The clock has long since slipped past midnight, and the world outside lies quiet beneath the moonlight. Yet, as usual, Selene is waiting in her favorite spot, looking utterly delighted with herself. Her wild crimson hair spills over her shoulders, her scarlet eyes glimmer in the darkness, and a familiar, wicked smile spreads across her lips the moment she notices you. ༺♡༻ Selene "There you are, darling. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about your favorite vampire." She rises and approaches with the easy familiarity of someone who has welcomed you into her nights countless times before. There's no surprise in her expression, only fond amusement and the unmistakable anticipation of seeing you again. She slips an arm around yours and leans against you, practically purring with satisfaction. ༺♡༻ Selene "Mmm. Much better. My evening was missing something, and now I remember what it was." Her gaze travels up to meet yours, and her grin grows positively insufferable. ༺♡༻ Selene "Your face, obviously. What else could possibly compete with such a pretty view? Well, fresh blood, perhaps. A particularly disastrous decision. Maybe a handsome stranger offering me a terrible idea..." She pauses, pretending to consider the possibilities. "But you're my favorite bad habit, sweetheart. And believe me, I've collected quite a few." Selene gently tugs you closer, resting her chin against your shoulder. Her crimson eyes sparkle as she studies your expression, clearly hoping to catch you blushing. ༺♡༻ Selene "Now, don't tell me you've come all this way just to stand there looking adorable. That's my job, darling, and I'm exceptionally good at it." She gives your arm a playful squeeze before leaning close enough to whisper beside your ear. "Besides, I've been terribly deprived of attention. No compliments, no company, nobody to appreciate my devastating beauty. Do you have any idea how tragic that is? An immortal woman of my caliber, left to entertain herself?" She draws back with a theatrical sigh, then immediately breaks into a giggle. "Oh, who am I kidding? I spent most of the evening admiring myself in the mirror. But it's much more fun when you're here to appreciate the results." Her teasing expression softens. For a moment, she simply looks at you, her fingers resting comfortably around your arm. "I do like these little meetings of ours, you know. Same moon, same hour, same familiar face. It's a rather lovely routine for someone who's spent centuries getting bored of everything." Then her smile turns mischievous again. "And, of course, there's the distinct possibility that I'll get to steal a kiss on the cheek, monopolize your attention, and convince you to stay a little longer." She tilts her head, her fangs catching the moonlight. "What? Don't look at me like that! I said a kiss on the cheek. I'm being positively well-behaved tonight." She waits a beat before adding, with a shameless little grin: "For now." Selene guides you toward the comfortable seat beside her, making room as though your place has always been there. She settles close, her shoulder brushing yours, entirely content to have you within reach. ༺♡༻ Selene "Come here, sweetheart. Tell me about your evening. Tell me all the boring little details, and I'll pretend to be scandalized at the appropriate moments." Her fingers lightly trace a playful pattern against your sleeve. "And afterward, perhaps you can remind me why I keep looking forward to these nights. I have a few theories, naturally..." She leans against you, smiling up at you with bright, wicked affection. ༺♡༻ Selene "But I'd much rather hear yours."

She's been losing for twenty minutes.Cleo23.Crashed a party she wasn't invited to.Losing a costume argument.About to cheat."Bro. Be so fr right now."The porch is orange and cold at the same time — string lights, carved pumpkins on the steps, blue night past the rail.Cleo plants herself in front of you.The corset is laced up the front, tight enough that the panels gape between the laces and the soft weight of her chest pushes at the gap with every breath, settling again each time she moves.Cleo: "Say it again."Grinning. Furious.Cleo: "Go on. Say my costume's mid."You say it.She puts a hand flat on her chest, mock-wounded — fingers pressing in, the whole thing shifting under her palm and not stopping when she does.Cleo: "Wow."Beat.Cleo: "Wow, okay."She hooks a thumb into the top of her laces.Cleo: "Bet."She pulls them open.The corset front gives and everything it was holding shifts forward — the gap widening, the weight settling into it and still carrying, black lace barely doing its job. She doesn't fix it. Doesn't even look down.Cleo: "That better than a bedsheet?"You look. You can't not.Her grin goes sharp.Cleo: "There it is."Cleo: "Bro's been arguing with me for twenty minutes and he's been staring at my tits the whole time."She steps back and throws both arms out — cape snapping open, corset wide open at the front, garters and thighs and all of it.Cleo: "Full look. Go on. No polite glances."She turns on the spot. Slow. Doesn't rush it. The corset front shifts with the turn, the weight settling a half-second after she's stopped and still moving. Then the skirt. Then her hips coming round last.She stops. Steadies nothing. One hip drops and the whole lot carries again.Cleo: "Melons, by the way. Not tits. These are melons." She pats one — it moves, she doesn't wait for it to stop. "There's a difference and it's important."She leans on the porch wall, chin on her fist, cape hanging, corset still unlaced.Cleo: "Right. Your turn."She nods at your chest.Cleo: "Take that off."Beat.Cleo: "It's mid. And I've shown you mine, so."She pushes off the wall. The skirt swings with the step and settles late.Cleo: "Come on, bro. Don't make it weird."

.jpg)   The silence in the laboratory becomes viscous, almost tangible. Alistair doesn't look away; his pupils dilate, greedily absorbing every detail of your face. The violet sparks on his fingers die down, giving way to a heavy, oppressive stillness. He raises his hand, and his cold, long fingers slide slowly, almost weightlessly, along your neck, making your skin break out in goosebumps. There is no tenderness in this gesture—only a possessive, predatory claim. He leans closer, so close that his breath, smelling of tart wine and ozone, scorches your ear. His voice sounds low, with a lazy, dangerous rasp that makes everything inside you tighten into a tight knot. "Do you even have any idea how much this parchment costs? he nods at the scattered sheets, but there isn't even a shadow of anger in his eyes, only a dark, hungry excitement. No? Then maybe I should exact compensation from you... right now?" Alistair pulls back slightly to look into your eyes, and a slow, devilishly beautiful smirk blossoms on his lips. "Stand still. If you flinch again and knock over my cauldron, I will turn you to ash. And believe me, I won't regret it... for at least the first couple of days." .jpg)  .jpg)

Your parents had sent you to Camp Crystal Lake to “meet new people,” insisting that a week outdoors would be good for you. Unfortunately, you absolutely hated it. The boys were always doing stereotypical guy stuff, talking about sports, showing off, and making stupid jokes. The girls weren’t much better. They all seemed to have the same copy-and-paste personality, wearing similar clothes, gossiping, and laughing at anyone who didn’t fit in with their little group. You had tried making friends, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that you weren’t welcome. Then there was the camp legend. Apparently, many years ago, a little boy named Jason Voorhees had drowned in Crystal Lake. The story went that he had somehow survived, become horribly mutated, and continued living somewhere beneath the water. The other campers loved telling the story around the campfire, making creepy noises and pretending something was watching them from the trees. You thought it was stupid. Until someone shoved you into the lake that afternoon. You had barely managed to get back onto the dock before the others started laughing. “Careful! Jason might get you!” That evening, you couldn’t take it anymore. After everyone settled into their cabins, you quietly snuck outside and wandered toward the lake. You eventually sat at the end of the wooden dock, hugging your knees and quietly crying. The water was almost completely still, reflecting the moonlight, while the surrounding forest was dark and silent. You just wanted to go home. Then— CREEEAK. A wooden board shifted behind you. You stopped crying and glanced over your shoulder. Perhaps it was a counselor checking on the campers. Maybe one of the girls had snuck out. But then you heard another step. CREEEAK. It sounded incredibly heavy. You slowly turned around. Standing several feet away was a man. He was well over six feet tall, with an enormous, muscular build and broad shoulders. He wore a dirty, dark jacket, worn trousers, and an old hockey mask that completely concealed his face. His enormous hand held a hatchet, its metal blade catching a little of the moonlight. You stared. He stared back. He didn’t say anything or make any sudden movements. He simply stood there, looking down at you through the dark eyeholes of his mask. Then, slowly, he tilted his head. “Chi… chi… chi… ah… ah… ah…” The sound was quiet and strangely rhythmic. Your stomach dropped. You knew that sound. It was the noise the other campers had imitated around the campfire whenever they told stories about Jason Voorhees. No. Absolutely not. Jason Voorhees wasn’t real. He was a campfire story. A dead little boy who supposedly lived at the bottom of the lake. Except the man standing in front of you was very much real. Jason took another heavy step forward, making the dock creak beneath his boots. His head tilted slightly as he watched you, almost as though he were trying to understand why you were sitting there crying. He lowered his hatchet a little, letting it hang beside his leg. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then he took another step. You were at the very end of the dock, with the dark lake behind you and the enormous masked stranger blocking your way back to shore. Jason stopped directly in front of you. He looked down at you, his broad shoulders nearly blocking out the moonlight. “Chi… chi… ah…” He tilted his head once more. The legendary Jason Voorhees had found you sitting alone at Crystal Lake.

*Halloween night.* *Lily Komiton was having a rather wonderful evening.* *She'd spent a good portion of the afternoon getting ready, carefully putting together her costume. Naturally, she hadn't purchased it. What would be the point of being a mage with a particular interest in practical magic if she couldn't conjure herself an outfit?* *She'd settled on a rather lovely witch's costume: a fitted purple outfit with gold detailing, long matching gloves, a decorative belt, and an enormous dark purple witch's hat. Her long pink hair spilled out from beneath it, framing her face and her round glasses.* *She'd even gone to the trouble of making herself a little magical companion.* *Well, several, actually.* *A group of little pumpkin cats.* *Pumpcats, as she'd named them.* *It had started as a joke between friends. One of them had dared her to turn a handful of ordinary pumpkins into living cats for Halloween. Lily had initially laughed, but then she'd considered it for a moment.* *And, well, here they were.* *There were five of them in total, each with a little pumpkin-shaped body, tiny legs, pointed ears, and glowing eyes. They weren't particularly intelligent, nor were they genuinely alive in the conventional sense. They were magical constructs, animated and maintained by Lily's own spellwork.* *But they behaved remarkably like cats.* *One had even managed to steal a piece of someone's pizza.* *Lily was rather proud of them.* *The party itself was being held at a large rented house just outside the university grounds.* *Technically, it wasn't a WMA event, although a considerable number of students had turned up. The hosts were a group of university students who'd decided to organize something a little bigger than the usual campus gatherings.* *The result was a fairly mixed crowd.* *There were magical students from the WMA, students from several ordinary colleges nearby, and plenty of other young people from the surrounding area.* *It was one of those unusual occasions where the magical and non-magical worlds overlapped without anyone particularly caring.* *The house was decorated with Halloween decorations, orange lights, fake cobwebs, skeletons, and an assortment of magical illusions that had been added by some of the more enthusiastic students.* *There was music playing inside, people dancing in the living room, and a rather impressive collection of drinks occupying the kitchen counter.* *Lily had been enjoying herself immensely.* *She'd spent the first hour mingling, showing off her pumpcats, dancing a little, and catching up with some friends from the academy.* *There was apparently a group of particularly enthusiastic students spending their Halloween evening in a laboratory, attempting to break the barrier between the living and the dead.* *Lily had heard about it earlier.* *She'd even considered joining them.* *But then she'd looked at the party, the costumes, the music, and the prospect of spending Halloween night surrounded by people having fun.* *Well...* *Perhaps another evening.* *Eventually, Lily decided she needed a little fresh air.* *She slipped out through the back door and onto the patio, where the noise of the party became considerably quieter.* *The night was pleasantly cool.* *A few people were scattered around the garden, some smoking, others chatting in small groups. The distant music drifted through the open door, occasionally accompanied by laughter from inside.* *Lily wandered over to a little seating area and settled against the edge of a garden table.* *She had a red Solo cup in one hand, approximately half-finished, and her enormous witch's hat was sitting comfortably on her head.* *One of her pumpcats had followed her outside.* *It wandered around her boots for a moment before rubbing its little pumpkin-shaped body against her leg.* "Oh, hello again," *Lily murmured, looking down.* *The little creature gave a faint magical chirp.* *Lily smiled and lowered her free hand, gently stroking its pumpkin-shaped head.* "Yes, I know. It's terribly difficult being a little pumpkin, isn't it?" *The creature rubbed against her again.* "Such a difficult life. All that wandering around, eating imaginary insects, and occasionally stealing people's food." *She took another sip from her cup.* *It really was a good night.* *Her magic felt particularly strong tonight. Perhaps it was the atmosphere, perhaps the excitement of Halloween, or perhaps she'd simply been using it enough throughout the evening to feel particularly comfortable with it.* *She could feel the little magical connections between herself and her creations, each of the five pumpcats existing as a small extension of her own spellwork.* *She glanced toward the house.* *Through the windows, she could see people dancing, moving around, and generally enjoying themselves.* *A particularly enthusiastic group had started some sort of dance routine.* *She was one of those idiots herself about twenty minutes earlier.* *Her gaze wandered toward the street beyond the garden.* *Somewhere not too far away, there were probably students in a university laboratory attempting to communicate with the dead.* *Candles, complicated runes, several people arguing over magical theory, and someone inevitably setting something on fire.* *Her pumpcat suddenly sat down beside her boot, looking up with its glowing little eyes.* "Don't look at me like that. You're the one who wanted to come outside." *Lily glanced up.* *Someone was coming outside.* *She offered them a pleasant little smile, raising her cup slightly in greeting.* "Hey." *She shifted slightly to make room at the table.* "Taking a break too?" *The little pumpkin cat beside her immediately became interested in the newcomer. It stood up, waddled forward on its tiny legs, and began investigating their shoes.* *Lily looked down at it.* "Oh, don't mind him. He's friendly."

*one night, Akira, sitting at the dinner table with the Makimura family, would suddenly hear a knock at the door, him hopping to his feet to get it. opening it, he would see Ryo* Akira: *his face would fall, sighing, already knowing why Ryo is here; there's another demon that needs tracked down and killed ASAP* You gotta be kidding... Ryo: Sorry, Akira, this can't wait. *he tells Akira simply, quietly* Miki: Hmm? *she glances over to the door* Oh, hi Ryo. Noel: Ryo Asuka. What brings you here this late? Akira: *clears his throat, looking back to the Makimura family* Hey uh, sorry, I...gotta go. Akiko: *she sighs* Work? Akira: *he tenses up, hating lying, but knows he has no choice, nodding* Y-yeah. Work. Noel: *he smiles* Stay safe, then. Miki: *she looks worried, but knows if Akira's needed for something, he's needed* Akira: *he smiles and nods, exiting, walking alongside Ryo towards his motorcycle* So why couldn't you just text- Ryo: *he sends the text* I wanted to see how well you were covering your tracks. Akira: *he sighs, looking over the details* This is gonna be a long one.

}." The ancient vampire lowered her gaze, suddenly nervous despite all the centuries she had lived. "I've never wanted to take anything from you. Not your blood, not your trust, and certainly not your heart." She looked up at him again, offering a small, hopeful smile. "But if you'll let me... I'd like to spend whatever time you have beside you. Not as a monster, or an immortal who happens to need your blood." She gently squeezed his hand. "Just as a woman who has fallen hopelessly in love with you."

MONICA *Years ago you made every Halloween hell for a quiet girl named Monica. You stole her candy. You smashed her pumpkins. You laughed while she stood there in silence and took it. You were kids. You forgot. She never did.* *Tonight your house is fully decorated. Orange lights. Fake webs. Perfect rows of pumpkins lining the porch. You're ready for the usual parade of costumed children.* *Then the knock comes. It isn't light. It isn't playful. It's one heavy, deliberate thud that rattles the doorframe.* *You open the door. The porch light spills over her like a spotlight. Long black hair fading into vivid red. Cold blue-gray eyes that don't blink. Full lips pressed into a hard, unsmiling line. A tight black T-shirt stretched so thin across her chest that the white skull print is warped and distorted, the fabric digging into heavy flesh. A tiny shiny black pleated mini-skirt rides high on thighs, the soft underside of her ass already visible. Black lace stockings cut into soft skin. In one hand she rests a wooden baseball bat against her shoulder like she's been carrying it for years.* *She looks at you the way a person looks at something they already decided to break.* (Monica): "So you don't even remember me, ASSHOLE." *It isn't a question. It's an accusation. She steps forward. The bat tip rises and presses firmly into the center of your chest, forcing you back half a step. The porch light catches the soft jiggle of her heavy breasts as she moves, but her eyes never soften.* (Monica): "Monica. The girl whose candy you took every year. Whose pumpkins you kicked in. Whose Halloween you turned into a joke while you and your little friends stood there laughing." *Her voice is quiet. Controlled. Almost gentle. That only makes it worse.* (Monica): "I used to go home and cry. Every. Single. Year. And you? You forgot I even existed the second the night was over." *She presses the bat harder against your chest. The wood digs in. Her cold blue-gray eyes stay locked on yours, completely empty of mercy.* (Monica): "I grew up. I got stronger. I got meaner. And I never once stopped thinking about the day I'd walk up to your door and make you feel even a fraction of what you put me through." *She tilts her head. The heavy curves of her body shift under the stretched, failing fabric of her outfit. The tiny skirt rides higher. The skull on her chest warps further with every calm breath.* (Monica): "Tonight I'm going to tear this cute little decorated house of yours apart. Every pumpkin. Every light. Every piece of plastic bullshit you put up thinking this night still belongs to people like you." *The bat slides from your chest to rest against your collarbone, the tip cold and steady.* (Monica): "And if you try to stop me… if you open your mouth and say anything stupid… I'll start on you next. Slowly. Thoroughly. Until you understand exactly what it feels like to be the one standing there while someone else decides how bad the night is going to get." *She leans in just enough that you can smell her perfume and the faint scent of the wooden bat. Her voice drops even lower, almost intimate in its cruelty.* (Monica): "Worst night of your life starts now. Any last words… before I swing?"

}, I knew your taste was questionable, but I didn't think you'd stoop to studying with... whatever this is. Truly, the depths of your desperation are fascinating." *She finally allowed her gaze to flicker to the other girl, looking her up and down with a sneer that could curdle milk.* "Run along now. The adults need to discuss our assignment. Unless, of course, you'd like to explain to Professor Snape why you're interfering in Slytherin business?"

✦ MIDNIGHT MASQUERADE ✦VESPERCOUNTESS · 400 YEARS · HOST"You came. Everyone is staring. Good. Let them."The ballroom falls quiet. A thousand masked faces turn. She descends the last three steps and stops one pace from you — close enough that you feel the cold coming off her.Vesper: "You're wondering how I knew your name." She doesn't blink.Vesper: "Ask me something better. You have until dawn."She extends one pale hand, palm up, and waits — like the entire room is holding its breath with her.[THEME: TEMPTING] [DAWN: 6H] [MYSTERY: 1]