face! I wasn’t trying to look, I- I just-”

“Scar,” Grian says, keeping his voice light and teasing, “did ya… did you like what you saw?”

Scar splutters for a moment. “Well, sure, Grian,” he tries to laugh it off, “I mean, anyone- anyone with eyes can see you’re uh, you know, you’re- you’re pretty attractive. I- I’m secure enough to say it, I don’t care, it’s- sure, of course, you’re very muscular! You’re a- you’re a muscular man, it’s just not always obvious with the sweaters you wear. Or- sorry, you call them jumpers in Britain land, right, they’re jumpers-”

“You been checkin’ me out, Scar?” Grian asks, caught somewhere between playfulness and utter disbelief.

“Uh...” Scar rubs the back of his neck. He exhales slowly, clearly debating with himself. “I... maybe? What... what would you say... if that were the case?”

Grian swallows. His heart is absolutely racing now, and he’s broken into a cold sweat that’s definitely not supernatural in origin. The air between them feels fragile; he’s acutely aware that a single word from him could swiftly plunge them back into the realm of safe familiarity, of casual light-hearted teasing between friends. Scar’s always said things that bordered on the flirtatious, and Grian can hide behind the plausible deniability of teasing. This entire interaction doesn’t have to mean anything. It can be easily moved past and forgotten.

And yet, strangely enough… Grian doesn’t want it to. Maybe it’s the post-haunting adrenaline or the fact that he could’ve died tonight, but all of a sudden, he feels like taking a chance. Like he could finally say what he’s wanted to say for the last three years. He managed to hold his own against a blumin’ ghost, for goodness sakes- he should be able to face his own feelings head on.

He takes a breath. “I’d say that’s a relief… ‘cause I’ve been checkin’ you out since day one of first year.”

Scar stares at him for a long moment. His expression is utterly unreadable. The silence draws on long enough that Grian feels a spike of panic, worried that maybe he’s mishandled the situation-

 “... oh my god,” Scar says finally. “Really?”

It sounds like the good kind of surprise. Grian offers a shy smile. “Yeah, yeah,” he admits. “I- Scar, I know I’m real good at playin’ these things close to the vest, but uh, I- I’ve had a massive crush on you since... basically since the day we met.”

“Huh.” Scar blinks. “You’re serious. You- you’re not pranking me right now?”

That startles a laugh out of Grian. “No! Scar, I don’t- we just survived being hunted by a ghost, I’m not pranking you!”

“Well, that’s- that’s amazing!” A grin spreads across Scar’s face- and man, oh man, does he have just the most wonderful smile. “Oh my gosh, G, I don’t- you don’t even know how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

The relief is almost overwhelming. “Yeah, me too!” Grian laughs, half-dazed and half-giddy, running a hand through his hair. “I- I even- look, the whole reason I even joined this group was as an excuse to hang out with you!”

Scar’s mouth falls open. “No way! That’s- that’s the whole reason I joined in the first place, too!”

Now it’s Grian’s turn to gawk. “Are you joking?”

“I’m not!” Scar insists, “I swear, I’m not- Impulse said he wanted to start the group and maybe we’d all join and get to hang out and I thought ‘hey, ghosts are cool and Grian is cool’ so I just-”

“Oh, I can’t believe this…” Grian groans, hiding his burning face in his hands. “We really are idiots, we’ve wasted nearly three years…”

Scar’s hands close around Grian’s wrists, lightly pulling them down from his face. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to make up for lost time,” he says smoothly, leaning in.

Corny, but Grian will allow it. He closes the gap, tilting his head up to meet Scar’s lips.

In that moment, everything else fades away. All the nervousness, all the second-guessing, even the bombshell discovery of the existence of ghosts- there could be one standing in front of them right now and Grian wouldn’t care. The way Scar gathers Grian in his arms, hands gently roving through his feathers- it’s bliss. It’s perfect.

Scar kisses him strong and purposefully, with no trace of carelessness or haste. He doesn’t rush. There’s intent written into every single movement, jaw working to deepen the kiss. Grian curls against him, hands splayed across Scar’s chest. He can feel Scar’s heart pounding through his flushed skin, and it’s wildly exciting- to think Scar is just as breathless as he is. 

Growing bold, Grian dares to slip his tongue into Scar’s mouth, and the noise he makes- part surprise, part delight- sends pure electricity fizzling up his spine. His mind is starting to drift away from him, lost in the sensation of weightlessness, of floating, that almost makes him feel like he’s gone completely incorporeal- like his own spirit has become untethered from the mortal coil.

Then Skizz’s voice comes down the stairs.

“G-Sharp! Scarface! You down here? We just saw a freaking ghost on the cams, and- oh my god!”

Grian breaks away from Scar, but not quick enough. He turns to see Skizz and Impulse standing at the bottom of the stairs, expressions shocked. And then, as if they’d rehearsed it, they both break into massive shit-eating grins and spin around to high-five each other.

“Woo!” Impulse cheers. “We got ‘em! Ladies and gentlemen, we finally got them.”

“Yeah, baby!” Skizz pumps his fist in the air. “Oh, I love it!”

“Oh, would you two stop it?” Grian huffs, but he’s not really cross. Hard to be cross when he’s on cloud nine. “The ghost did most of the work, alright?”

“That’s right,” Scar sniffs, winding an arm around Grian’s waist. “You know, I- I’m startin’ to think you all were in cahoots! Cahoots, I say!”

“Dude, if only,” Skizz laughs, walking over to clap them on the shoulders. “Could not have planned it better, that’s amazing. Well done, gentlemen!”

“Yeah, it’s about time!” Impulse adds, crossing his arms. “I was starting to think we’d graduate before either of you fessed up, I- I had to take drastic measures…”

“Impulse,” Grian says warningly, “if you’re about to tell me you started this whole paranormal investigation group just as a way to push me and Scar into confronting our feelings, I swear-”

“No, no,” Impulse assures him, chuckling. “I really do like the ghost-hunting deal, don’t worry. But uh, we did deliberately ditch you guys in the hopes that something would happen.”

Scar waggles his eyebrows. “Oh, things happened, alright.”

“Scar!” Grian swats at him, but he’s laughing and it feels good. It feels right. After all this time spent worrying about worst-case scenarios, about denying his feelings for the sake of maintaining the comfortable mundanity of his comfortable life, it turns out the scariest part was the fear itself.

The irony doesn’t escape his notice. A bit on the nose, if he’s honest.

“But in even bigger news,” Impulse graciously continues, “you saw the ghost? And you believed it? You, Mr. Non-Believer in all things ghostly?”

Grian sighs. “Yeah, yeah, I know…”

“This is incredible!” Skizz claps his hands together. “Okay, okay, we gotta go cleanse the area and I wanna hear everything, got it? Don’t leave a single detail out!”

Grian slips his hand into Scar’s as they follow Impulse and Skizz back up the stairs. “Yeah, alright,” he relents. He supposes he’s due for a lot of ‘I told you so’s’. But really, it’s a small price to pay for the life-altering knowledge that ghosts are real… and for finally finding the courage to believe in something extraordinary.

Scar hums. “Wait, details about the ghost or about the kissing?”

“Scar!”

~*~