F0rtunej - TWO-FACE

OH MY GODDDD

tea

— "HE'S THE OTHER MAN!" . the corpse groom

SYNOPSIS: A ghost groom has claimed MC as his unwilling bride. Unfortunately for him, she's already got a lover

⊹ [ c.w ] — violence, possessive behavior, malleus blows a fucking green laser down ramshackle, mentions of blood, yuu is poor but we alrdy knew that, papa crewel crumbs

⊹ [ w.c ] — 1.6k opening post with malleus! if this gets enough attention, I might do more :P

"You what?" Crewel seethed, eyes wide as an unsettling smile stretched across the red of his cheeks.

"Repeat that."

"I…I accidentally released that ghost from the spellbook," Grim sobbed, his glossy eyes reflecting both fear and guilt as he looked up at the imposing figure of the professor. "And he's taken my henchhuman as his bride!"

Oh, Great Sevens. Not again.

Crewel groaned, his hands reaching up to frantically rub at his burning eyes. The flickering candlelight cast erratic shadows across his face.

"Please, do tell. How in Wonderland did someone with your lackluster skills manage to—" The professor was abruptly cut off by a loud, almost obnoxious cry that echoed from the doorway. Turning sharply, Crewel saw Crowley hunched against the entrance frame, hysterically sobbing into his palms. Fat tears dripped beneath his ornate mask, glistening in the low light. "They grow up so fast! My dear child is already getting married!"

Crewel's eye twitched as he took in the scene: Grim shaking like a leaf, and Crowley, dramatically weeping, pathetically looking to him for a solution.

"Fools," Crewel snarled, striding out of the room as he fished his phone from his coat pocket. "If you two won't be of use, then I'll have to enlist the help of those mutts instead."

The day had started like any other in Ramshackle, but you certainly didn't expect it to end with a wedding. Surrounded by the ghostly residents of the dorm, you stood dressed in all white, a bouquet clutched in your hand. Curling in yourself, you sighed and rested your head in your hands, avoiding everyone's gazes which felt like icy needles on your skin.

Ramshackle's old lounge, with its worn-out floorboards and faded wallpaper, was the chosen venue for your ceremony. Whispers rustled through the gathering, carried on a faint breeze that stirred the dust motes in the dim light. Somewhere in the background, the somber notes of an organ piano echoed. You didn't even know you had a piano…

"Dear?"

Jumping with a shriek, you whipped your head around. A ghostly visage, bathed in a deathly pale blue glow, hovered inches from your face, an unnaturally wide grin stretched across their blue lips. Bony fingers gently traced up your cheeks, sending tingles down your spine.

With sunken eyes and high, sharp cheekbones, Elizan—a "visiting" friend of one of Ramshackle's ghosts—was truly a sight to behold. His complexion had a pallor that matched the moonlight filtering through the decrepit windows of the form. Wisps of long, flowing indigo hair framed his face, swept back as if caught in a breeze that only he could feel.

"You look wonderful," he cooed, pressing a featherlight kiss to your forehead, leaving your cheeks burning.

"Ah. Thank you," you stammered, averting your gaze and gently pulling away. You could hardly focus on the words being spoken to you, your mind spinning with the surrealness of it all.

"You look... Good as well," you forced out with a cough, tugging at your hair nervously. "But... Listen... I—"

Before you could finish, the door to the entrance slammed open, nearly breaking off the hinges with a sound that could wake the dead, sending cracks spider-webbing through the already dilapidated walls.

On the inside, you screamed louder than the hinges.

You had painstakingly patched up the door after Grim's recent screw-up—a feat that had tested your patience and carpentry skills to their limit. Unless you wanted to survive on a diet of stale canned food and cafeteria leftovers for another year, you couldn't afford any more repairs.

While you were busy mourning the loss of having decent meals, heaving and leaning against the door for support, your friends called out your name in a panic, their bleary and furious gazes zeroing in on your figure. Clad in white, you stood there, the perfect picture of a pretty blushing bride.

The uninvited guests didn't go unnoticed by your "groom," and in seconds, you were pulled into a suffocating grip. Elizan's usually serene demeanor shattered like fragile glass. His deathly pale features contorted into a snarl, veins pulsing ominously beneath translucent skin. His typically gentle eyes blazed with an unsettling fire, icy whites now narrowed and piercing.

"Mutt!" Crewel seethed, his foot slamming into the floor and shattering the newly installed tiles. Your soul nearly left your body as you screamed inside again. There go a thousand thaumarks…

"What in the Sevens is this!?" Crewel shrieked, running a gloved hand through his tousled hair. With sharp movements, he pointed a finger at Elizan. "I'll have you know I can have you arrested for trespassing, unlawful detention, and violating the sanctity of this academy!"

"How... How dare you? Barging into this sacred ceremony—Who even are you?!" Elizan snapped back, his arms coiling tightly around your torso. The crowd erupted in a haze of shouts and muddled answers. Unable to understand anything, Elizan's intense gaze shifted and bore into yours, demanding answers. You gulped nervously, suddenly feeling small and vulnerable in his grasp.

"Who is he?! Who are they?!" he barked like a dog, flashing his sharp fangs at you.

"Uh… That's my professor—uh, Crewel," you stammered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "And those are… They're my… friends?" Your gaze flickered to the group of men who had entered, their expressions ranging from confusion to anger.

Elizan's wide eyes now filled with shock, white orbs glossed over with luminescent blue tears. He pushed you away as if you had burnt him, recoiling from your touch as though it pained him physically.

"You know other men?!" the ghost cried out, his hands clenching into fists, his midnight blue hair cascading wildly around his face like a tempestuous sea. The tortured cries of the groom echoed through the room, sending a shiver down your spine as you awkwardly shifted on your feet, feeling like a character caught in an soap drama.

"…Yes?" you replied, unsure.

"How could you do this to me?!" He sobbed, a dark shadow covering his face. "Running off on an affair the DAY of our marriage?!"

"Well, that's a rather dramatic accusation—" you started, but Elizan shook his head in anguish.

"Answer me! Do you have another man?!" His voice shook the room, and you took a few cautious steps back.

"Elizan, please," you uttered gently, your eyes darting nervously toward one of the men in the room.

Your lover didn't meet your gaze; instead, his eyes were locked onto the ghost, a storm of emotions brewing beneath his features. As you jumped down from the makeshift podium, you shot an apologetic frown at the ghost, hoping to diffuse the escalating situation. "Don't you understand? You're the other man."

"No! You're married to me!" Elizan shrieked, lunging forward in a frenzy, his nails clawing at the air as if trying to grasp something intangible. "Whoever he is—He's the other man!"

MALLEUS DRACONIA

"Whoever he is—He's the other man!"

Lilia raised an eyebrow with a chuckle, his form reclined against a fogged-up window of the room. The weather was gloomy and stormy, the skies tinted green outside, casting an eerie glow over the scene. The window pane, streaked with raindrops and mist, blurred the view of the turbulent skies beyond. Lilia hummed a tune under his breath, a calm figure amidst the brewing storm.

With a sidelong glance, his eyes locked onto Malleus, whose entire figure shook with a barely contained wrath that threatened to engulf the very air around him. The young prince's chest heaved in violent, choked breaths as smoke wisped from his mouth and nose—tendrils of flames flickering amidst the swirling dust and ash.

A deafening crack tore through the air as a vivid surge of green emerald lightning erupted from the heavens, descending upon the roof of the venue with explosive force. The blast of energy painted the sky with a blinding flash of green as it crashed into the building, sending broken glass and wood raining down upon the venue.

Cursing, Elizan moved you both aside, a large chunk of debris hurtling past, narrowly missing your startled form. As more debris crashed down, he shielded you with an outstretched arm, a shimmering barrier briefly forming to deflect a particularly large piece of wood.

"Spectral pest," Malleus seethed, his eyes aglow with an eerie green hue as his nails elongated into sharp claws. With a click of his tongue, he raised his hands, summoning thorns that spiraled towards Elizan, ensnaring the ghost in their sharp embrace. Simultaneously, from the floorboards below, vines emerged like serpents, their tendrils gently but firmly pulling you away from Elizan's protective embrace and guiding you into the safety of Malleus's arms.

"How—?! Ngh!" Elizan writhed against the thorny vines. The prickly tendrils twisted around him like serpents, their sharp points digging into his ghostly flesh.

Malleus paid no mind to the struggling spirit, keeping his gaze fixed on you as he checked for any signs of harm. His expression softened with relief upon finding you unscathed, albeit a bit dusty.

"Beloved," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm amidst the lingering chaos. His gloved hand moved delicately, sweeping away the clinging dust from your shoulders and arms. Pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingered there briefly, conveying a warmth that contrasted starkly with the raw power he had displayed moments ago.

"Are you alright?"

Blinking up at him with wide eyes and frazzled hair shooting up in every direction, you nodded dumbly. Turning away from him, you nearly gasped aloud to see the room in shambles, debris scattered everywhere, and the eerie green glow of energy still lingering in the air. The ghostly residents were in a state of panic, their translucent forms flickering as they moved frantically.

"My dorm," you whimpered, your mind racing as you calculated the cost of the damage.

With a chuckle, Malleus adjusted his grip on you, his muscles flexing as he gently set you down. Your legs felt shaky as you tried to steady yourself.

"I will handle the cost of repair, my dearest," Malleus assured you, bending down to your height, his voice dropping to a whisper. Green eyes bore into yours, strands of his midnight hair falling over his face. "You will not need to worry about such things once we are formally betrothed."

You froze, your face suddenly warming and burning.

"What?!"

Malleus reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek, claws dragging across your supple cheeks. "Yes, my dear," he murmured, chest rumbling as his lips curved into a sharp smile. "You heard me correctly."

"I… I don't know what to say," you whispered, feeling dizzy with emotion.

"Will you consider it?" he asked softly, a faint hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Please?"

Caught in the depth of his gaze, you felt your resolve melting away. "I-I guess?" you breathed, your voice trembling. "I'll… consider it."

A smug smile spread across his face, and he tenderly pressed his lips against yours. "That's all I ask, my dearest."

After ensuring you were alright one last time, Malleus redirected his focus to Elizan. With a flick of his wrist, the thorns under his control tightened around the ghost. Elizan shrieked and thrashed about, his translucent form writhing in pain as the thorns dug deeper.

"Do try to exercise some restraint, my boy," Lilia drawled, tapping his sharp fingers idly against his crossed arms. "We do not want Ramshackle to be bathed in blood. It would be very unsanitary."

not too sure if i am continuing but feel free to suggest some peepl bookies

Some Harvey...

GHOSTS OF THE PAST (Batfam x neglected hero reader)

II𓂃› POISON

Warning: Negligence (unintentional), Damian being Damian, violence, swearing, sensitive topics,bad things, spelling mistakes (English is not my first language) and reader has black hair and blue eyes (sorry), Fem reader!, use of (M/n) for his mother's name, I accept criticism but please don't be rude, everything is fictional!

Two weeks.It had been two weeks since you disappeared, two weeks in which Bruce did and still does everything he can to find you (as the millionaire Bruce Wayne or as Batman), two weeks in which he and possibly no one in the mansion slept properly, two weeks in which guilt gnawed at him in the worst possible way. But even so, Bruce is ashamed to say that in these two weeks he has only been going to his room now.

Could you blame him? Bruce didn't want to go to his room because that would be a way of saying that you died. He refuses to think that way, you are alive, he is sure of it, and he will find you.

However, Bruce's thesis was shattered by his anxiety.

That's why he goes to your room for the first time.

Bruce remembers going there only once, you must have been seven years old, what saddens him the most is that he only went there because there was a problem with the ceiling and that's why you had to change rooms. Your room was on the second floor, a little further away from the others, possibly the room closest to yours was Tim's.

Alfred had to show him where his room was, which made Bruce feel even worse. He didn't know where his own room was! Was he so negligent to that point?

Your room was at the end of the hallway, the only thing that identified it was a guitar sticker on the door, it was faded and dented, possibly having been there for years, wood splinters were visible on the door and the metals on it were very rusty.

Grabbing the doorknob, Bruce hesitated to open it, the logical part of his brain warning that you might feel uncomfortable with him invading your room like that, but his desire spoke louder, gathering courage Bruce opened the door slowly and faced the environment. He was greeted with a sweet smell that reminded him of artificial strawberries, coming from the entire room and Bruce thought that maybe this was the smell you had passed many times.

The first thing he noticed was the appearance of your room, it was smaller than most of the rooms in the mansion. Your bed was next to the window, giving you a view of the mansion's garden, next to the small bed was a nearly empty study table, on it papers and colored pencils were in the corner organized so as not to have a mess, a small swivel chair was there, there were tears and poorly washed stains, but it seemed like you used it a lot. Above the table on the wall were posters of bands and other things, but what caught Bruce's attention was not that, no, it wasn't.

There were trophies, certificates and awards on top of his shelves.

There were so many, so many, that Bruce thought it was his mind playing tricks on him, but it soon proved to be true when he approached the said shelves. There were trophies for gymnastics, literature, computing, swimming, there were awards for drawing, music, and even jiu-jitsu.

Each one was accompanied by a photo of you, photos that were supposed to be taken with your family but most of them were with your instructors, it was possible to see that with each photo that there was your face changed from false joy to not even bothering to smile.

The sight of you in the photos made Bruce's heart break, the worst one of all was one that looked like you were from gymnastics, but in this one you were really exhausted. Sweat was all over your forehead, making your hair stick to it, your eyes were a little red and there was a bruise on your arm, you tried to smile but it was noticeable that the smile was fake and to top it off, to break Bruce's heart? You were holding back tears, tears shining in the corners of your eyes so intensely, but you held it tight, so as not to cry in front of the camera.

Bruce felt horrible, really awful in fact.

He carefully picked up the photo and sat down on the chair, watching you. You must have been eight or nine years old? He didn't know, but you looked so young, so helpless, but you already looked so... broken. As if you knew the weight of the world, the weight that life brought.

He straightened up in the chair and looked at the room again, seeing the back of his room where the wardrobe was. Bruce noticed that next to the large piece of furniture there was a box, almost as worn as the sticker on the door, he got up from the chair leaving the photo on the table next to him, walking over to the box and picking it up with ease. Preferring to sit on the bed instead of the chair he opened the cardboard box to find a computer and a pen drive.

Bruce, so immersed in his thoughts, barely noticed that while he was turning on the old device, someone else was entering the room.

“Bruce?” The aforementioned looked up to see Dick. Looking at his son, he realized how worn out Dick was, whether it was the deep bags under his eyes or the messy hair from so much grabbing and pulling. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” came to see my daughter’s room? Came to try to feel less guilty? Came to try to comfort myself in my pain of not having protected my own daughter? Bruce didn’t know what to answer, fortunately, Dick understood this and decided to see for himself. Carefully, Grayson entered the room and observed with interest, his gaze stopping at the same shelves of trophies that Bruce was interested in, the small smile on Grayson’s face disappeared when he discovered the real reason for the trophies being there.

“W-wait, is that from gymnastics?” Dick looked closer, seeing on the table the same photo Bruce had taken, his anxious eyes roaming the entire shelf, observing his every victory in detail. “Is that all of…(name)?”

“Yeah, and all of hers, all the effort we never saw.” Bruce turned his focus back to the computer, the anguish in his words reminding him of his mistake, while Dick sank in guilt as Bruce himself decided to look at the computer’s contents.

It looked like it hadn't been used for a while, there was dust on the computer and the screen was broken, putting the pen drive in the device a folder appeared on the screen, Bruce clicked and the loading screen appeared on the screen, while it was loading Bruce felt his oldest son sitting next to him, watching the computer next to him and as soon as the loading was finished the two men came across photos.

Very, very old photos of you.

Photos of you as a baby at various points in your childhood outside the mansion, there was a photo of you walking while smiling at the camera, a photo of you sleeping on the couch drooling all over it, a photo of you drinking while wrapped in a blanket like a burrito, and many others.

Bruce heard Dick sigh when he saw you, he had to hold himself back from melting right there, you looked so cute with your chubby cheeks and bright eyes. He wished he could be there at that moment, seeing you so cute, taking care of you, being the father he never was.

But time has passed, you've grown up and are gone now.

Bruce shook off his thoughts when he saw a different photo, in it you had the corners of your mouth covered in what he assumed was chocolate, your hands were covered in the same candy, but what caught Bruce's attention wasn't that, but the woman behind you holding you while laughing at your lameness.

your mother

(M/n) (Last name)

He remembers the woman, kind and caring, a writer from outside Gotham, and although it is strange that she preferred Gotham to live in (with so many other cities more protected than it is), she reached her peak of fame, which made them meet. Just one night with her, nothing more, an affair that didn't go ahead and in which he thought he would forget about her, only for a year later she sends him a letter, talking about you, his daughter.

She didn't ask for anything, not even alimony for herself, she just asked him not to interfere in her daughter's life, although Bruce found the request strange he accepted, being too busy with work to care, he didn't give it due importance at the time.

That was until (M/n) died, her sudden death made him bring you to his house, he fought for custody of you with your aunt, but since he was the one best able to raise you, your custody was given to him.

That was many years ago, he doesn't remember you bringing this computer.

Oh.

Do you keep the computer to remember your mother?

The articles were old, wouldn't it be better to transfer the photos to your cell phone? Or didn't you want to? Maybe you would prefer to keep the computer to remember your memories.

Dick shifted beside him, looking again at the immense trophies on his shelf. “We had her here, and we just ignored her.”

“Dick—”

“We had a diamond in the rough, shining brightly for us, and we just ignored it, and now that she’s gone…” Bruce said nothing, there was nothing to say.

Dick was right.

They had lost a precious stone.

And there was no way to get her back.

Three months.

Nothing about you, no clues, no trails, nothing made it even more difficult because the bus you were on was burned, even if it was left there were no fingerprints, DNA or anything else that would lead them to you.

Dick had to go back to Blüdhaven, continuing his own investigation there. Bruce, knowing that he couldn't do it alone (not this time), put his pride aside and warned the members of the league about your disappearance.

Clark, in an effort to find you, published an article in the Daily Planet about your disappearance, but not even that helped in his search.

The members of the League were alert in each of their cities, looking for clues about you, but nothing came to them, not the organization that kidnapped you or your possible whereabouts.

It was as if you had disappeared from the earth.

Six months.

The police were getting sloppy, probably already giving up on the case. Bruce was still investigating, but how was he going to get deeper into the case if the clues that led to you had disappeared into the wind like dust on the ground?

All he had were your desperate calls for help, your messages, but they led nowhere, your device destroyed without its location.

The family had become more depressed, as if something was missing for everyone present, the immense loneliness in the mansion showing who was missing.

You.

One year.

The case was closed, with nothing to investigate, the Gotham police had more problems to deal with than a missing and possibly dead teenager.

There was… nothing. 

Nothing to say, nothing to do, nothing to look for.You were gone.

A long time ago.

What they didn't know was that you weren't gone, but you were there.

“Alright, alright, I think we’re done for today, right?”

The iron-tasting liquid once again rose up in her bile, making the blood in her throat gush out of her mouth, choking her.

The room they were in, previously white, was now stained crimson, clinging deep into the walls as it reflected the light from the lamp.

In the corner of the room stood you, chained up like a beast (which technically wasn’t a lie now). You lay still as the toxic green liquid entered your veins, the acidity still biting your skin.

Doctor Magnus was the one in front of you, the man with long black hair and golden eyes was watching you dangerously, the loving attitude that many could see as a father educating his son was nothing more than a facade of sadistic malice from the man.

He disgusted you.

They all did.

All of them, all of them, all of them, ALL OF THEM-

Magnus watched as the syringe that connected the tube in your neck finished injecting the toxin into your veins, with the process finished, Magnus approached you and pulled it from your neck.

With the brutality with which he pulled the syringe, you hissed in pain, your abnormally large fangs showing themselves to the doctor, the protective instinct emerging in your brain. Despite the offense, Magnus just smiled at you.

Stepping away from you, he lowered your restraints making you feel a little comfortable. With his fingerprint, the doctor opened the automatic door, before leaving he stopped at the door and looked over his shoulder, his gaze meeting yours.

“Get plenty of rest (Name)…” the man’s smirk widened, the evil coursing through him making her stomach churn with fear.

"Tomorrow your experiments will intensify.”

Okay, I'm a little disappointed (I was hoping to write one more, but I couldn't add anything without it affecting the next chapter), well I'll make up for it in the next chapter.

Here's the tag list \(•◡•)/:

@daiyanomochi - @amber-content - @wizzerreblogs - @foggyv-oid - @kore-of-the-underworld - @theunknowntravel3r - @space1crow - @shortnsweetsposts - @popursocks - @sugasweettea - @salfishers - @itachisank - @jsprien213 - @infirebaby - @yhin-gg -@h-ib

@bunbunboysworld - @h-ib - @sheep-from-rad - @tatsuri-zomushiki - @the-holy-pigeon - @geminis93

sorry for any mistakes.

Bye

House of Wax (2005)

SeaShocker dragon! One of my faves<3

this made me giggle

i want to grow old with you.

Me and my gf

me and the bad bitch i pulled by being silly