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[the-world-is-spinning-round]

-emoji ask game-

another edition of the emoji ask game! send me an emoji through my asks to get to know me :)

 🖍 what’s your favorite color?  🍫 chocolate or vanilla?  ❤️ thoughts on valentine’s day?  🏀 play any sports?  🍁 fall or spring?  🥰 what’s the cutest animal that ever existed?  🌤 sunny or cloudy?  🍋 what’s your favorite flavor?  🥴 what are your most commonly used emojis?  🥬 are you vegetarian/vegan?  🌲 what holidays do you celebrate?  🌍 what’s a place that you really want to visit?  🌊 beach or mountains?  📖 what’s your favorite book?  🥶 hot or cold?  🪁 outdoors or indoors?  ☂️ rain or snow?  👿 what’s something that annoys you the most?  🍇 what’s your favorite fruit?  🌺 flowers or succulents?  🎟 movies or musicals?  👚 what’s your style?  🍬 what’s your favorite candy?  🍦 what’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?  ⏱ what’s your favorite time of day?  💿 what’s your favorite song/artist?  ☕️ tea or coffee?  👽 do aliens exist?  🌚 early bird or night owl?  📞 talking or texting?

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[the-world-is-spinning-round]

Dragon - Remington Leith fan fiction (Spooktober Writing Challenge)

Remington lumbered towards the mouth of his cave, drawn by the sound of commotion just outside, and angered by the fact he’d been roused from his slumber.

The men milling around from the village, loud and self-congratulatory, ran screaming when Remington emerged from his home, red scales glinting in the sun and smoke billowing from his nostrils, but they left behind the thing they had been fussing over a few feet from the entrance from the cave…

Of all the ridiculous human things to disturb me with…

He stared down at the young woman in white bound to the stake the humans had stuck in front of the entrance to his cave, wondering if he was actually seeing what he thought he was seeing. Because what he thought he was seeing was a human sacrifice…but that would be fucking dumb.

Yet there was: a human sacrifice bound to a stake outside of his cave.

For fucks sake.

Remington was furious. He was a dragon - what the fuck did he want with some terrified human girl? He liked gold. Shiny, warm, quiet gold. Not human women, he screamed and cried whenever they saw Remington in his dragon form. It wasn’t as if he even wanted to eat them! Humans were scrawny and boney, on top of so loud…

But he couldn’t leave her tied to the stake outside the cave.

As loud and whiny as human women might be, Remington wasn’t a monster, just a dragon. Besides, it got really cold outside after the sun set - not to mention all the wild animals that would happily take a chunk out of the vulnerable human woman if they wandered past her while she was tied to a stake in the ground.

Remington wasn’t going to let an innocent woman die just because the idiots from her village thought they would accomplish something by tying her up outside his home.

Although what that was, he wasn’t sure.

Probably some bullshit about bribing him or feeding him so he wouldn’t go on a rampage. Just for that, he would go on a rampage…just as soon as the human was safe and away from his cave.

He stalked forwards, and was surprised when the human didn’t react at all beyond watching him with glazed over eyes.

She didn’t even talk until he was right in front of her: “Are you going to eat me?”

“Not today. I already ate, and your bones would probably get caught in my throat anyway.”

For some reason, the woman nodded at him as if that made perfect sense: “That would be annoying. Are you going to burn me alive instead?”

Remington frowned.

The human was way too calm - almost like she wasn’t quite understanding what she was actually asking him. He was starting to wonder if the men who had brought her here had drugged her or something, because there was no way anyone should be that relaxed when they were asking how they were going to die.

Despite his concerns, Remington carried on: “Sorry, no, I can’t breathe fire right now. I’ve got a cold.”

“Dragons can get colds?”

“Sure, why not, of course we can.”

The human nodded as if Remington had just told her something deep and meaningful, which only deepened his concerns that they have given her something to make her head this muddled, but it did seem to placate her enough that he had a chance to look closer at the ropes binding her to the rough wooden stake.

If nothing else, the way the ropes had been tied proved that the human had absolutely been drugged; the knots in the rope were so badly tied she could’ve gotten free in an instant if she’d tried.

It was the work of a second to free her, slicing through the ropes with a single claw and letting them fall to the ground at her feet…but she still didn’t run. She just stayed there, swaying slightly on her feet before leaning against the stake and looking up at him blankly.

Remington got the feeling that the human wasn’t going to be getting away from his cave any time soon.

Sighing internally, Remington changed into his human form. It was far less impressive than his dragon form in his opinion: all lanky and pale and squishy, but the woman’s eyes widened like a hatchling’s when they saw their first bit of treasure.

It was a nice stroke to his ego, but Remington didn’t allow himself to be distracted. He swung her up into his arms, carrying her bridal style back into the cave.

Despite her reaction to seeing his human form, Remington really wasn’t expecting her to bury her face in his shoulder, or wrap her arms around his neck, but he supposed it was better than her kicking him or screaming in his ear. She didn’t smell bad, either, even to his sensitive nose, and she was quite soft where she wasn’t covered by the white dress she was wearing - all in all, he'd certainly carried worse burdens. In fact, on the list of all the non-treasure-y things he’d hauled into his home, she was definitely one of the…top three.

Although when she started asking questions again, he thought she might drop down to just being one of the top five.

“Hey…if you’re not going to eat me, and you’re not going to burn me alive…what are you going to do with me?”

“It took you more than ten minutes to think of that question?”

The human frowned faintly - as if she knew something wasn’t right, but couldn’t quite work out what that something was: “My head feels strange.”

Remington felt something in his stomach clench uncomfortably.

He knew how it felt to be out of it when you didn’t want to be, and he didn’t have to be human to empathise with her.

“I understand, and I’m gonna take you somewhere to sleep it off, okay? You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

“Okay.”

The human was completely silent after that, even when he dropped to his knees on the edge of the pile of furs he called a bed so he could carefully lower the human onto the softest spot he could find. The only sound she made was a soft hum of thanks, already sounding and looking half-asleep…although she was awake enough to wrap her soft hand around his wrist when he moved to stand back up.

It wasn’t enough to actually stop him - her strength was nothing compared to his, even when she wasn’t half unconscious and he was in his human form - but…Remington still found himself pausing.

The one time he’d been in the same state as she was, out of his head against his will, he’d been alone and afraid, and he’d have given anything to have someone there to comfort him.

He couldn’t leave someone else in that state.

So even though he could never have imagined himself ending up in this situation, he still lay down next to the human, pulling some of the furs over her before wrapping an arm around her and tucking her head under his chin.

It…actually wasn’t bad. He nuzzled his face against the human’s hair, inhaling the smell of soap and hearth smoke and perfume, and found himself relaxing. She was warmer than an empty bed, and for a dragon…it was enough to make him purr low in his chest.

The human was asleep in no time.

And Remington followed her soon after.

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Haunted - Remington Leith fan fiction (Spooktober Writing Challenge)

Bonnie slid through the cracked open back door of the old house, doing her best to keep as quiet as she possibly could.

She figured there was no-one home; the house was dark and overgrown, and she hadn’t seen anyone come or go from any of its doors in the week since she’d been watching the place, but it never hurt to be cautious. If nothing else, there could be someone else using this place as a temporary hideout, and Bonnie didn’t have the energy to fight over a barely-standing house…but luckily it seemed like she wouldn’t have to.

This place was even more abandoned than it had looked like from the outside. Which, considering it was an abandoned mansion in the middle of the woods, was actually very impressive.

And probably something I should be worried about.

Bonnie couldn’t bring herself to be worried, though.

Her options were pretty limited; it was either in here, or spend another night in the woods. The house might be creepy, and dark, and might smell musty, and the floor might creak under her boots while her nose itched from the heavy layer of dust covering every surface, but it was still better than the woods. It was dry and warm and had plenty of small spaces for her to curl up in without someone sneaking up on her.

It wasn’t much, but it was still a hell of a lot better than spending another night under a tree.

At least…she hoped it would be.

Although the logical part of her brain told her that this old house was going to be a lot more comfortable than the woods outside, there was something at the back of her skull that felt…uncomfortable. She couldn’t say why; there was nothing obviously creepy (well…no more creepy than the average abandoned house, anyway), but…something was off.

Bonnie paused in what used to be the kitchen, weighing up her options.

Living the way she did had taught her to trust her gut. If something seemed not right, even if you couldn’t tell what exactly that something was, then it usually wasn’t: and you were better off staying well clear.

On the other hand, though…it was cold and wet outside, and Bonnie genuinely wasn’t sure if her coat was another up for another night spent on the cold, damp ground. The house might be creepy, dusty, and unsettling: but it was dry, protected from the wind, and marginally warmer than outside. It seemed like she had been the only one here in years, and even if she was unsettled, unsettled was better than frozen to death.

Despite that fact it went against her gut instinct, Bonnie was better off inside of the house than outside of that.

But even as she headed deeper into the house, Bonnie started to regret the decision to brave the creepiness.

It wasn’t just the clouds of grey particles that were thrown up into the air with her every step, that disturbed dust making her eyes water, or the occasional groaning floorboard.

It was the sound of whispering.

Or something that sounded a hell of a lot like someone whispering to themselves.

Bonnie was sure it was the wind, or a small animal in the walls, or something perfectly normal…but it still sent shivers down her spine to hear something she couldn’t see sounding so much like a man whispering something she couldn’t quite make out in desperate tone that, on its own, was enough to make her heart clench.

She determinedly ignored it, making her way deeper into the old house, looking around as she went. Once upon a time, it must have been a grand mansion: chandeliers hung from high ceilings, faded (but formerly luxurious looking) wallpaper clung in scraps to the walls above the dark wood panelling, and moth-eaten velvet drapes still covered the tall stained-glass windows.

It must have been beautiful, once upon a time, but now it just felt lonely. Abandoned and forgotten, left to the ravages of time, no-one ever coming back to what once must’ve been a house full of people.

The thought was enough to make Bonnie feel sad.

She got it: the abandoned and forgotten thing. She was an abandoned and forgotten thing. It might be strange to empathise with a house…but imagining seeing a mournful face out of the corner of her eye might be taking it too far.

Whipping round, Bonnie stared at the place where she’d thought she’d seen a face turning to look at her, only to see nothing but empty space. Just bare floorboards and scraps of wallpaper on the wall.

I’m tired.

It’s okay.

I’m just tired.

Bonnie would feel better after she’d slept.

Determined to do just that, she hunkered down in a corner of what might have been a living room once upon a time, settling herself back against a corner away from the external wall and all its windows, and ignoring the sound of creaking floorboards on the other side of the room.

It was just her imagination, just like the movement she’d thought she’d seen looking at her.

There was nothing else in this house except a few forest animals - any noise was either made by her, them, or the house settling as they moved about it. Anything else was just her overly-tired mind playing tricks on her.

Blinking her eyes open just to reassure herself, Bonnie swept her gaze over the room around her…and stopped dead in her tracks.

There are footprints in the dust.

Footprints that weren’t hers.

Bonnie froze, her blood freezing in her veins.

Everything else she could have dismissed as a figment of her overly-tired imagination, but she had only left one trail of footprints through the thick layer of dust on the floor, and hadn’t moved from her spot since she had left them…

…yet now there was a second, slightly larger set of footprints alongside hers.

Bonnie’s eyes reluctantly followed the trail of footsteps, unable to stop themselves, slowly turning her head until she was looking at the wall to her right…and the pale, gaunt looking man with dark eyes staring back at her.

Bonnie screamed.

She jerked up and lunged for the door, stumbling over her own feet and falling: barely catching herself on her hands before her face hit the floor.

Fuelled by adrenaline, Bonnie pushed herself up - but by the time she was back on her feet, the man was standing in front of her, eyes wide and imploring, his hands held up in a ‘wait’ gesture.

“Please don’t leave!” he pleaded: “I’m sorry for scaring you, I am, but please don’t run away. I haven’t seen anyone in such a long time.”

Despite her fear, Bonnie paused.

The man’s clothes were ragged and faded, but also more than a little out-dated. They looked like something people would have worn two hundred years ago, both in style and how worn and aged they looked.

On top of that, he gave out the same feeling of melancholy and loneliness as the house itself had given Bonnie when she’d first walked into it.

Combined with his unnaturally pale face, gaunt features and the way he seemed to almost…blur around the edges…

…Bonnie was starting to think whatever he was, he wasn’t a man.

That only made her fear worse, at first. If he wasn’t human, what was he? A ghost? Something worse? Could he hurt her, was he even corporal, could he use magic? There were so many unanswered questions it made her head spin and her heart pound in her chest.

But he looks so sad.

Even though half of Bonnie wanted to carry on running and screaming, something about the sad look on the man’s - or whatever he was - stopped her.

It…it resonated with her. He looked so lonely and afraid and lost, and Bonnie knew she’d looked like that plenty of times in her life, especially recently. She’d wished someone, anyone, would just reach out to her, and no-one ever had.

So she would.

Cautiously, she straightened up and tried to relax as much as she could, even going so far as to mirror the…being’s gesture of raising her hands to show that she wasn’t going to try and run - not until he gave her a reason to, anyway.

The being’s face instantly changed: lifting into a tentative smile, eyes losing some of their darkness and mournfulness as he realised that she was - for now - staying:

“Thank you, thank you for staying! I’m so excited to finally get to talk to someone, it’s been so long: so, so long: I’m not even sure how long, really, it gets kind of hard to measure time when you don’t have any connection to the outside world. Is that what people are wearing now? It’s very colourful, even though I didn’t know women could wear trousers now, it makes sense though; skirts always seemed quite cumbersome, but they were pretty -.not that your trousers aren’t pretty, of course, they are very nice, even if they are a little dirty…not that that’s bad! I just meant…I meant…” the being’s happy babbling faded into worried fretting, his brows creasing together in concern.

Bonnie couldn’t say why, but she just couldn’t let the being go back to seeming so lost looking: “It’s okay. I…I’m not upset.”

“Oh.” the being brightened once more: “Good! I’m glad!”

Bonnie nodded, uncertain of what to say, but wanting to say something: “I’m glad you’re glad.”

“I’m glad you’re glad I’m glad!” the being grinned, before…blushing? His paper-white cheeks took on a slightly rose hue, anyway: “That wasn’t the most coherent sentence, was it?”

“It’s cool.” Bonnie shrugged: “We all come out with things that don’t sound right when we say them out-loud.”

“It’s cool…” the being repeated slowly, as if testing the word out: “Does that mean ‘good’ now?”

Bonnie realised that he probably wouldn’t know what half of her vocabulary meant…but found that she didn’t mind: “Yes, it means good.”

The being grinned: “In that case it is very ‘cool’ to meet you. My name is Remington.”

“I’m Bonnie.” she grinned in return, feeling at ease when she realised that the being was more excitable college student than terrifying phantom: “It’s very cool to meet you too, Remington.”

The being brightened even farther…and Bonnie felt her mood brighten along with him.

Maybe it would be nice to have someone to talk to.

Even if that person wasn’t human.

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One of my favourite photo shoots of Remington Leith ever!

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Scents - Sebastian Danzig fan fiction (Spooktober Writing Challenge)

The wolf growled and snarled, disorientated from the forced change from being a man to being an animal.

Nothing looked right and nothing sounded right: everything was blurry and too bright and too loud and too muddled, and it made him want to howl at the full moon he couldn’t currently see.

Everything was wrong, everything was strange, and everything was scaring him!

Familiarity. Safety. Caring.

Cloves. Earth. Brown sugar.

The wolf’s fur settled over his shoulders, his skin starting to feel a little less like there were bugs crawling under it.

Concern. Worry. Affection. 

Ginger. Dark chocolate. Nutmeg.

He whined, and shuffled forward on his belly, until he could bury his nose in the hand offered to him. His discomfort vanished instantly: tactileness was comfort, was affection, was love - and the scent that also meant those things slowly changed too.

Relief. Fondness. Warmth.

Petrichor. Orange peel. Stronger cinnamon.

This time the wolf’s whine was one of friendliness - and was replied to with a gentle laugh.

The sound prompted the wolf to sit up and lean into the person making friendly noises to him: wagging his tail so hard that his whole body was shaking as he buried his face into the person’s neck.

Hands buried themself in his fur, stroking over it, fingers combing through it, settling it properly over the wolf’s skin. The wolf whimpered happily, nuzzling into the woman’s neck and shoulder between licking at her jaw and ear - making her laugh even louder, loud enough to vibrate through the side he pressed against her chest.

Joy.

Ripe pineapple and oranges.

Finally Sebastian could open his eyes and take in the world both as the wolf and the man.

His mate knelt next to him, one arm wrapped around his neck while the other continued to stroke down his back: soothing the last few twinges of the change from man to wolf. It was far easier than was when changing alone, his mate’s scent cutting through the too-bright lights and too-loud noises, bringing him back to the real world without the painful adjustment period that he’d had to go through when he changed form on his own.

He buried his face in her neck once again, this time leaving it there, happy to take a few deep breaths of her natural scent, soaking it in and basking in it.

Moments later, he heard the sound of two more sets of paws approaching, and he straightened to see his brothers waiting for him in the doorway.

Family. Excitement. Impatience.

Woodsmoke. Green apples. Coffee beans.

Sebastian rolled his eyes, but reluctantly pulled himself away from his mate.

He could feel it too: the moon’s call to escape the house and head outside, to run through the trees and roll in the dirt and feel the forest under his paws. Although he would have happily spent a few more moments with his mate, his brothers didn’t have mates, and nights of the full moon were always meant to be spent with the pack.

The fact he was leaving a member of the pack behind didn’t settle right with him, but it was too cold for his human mate to run around in the forest with them - and she didn’t mind waiting at home, as long as he came back safe.

Not that that was a concern, even as he headed out into the forest with his brothers, he knew he’d always come back to her.

Always.

Because even as he left her into their home, one scent still clung to his fur.

Love.

Honey and freshly baked cakes and a multitude of flowers.

How could he not come back to a scent like that?

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Some photos I took at Palaye royale show in toronto.

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Okay but Remington’s slicked back hair look….um��like sir, respectfully…

HOW FUCKING DARE YOU?! 🔥

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Die Another Day - Palaye Royale fan fiction (Spooktober Writing Challenge)

Sequel to Hallowed Ground

Mercy looked down from the balcony at the party below, and worked hard to keep her face impassive.

It had been years since she’d last seen the men - if they could be called ‘men’ - milling around in the centre of the dancing below, but she’d recognised them the second she’d locked eyes on them.

The Kropp Brothers.

The monsters who had taken everything from her - including herself.

Back when Mercy had been Merielle, a simple farmer’s daughter from a small village that no longer existed, the Kropp brothers had slaughtered everyone in her village, and tried to kill her too: chasing her through the woods until she’d found sanctuary in an abandoned Churchyard - and then taunting her before leaving her to deal with the destruction that they had caused.

It made Mercy see red.

She’d spent months putting herself together - and years building herself up to be something more than just poor Merielle the sole survivor.

Now she was Mercy: trained hunter and woman on a mission to stop other people from having to go through what she had gone through, by getting rid of the monsters who fed on the unwary and unassuming.

Monsters like the Kropp Brothers.

Carefully maintaining her blandly happy expression, the same expression as nearly every other woman in this room, Mercy turned away from the dancing down below and meandered over to one of the grand staircases leading down from the balcony.

As much as she wanted to stake the Kropp brothers where they milled about just feet away from here, they weren’t her targets tonight. She had bigger fish to fry, a beast that made the Kropps seem like monks by comparison. She might want their heads on a platter - and she would get them one day - but for now she needed to focus on the bigger predator.

The only problem was: all of Mercy’s good luck had been used up the moment she crossed that stone wall into the abandoned churchyard.

Now all that was left was her bad luck, her worse luck, and her worst luck.

And tonight’s going to be a ‘worse luck’ night…

At least.

There was no other way to explain why the Kropp brothers had congregated around Alister Warhol - also known as Mercy’s target for this evening.

Fuck.

The Kropp brothers were bad - worse than bad: they were monstrous - but Warhol…Warhol was something else entirely. He was the kind of monster that made other monsters quiver and quake in fear. Although he was, on paper, a vampire, a lot of the hunters Mercy had spoken to were convinced he was actually a demon.

And Mercy wasn’t sure that they were wrong.

There was a reason that so many hunters had gathered at this party tonight; none of them were stupid enough to think they could take Warhol down alone, even though they all agreed he needed to be gone, so they’d been planning this event where they could all gather together to stake the bastard for almost a year.

The Kropp brothers appearing threw a spanner in the work, at least for Mercy.

But she couldn’t waste this opportunity to kill Warhol.

Descending the staircase with all the calm and elegance she could muster, Mercy glanced at the clock to confirm the time, and set her part of the plan into motion.

It was easy - get Warhol to steal a sip of her wine.

He often did it; he saw it as a flirtatious gesture, and would steal sips from the wine glasses of pretty young women who spoke to him as an excuse to brush his fingers against theirs…and lick his lips like the lech he was. All she had to do was stand close enough to draw his attention, and wait.

It didn’t take long.

Mercy fought hard not to shudder when she felt Warhol’s eyes on her just three minutes later, but she kept up her socialite act. He fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

Warhol approached Mercy with a slimy smile, and Mercy returned it with a coy smile of her own. From there it was like clockwork: Warhol flirted, Mercy played naive, he pulled his signature move of taking her glass from her hand, cold fingers brushing lightly over her own, raising it to his lips to take a sip, before licking his lips and handing it back to her - making sure to make as much contact with her as possible.

If he noticed a strange taste, he didn’t say anything.

A moment later, Mercy’s maid appeared at her elbow and whispered in her ear about an urgent message that had just arrived.

Mercy made her apologies and left, retreating to the balcony and out into the hallway beyond. Her part was done, and it was time for her to retreat to the shadows and watch the events unfold.

She took her coat and stepped out onto the veranda outside - out of earshot and clear line of sight of anyone inside (even the vampires) and looked down through the window just to her left, through which she could just about see Warhol.

Mercy smiled, and took a sip from her glass of wine.

A glass that, five minutes ago, she had picked up from a tray carried by a smartly dressed young waiter where it had been set just slightly apart from the other glasses on the tray.

The waiter hadn’t touched them, waiters only touched guests’ wine glasses to stop them from spilling in case of an accident.

No, the glasses had been set up by one of the maids, who had been watching the older man pouring the drinks in the kitchen.

Watching him pour the wine…and vervain.

Several other maids had been watching the same man.

Several other waiters had been carrying trays with wine glasses just slightly set apart from the rest.

Several other women had picked up those glasses, and made their way over to Warhol.

Not all of them had caught his attention…but enough of them had. Enough of them had had their glasses stolen by him so that he could take a sip of the poison-laced wine. Enough of them had found a reason to step away: called over by friends, caught by a disapproving uncle, suddenly offended by something Warhol had said, prompting him to latch onto another woman.

Mercy hadn’t been the first. And she wasn’t the last.

The last was a pretty dark haired woman Mercy didn’t recognise, her dark hair and skin complemented beautifully by the brilliant crimson of her gown. The colour was beautiful, and an almost perfect match for the blood suddenly spewing from Alister Warhol’s mouth.

He spluttered and choked and clasped a hand over his mouth, but it wasn’t enough to cover the deep crimson liquid seeping from between his fingers and under his palm.

The middle and younger Kropp brothers tried to cross the room to get to him, but were blocked by the crowd of ‘horrified’ on-lookers. Instead, Warhol was assisted out of the room by two waiters.

Never to be seen again.

“Proud of yourself?” asked a familiar voice from behind Mercy.

Refusing to be afraid, Mercy turned to look the oldest Kropp brother in the eye: “Not yet.”

“I’m surprised you went for him and not for us.” Sebastian Kropp admitted, his expression unreadable: “I thought you’d lunge for us the moment you saw us.”

“I can control my baser urges. I’m not an animal.”

Mercy was expecting rage. She was expecting the same threats of retribution she had once levelled at him and his brothers. She was expecting to have to use the stake hidden under her skirts to defend herself. She’d just killed the Kropp brother’s leader or maker or whatever Warhol had been: she was expecting Sebastian to try and enact revenge.

What she was not expecting was for him to smile.

“I’m glad you’ve put yourself together, Merielle. Or should I be calling you Mercy now?”

“You shouldn’t, no.” Mercy sneered: “I won’t have any for you, when the time comes.”

Sebastian continued to smile: “I’m looking forward to that time.”

“Of course you are.”

Sebastian swept down into a deep bow, before taking his leave in a blur of speed.

Mercy took another sip of her wine, savouring the deep red liquid. Then she tossed it aside.

She was going to need something stronger.

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Heartbeat - Remington Leith fan fiction (Spooktober Writing Challenge)

Remington followed Anastasia through the dark streets of the village, being careful to stay close enough that he could comfortably keep track of her, but keeping enough distance between them so she wouldn’t realise that he was following her, and nobody else would see him skulking around.

It was comfortingly familiar to hunting - even though this was for a very different purpose - and the wolf part of him was strangely calmed by carefully picking his way through the shadows in pursuit of his target…but it was more comforted by being close to Anastasia.

It always was.

For reasons that he didn’t really want to think about, both parts of his consciousness were very drawn to the human who lived on the outskirts of the village. The man thought she was beautiful, and although the wolf was a little less articulate in how it felt, it was always more at ease when Anastasia was nearby. It had been easy enough to decide to follow her around as much as he could without being caught.

She was easy to follow; she didn’t interact with many of the other villagers, and seemed to live mostly in her own little world. She ignored a lot of what went on around her, and although at first Remington had thought her foolish for that, as the weeks and months had gone on, he’d started to understand why she did.

The people of the village didn’t like Anastasia.

They weren’t blatant about it - or at least most of them weren’t, anyway - but there was an undercurrent to their interactions with her that Remington was very aware of. And so was Anastasia.

It was why she kept herself to herself: face always buried in the books she was rarely seen without, rarely starting a conversation with anyone.

Except Remington.

When they’d first moved to the village, posing as normal humans so Emerson could get closer to his Gwendoline, many of the villagers - Gwendoline included - had treated the three of them with a high dose of suspicion…but Anastasia had been kind. She’d been the first to visit them, bringing them a pot of stew and some candles, to make sure they wouldn’t be left hungry and stuck in the dark on their first night in the village.

It had been an act of selfless kindness that none of them had expected.

Remington had known his fair share of lone wolves - he’d known ones who were simply looking for a different pack to follow, ones who had left shitty packs, ones who were too antisocial to be part of a pack, but Anastasia was a loner of a different kind.

She merely hadn’t found the right pack to lead yet.

Anastasia wasn’t a follower, she was a leader. She’d welcomed them to the village: assessing them with keenly intelligent eyes, while also offering them an act of kindness. When all the other humans had treated them with suspicion, Anastasia had treated them with warmth. She wanted the village to welcome them, and so she had led by example.

Remington wanted to follow more of her examples.

He was hoping he’d get the chance to, if he ever plucked up the courage to speak to her.

But in the eight months since they’d moved here, he hadn’t yet. So he just kept following her: appeasing his wolf side’s need to be near her, soothing the man’s need to see her, ensuring that she made it home safely, making sure she was okay - especially on the night of a full moon like tonight.

The Harvest Moon didn’t draw his kind to the village like the Wolf Moon did, as the forest was teeming with prey, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious.

Anastasia meant a lot to Remington: he wasn’t going to risk her well-being. She was too precious.

When she saw him, they spoke: he asked her about the books she was reading, and she asked him about the world outside the village. He adored the way her eyes lit up when they spoke about the worlds in her books, and the attentiveness in her face when she listened to him talk about the other parts of this world that he’d seen. She practically glowed when she was interested in something - it lit up her whole face.

She was enchanting.

And often more astute than the other villagers - and Remington himself - often gave her credit for.

“Remington?”

Remington froze at the sound of Anastasia’s voice…before sighing and stepping out of the pool of shadow he had stopped in, confirming to Anastasia that he was there.

She didn’t look surprised to see him, but she didn’t look displeased either, which was enough to give Remington some hope that she wasn’t angry with him…although not a lot. Anastasia would have every right to be furious about being followed by the street. Remington would be if it was him being followed through the street.

Despite her having every right to be incensed, though, she smelt calm: “Why are you skulking around in the shadows?”

Remington swallowed his nerves, but decided that honestly was likely the best path to take right now: “I…I just wanted to make sure you got home safely.”

“I figured,” Anastasia nodded: “But why were you hanging back and hiding in the shadows, we could have just walked together?”

“I didn’t want to impose.”

“You could never impose.” Anastasia smiled gently.

If that wasn’t enough to give Remington butterflies, nothing would be.

“That’s very kind of you to say, Anastasia.” Remington smiled back.

“Also slightly selfish.” she teased: “Any excuse to spend some more time with you.”

Remington had thought he’d had butterflies in his stomach before, it was nothing compared to how he felt hearing Anastasia admit that.

It was one thing to know she tolerated his presence, and appeared to like having occasional conversations with him, it was quite another to hear her say she tried to find excuses to spend more time with him. It was so astounding that Remington actually felt dizzy for a few seconds, before being overcome with joy.

He stepped forward and offered Anastasia his arm - and she took it without hesitation.

Remington’s heart fluttered in his chest so loudly that he almost missed the sound of a second, equally fluttering heartbeat next to him. But not quite.

They walked through the light of the Harvest Moon together, and Remington listened to Anastasia’s heartbeat the whole time. It never settled, and neither did his.

[the-world-is-spinning-round]

Cold - Emerson Barrett fan fiction (Spooktober Writing Challenge)

It was unseasonably cold, even for October.

Even as a vampire, and therefore usually impervious to temperature, Emerson was feeling the chill in the air. He stayed inside the house as much as possible, and tried to keep himself either in his bedroom or the family parlour, where there was always a fire roaring in the fireplace.

Sebastian and Remington were much the same - Sebastian remaining in bed with his newly-turned wife, and Remington skulking around wrapped in at least one blanket on top of his usual clothes.

Truth be told, it was an idea Emerson was about to steal for his own use.

He didn’t care about how many strange looks Remington received from the staff, or how many strange looks he would receive if he were to take up the same practice. It was almost unbearably cold - and only getting worse.

At night, more snow blanketed the ground. Each morning, there was a thicker layer of frost on the windows. Every time Emerson emerged from his bed, the air felt even more frigid.

It was miserable, and Emerson hated it.

Because on top of everything else, it was getting harder and harder to feed. No-one wanted to come to a party in this weather, and there was only so much four vampires could feed on the same household, even with multiple members of staff on hand to drink from - especially when one of those vampires was newly-turned and only watched over by her adoring husband, who would never, ever want to upset his wife.

Emerson was happy for Sebastian and Larissa, he truly was, but if they killed another maid or scullery boy…Emerson was going to be pissed.

And at a loss for how to explain a third mysterious death.

Two was more than enough, and most of the staff were already on edge from an unfortunate combination of fear and the cold - it wouldn’t take much to turn them into an angry mob, and prompt them to come after Emerson, Remington, Sebastian, and Larissa.

Of course, the four of them would likely be fine; there wasn’t a lot two dozen humans could do to four healthy vampires, but Emerson didn’t want to turn on the staff.

Or, perhaps more accurately, Emerson didn’t want to turn on a specific member of the staff.

“Good morning, Miss Francis.”

Miss Francis, Cora, one of the new maids, turned to Emerson with a polite smile: “Good morning, Mr Kropp.”

Emerson smiled as Cora crossed the room to where he was sitting in front of the fireplace with a silver tea tray balanced carefully in her hands.

Like most of the other women in the house, she had taken to wearing as many layers as possible - her nightdress under her summer uniform under her winter uniform, but despite the amount of clothing she was wearing, he was still hit with the scent of lemon soap, clean cotton, and something that was indescribably her.

It had taken him a while to not be stunned by Cora whenever she came into a room - not just because of her scent, but because of her…everything. His brothers may laugh at her inarticulateness, but Emerson didn’t care; he was stunned by everything about May, and he didn’t care what anyone had to say about it.

Or he wouldn’t, if he was actually brave enough to ever speak to anyone about his infatuation.

He wasn’t, and was sure he wouldn’t ever be, especially not to Cora herself. Despite what people may think of him - the artist, the eccentric, the addict - Emerson was not stupid: he was very aware of the power imbalance between himself and Cora: he was her employer, and a creature from her nightmares, and she was a young human who admitted herself that she didn’t have much of a life outside of her work.

Emerson might be what many people called a monster, but would never want to abuse his position of power over Cora, or put her in a situation where she was uncomfortable. He was a vampire, not a bastard.

“Would you like me to pour you some tea, Mr. Kropp?” Cora asked, putting the tea tray on the low table in front of the sofa he was sitting on.

“Yes, thank you Miss Francis.” 

Cora smiled, and busied herself with pouring a cup of tea for Emerson.

Emerson pretended to be absorbed by the book in his hands, but the whole time he watched Cora, fascinated with her every action, just as he always was.

Normally it was because he was just fascinated with her in general, but today he couldn’t help but see the faint trembling of her hands, the frighteningly pale ends of her fingers compared to their usual warm tone.

A second more inspection, and he saw the shivering racking her whole body, even with all her clothes, and the drawn expression that she was trying to hide under her usual polite smile.

Emerson had been thinking of how cold he was, even as a vampire who was somewhat immune to temperatures, but he hadn’t thought for a second how the humans in the house had been handling the sudden drop in temperatures - especially when they had no choice but to be away from the warmth of fires and extra blankets.

Guilt and shame brought a lump to his throat - and before he could even think he had opened his mouth and started speaking: “Would you join me for a cup, Miss Ferguson?”

Cora looked up: stunned: “Excuse me, Mr Kropp?”

“I asked if you would like to join me for some tea,” Emerson repeated, deciding that as he’d already potentially crossed a line, he may as well be clear about it…and equally clear that it was completely her choice: “And only if you want to, of course. Or you could take some tea with you. I just noticed that you appeared to be cold and thought some tea may serve to warm you. I don’t mean to be untoward, please do not think you must tread lightly here, if you do not want to join me then - ”

“I’d be very happy to have tea with you, Mr Kropp.” Cora gently interrupted, smiling.

Emerson, deciding that he’d spoken quite enough and certainly made a fool of himself, silently shifted over on the sofa to create some room for Cora as she made up a second cup of tea.

She sat next to him when he gestured to the space he’d created, and even with the distance between them, Emerson was painfully aware of the shivers still coursing through Cora’s body. He wanted to ignore it, sure that it would ease after a few moments of the fire and some tea…but he couldn’t.

“Would you…” he swallowed his nerves and stared down into his tea cup, finding himself unable to look at Cora as she looked at him: “...would you like a blanket?”

Cora was silent for a few seconds.

Emerson didn’t blame her; he was being strange. He knew he was being strange, but he…he didn’t know how he could help her without behaving oddly. It wasn’t normal for someone in his position to try and help someone in Cora’s position - but he couldn’t not try to help her.

He might appear strange. But he’d rather she think him mad and be warm than stick to status quo and leave her cold.

Eventually, Cora did reply, her voice soft and uncertain: “I would, thank you.” 

Desperate to end this awkwardness, Emerson hurried to wrap a blanket over Cora’s shoulders…and found himself with his arm (and the blanket) wrapped around her.

He knew instantly he should move away…but he didn’t…and neither did Cora.

They looked at each other for a few long moments, before Cora nervously turned back to her tea…and leaned into Emerson’s side.

A stronger man would have subtly leaned away: politely rejecting Cora and remembering his desire to not put Cora in an awkward situation, no matter how much he himself may enjoy that situation.

But Emerson was not a strong man.

Emerson genuinely did not want to make Cora uncomfortable, not in any way, but he couldn’t bring himself to reject her. He didn’t care if this was just an attempt on her part to warm herself up, he would take any form of affection she had to offer him, for however long she was willing to offer it.

And he’d enjoy every second.

[the-world-is-spinning-round]

🌟 Magical 🌟

[the-world-is-spinning-round]

Palaye Royale Spooktober Masterlist

See the list of all my Spooktober stories under the cut:

Key:

EB = Emerson Barrett

RL = Remington Leith

SD = Sebastian Danzig

Link to the series on Ao3

Stories:

Day 1 - Beastly (EB)

Day 2 - Hallowed Ground

Day 3 - Potion (RL)

Day 4 - Wonderful Things Surround You (RL)

Day 5 - The Horseman Rides At Midnight

Day 6 - Lit From Within (SD)

Day 7 - This Grave I Call My Home

Day 8 - Gorgon (RL)

Day 9 - Hunger (EB)

Day 10 - Dance To The Beat Of The Flames (RL)

Day 11 - The Horseman Rides At Midnight II (RL)

Day 12 - Un-Undead (RL)

Day 13 - Head Over Heels (EB)

Day 14 - Charlatan (SD)

Day 15 - Sympathy For The Devil (RL)

Day 16 - Unexpected (SD)

[the-world-is-spinning-round]

Unexpected - Sebastian Danzig fan fiction (Spooktober Writing Challenge)

Violet slid out of the ballroom and out onto the terrace outside, needing a few minutes to herself.

She hadn’t wanted to come to the Kropp family’s ball, but they were some of the most eligible bachelors on the Western Coast, and as an unwed young woman, Violet’s mother insisted that she simply had to attend.

Why one of the Kropp brothers would want to marry her, Violet had no idea. Her family weren’t particularly rich, or very prestigious, at least compared to the families of some of the other women attending the ball. Fittingly, none of the brothers had paid her any attention all night, and by now Violet was tired, and ready to call it quits.

Her head was throbbing from the style her hair had been pulled into, her feet were aching from standing around at the edges of the party, and her ribs hurt from the tightness of her corset. She just wanted to go home, but the party wasn’t due to end for another two hours yet, and her mother would have a fit if Violet was seen to have left early. 

And so here she was: hiding on the terrace, soaking in the slight chill of the night air: a welcome relief after the hot, stuffy ballroom.

Violet knew she’d have to go back in there eventually, but she was determined to take a few seconds for herself before she did so.

“Is the party not to your liking, Miss Aldren?” asked a soft voice from behind her.

Violet turned to see the oldest Kropp brother, Sebastian, leaning against the wall beside the door Violet had just left through.

Despite the reaction Violet knew she should have to Sebastian, the handsome, young, unwed patriarch of the Kropp family, there was something about the man that she found…unsettling.

There was just something…off about him. Violet couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was just something about Sebastian, and his brothers, that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. They made her uncomfortable.

But she knew better than to be rude: “Oh, no, your party is truly lovely. I just needed a few moments’ fresh air.”

Sebastian regarded her for a few seconds, leaving Violet feeling like a specimen under a magnifying glass, before he nodded understandingly: “I often find myself with the same need. Would you mind if I joined you?”

“Of course not.” Violet forced herself to smile.

The truth was she very much did mind that Sebastian wanted to join her for her limited amount of time away from the party, but it would be extremely rude to say that, especially considering he was her host. Violet had no choice but to suck it up and deal with his presence, no matter how tense it made her.

As the moments wore on, though, Violet found the tension slowly leaving her shoulders.

For all there was something strange about Sebastian, he wasn’t as unsettling of a presence as Violet thought he might be. He didn’t try and speak to her at all, and although she could just about see him out of the corner of her eye, he wasn’t trying to get her attention at all. He wasn’t even looking at her at all: he was looking out over the manicured gardens, and Violet felt comfortable largely ignoring him to look up at the stars.

“Are you particularly interested in the stars?” Sebastian suddenly asked, making Violet jump a little from surprise.

“I confess, I’m not particularly knowledgeable.” she admitted: “I just think they’re very beautiful.”

Sebastian smiled: “You remind me of Emerson. He’s an artist - he always finds beauty in everything he looks at.”

Violet didn’t know if that was the same for her, but she smiled in return all the same: “There truly is beauty in everything.”

“I don’t know if I’m quite as adept at finding it.” Sebastian said wryly: “I tend to favour stories. Where you see beauty, I see the tales my parents used to tell me.”

“The stars have stories?”

“Not all of them. But some…” Sebastian looked upwards for a few moments, before stepping closer to Violet and gently - gently enough she could pull away if she wanted to - lifted her hand until she was pointing at a particular collection of stars: “...like those: Piscis Austrinus. In their story, the Greek goddess Aphrodite took the form of a fish to hide from the monster Typhon. She leapt into a river and begged the nymphs for help. Two fish saved her, and she later thanked them by transforming them into that constellation. Not a bad way to be immortalised.”

Violet hummed thoughtfully: “I’m not sure it would be my first choice of how to give thanks, making something immortal.”

“No?”

“I think it would be lonely.”

Sebastian looked at Violet for a few seconds, before shrugging: “I don’t think it would be too bad. You’d find people worth talking to, eventually. The same as if you’re not immortal.”

Violet turned her face away from the sky to look at Sebastian.

He was still looking upwards, but there was something unreadable on her face that made something in Violet’s heart clench. She couldn’t name the emotion; it wasn’t anything she’d seen before, but it was so lonely that it made her forget her manners, prompting her to reach out and rest her hand on his shoulder.

Sebastian turned to look at her as if he expected her to say something.

“I…thank you for sharing that story with me, Sebastian.”

He smiled faintly: “Thank you for listening. I think my brothers are utterly bored of me by now.”

Violet frowned: “I’m sure that’s not true! And even if it is…I’d happily listen to more of your stories.”

This time, Sebastian’s smile was much brighter: “Thank you, Miss Aldren. I…I would like to talk to you again some time, if that is agreeable to you.”

“I would very much like that.” Violet agreed. And she wasn’t lying, either.

She couldn’t say that she didn’t think there was something strange about Sebastian. But after speaking to him…she didn’t dislike him. And she wasn’t uncomfortable around anymore, either.

Truthfully, she was more uncomfortable when they parted ways and returned separately to the party - if anything, the thought of talking to Sebastian again was the only thing giving her enough energy to get through the rest of the night. It was entirely unexpected…but not unpleasant.

Not unpleasant at all.

[the-world-is-spinning-round]

✨ Sparks ✨

[the-world-is-spinning-round]

Sebastian on stage at Webster Hall, New York - 25/09/22