gravediirtâ:
âmidnightâs not usually a prime time for mourners. vandals, on the other handâŠâ his tone wasnât accusatory but he let it hang in the air. isaac wasnât buying the tears and sniffles. ârules are rules. i donât make âem, iâm just paid to keep âem.â heâs paid to dig graves and clean graffiti, actually, but this too.Â
"Vandals? Good thing there arenât any around here, then.â Spike nodded with a smirk. âIf I see your employer, Iâll be sure to share what a thorough job youâre doing with your midnight patrol, and all that. But seeing as Iâm not causing any trouble-- canât see what itâd hurt if you kept on your way and let me keep on mine.âÂ
6 notes
·
View notes
Of course thereâd be a crowd of mourners in his way as he was leaving the crypt heâd recently claimed. Heâd gotten a job earlier at the mechanic shop in town, worked the earlier morning shift, then headed back to the graveyard to waste time for the rest of the day, intending to offset his productivity with appropriate laziness. Now that the sun was setting, though, he was ready to see what else in town he hadnât explored yet-- and it would have been an absolutely lovely walk through the graveyard if it werenât for the funeral in his path. All crying, and whispering, and carrying on. And blocking the sidewalk.Â
So he takes the long way about, carelessly cutting through the gravestones and the grass, and still finding people in his way once he gets closer to the exit. A slow-moving procession, it seems. He's in the middle of giving one young teary-eyed girl a dirty glance so sheâll get the hint and move out of his way when a voice stops him in his tracks. He turns around to see a man sitting atop the trunk of his very impressive-looking old car. Heckled about his fashion sense in a graveyard, thatâs a new one. âWhatâs it to you?âÂ
And Billy Idolâs look? It was Spikeâs look first. He casually swerves from his intended direction and headed over towards the car to set the record straight. âI donât sing. If it did-- A, itâd put Billy Idol to shame, and B, feel like them over there wouldnât appreciate the mid-service entertainment.â He jerks his thumb towards the procession. Though it would make the funeral more memorable.
meme starter prompt: âȘ a church right after a funeral, a small handful of people dressed in black hanging their heads in silence
[ @willivmthebloody ]
Itâs not like Dean makes a habit of hanging out at funerals.
Heâs been to a few: hunter style, the pyre and the drinking and the rowdiness. Heâs even been to a few proper funerals, but only in the investigative sense, never because he knew the deceased â except for one, twenty-two years ago.
Maybe thatâs why heâs hanging out on the edge of the graveyard. His dead mom is not only alive, but also here, and a slayer (surprise!) which he guesses makes him the son of a slayer (double surprise!), and here Dean is: sitting on the trunk of the Impala in the early evening, watching a small crowd filter out of a tiny church, following the coffin to the adjoined graveyard. Itâs overcast even as the sun is setting, the coffinâs adorned in flowers, and at a distance, he can just make out tearful voices.
Itâs freaking depressing, thatâs what it is.
And this guy, whoâs walking past? Dude might be dressed in all black but he sure as hell ainât funeral appropriate.
âWow. Billy Idol called, and he wants his entire look back,â Dean cracks. âI mean, itâs hot, not gonna lie, but Iâm kinda expecting you to break out into White Wedding any second now.â
3 notes
·
View notes
chcosâ:
continuing to hum the song, drusilla plucked herself up, rising to her feet before sauntering into the next room. her feet landed on cracked tiles, her shoes had been discarded long before she broke in here. there was always a need for her to be connected to the earth in some way or another, generally a bare foot did the job well. long black fingernails travelled across the back of his shoulders in a tap along with the melody she hummed before her arms lazily draped over his shoulder. âmy mum used to sing it to me when i was a child. beautiful, isnât it?â her lips brushed against his cheek as she took a seat next to him, fingers gliding over the keys of the piano but not touching them. âI missed you at the partyââ she began, eyes running over his features before a small smile crept onto her scarlet lips. âDo you ever think about what it would have been like if you and I had met without me beingâme?â
Drusillaâs continued humming heralded her entrance into the pianoâs room. Spike resisted the urge to sigh as he spared a glance at her bare feet, which were bound to get sliced open on a rusted nail or shard of glass in a dilapidated place like this. He didnât fuss about it aloud, though-- he knew by now that nothing he said would change her mind, anyway. âItâs not bad,â he agreed as she settled down next to him. âMissed you, too. Hope you didnât have too much fun without me.â Stretching his fingers back out over the keys again, he slowly continued her song as she spoke, underscoring her words. âWithout you being you...â He supposed she meant if sheâd been human when they met, maybe. Or if sheâd not been the special way that she was. But the way they had met, and everything that followed-- he would never have wanted to change it. Spike shrugged before examining her face curiously. âNever gave it much thought, no. Why?âÂ
2 notes
·
View notes
There was a hunter at one of the tables in the back of this Roadhouse place. They walked a certain way-- gave it away. That, and the weapons Spikeâd seen in the back of their car in the parking lot. Following them into the bar, heâd only meant to keep a curious eye on the hunter, but figured it was prime time for a drink, especially when he recognized one of the bartenders as having stopped at the mechanic shop earlier. Spike was finishing his second old fashioned, relatively unbothered, when someone leaned over and invaded his personal space. âWhat does it look like Iâm doing?â he asked, annoyed and leaning away from the intrusion. âDrinking. Not talking. Got it?â
Once again, Ash was drunk at Harvelleâs Roadhouse, sipping on a beer as the chatters of the people echoed around him. The thoughts swirling in his head over research sometimes made him think in different languages, and occasionally it echoed with his speak. Turning to the person next to him, he quickly cheered in Japanese before leaning closer. âWhatâchya doinâ?â He asked, Ashâs tinted glasses did not hide his glazed hues that clearly showed that he was tipsy.
1 note
·
View note
đč
letâs gooooo! answered here.
0 notes
@chosenslayer // atmospheric starter meme
Spike released his fangs from the neck of the man in front of him, letting the body hit the dirty floor with a thump. He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his jacket before nudging the manâs leg where he lay on the ground, but the man didnât move. He might wake up later-- or he might not. Wasnât Spikeâs problem. The shifty man had looked like heâd been trying to steal from this derelict house when Spike had wandered by-- really, the houseâs owners owed him thanks. Not that theyâd been here in a while, though, judging from the layers of dust on the bookshelves and the overturned furniture. This man hadnât been the first to ransack the place, and he probably wouldnât be the last.Â
Leaving the drained body where itâd collapsed, Spike began to make his way back towards the door before... pausing. Maybe it was the night wind blowing through the broken windowpanes, or maybe it was a shift in the uneven floorboards of the slowly-crumbling house-- but heâd heard what sounded like the tinkling of piano keys. He took a curious step towards the next room, speaking aloud in case anyone was there. âBit late for a house call.âÂ
0 notes
A dust-covered baby-grand piano sat untouched in the corner of the decrepit room. As Spike wandered over towards it, he could see that water dripping from the ceiling had rotted away part of the lid, but surely the hammers would still strike, if the strings hadnât wasted away. Leaning up against the front of the piano, he let his fingers settle across the rotting keys as he began to idly pluck out a one-handed melody. Two of the keys were silent, so he shifted over to a lower octave. Slightly better, though still sorely out of tune.Â
He wasnât surprised when he heard Drusilla speak up from the next room over. He had followed her here, after all. âYeah, itâs me,â he replied, continuing to pluck out the melody. Who else would it be? Best not to ask. When he abruptly pulled his fingers off of the keyboard, their sour notes continued to echo through the abandoned mansion. âWhatâs that song, anyway? Think I must have learned it from you...âÂ
@willivmthebloody // meme based starter
crumbling paint and distressed old furnishings decorated the abandoned mansion with an almost elegance. back in itâs day this place would have stood with pride amongst the trees and shrubbery that now were overtaking. Drusilla lay with her back to the old dining table, hair strewn in a mess about her, one hand grasping an old silver knife and another, delicately tracing the patterns on the dusty yet still fine tablecloth that lay under her form. she felt an almost calming sense in places of disrepair, something that spoke to her spirit within the walls of the crumbling beast which people once called home.Â
she was lost in her own thoughts about the people who lived here, what secrets they had, how many parties theyâd thrown and why theyâd left. why did people like the lockwoods get to keep their old houses when others didnât? the soft strokes of a baby grand sounded from the other room, dancing to her with nostalgia filled notes. she began humming along, a tune begging familiarity. ârun and catch⊠run and catch⊠the lamb is caught in the blackberry patch⊠Spike? is that you my love?â
2 notes
·
View notes
đA cemetery full of dead, dry flowers as if all of the plots have been forgotten, some of the stones cracked or sinking into the dirt
wahooo answered here.Â
0 notes
@delicacyies for darla // atmospheric starter meme
If they were going to be in this town for a while, he thought, he might as well scout out a halfway decent place to stay. Sure, he could check out the houses on the edge of town, or the apartments downtown, but there was something solidly reliable about a good old crypt that couldnât be beaten. He kicked over a crumbling headstone as he made his way towards what would be the back of one of the cemeteries in town. The front of the cemetery-- those marble gravestones were pristine and well-dusted, with mourning flowers still in bloom, carefully placed along the neatly-edged sidewalks.Â
But farther back here, the grass was overgrown, weeds towering over the stones. In the dim moonlight, he could see decaying flowers lying at head of only one of the graves. Spike reached down to touch them-- the brittle petals cracked under his fingertips. Standing back up and brushing his fingers off on his jeans, he glanced towards the nearest mausoleum, looming crookedly, as if it were sinking into the swamp-ish mud. âWell, this looks promising,â he mused aloud, turning towards the figure cloaked in the darkness nearby. He knew someone was there, though he wasnât sure who-- and it was about time to find out if they were friend or foe. âDonât you think?âÂ
0 notes
đ„ / from riley
yaaaaaaasssss answered here.Â
0 notes
@gravediirt for riley // atmospheric starter meme
Orange flames crackled in the distance, their smoke visible against the pitch black sky as it drifted up towards the sky through the hole in the forest clearing. As Spike circled closer, he could begin to make out darkened silhouettes moving in clusters around the bonfire, though they were too far away to tell who they were. A family? University students? Heâd have to get closer to be able to tell-- so he began to incrementally stalk closer.Â
A low level of chatter spread outwards from the fire pit and trickled through the trees surrounding it, interspersed here and there with a louder shout or the breaking of a thick, sooty log in the shifting fire. Suddenly, the much-closer snapping of twigs against the ground alerted him to someone elseâs approach. Spike slowly rotated towards the sound. âLooks like it could be a rip-roaring good time over there, eh?â he remarked off-handedly.Â
0 notes
Closet Monsters: Does your muse hide any aspects of their personality/life from others?
from the fear-based ask meme
Spike would literally rather be staked in the heart than have anyone find out he used to be a poet and that his family was very upper class, prim & proper Victorian. He keeps that human part of his past extremely tampered down (crossed out, erased, locked in a box and thrown in the sea). In terms of personality, heâs also a lot more sensitive to criticism or insult than he would have people believe. He takes everything so personally, itâs ridiculous-- but he always tries to portray himself as being nonchalant.Â
honesty hour, or whatever
0 notes
Spike watches from the shadow of a tree as a girl walks down the street, in the dark, alone. Or maybe sheâs a young woman, not a girl-- but her backpack makes her look younger than she might be. Either way, sheâs by herself, which makes her almost too easy a target. (Almost.) He steps out from underneath the branches and makes purposely audible footfall as he steps onto the sidewalk and strides slowly in her direction. âHey, you,â he calls out in a friendly tone. âAny chance youâve got a minute?âÂ
[ @willivmthebloody - spike ]
    she knows better than to walk home by herself; especially given all that has happened lately. and all that she knows. but her house is only a few blocks from the grill. and even more so, thereâs a strange sense of fearlessness that comes with being friends with a slayer. or, at least, a naive feeling of invincibility that will surely soon be proven wrong. her backpack hangs low, steps taken in a directionless amble. sure itâs dark - but no oneâs going to notice if sheâs back late. itâs unlikely theyâll even notice if she comes home at all.Â
2 notes
·
View notes
horrificmemesâ:
Send one (or a few) to my muse and theyâll answer:Â
Spiders: Does your muse squish bugs or put them outside?
The Dark: Did your muse sleep with a nightlight as a child?
Snakes: Would your muse ever keep an unusual/exotic pet?
Blood: Whatâs the worst injury your muse has ever had?
Clowns: Does your muse prefer comedy? Or horror?
Mirrors: What is your museâs least favorite thing about their appearance?
Tight Space: Does your muse ever feel that theyâre not living up to their own potential?
Closet Monsters: Does your muse hide any aspects of their personality/life from others?
Crowds: What does your muse think of big cities?
Death: Name one thing your muse has lost that they wish they could get back.
Ghosts: Has your muse ever seen something they couldnât explain?
Needles: Does your muse have a strong stomach?
Curses: Does your muse believe in good/bad luck? How about karma?
Heights: Is your muse a risk-taker?
Solitude: Name 3 things your muse couldnât live without.
Fire: Would your muse rather be very cold, or very hot?
Failure: Has your muse ever given up on an important dream?
Abandonment: How would your muse win back someone who left them?
The Unknown: Is your muse a philosophical person?
Boogeyman: What position does your muse sleep in?
Falling: What does your muse think about falling in love or commitment?Â
Change: What was a turning point in your museâs life?
Disease: What does your muse do on a sick day?
Number 13: Does your muse believe any superstitions?Â
Noise: Name one sound your muse finds absolutely unbearable.
Insects: Name something your muse finds gross or annoying.Â
Dolls: Has your muse ever collected something?
Getting Old: Would your muse rather live 50 years loved, or 200 years alone?
Social Phobia: Does your muse consider themselves an outgoing person?
Fear-Themed Headcanon Questions
16K notes
·
View notes
Eerie Atmospheric Settings: Plot Starters
Instead of a specific plot to work around, hereâs a list of settings that all feature a melancholy, moody, or creepy atmosphere. Simply send me a symbol for a setting you want to RP in, and Iâll either make a starter or approach you to plot!
đA full moon night with wind whistling through the trees
đThe seashore late at night, with lightning over the water in the distance
đ€Stepping into a house that gives off all the wrong vibes
đA cold day in late autumn, which is silent and deeply lonely
đčNighttime in an ancient house/manor, with the tinkling of piano keys from the next room
đ§ Rain in the early morning, so dark that thereâs hardly a sunrise
âȘA church right after a funeral, a small handful of people dressed in black hanging their heads in silence
đłA maze-like forest at dusk, with a sense of anxiety as the sun disappears
â”On the beach before dawn as remnants of a ship wreck wash onto shore
đA chilly, overcast autumn afternoon
đMidnight in a busy city, sirens blaring a few blocks away
đAfter dark on Halloween night after trick-or-treating ends
đSitting with a popped tired on the side of a long stretch of road, waiting
âĄDistant thunder from a massive storm headed straight this way
đ„An overgrown garden of nothing but poisonous (or dead, dry) plants
đŸAn eerie plot of farmland with seemingly no one around for miles
đMurky swampland with posted warnings to keep people away
đ„ A roaring bonfire in the distance on a pitch black night, with dark silhouettes crowded or dancing around it
đ§Standing near old, abandoned train tracks when the bell starts to ring
đTaking a swim on an uninhabited plot of beach, noticing ripples in the water
đżAn old-fashioned plantation with secretive locals and a bitter history
đA cemetery full of dead, dry flowers as if all of the plots have been forgotten, some of the stones cracked or sinking into the dirt
đA dingy old subway station, walls chipped to pieces, while waiting for a ride home
đThe sad silence after a violent storm, debris and wreckage everywhere
đAn attic full of musty clothes and antiques belonging to someone long-dead
â A snowstorm locking everyone in their homes, with electricity flickering
đAn enchanting plot of forest or stream, tiny whispers cutting the silence
đInside of a re-occurring nightmare had time and time again
âTaking a long walk with an umbrella, struggling with a low, low mood
âAt a quiet cafe, but unfamiliar folk are whispering and staring
đ”A winding road through the desert with only one dingy hotel, its âvacancyâ light flickering red
đ€Dreaming of scraping nails gainst the window glass, and waking to still hear it
đA quiet night, the only sound being the call of coyotes/wolves in the woods
9K notes
·
View notes
"Is there really a daily time limit on... mourning?â Spike replied to the voice that had called out in the murky darkness of the graveyard. His scandalized tone didnât quite match the nonchalant way that he was sitting atop a moss-covered tombstone, his legs spread wide casually. He sniffed for good measure, reaching up to wipe away an invisible tear from the corner of his eye. âJust doesnât seem right to me, is all.âÂ
@willivmthebloody / isaac & spike
the graveyard was as dark and gloomy as ever. he frowned and his eyes scanned the grounds. the moon was out, the sun long gone. in this town, the night shift was always the most dangerous, but at least isaac had something to protect himself with now. claws and fangs that he was getting pretty good with. heâd be okay. he just had to do his job. as he started on that, he spotted someone else. âdid you know that graveyards having closing times?â he called. âsunset, which was a while ago.â
6 notes
·
View notes
this week kicked my ass but iâll be on to do replies & reply to messages later this afternoon! xx
1 note
·
View note