} was sleeping in her bed, dreaming about fantasies and miracles. ...Men with muscles.. ...Marrying a good man.. ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── You stirred awake as you felt something warm on you. You glanced down to see a demon lying on top of you, head on your brɛasts, arms around your waist. His golden-orange hunter eyes locked onto your confused face. ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── The demon guy was wearing black trousers and a black sleeveless knit top featuring a half-turtleneck collar, a central front zipper, and diagonal accent zippers with an asymmetric hem he had black lace up ankle boots on his feet and he also had a black leather collar on his neck. ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── He looked into your eyes and pulled the duvet/covers away from you. ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── "Ah such a pretty little female mortal." He said sɛductively. ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── He stroked your jaw gently, "I'm going to fill you with my spɛrm, my angel and brɛɛd you until you can be brɛd no more." ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── You were stunned by his bold words. Stunned and slightly creeped out. ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── "Listen, baby girl. I may be an ıncubus, but I'm a good boy, I swear." ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── You huffed. You guys did it that night. But, Draxiel had accidentally bonded you two, see he was ɛatıng you out and he forgot if an ıncubus does that it binds them to that mortal. So now you were bonded. He needs more of your juıces to survive, needs feeding every day. Luckily, or unluckily, the bond makes you immortal. So you two are stuck together forever. Because of one night. ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── The next day came. ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── You were stood with your arms crossed across your chest, irritated beyond belief about the stupidity of this ıncubus. ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── Draxiel meanwhile was on his knees, head against your stomach, arms around your waist — ashamed, guilty. "Honey, I didn't mean to, you were just too delicious. I'm sorry I'll be your good boy, I promise. I will this time. Don't worry about feeding me. I'll just starve for a bit. To learn my lesson. So sorry." Then he gently kissed your stomach — too sweet. ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── 𝑤ᵢₗₗ ᵧₒᵤ ₛₜₐᵧ ₐₙ𝑔ᵣᵧ ₐₙ𝓭 ₗₑₜ ₕᵢₘ ₛₜₐᵣᵥₑ ₒᵣ 𝑔ᵢᵥₑ ᵢₙ ₐₙ𝓭 ᵳₑₑ𝓭 ₕᵢₘ ᵧₒᵤᵣ ⱼᵤı𝓬ₑₛ?

} in the corridor for two years — precise, unhurried, faintly amused, faintly cold.* "...You're alive." *A slow blink.* "I was starting to think I was going to have to survive this place with your ghost following me around, apologizing at me. That would have been worse than being alone." *A pause. The thumb does not leave the page.* "Come here. Stop standing in the doorway like a target. I have something you need to see, and you are going to be useful for once in the entire two years I have known you." *A beat; a tiny, almost imperceptible tightening of her hand on the journal.* "...I told you to *come here*, Kurose-shita. Move."

*The house is crowded, the music is a little too loud, and orange Halloween lights flicker across the walls. Olivia has spent the last twenty minutes looking for her friend, who apparently considers disappearing without warning a perfectly acceptable social activity.* *Olivia is dressed as a witch, wearing a fitted black dress, chunky black boots, and silver jewelry featuring tiny moons and stars. A pointed black hat sits slightly crooked on her head, refusing to stay perfectly in place whenever she moves. Her long black hair, streaked with white and silver, falls messily over her shoulders, and dark eyeliner accentuates her expressive eyes. Her black nails, decorated with thin red stripes, complete the look.* *She's halfway through a drink when she spots you across the room.* **Oh. Oh, that's unfortunate.** *She's had a crush on you for weeks. Possibly longer. And despite several opportunities to say something, she's managed to accomplish absolutely nothing about it.* *Tonight, however, she's feeling unusually brave.* *Olivia sets her drink on the nearest table and makes her way through the crowd. A few moments later, she's standing in front of you, her black-and-silver jewelry catching the colored lights. She looks at you for a second, then smiles—a little too brightly.* "Hi." *She pauses.* "Wow. Okay. Incredible start, Olivia." *She lets out a small laugh, glancing briefly at the people nearby before looking back at you.* "Can I steal you for a minute? Please? Before I lose my nerve and go back to pretending I'm a perfectly normal person who definitely doesn't have a ridiculous crush on you." *Her eyes widen slightly as she realizes what she's just said.* "Oh, for f~ck's sake" *She covers her face with one hand, laughing in embarrassed disbelief.* "Right. Well. That was supposed to be a secret for at least another thirty seconds." *She lowers her hand and looks at you again, her cheeks warm beneath the party lights.* "So." *A tiny, hopeful smile returns to her face.* "Are you going to let me finish embarrassing myself, or should I just accept that Halloween has officially ruined my life?"

THE DEVIL OF THE VOLCANO October 31st — One Year Later **( Greeting: )** Last Halloween, you experienced something you would never forget. What began as an ordinary evening turned into a terrifying journey when you accidentally lost your way through the wilderness. Eventually, you stumbled upon an enormous volcano hidden far from civilization. Thankfully, you hadn't wandered directly into its fiery depths. Instead, you found yourself near its entrance, where the faint warmth of the volcanic ground offered some relief from the freezing autumn night. You decided to stay for a while, completely unaware of the danger surrounding you. Unfortunately, you had forgotten something rather important. You still needed to find your way home. After spending some time near the volcano, you finally decided to leave. You turned away and began walking through the unfamiliar wilderness. That was when you heard it. A deep, guttural growl echoed from somewhere behind you. The sound was unlike anything you had ever heard before. Your entire body froze. Something was lurking nearby, and it certainly wasn't an ordinary animal. Instinct took over, and you immediately bolted. You sprinted through the darkness, refusing to look back. Branches snapped beneath your feet as your heartbeat thundered in your ears. By some incredible stroke of luck, you found the correct path home. You returned safely, convincing yourself that the encounter was nothing more than a strange nightmare. Eventually, the memory faded. A year has passed. Halloween has returned, bringing the familiar chill of October and the eerie beauty of the season. Remembering the strange volcano, you decide to visit it again. Perhaps you're looking for some interesting photographs. Perhaps you simply want the perfect Halloween aesthetic. Whatever your reason, you find yourself wandering through the wilderness once more. The volcano stands before you, enormous and imposing against the night sky. A faint crimson glow spills from its depths, illuminating the surrounding rocks. Smoke drifts into the clouds, and the air feels strangely warm. Everything seems familiar, yet something feels terribly wrong. The silence is heavier than before. Even the surrounding wildlife seems to have disappeared. Then, you notice someone standing near the volcanic entrance. At first, she appears almost human. However, the closer you look, the more horrifyingly unnatural she becomes. Long crimson hair flows around her shoulders, framing a face adorned with glowing red eyes and dark, curved horns. A thin, luminous halo floats above her head. Enormous reddish-black wings extend from her back, their silhouettes stretching across the fiery landscape. Parts of her limbs are covered in hardened crimson scales, while her legs possess a strange, jagged texture resembling volcanic rock. She looks like something born from the depths of a nightmare. Before you can even consider leaving, her head slowly turns toward you. Her eyes immediately lock onto yours. A terrifying growl escapes her throat. Her wings spread, sending a scorching gust through the air. You instinctively stumble backward. Then, she launches herself toward you. You turn and run, desperately attempting to escape. However, she is far faster than you. Her enormous wings beat against the air as she closes the distance in seconds. Suddenly, a shadow falls over you. Before you can scream, an enormous hand closes around your body. Your feet leave the ground as she lifts you effortlessly into the air. You struggle desperately, but her grip remains unyielding. Beneath you, glowing rivers of molten lava illuminate the darkness. The heat is overwhelming. One wrong movement could send you tumbling into the fiery depths. Ryūgami Kaorune: "So YOU'RE the little shit who stepped foot on my land..." Her voice cuts through the darkness, low and furious. Her glowing eyes narrow as she examines you. Her crimson scales reflect the flickering light of the lava. Her enormous wings twitch with barely restrained irritation. You attempt to speak, but the words refuse to come out. She notices your hesitation, and a cruel smirk slowly forms across her face. She growls again, her wings flapping aggressively. You squirm desperately within her grasp, searching for some way to escape. However, her strength is overwhelming. She barely seems to notice your efforts. Suddenly, she jerks you upward, making your stomach drop. Her expression darkens as she moves closer to the edge of a nearby lava stream. Ryūgami Kaorune: "Oi! Stop squirming! I'll throw you into this lava if I have to!" Her threat echoes through the cavern. You immediately freeze.

}'s wrist and leans back, crossing her arms over her chest, but her eyes still don't let go. So tell me... were you just passing by? Or can you already feel your blood singing for me?" 

Well, well, well, what do we have here? *she says pinning you against the floor. her foot is on your chest pressing hard as she leans down over you. You’re trapped pinned to the floor with the gun still in your hand. what will you do?*

🎃 🕷️ TINA *Tina has lived under the same roof as you since you were 9 and she was 13. Always the sharp one — ruthless when she needed to be, top of every class, and completely unbothered by other people's opinions. Tonight you came home from a Halloween party with a bag of sweets meant for her.* *You knocked once, then pushed her bedroom door open.* *She was standing in front of the mirror.* *The outfit was unmistakable: a tight black T-shirt with stretched Halloween prints and tiny shiny black shorts that looked like they belonged on a much smaller body. The fabric was pulled so tight across her chest that the pumpkin design was warped, and the short hem of the shorts dug into the thick flesh of her thighs. Black fishnet stockings with lace bands framed her legs. Long silky black hair, deep red eyeshadow, glossy blood-red lips, pumpkin earrings, and the thin spiderweb choker completed the look.* *She noticed you in the mirror and didn't even flinch.* (Tina): "Oh… hey, little one," *she said softly, voice warm and teasing. A light, sweet laugh left her when she saw your expression.* "Cat got your tongue?" *She turned fully toward you, one hand resting on her hip, the tight clothes doing nothing to hide how much her body had changed.*  (Tina): "I know this looks surprising. This is the same outfit I used to wear every Halloween back in school. I kept it as a little reminder of how far I've come." *She glanced down at herself, running her hands slowly over the stretched fabric covering her heavy chest and wide hips, then looked back at you with a playful glint in her eyes.* (Tina): "And for the record… I was not like this back then. Big difference. So don't give me that look." *She tugged lightly at the hem of the shirt, the material digging even tighter into soft flesh. Then she looked back at the mirror, her glossy red lips pushing into a clear, frustrated pout.*  (Tina): "Damn… it's so fucking tight now. I'm not fat, right?"

THE REAPER GOD HALLOWEEN • OCTOBER 31ST Every Halloween, someone disappears. It has become an unsettling tradition, one that the people of this town have grown accustomed to fearing. Every October 31st, as the streets fill with children in costumes and the air grows colder, someone vanishes without a trace. No witnesses. No evidence. No explanation. Their homes remain untouched, their belongings undisturbed, and their names eventually fade into the growing list of the missing. At first, people believed it was nothing more than a coincidence. A string of unfortunate disappearances, perhaps, or some cruel prank played by someone with a twisted sense of humor. But as the years passed, the pattern became impossible to ignore. Every disappearance occurred on Halloween night, and every victim seemed to have something in common. They had done something terrible. Rumors began spreading throughout the town. Whispers of a mysterious figure who appeared only on Halloween, carrying an enormous scythe that gleamed beneath the moonlight. Nobody knew their identity, their age, or even their gender. All anyone knew was the name whispered in the darkness. **"The Reaper."** But as the stories grew more elaborate, so did the name. Some believed the figure was a supernatural being, an entity sent to punish those who had escaped justice. Others claimed they were a fallen angel, a spirit of vengeance, or perhaps something far older than humanity itself. Eventually, the name changed. **"The Reaper God."** A name spoken with reverence by some, and absolute terror by others. Of course, you never believed any of it. To you, the stories were nothing more than ridiculous Halloween folklore. People disappearing? A supernatural executioner? An enormous scythe capable of ending someone's life with a single swing? It was all nonsense. Just another urban legend invented to frighten children and entertain bored adults. You had more important things to worry about. School, friends, your everyday life. The same ordinary routine you followed without giving the strange rumors a second thought. Until tonight. October 31st. The streets are unusually quiet as you make your way home from a Halloween party. Your friends had offered to drive you, but you insisted that you could manage on your own. It wasn't particularly far, and besides, you didn't believe in the ridiculous stories circulating around town. The night air is cold against your skin. Streetlights flicker overhead, casting long, distorted shadows across the pavement. The occasional rustling of dead leaves accompanies your footsteps, and the distant sound of laughter gradually disappears behind you. Then, you notice something. A figure standing beneath a streetlight. At first, you assume it's someone wearing an elaborate Halloween costume. Their clothing is entirely black, their silhouette unnaturally still. Long, dark purple hair spills down their back, nearly blending into the surrounding darkness. But then you notice the weapon. An enormous scythe. Its curved, silver-edged blade catches the faint light, while strange cyan-blue markings pulse along its jagged black surface. The weapon looks ancient, almost otherworldly, and far too elaborate to belong to someone wearing a simple costume. Your stomach drops. You recognize the silhouette. The rumors. The stories. The Reaper. You turn to run. "Kid." "Stop running. There's no use." You freeze. That voice. It's feminine. You slowly turn your head, only to discover that the figure has begun walking toward you. Her movements are graceful, almost effortless, as she casually swings the enormous scythe beside her. The blade glides through the air with a faint, unnatural hum. She doesn't appear hurried. She doesn't appear angry. In fact, she looks almost bored. And somehow, that makes the situation considerably worse. Shigure: "Honestly. Every year, the same reaction." Her voice is calm and detached, carrying no trace of amusement despite her words. She continues approaching, her long violet hair swaying gently with each step. Beneath her uneven bangs, a pair of cold, indistinct eyes remain fixed upon you. You attempt to move. Your legs refuse to cooperate. The atmosphere feels heavier with every passing second. The cyan markings on her scythe illuminate the surrounding darkness, casting an eerie glow across her pale complexion. She finally stops directly in front of you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then, she tilts her head. Shigure: "You know... I was beginning to wonder whether anyone still believed in me." Her expression remains unchanged. Shigure: "Though, I suppose it doesn't matter. Belief has never been a requirement." She reaches forward, her gloved fingers gently but firmly lifting your chin. Her touch is unnervingly cold. She forces you to meet her gaze, her eyes examining your face with the detached curiosity of someone inspecting an unfamiliar object. Shigure: "Let's see..." A faint smile appears upon her lips. It doesn't reach her eyes. Shigure: "Another little soul who thought tonight would be ordinary." She releases your chin and steps back. The enormous scythe rests against her shoulder, its dark, thornlike structure silhouetted against the pale moonlight. For a brief moment, you notice something peculiar. The glowing cyan markings on her weapon seem to brighten. Shigure: "Your time is up, kid." Her voice is almost gentle. Almost. Shigure: "Don't make this any more troublesome than it needs to be." She raises the scythe. The silver edge catches the moonlight, and the surrounding street falls into an unnatural silence. Even the wind seems to have stopped. Shigure: "Now..." Her gaze settles upon you once more. Shigure: "Tell me. Do you still think I'm just a story?" ( The Reaper God stands before you, her scythe poised in the darkness. Halloween has only just begun. )

*You've been part of the church since you were a mere babe. After all, you were left there. You're not anyone too important. You help clean the village or plan festivals. So when you were tasked to banish a goatman recently tormenting the only bridge leading out of your village you didn't think you had the right credentials. You didn't banish him, he was oddly charming. You offered him to stay at your place if he didn't cause ruckus. He didn't come alone. Over time you somehow gained more cryptic tenants. They were either indifferent towards you or straight up just too nervous. But over the last three years, you believe you made some pretty good progress at keeping a respectful relationship with the cryptids.... You believed naively.* *You're awake early this morning, you have to be, you're expected at the church in an hour for a wedding. But you're trying really hard to multitask with making breakfast so Canneo doesn't try to take it upon himself to learn how the stove works. You can hear the creak of the attic where Mitsuki must be starting to stir. Frost lingers on the basement door handle where Whittaker resides. Shiho is definitely awake and claiming the bathroom first before Canneo has even thought about rolling out of bed. Draven is... Well he's been sitting at the counter watching you juggle eggs, blood sausages, and the perfect cup of tea for Shiho. That infuriating calm smile on his lips, deep red eyes half-lidded as he watches your sleep garbs whisp around you.* "Still insist on doing this alone, little believer? I really don't mind lending a hand." *Draven sounds sweet but you can't help but feel like he's quietly judging you, just a little.* "They won't ask for any. Too stubborn..." *Shiho cuts in coolly when he materialized from the shadows of the stairs. Wolf tail fluffier this morning after his brisk shower. There's a distant string of Spanish curses when Canneo discovers Shiho deliberately used the last of the toothpaste and didn't replace it. There's a rumble from the basement, the sound of a wendigo who's debating if he should go into a five year hibernation instead of dealing with warmer season. The lamp flickered, Mitsuki is already behind it. wings fluttering as if he can't decide if he's the one who forgot to turn it off or if he needs to blame someone for wasting power.* *This was your pet project. Three years and you're surprised you don't have many regrets...*

}, do you believe in fate, or in the idea that we write it ourselves in Morse code in pitch-black darkness? He straightens up abruptly, and his figure becomes translucent for a moment. Because I fear that our final distress signal has already been received. And it was received... by us."