i am currently in need of help — my dad died shortly after my birthday leaving me to pay for his funeral & taking care / providing for my mother ( she cannot work & was denied disability / my fathers ssi ). my older brothers won't help so its sitting on my shoulders alone. i am struggling as is — living paycheck to paycheck — and now i have an extra 200 a month being taken out.
any money i make through donations or selling my designs are going towards funeral cost & providing for my mother. please consider donating — if you wish to donate directly my cashapp is $gaspamouse.
my dad passed away in march — i have to pay for his funeral because my mom cannot work and my older brothers are not reliable. i struggle living paycheck to paycheck as is and now I have an extra 200 a month being pulled every month ( on top of providing for my mother, who was denied disability & cannot get my dad's ssi benefits / her own for another two years ) to pay for this funeral. all tips & / or money i make from selling my designs on ko-fi are currently going to pay for the funeral & any extra will help provide for my mother.
the resource will lead to my goal — this link will lead to my shop & this is a link to the only product i have that is paid for ( the rest are pay for what you want ).
so ik damian's son alfred is likely flatline's son too but i think he looks so much like jon lol (and damian looks like dick here) but also can we talk about how damian named his son and cat after alfred?
₍^. .^₎⟆ A VERY SCARY SPOOKTOBER ( scary godmother one-shots )
prompts given by @prismatic-sprinkles @creativepromptsforwriting @ghostsfanficevents @ghost-creative-prompts ( * is my ideas ) & thank you @saradika-graphics for the line breakers i used
🎃 DAY ONE: Scary Movies & Cuddles
🦇 DAY TWO: Maze
👻 DAY THREE: Haunted House
🎃 DAY FOUR: Help with Makeup / Costume
🦇 DAY FIVE: Witch's Brew
👻 DAY SIX: Pumpkin Picking*
🎃 DAY SEVEN: Full Moon
🦇 DAY EIGHT: Midnight Baking*
👻 DAY NINE: Graveyard Picnic*
🎃 DAY TEN: Nightmare
🦇 DAY ELEVEN: Bat Watching*
👻 DAY TWELVE: Fall Festival
🎃 DAY THIRTEEN: Bad Luck
🦇 DAY FOURTEEN: Name Carved In Tree
👻 DAY FIFTEEN: First Wine
🎃 DAY SIXTEEN: Storm*
🦇 DAY SEVENTEEN: Whispers
👻 DAY EIGHTEEN: Apple Picking
🎃 DAY NINETEEN: Ghosts
🦇 DAY TWENTY: Sweater Weather
👻 DAY TWENTY-ONE: Werewolf
🎃 DAY TWENTY-TWO: Pile of Leaves
🦇 DAY TWENTY-THREE: Pressing Leaves/Flowers
👻 DAY TWENTY-FOUR: Farmer's Market Date
🎃 DAY TWENTY-FIVE: Sleepover In The Spookhouse*
🦇 DAY TWENTY-SIX: Bonfire*
👻 DAY TWENTY-SEVEN: Haunted Objects*
🎃 DAY TWENTY-EIGHT: Blood*
🦇 DAY TWENTY-NINE: Devil
👻 DAY THIRTY: Trick or Treat
🎃 DAY THIRTY-ONE: Spookhouse Party
fandom: scary godmother
characters: hannah marie x orson
words: 1522
author's note: so day thirty-one of spooktober is here. i will probably never do this challenge again. it was a lot.
triggers: none
˗ˏˋ please read my carrd before requesting ˎˊ˗
Hannah adjusted the crooked banner one last time, stepping back to admire her work. “WELCOME TO THE ANNUAL SPOOKHOUSE PARTY!” glimmered in orange and silver glitter across the grand entryway. Paper bats swooped between the chandeliers, the candles flickered with purple flames, and the tables were heavy with candy bowls, spider-shaped cupcakes, and punch that smoked dramatically thanks to Bug-a-Boo’s “secret ingredient.”
“It’s perfect,” Scary Godmother said, sweeping in from the kitchen with a tray of candied apples floating behind her. “The mortal and Fright Side guests won’t know what hit them.”
Hannah smiled. “It's going to be even better than last year!” The last few parties were not as crowded as Hannah would have liked. Last year Katie was too pregnant to join the party, and the last few years Jimmy and his friends were just busy adults and unable to make it.
“It already is,” Skully called, coming from the basement with a box of decorations in hand. The porcelain cat sat on top of the box, giving an amused yawn. “You’ve turned into quite the hostess, my dear.”
Hannah flushed. “Well… I had a good teacher.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Scary said with a wink, waving her hand, so the tray of apples floated to the snack table. “For the first time in a while, we're expecting everyone. Plus our new friends too.”
Hannah nodded, “Jimmy said he'll text me when he gets to the Spookhouse so I can open the portal.”
Bug-a-Boo lumbered over to the snack table, dipping a claw into the smoking punch bowl. “Mmm! Needs more fizz!” he boomed, tossing in a handful of what looked suspiciously like pop rocks. The liquid hissed and fizzed, sending purple bubbles foaming over the rim.
“Perfect,” Scary said approvingly. “A proper potion punch!”
Skully set the box down, the porcelain cat gently jumped out of the box to join Boozle on his bed. “We should probably light the pumpkins outside,” he commented, pulling out a couch cover that looked like a spider web. Scary opened her mouth to respond when a light knock sounded on the door.
“Oh, guests are arriving!” Scary grinned, walking over to pull the door open to see Ruby and Max standing side by side. Ruby looked as radiant as ever in her dark velvet gown, while Max was adjusting his cuff links, impeccably dressed in an old-fashioned tuxedo complete with cape. “I brought my own contribution,” she announced, holding up a bottle of dark red liquid. “Aged in enchanted oak, one sip and even mortals feel brave enough to dance.”
“Ruby,” Scary said fondly, “last time you said that, Bug-a-Boo jitterbugged through the walls.”
Bug-a-Boo beamed. “And I’d do it again! Come in! Come in!”
“If our mortal guests are truly coming, I must make a proper impression,” Max said, flashing a grin that showed just enough fang.
“You could show up in a bathrobe and still make an impression,” Ruby teased, gliding past him.
Max smirked. “Flattery from you? Be still, my unbeating heart.”
Hannah giggled, adjusting the last of the decorations as Orson entered behind his parents. His costume wasn't nearly as flashy as his parents, he wore a dashing pinstriped suit that matches with Hannah Marie's long black gown perfectly. “Is everything ready?” he asked, glancing around the glittering parlor. He itched at the fake mustache he had his broommate draw on him.
“Almost,” Hannah said, brushing a few cobwebs from her hands. “Jimmy said they should be on their way soon.” She walked over to Orson, smiling gently, “you look amazing.”
“So do you,” he said with a soft grin. “All we're missing is a hand.”
“Oh! I can help with that!” Skully said, walking over and pulling his hand off and putting it on Orson's shoulder.
Jasper and his fathers came in next, Gideon and Desmond following close behind in their matching burgundy suits with fluttery capes. They looked very princely. Jasper, meanwhile, had gone the opposite direction entirely, his curly hair slicked back beneath a wide-brimmed hat, and his outfit a dead ringer for a dramatic vampire hunter. Complete with toy crossbow.
“That's just rude,” Orson joked, looking Jasper over.
“Now this is commitment,” Scary said approvingly, hands clasped. “Do you plan on hunting anyone specific tonight?”
“Depends on who’s biting,” Jasper grinned, earning a dramatic gasp from Ruby.
“You wound me, darling child!” she exclaimed, clutching her chest. “And after I brought my finest vintage!”
Max chuckled, patting Jasper on the shoulder. “If you must take aim, at least let me have a head start.”
“We got hunters and biters? Best party in centuries!” Bug-a-boo grinned.
The room filled with laughter. Hannah was so happy she held onto this from childhood. Her piece of magic.
Just then, the mirror shimmered with a faint green light. Hannah’s phone buzzed in her pocket.
“They’re here!” she said, pulling it out. “Jimmy says they’re right outside!”
Hannah walked over to the door, placing her key in. Jimmy stepped in first, red hoodie horns peeking from under his jacket, followed by Bert in his makeshift baseball uniform and cardboard box. Daryl and Katie trailed behind them, Katie in all black with matching ears and a tail, Daryl in a candy costume to match baby Ruth’s adorable crinkly gold outfit.
Scary Godmother let out a gasp, looking at the friends' costumes. “Now, this is a blast from the past. You all look simply nostalgic.”
Ruth squealed at the sight of Bug-a-Boo, little hands flailing with excitement.
“Well, if it isn’t the teeniest treat in the land!” Scary Godmother exclaimed, floating down to eye level. “May I?”
Katie laughed, carefully passing Ruth over. Scary said, spinning gently as Ruth giggled, her laughter chiming like little bells.
“Whoa…” Jimmy said, looking around the parlor. “This place gets bigger every year.”
“That’s because Scary redecorates the walls to fit the guest list,” Hannah said proudly.
Bert’s eyes widened at the floating candles and dancing shadows. “That’s… not wallpaper, right?”
“Depends on your definition,” Skully said cheerfully, waving his handless arm.
Ruby floated over, her gown trailing like smoke. “Welcome back to the Spookhouse, loves! Refreshments are properly questionable and dancing is mandatory.”
“Speaking of…” Scary said, flicking her wrist toward the corner of the room to start the music from her record player. The room filled with soft, eerie music, and candles swayed in rhythm.
“Alright!” Desmond said, clapping his hands. “Let’s see some monster moves!”
Jasper rolled his eyes. “Pops, please don’t—”
Too late. Gideon and Desmond had already joined Skully on the “dance floor,” forming what could only be described as a supernatural conga line. Katie and Daryl exchanged a look and burst out laughing before joining in, Ruth bouncing gently in Bug-a-boo's arms.
Hannah smiled softly, looking up when she heard a knock. “I will get it,” Skully let out in a sing-song voice as he walked over to pull the door open to reveal the missing werewolf.
“Am I late?”
“Not technically, I gave you the wrong time.” Skully said with a skeleton-like smirk. “Needed to make sure everyone had a chance to the treats first.” He moved out of the way to let Harry in. Harry let out a scoff, though his anger was short-lived when he saw his favorite snack on the table.
Hannah let out a chuckle before she felt a pair of arms wrap around her. He’d shed his jacket somewhere in the chaos, his rolled sleeves and undone tie giving him that effortless, slightly messy charm she secretly adored.
“You’re not dancing?” she teased.
“Not yet,” he said, a small smile curling on his lips. “I was waiting for my favorite partner.”
“Oh?” she asked, pretending to glance around. “And who might that be?”
He leaned closer. “You know exactly who.”
Hannah laughed, taking Orson’s hand and leading him toward the floor. The music softened into something slower, lilting. They started to dance, the room blurred into warmth. Around them Ruby and Max gliding like old movie stars, Katie rocking Ruth to the rhythm, Bug-a-Boo teaching Harry how to do the monster mash.
“You know,” Hannah said softly, looking up at Orson. “I don’t think I ever thanked you.”
“For what?”
“For… keeping Halloween special for me.”
Orson’s smile gentled. “You do that all on your own, Hannah Marie.”
Her cheeks flushed at the way he said her name, like it was something he wanted to keep saying forever. The music slowed even more, until there was just one lingering note hanging in the air like candle smoke.
Hannah blinked up at him. “So… this is the part where the hostess gets a kiss goodnight, right?”
He hesitated for half a second, a playful glint in his eye. “Technically, the night’s not over.”
“Then start early,” she said. Orson leaned in, his hand finding hers, and the rest of the world seemed to hush. The music, the laughter, even Bug-a-Boo’s booming voice fading into a soft hum as their lips met. It wasn’t dramatic or sweeping. Just warm, perfect, and full of everything unspoken between them.
“Happy anniversary, Hannah Marie,” Orson whispered out gently.
fandom: scary godmother
characters: jimmy & friends
words: 1104
author's note: so day thirty of spooktober is here.
triggers: none
˗ˏˋ please read my carrd before requesting ˎˊ˗
By the time Jimmy and Bert reached Katie and Daryl’s house, the neighborhood was already glowing with porch lights and paper ghosts swaying in the breeze. It was like stepping right back into their childhood. Kids darted between yards in bright costumes, laughter echoing down the street.
Jimmy adjusted the crooked horn on his hoodie and Bert was
proudly wearing his old college baseball uniform with a box hanging from his shoulders.
The porch light flicked on as they approached, and the front door swung open to reveal Katie holding baby Ruth, or rather, a fun-sized candy bar version of her. The tiny costume had crinkly gold fabric, a shiny red “wrapper,” and a little hat shaped like a twist of foil.
“Oh my god,” Jimmy said before he could stop himself. “She’s a literal snack.”
Katie beamed. “She’s Ruth-sized! Daryl came up with it.”
Daryl appeared behind her, wearing a candy costume. Bert had texted Daryl with their idea, and he had to go with it. Besides, a candy carrying around a baby candy was too great to pass up. “Guilty. Someone’s gotta uphold the dad-joke standard around here.”
Bert laughed. “You’ve outdone yourself, man.”
Ruth reached toward Jimmy, babbling. The little ten-month-old looked up at him with big eyes that matched her mother's. He grinned, moving to grab her up, and noticed Katie was wearing just all black. “I can take her so you can get ready?”
Katie gave a gentle little smirk, walking over to where she discarded the tail and ears and put them on. “Technically, I am cheating. The tail and ears are store bought, but it's fine.”
Jimmy grinned as Katie clipped the tail in place and adjusted her ears in the hallway mirror. “Classic,” he said. “You’re really leaning into the theme.” Katie smiled, uncapping her eyeliner to draw delicate little lines on her face for whiskers.
“Alright,” Daryl said, holding out Ruth’s tiny pumpkin bucket. “Let’s move, crew. Sun’s setting, and I promised her first piece of candy before bedtime.”
She can’t even chew candy,” Jimmy pointed out.
Daryl grinned. “That’s what parents are for.”
Katie rolled her eyes. “You’re not eating all of your daughter’s candy.”
“Correction, sharing,” Daryl said, already grabbing a jacket.
Bert chuckled, falling into step behind them as they walked down the front path. The evening was cool, crisp. Porch lights glowed gold against the deep blue of twilight.
Ruth gurgled in Jimmy’s arms, one small hand clinging to the drawstring of his hoodie. Every few steps, she’d let out a delighted squeal at the sight of another costumed kid darting past. Her tiny candy-bar costume crinkled when she moved, like a living wrapper of joy.
Bert adjusted the straps of his box costume, falling in beside Jimmy. “I can’t believe she’s big enough for trick-or-treating already.”
Jimmy nodded. “Yeah. Feels like just last week Katie was texting us about baby names.”
“Time’s a monster, man.”
They reached the first house on the block, a cozy craftsman with a porch full of jack-o’-lanterns, each one grinning wider than the last. “I will be excited for when she is old enough to actually enjoy trick-or-treating,” Daryl added. He carefully took Ruth from Jimmy’s arms, holding her up so she could see the glowing pumpkins. “Alright, kiddo. Time to learn the ancient art of knocking on strangers’ doors for sugar.”
Ruth blinked, then blew a raspberry.
Katie laughed softly. “She’s clearly ready.”
Jimmy hung back a step, hands in his hoodie pocket, watching as Daryl crouched by the porch steps with Ruth propped against his knee. She reached for a flickering jack-o’-lantern, transfixed by the tiny candlelight inside.
Something about it made Jimmy’s chest ache. Maybe it was the way her face reflected the glow, bright and innocent, completely unaware of how fast everything was moving. How quickly one Halloween turned into another.
“I am not,” Jimmy muttered, swiping under his eye in betrayal. “It’s just windy.”
“Uh-huh. Windy. In your soul.”
Jimmy elbowed him, but there was no real heat in it. “Shut up and go get your fake candy.”
Bert smirked and jogged up after the others, joining Daryl in dramatically holding out Ruth’s pumpkin bucket to the amused homeowner. The woman cooed immediately, dropping a few wrapped candies into the tiny pail, even though Ruth had no idea what was happening.
Katie came back down the steps, smiling at Jimmy. “You doing okay?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
“Dangerous hobby,” she teased gently.
He smiled, quiet for a beat before saying, “You ever miss it? The feeling of it all? When we were kids, I mean. Like… it actually felt magic.”
Katie’s smile softened. “Every year. But then Ruth looks at a pumpkin like it’s the sun, and I realize it’s still there. We just get it secondhand now.” Jimmy nodded, letting that sink in. Behind them, Bert was narrating Ruth’s “first successful candy heist” like it was a sports victory, and Daryl was eating a mini chocolate bar with zero shame. “Maybe one day you and Bert will have kids of your own one day, until then you're welcome to experience it through your niece.”
Somewhere down the block, a fog machine puffed to life, spilling mist across a yard full of gravestones. A bat decoration swung in the trees, its paper wings rustling in the breeze.
Ruth giggled, a bubbly sound that made everyone pause. Daryl looked down, grinning. “Guess she’s having fun after all.”
“Of course she is,” Jimmy said. “She’s got the best costume here.”
Katie bumped his shoulder. “Still proud of the devil, huh?”
He laughed softly. “Maybe just a little. I mean, I had to compete with a literal candy bar baby. Gotta bring my A-game.”
She rolled her eyes, but the fondness in it was impossible to miss. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Part of my charm.”
They walked on together, the group moving from house to house, a little parade of nostalgia and noise and laughter. The grown-ups chatted with neighbors, Ruth crinkled in her golden wrapper every time someone said “boo,” and for the first time in a while, Jimmy didn’t feel the weight of deadlines or ghosts from the past.
Just warmth. Streetlights. Laughter echoing against the cool October night.
And when he caught sight of their reflections in a window. A devil, baseball player, cat, candy, and baby candy… it made him smile.
Because maybe growing up didn’t mean losing the magic. Maybe it just meant finding new ways to keep it alive.
fandom: scary godmother
characters: jimmy & bert
words: 1041
author's note: so day twenty-nine of spooktober is here.
sorry it's late.
triggers: none
˗ˏˋ please read my carrd before requesting ˎˊ˗
Jimmy hadn’t worn the devil costume in years.
It was shoved into a garment bag in the back of his closet, somewhere between an old jacket from college and a blazer he only ever wore to weddings. He wasn’t even sure why he’d kept it. It wasn’t like he needed it anymore. Halloween had stopped being about costumes a long time ago. Now it was deadlines, commissions, horror comics with moody shadows and existential monologues.
And yet, on this gray October afternoon, as rain tapped against the studio window and his newest comic layout set half-finished on the desk, Jimmy found himself thinking about it. The devil costume.
Just a sweatpants with a hoodie that had horns and a tail attached. The memory of being a kid in red, running from house to house, believing that Halloween meant something.
He stared down at the sketchbook in front of him. The page showed a figure that looked suspiciously familiar: a devil, tail curling like smoke, smiling instead of snarling. He hadn’t drawn it consciously, it had just come out of him, like muscle memory.
Jimmy frowned, pencil hovering.
“…You again, huh?”
The devil didn’t answer, obviously, but the grin on the page almost seemed to widen. He huffed a laugh through his nose. “Yeah. That tracks.” He pushed himself out of the chair, thinking back to the message of Katie asking him and Bert to dress up for when they all met up to take Ruth trick-or-treating for the first time.
He walked over to his closet, digging through until he found the crumpled costume discarded with a few childhood memories in the back of the closet.
It wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. A little faded, a few loose stitches. The horns still had that stubborn bend where one leaned slightly sideways, no matter how he tried to fix it. When he pulled it out, a faint whiff of attic dust and nostalgia filled the room.
He sat on the floor, cross-legged, spreading the red fabric across his knees.
It looked so small against him, representing the pre-teen that had worn it two years in a row.
“Can’t believe I thought this made me look cool,” he muttered, rubbing a thumb over the dried hot glue clump. He could still remember the way the tail had swung awkwardly when he walked. He was still so proud of it, a costume he made all by himself like he and his friends planned.
He wasn’t sentimental, not really. But lately, everything felt a little haunted. Not in the supernatural sense, he didn’t believe in monsters, not even now, not even after the weird things he remembered from being a kid. He’d convinced himself that it was just imagination. Stress. Halloween fever. Whatever made sense. Because believing the alternative meant admitting that maybe the world wasn’t as ordinary as he’d worked so hard to make it.
“Talking to your clothes now, huh?”
Jimmy jumped, turning to see Bert leaning against the doorframe, holding a mug of coffee and looking entirely too amused.
“Don’t you knock?”
“Door was open,” Bert said, wandering in. “Also, I thought I heard you mumbling about being cool. Which, frankly, is suspicious.”
Jimmy sighed, holding up the costume. “Katie wants us to dress up for Ruth’s first trick-or-treat.”
“Oh, right.” Bert grinned. “I was thinking cowboy. Or ghost. Minimal effort.”
“You mean a sheet.”
“I mean art.”
Jimmy snorted, glancing down at the hoodie again. “Guess I could recycle this thing.” He tested one of the horns' durability by picking at it. Surely he had a pair of red sweats lying around.
Bert crouched down next to him, squinting. “Wow, man. That’s vintage Jimmy. Little horns, little tail, big attitude.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jimmy muttered. “It’s from back when I thought scaring people was funny.”
“You still do. You just get paid for it now.”
Jimmy smiled faintly. He set the costume aside and leaned back against the wall. “You ever think about how weird it is? Halloween, I mean. The way it used to feel… magical?”
Bert shrugged. “I think that’s just what happens when you get old, man. You trade magic for mortgages.”
“We still rent,” Jimmy said with a dry chuckle. His gaze drifted toward the window. The rain had slowed, leaving faint trails on the glass that caught the light from the streetlamps outside. “Still feels like something’s missing sometimes.”
Bert followed his gaze, quiet for a moment. “Maybe you just miss being a kid.”
“Maybe.”
Jimmy didn’t add the part where sometimes, when he stayed up late drawing, he could swear he saw strange lights in the corner of his vision, soft green glows, flashes of orange. Or that every October, his dreams got… odd. Filled with laughter and candy wrappers and the faintest sound of a door creaking open to somewhere else.
No. That was nostalgia. That was his brain recycling childhood weirdness into story ideas. That’s what he told himself every time.
He pushed up off the floor, folding the costume neatly and draping it over the back of his desk chair. “Well, at least Ruth will get a kick out of it.”
Bert took a sip of coffee. “She’s gonna love it. The devil and the cowboy, classic duo.”
“Yeah,” Jimmy said absently. He looked down at the red hoodie again. A flash of memory hit him: a dark room filled with floating candles, a woman with orange hair smiling at him like she knew exactly who he was.
He blinked, shaking his head. “Yeah. Classic.”
Bert frowned. “You good?”
“Yeah,” Jimmy said quickly. “Just tired.”
Bert shrugged, heading back toward the kitchen. “Well, don’t overthink it. We’ll pick up candy tomorrow.”
When the sound of Bert’s footsteps faded, Jimmy turned back toward the desk. The sketch of the devil still sat open, grin sharp, eyes glinting. Somehow, the pencil lines seemed darker than before. “Hey, Bert,” he called after again.
“Yeah?” Bert called from their kitchen, pouring the rest of the coffee in his mug as Jimmy came out.
“Do you still have your college baseball uniform?” Jimmy asked, “and a box?”
“Yeah…” Bert said slowly, looking up from his pour to look at Jimmy. “Oh.”
fandom: scary godmother
characters: hannah marie x orson
words: 1152
author's note: so day twenty-eight of spooktober is here.
triggers: blood, talks about animal blood
˗ˏˋ please read my carrd before requesting ˎˊ˗
The first time Hannah Marie saw a vampire drink blood, she was twelve.
She’d just come to the Fright Side for one of Scary Godmother’s Halloween parties. She’d already been dazzled by the floating candles, enchanted candy, and talking bats, when she wandered into the kitchen looking for cocoa.
That was where she found Max at the counter, holding a delicate crystal goblet filled with something deep red and glimmering in the candlelight.
The Count and his family had always been careful not to drink around Hannah, in fear it would scare her.
So when he turned, eyes catching the light with that familiar crimson gleam, both of them froze.
Hannah blinked. “Um… is that—?”
Max straightened, looking a little guilty for someone centuries old. “Tomato juice,” he said instantly.
From the other room, Ruby called, “Maxwell! Don’t you dare lie to that child! She is old enough to understand.”
Caught, Max sighed and smiled ruefully. “Fine,” he said, lowering the glass so the candlelight shone through it. “It’s blood. Synthetic, of course. Ethically conjured, no one harmed.”
Hannah tilted her head, curious more than scared. “Does it taste good?”
“Better than you’d think. A little like dark wine.” He held it out toward her so she could see it closer. Not quite as thick as real blood, with a faint shimmer of magic mixed in. “You see, dear Hannah, there’s a difference between hunger and cruelty. One can be civilized, even with fangs.”
“Ruby says that too,” Hannah said softly.
“She’s right. She usually is.” He smiled, and the warmth behind it banished whatever fear she might’ve had. “Now, go tell your witchy guardian that I haven’t traumatized you.”
Since then, they've stopped hiding it from her.
It became part of life in the Fright Side, like how the werewolves howled before dinner or how the ghosts hummed when they passed through walls. Hannah didn’t even flinch anymore when she saw the Count and Countess pour themselves a glass before a meal.
It helped that Ruby always made a show of it, swirling her glass dramatically, sniffing it as though it were fine wine. “Aged three full moons,” she’d say, before taking a delicate sip. “With a hint of batwing.”
Max would roll his eyes. “You are insufferable, darling.”
“Flatterer,” Ruby would purr.
And Hannah would just laugh, sitting at the table with her cocoa, feeling perfectly at home among vampires. Even Orson eventually got comfortable drinking blood around her.
Over time, she even learned to tell the difference between the different kinds of blood. Synthetic shimmered faintly in the light, enchanted to sustain them without harm. Donated blood was darker, with the faint metallic tang that made Max nostalgic for “the good old days.” Animal blood, a lot like human blood, was a deep red but had an almost earthy smell to it.
It fascinated Hannah, not the gore or the mystery, but the way something once seen as monstrous could be so… ordinary.
“Blood,” Ruby told her one evening as they sat in the parlor, “isn’t just hunger, dear heart. It’s life. Memory. Family. We drink it not to take, but to remember that we are connected to the world. It is what keeps us humane.”
Hannah had nodded, holding her mug of cocoa with both hands. “Like how Scary says magic connects everyone?”
“Exactly.” Ruby smiled, her fangs glinting faintly. “Magic, blood, laughter, love. They all come from the same place. They only turn dark when you forget the kindness behind them.”
Years later, Hannah still remembered that talk. Especially on nights like the Blood Moon Festival.
It only happened once a year, when the moon turned a deep crimson and the Fright Side held a great gathering to celebrate life and remembrance. For vampires, it was a sacred night. Even more important than their harvest celebrations. A night that was about them connecting with their humanity.
For everyone else, it was a party.
The courtyard of the Spookhouse shimmered under lanterns shaped like tiny ruby stars. There were tables piled with red velvet cupcakes, strawberry punch that bubbled like lava, and mugs of cocoa with cinnamon stirred in. Everything was a deep red.
Max and Ruby hosted, naturally. Both dressed to the nines, Max in his crimson-lined cape and Ruby in a gown that caught the light like liquid wine. Scary Godmother had set up a small stage for dancing, and Harry was already attempting to dip Bug-a-boo during a slow song. Orson stood a few feet away, his dark jacket dusted with faint silver stitching, the faintest blush of red at his collar. He wasn’t as dramatic as his parents, but there was still a kind of old-fashioned charm about him, all soft smiles and careful grace.
He looked even more gorgeous than he did in his harvest suit.
Hannah stood near the sweets, sipping her drink, watching everyone glow in the flickering light.
Ruby approached her, her goblet glittering. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How something that once frightened you become a kind of beauty?” She gestured to the vampires and other creatures intermingling.
Hannah smiled. “It doesn’t scare me anymore. It’s just… part of the Fright Side.”
“Part of you, too,” Ruby said softly. “You’ve grown up in this world, learned what’s behind the teeth and the shadows. One day, when you and Orson are older, you will get to choose if this is where you would like to remain.”
Hannah’s cheeks flushed. “That sounds like… a big choice.”
Ruby’s eyes softened. “It always is, darling. But you’ve already chosen in so many small ways. Every time you come back through the portal. Every time you call this place home.”
She touched Hannah’s arm lightly, the way only Ruby could, elegant, affectionate. “And no matter what you choose, we will always be your family.”
Before Hannah could reply, a familiar voice called, “Mother, are you cornering my ghoulfriend with existential conversations again?”
Ruby sighed dramatically. “It’s called mentoring, dear.”
Orson appeared at Hannah’s side, his usual calm smile pulling into something a bit sheepish. “Sorry about her. You won’t have to choose if you don’t ever want to.”
Hannah smiled up at him, her heart doing that funny little skip it always did when he was near. “I don’t mind. She’s just being… Ruby.”
He laughed quietly, glancing at his mother, who was now gesturing grandly while recounting a story to Scary Godmother. “She can’t help herself. Every Blood Moon Festival, she gets sentimental. My father pretends to roll his eyes, but he’s just as bad.”
“I think it’s sweet,” Hannah said, swirling her cocoa. “It’s all about remembering who you are, right? That’s what she said.”
“Something like that,” Orson murmured. “Though I think my mother also uses it as an excuse to dress dramatically and drink extra.”
“She doesn’t need an excuse for that,” Hannah teased.
fandom: scary godmother
characters: hannah marie & scary godmother
words: 1023
author's note: so day twenty-sevent of spooktober is here.
triggers: none
˗ˏˋ please read my carrd before requesting ˎˊ˗
“Thanks for helping me clean out storage, Hannah Marie,” Scary Godmother said with a soft smile, looking around the basement to see boxes from floor to ceiling. “I really should have just cleaned it all up when I moved it out of the attic for the sleepover.”
“It’s okay!” Hannah Marie said, rolling up her sleeves. “Honestly, this looks kind of fun. Like a treasure hunt.”
“That’s one way to see it,” Scary Godmother chuckled. She waved her hand and a box came off the large tower to a more advisable height. “Though some of these treasures may have… opinions about being found.”
Hannah blinked. “Opinions?”
“Oh, yes,” Scary said breezily, already prying open the first box. “The haunted kind, mostly.”
“Haunted haunted or like Fright Side haunted?” Hannah asked, grabbing a box carefully off a wobbly tower.
“Haunted is haunted, dear,” Scary said with a chuckle, tapping her nose.
The box creaked as Hannah set it down. A puff of glittering dust floated out, catching the dim light like tiny stars.
She sneezed. “Okay, well… if anything in here starts talking, I’m putting it right back.”
“Probably wise,” Scary said approvingly, kneeling beside her. “But do try to be polite. Most haunted objects are only cranky because they’ve been ignored.” The box Scary had opened was full of candles. Dozens of them, all different sizes and shapes. Some were half-melted, others shaped like pumpkins, bats, and stars. A few had faces that seemed to be dozing.
“Oh, these are the Samhain festival candles,” Scary explained fondly. “They wake up when the moon is high and hum lullabies. Helps keep the restless spirits calm.”
As if to prove her point, one of the candles let out a tiny yawn.
“Oh my gosh,” Hannah whispered. “That’s adorable.”
“Quite. Though they tend to snore.” Scary chuckled, waving her hand to arrange the candles neatly and fixing the old label with a new one. “Keep.”
Hannah turned to the box she’d picked. The label, in elegant looping handwriting, read Handle With Caution.
“Handle with caution,” she murmured. “That sounds promising.” Inside was a jumble of oddities. A cracked crystal ball, a stack of music sheets that were softly whispering the lyrics to something jazzy, and what appeared to be a porcelain cat with one glowing eye.
“Oh, wow,” she said. “This looks like the lost and found section of a magic shop.”
Scary peeked over her shoulder. “Ah! The cat! Careful with that one, she’s quite temperamental.”
Hannah blinked. “She?”
The porcelain cat blinked back, its single glass eye swiveling. “Meow.” Then it stretched, its limbs bending like they were flesh instead of clay.
“We should keep her,” Scary said, gently pulling the cat out of the box and onto the floor while she looked in the box. “The rest we can toss.” Hannah nearly tilted her head, unable to fathom the idea of tossing living objects, even if it was music sheets. The cat yawned, walking a way with click-clack of her little paws. “She was an enchanted figurine, once meant to ward off bad luck. Unfortunately, she developed a bit of an attitude after I left her next to a mirror that told fortunes.” The cat clicked her tongue and made her way upstairs.
They kept sorting for another hour, working through the mountain of boxes. Hannah found a trunk full of musical instruments that played themselves, and a hat that whispered compliments when she tried it on.
“Lovely head shape,” it murmured approvingly.
“Thanks,” Hannah said again, trying not to laugh. “You have a lovely… brim.”
Scary Godmother looked over, grinning. “Careful, dear, flattery will only encourage it.”
After a while, the two sat amid stacks of half-sorted objects, sipping cocoa that had appeared at Scary’s snap.
Hannah sighed contentedly. “You know, I think this might actually be my favorite kind of magic.”
“What kind is that, darling?”
“The kind that’s messy, but alive,” Hannah said, looking around the room. All the humming, chattering, gently glowing things that seemed to pulse with personality. “It’s like all these objects have stories still in them.”
Scary smiled, stirring her cocoa with a cinnamon stick. “They do. That’s the trick of it, really. Magic is just a memory that refuses to fade.” Hannah responded with a thoughtful hum, she never thought of it like that. She was used to new antidotes for magic the more and more she was in the Fright Side. Each one sounded better and better.
When they stood to start again, Hannah noticed a trunk in the corner she hadn’t seen before. It was old and ironbound, its lock shaped like a keyhole with sharp teeth.
“What about that one?” she asked.
Scary followed her gaze, then froze. “Oh. That one is… hm. Best to leave that closed for now.”
“Why?”
Scary hesitated. “That is Bug-a-boo's uncle, Mimic. He doesn't take kind to humans.”
Hannah blinked. “…Oh.” She could swear she heard the trunk mutter unsavory words, jerking slightly against the lock.
“Back to storage with you,” Scary said quickly, flicking her wrist and sending the trunk back to its sleepy state. “I think we woke him,” she muttered.
By the time they were done, the basement looked less like a crypt and more like a museum with shelves neatly stacked, candles softly glowing, the air warm with candlelight and laughter.
The porcelain cat was perched proudly on a cleared table, tail curled, purring like a faint hum of static.
“Thank you, Hannah,” Scary said, brushing her hands together. “Truly. I always mean to do this sort of thing, but I get distracted by the memories.”
Hannah smiled, brushing a smudge of dust off her cheek. “It was fun. Weird, but fun.”
Scary grinned. “That’s the best kind of cleaning.”
As they made their way upstairs, Hannah paused and glanced back one more time. The basement was still, but alive with little lights flickering here and there, faint whispers and giggles echoing between boxes. For a moment, she could’ve sworn she saw the jar of starlight pulse brighter, like it was waving. She couldn't help the smile that spread across her lips.
fandom: scary godmother
characters: hannah marie x orson
words: 1002
author's note: so day twenty-six of spooktober is here.
triggers: none
˗ˏˋ please read my carrd before requesting ˎˊ˗
Creepshire Booniversity Homecoming BonfireCome show your school spirit!
Hannah Marie looked up at the sign, her arm wrapped around one of Orson’s. This was the first school event Orson ever invited her to ass boofriend and ghoulfriend. The air smelled like woodsmoke and caramel, and the chatter of students echoed across the quad. She felt the warmth of Orson’s sleeve beneath her hand and smiled up at him.
“First homecoming?” he asked, his fangs just barely visible when he grinned.
“First monster homecoming,” Hannah admitted. “The closest thing we have to monsters at my school is the Owl mascot. Well… unless you count our football team.”
He laughed, low and soft. “Then I think we can promise you something a little more exciting than that.”
The bonfire hadn’t been lit yet, but a mountain of firewood stood ready in the center of the clearing, surrounded by pumpkins carved with the school’s bat-wing crest. Strings of orange and purple lights hung between the trees, and tables were lined with mugs of cider, candied apples, and every kind of cookie imaginable.
Hannah looked around, taking in the decorations and the many student creatures. Ghosts and goblins mingled with giants and cyclops' broke the larger stumps down for the fire, vampires sat by with their “juice pouches” and watched werewolves mess around like a cat would with a dog.
“Do you guys really do this every year?”
“Tradition,” Orson said proudly.
Orson walked her around a bit, showing off some treats and games they had, before making their way to the tables. She could feel the hum of excitement in the air, that special kind of buzz that only came from a crowd waiting for something magical.
“Feels like a storybook,” she murmured.
Orson looked down at her, his expression soft. “You like that sort of thing, don’t you?”
“Stories?”
“Magic.”
Hannah smiled. “I think I like when both happen at once.”
Before Orson could reply, a cheer went up from the crowd, signalling the lighting ceremony. The Booniversity’s dean, a cheerful witch with high hair and glowing eyes, her pale green hands raised dramatically.
“Students, alumni, monsters, and miscellaneous!” she called, her voice echoing like music through the night. “Tonight, we burn bright with school spirit, and just a touch of theatrical flair!” The crowd whooped and clapped. With a wave of her hand, the witch summoned a ball of green flame that hovered in the air before shooting straight into the woodpile.
The bonfire roared to life.
Heat washed over the clearing in a rush, and the colors of the flames weren’t just orange, they flickered between crimson, violet, and gold, swirling together like living light. Hannah gasped softly. The fire crackled with magic, and tiny shapes of bats, stars, and dancing skeletons, flittering through the embers like sparks.
“Whoa…” she breathed.
Orson smiled, watching her face instead of the fire. “Pretty incredible, huh?”
She nodded, eyes wide. “It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly, “it really is.”
Hannah had seen magic fire before, in Scary Godmother's fireplace but never quite like this. They stood together, the firelight painting their faces. Hannah’s cheeks were warm, though she wasn’t sure how much of that was from the flames. Around them, the crowd began to settle, students passing cider, laughing, leaning close to share stories.
A vampire student walked over to Orson, handing over two cups of cider, before he stopped Hannah from taking one and handing it back over. “You need to get a cider from a non-vampire,” he warned, sniffing his own cup. “Vampires get Apple-blood cider. Don’t ask what that means.”
“Oh,” Hannah put her hands up before looking around, finding a witchling passing out cider. She stepped away from Orson enough to walk over, “may I take one?” The witchling nodded, handing Hannah a cup, before Hannah stepped back over to where Orson was.
She took a cautious sip, as if making sure she got the right cup. It was sweet, spicy, and a little strange. “Tastes like fall,” she said.
“That’s the idea.”
Someone nearby started strumming a guitar, and the low murmur of singing followed. Hannah leaned against Orson’s arm, the fire crackling and the night air full of warmth. For a long time, she didn’t say anything.
Then, softly, “You ever think about how weird this is?”
He looked down at her, amused. “How weird what is?”
“Us. All of this. A human and a vampire at a monster university, standing in front of a magic fire, drinking apple-blood cider.”
Orson laughed under his breath. “When you put it like that, yeah, it’s weird. To you.”
“But it’s a good weird,” she said quickly. “Like… the kind that feels right.”
He smiled, that little lopsided grin that made her heart stutter. “Yeah. I think so, too.”
The night went on. Music and laughter, glowing embers floating like fireflies. Hannah watched the football team, a beautiful mix of vampire, werewolf, and other creatures came in with a cheer. A skeleton was sitting on the shoulders of a broad wolf, holding a large football trophy.
It almost made Hannah wish she had gone to this school instead.
As the fire burned lower, Orson reached for her hand. “Want to take a walk? The woods’ll be quiet now.”
“Yeah. I’d like that.”
They wandered down the lantern-lit path, the sounds of the bonfire fading behind them. The night air was crisp, the stars sharp and bright above the trees. Orson squeezed her hand gently. He couldn't help but think of the night as a success. “You had a good time tonight,” he said affectionately.
“I did,” she said with a soft smile. “I loved it.”
Orson smiled, taking her hand and kissing the top of it. “This is my last bonfire at the school,” he looked down at her for a moment, his lips curling in a soft smile. “So… I am so glad I could share it with you.”
“I am glad I was able to see it,” Hannah responded.
fandom: scary godmother
characters: hannah marie & cast
words: 1457
author's note: so day twenty-five of spooktober is here.
not gonna lie, a lot of this is just me trying to get my word count up for a challenge not proud of it
triggers: none
˗ˏˋ please read my carrd before requesting ˎˊ˗
Hannah Marie couldn't stop smiling after the farmer's market date with Orson.
Even as she brushed her hair before bed, she kept catching herself grinning at nothing. She was always a little giddy after spending time with him, but something about that simple date had her on cloud nine. The warm cider, the way his hand brushed hers as they walked, the tiny ember gourd he’d given her… it was perfect.
The little gourd now sat on her windowsill, glowing softly like a captured sunset. Every so often, it would pulse a little brighter, and she wondered if Orson was thinking about her.
She was just about to climb into bed when her phone buzzed
SCARY G. ☾ : Sleepover tonight! Everyone’s already here! Bring your pajamas and your appetite! 🦇🍪✨
Hannah grinned. Leave it to Scary Godmother to send a last-minute invitation. She glanced at the clock, it was nearly ten. She knew it was late, she should probably just stay where she was, but on one hand… tomorrow was a Sunday, and it wouldn't be much different than her impromptu sleepover she had with Orson a few days ago.
The part of her that lived for autumn nights and laughter and the smell of cocoa was loud, cheering her on to go.
Ten minutes later, she was going through the portal.
The Spookhouse was alive with light.
Lanterns flickered in every window, and a curl of purple smoke rose from the chimney, carrying the scent of toasted marshmallows. When Hannah pushed open the door, a warm wave of chatter and laughter hit her like a hug.
Bug-a-boo was sprawled across the couch in flannel pajamas that looked three sizes too small, balancing a bowl of popcorn on his chest. Skully was sitting upside down in an armchair, reading a magazine titled Haunt Vogue. Harry was attempting to make s’mores over the fireplace. Though, judging by the smoke, not very successfully.
Count Max and Countess Ruby were playing cards at the table, their sleeves rolled up, both pretending not to care who was winning. Scary Godmother herself floated in the kitchen doorway, wearing a nightgown patterned with little stars, her hair in curlers.
“There you are, darling!” she said brightly. “Did your date go well?”
Hannah flushed, “we had a good time. Where is he?”
“Mhm.” Ruby smirked. “And you came back glowing. That’s a good market.”
“He couldn't make it,” Max added. “Something about having to get out with his Broommate tomorrow.”
Harry wolf-whistled. “Our little Hannah’s all grown up! Soon she’ll be taking moonlit strolls and writing tragic love poetry!”
“I already write poetry,” Hannah said, crossing her arms but smiling.
Skully peeked over his magazine. “Oh, I must hear this poetry. Does anything rhyme with Orson, perchance?”
That earned a round of laughter. Even Hannah joined in, rolling her eyes as she dropped her overnight bag by the couch. “You’re all impossible.”
“True,” said Scary Godmother, setting down a tray of cocoa mugs. “Yet, you love us anyway.” Hannah chuckled, looking to the hot cocoa. The cocoa was thick and sweet, topped with ghost-shaped marshmallows that bobbed lazily before melting. Hannah took a sip and sank into the couch beside Bug-a-boo, who immediately offered her popcorn.
“Movie night?” she asked.
“Movie marathon,” Harry corrected. “We’ve got Spider-Fang: Into the Spider-Crypt, The Boogey and the Beast, and my personal favorite… Howl School Musical!”
“We wouldn't let him put on The Spectral Six so we had to give in somewhere,” Skully commented.
Scary Godmother clapped her hands. “All right, everyone! Popcorn, cocoa, blankets, and no summoning circles this time, Skully.”
Skully looked deeply offended. “That was one time! And we ended up with delightful company.”
“You ended up with a demon who drank all my cider,” Scary reminded him.
The group settled in as the first movie started, the lights dimming to a cozy glow. The opening credits flickered across the wall, casting everyone in gold and shadow. Hannah tucked her legs under a blanket, sipping cocoa.
Bug-a-boo’s deep chuckle rumbled beside her whenever something funny happened. Harry offered running commentary on the werewolf actor’s technique, and Skully kept sushing him before he eventually got tired of him talking and shoved a peanut butter treat in his mouth.
Somewhere during the second movie, Hannah felt her phone buzz again. She glanced down.
ORSON (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ): hey you made it home okay?
HANNAH ꨄ︎ : yeah! i came back to the spookhouse though for the sleepover
ORSON (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ): that sounds fun, save me some popcorn?
HANNAH ꨄ︎ : you betcha, wish you could have been here
ORSON (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ): yeah, me too
ORSON (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ): maybe next time?
ORSON (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ): goodnight, pretty girl
Hannah couldn’t help the way her cheeks warmed. She stared at the screen for a second longer than she meant to, rereading that last message. Pretty girl.
he tried to hide her smile behind her cocoa mug, but Scary Godmother noticed immediately.
“Oh, I know that look,” she teased from the armchair. “Someone’s getting sweet messages.”
Hannah tried for casual. “It’s just Orson saying goodnight.”
Harry dramatically fanned himself with a napkin. “Oh, to be young and haunted by romance!”
Skully threw a popcorn kernel at him. “You were young and haunted by fleas, not romance.”
That sent everyone into another round of laughter, which Hannah was grateful for, it gave her time to collect herself. She set her phone down beside her.
By the time Howl School Musical started, Bug-a-boo was snoring softly, his popcorn bowl long since overturned and now serving as a hat. Max and Ruby had drifted into a half-argument, half-flirtation about the movie’s continuity errors, Harry had fallen asleep mid-howl on the floor, one leg sticking out from under a blanket. Skully, meanwhile, was painstakingly building a tower of candy wrappers on his forehead.
Hannah yawned, pulling her blanket tighter. The fire in the hearth had burned down to a low, warm glow, casting the whole room in honey-gold light.
Scary Godmother floated over with a smile, her curlers slightly askew. “Bedtime, my dear?”
“Yeah,” Hannah said softly, trying not to wake the others. “If I don’t, I’ll just fall asleep right here.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Scary said fondly. “Come along, I’ve fluffed the guest pillows just for you.” Hannah smiled affectionately, following her upstairs. The Spookhouse always felt different at night, quieter, dreamier, like the air itself shimmered with leftover laughter.
The attic had been transformed into a cozy nest of quilts, sleeping bags, and pillow forts. Faint starlight glimmered through the crooked windows, and the autumn wind whispered just outside.
Hannah climbed into her sleeping bag near the window, the same spot she always claimed for sleepovers. Boogle climbing in with her. From there, she could see the forest stretching out under the night sky, spying jack-o-laterns lighting the paths. It was beautiful.
She let out a long sigh and lay on her side, hugging her pillow. Her phone in her hand. She typed a quick message.
HANNAH ꨄ︎ : can’t sleep
HANNAH ꨄ︎ : everyone’s snoring
ORSON (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ): even skully?
HANNAH ꨄ︎ : skully doesn’t sleep, he’s just pretending so he can steal more popcorn later
ORSON (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ): sounds about right
ORSON (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ): do you want me to tell you a story so you can fall asleep?
HANNAH ꨄ︎ : a bedtime story?
ORSON (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ): yeah.
ORSON (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ): the terrifying tale of... “the sleepy witch and the very patient vampire.”
She laughed quietly to herself, careful not to wake Boogle.
HANNAH ꨄ︎ : sounds romantic already
ORSON (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ): depends on who you ask. the witch was stubborn
ORSON (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ): see
ORSON (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ): she stayed up way too late, thinking about someone
HANNAH ꨄ︎ : someone handsome, i hope
ORSON (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ): obviously. devastatingly handsome. kind eyes. good with pumpkins.
HANNAH ꨄ︎ : sounds familiar
ORSON (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ): and maybe... he thought about her too. a lot.
HANNAH ꨄ︎ : okay, now you’re just trying to make me blush
ORSON (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ): is it working?
HANNAH ꨄ︎ : maybe
Hannah smiled, leaning into her pillow. She wished she brought the gourd with her.
ORSON (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ): then the witch yawned so big she nearly swallowed the moon
HANNAH ꨄ︎ : poetic
ORSON (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ): and the vampire told her to go to sleep, because he liked her best when she was rested and happy
HANNAH ꨄ︎ : …that’s very specific
ORSON (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ): maybe it’s a true story
HANNAH ꨄ︎ : only i'm not a witch
ORSON (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ): true
ORSON (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ): you are a fairy princess
Hannah chuckled, smiling to herself. She tucked the phone under her pillow and moved to lay down. She could hear Scary trying to talk the sleeping Harry to come up to the attic.
fandom: scary godmother
characters: hannah marie x orson
words: 1254
author's note: so day twenty-four of spooktober is here.
this one is a little late.
triggers: none
˗ˏˋ please read my carrd before requesting ˎˊ˗
Hannah Marie wasn't sure what she was expecting when she heard Fright Side had a Farmer's Market.
But, of course, it did. A large lantern-lit fairground that came alive every Saturday under the harvest moon. Rows of crooked stalls lined the cobblestone square, each one overflowing with everything from spectral produce to enchanted baked goods.
Ghosts sold jars of honey. Goblins traded pumpkin seeds for stories. Witches haggled over potion ingredients like they were swapping recipes.
It was, in a word, perfect.
And it would’ve been perfect even if she weren’t on a date.
But she was.
Orson had asked her that morning in his usual, awkward-but-charming way. Hannah was sitting with Scary Godmother and Skully, drinking little dragon tea.
“So, uh,” he’d said, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, “you doing anything later? Like, say, around noon? Maybe… the rest of forever?”
Hannah had blinked. “Are you asking me out, Orson?”
Despite their relationship having surpassed a year, she could never quite get over how cute Orson was when he was anxious to ask his ghoulfriend out. She knew he would be blushing if he could, “I’m asking if you want to go to the market. With me.”
Scary Godmother had smiled behind her teacup. Skully had dramatically looked up from whatever magazine he was reading.
“Well,” Hannah had said, grinning, “I don't think I have any plans set in stone yet, and I’ve never turned down a good market.”
And that was that.
Now, hours later, she walked beside him down the pumpkin-lined road leading into the square. Orson had his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, his usual rocker-cool demeanor slightly dampened by the fact that his hair kept catching stray leaves. Hannah thought he looked adorable like that, all tough on the outside, soft and bashful underneath.
“So,” he said, glancing sideways, “what’s your plan of attack? You strike me as a cider-first kind of girl.”
“Maybe,” she said. “But I like to look around first. Take it all in.”
“Classic market strategy,” he said seriously. “Very advanced.” They both laughed.
The Fright Side market was bustling in the best kind of way, alive with color and noise. A cyclops strummed her banjo on top of a hay tower, playing a lively tune that had a group of bats swooping overhead in rhythm. Candied apples glittered on sticks like jewels, cauldrons bubbled with mysterious stews, and somewhere nearby, someone was selling roasted pumpkin seeds that smelled way too good to ignore.
Hannah tugged at Orson’s sleeve. “Come on, let’s start there.”
The vendor, an older goblin with mirrored sunglasses, gave them a nod. “Roasted or caramelized?”
“Both,” Orson said before Hannah could answer. “We’re on a date.” Hannah nearly choked on her laugh, her face flushing.
The vendor grinned and handed over two paper cones of seeds. “Cute, you kids have fun. Next!”
They wandered between stalls, sharing snacks and pointing things out. Hannah stopped to admire hand-painted gourds that looked like miniature planets. Orson bought one shaped like a skull and said it reminded him of Skully, which made them both laugh.
At one stall, a witch with glittering green hair sold enchanted flowers that bloomed under moonlight. Hannah picked up a single white one and turned it between her fingers.
“It’s called a glowblossom,” the witch said. “Keeps away nightmares and bad dreams.”
“Sounds useful,” Orson said, watching her.
Hannah smiled softly. “Maybe I’ll keep it on my windowsill.”
He hesitated, then asked, “You still get bad dreams?”
“Sometimes,” she admitted. “But they don’t scare me as much anymore. You really helped me last time.”
He went quiet at that, if he could blush his ears would be red. After a moment, he cleared his throat and pulled out the money, “she'll take this one.”
“You don't need to buy it for me,” Hannah said affectionately, holding the flower close to her.
“I asked you on the date,” he reminded her, mock stern. “I’m supposed to do at least one gentlemanly thing.”
“Just one?”
“Okay, maybe more than one.”
After a while, they got themselves some apple cider and found a bench beneath a string of glowing pumpkins. The air around them smelling like sugar, smoke, and apples. The Fright Side was close to sunset, casing everything in a warm, almost yellow filter.
“This is nice,” Hannah said, blowing gently on her drink.
“Yeah,” Orson agreed. “It’s weird. I’ve lived here my whole life, and I don’t think I’ve ever actually looked at this place.”
Hannah tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “You know how it is. When you grow up somewhere, you stop seeing it. It’s just… background.”
She smiled. “Then I’m glad you get to see it again.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Me too.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, sipping cider and watching the world go by. A ghost floated past carrying a basket of glowing pears. Bug-a-boo stomped through the crowd in the distance, holding what looked like an entire roasted pumpkin on a stick. Skully was nowhere to be seen, but Hannah knew that he came to spy on their date.
When Hannah finished her cider, Orson took her cup and tossed it into a compost bin shaped like a smiling jack-o’-lantern. “Want to see something cool?” he asked, standing up.
“Always.”
He led her past the last row of stalls to where the market lights faded into the edge of the pumpkin fields. There, hidden behind a fence of twisted vines, was a smaller stand she hadn’t noticed before, run by an old troll with a hat full of moss.
“Evening, lad,” the troll said to Orson. “Brought a guest, have you?”
“Yeah,” Orson said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thought she might like one.”
“Like one what?” Hannah asked.
The troll reached into a crate and pulled out a tiny pumpkin, no bigger than an apple, with a heart-shaped stem. It glowed faintly from the inside.
“They’re called Ember Gourds,” Orson said. “They’re kind of like… good luck charms. You keep them on your windowsill, and they glow whenever someone’s thinking about you.”
Hannah’s chest warmed. “That’s so sweet.” Hannah gently reached over to grab the gourd, turning it over slightly in her hands.
“Yeah, well,” he said, trying (and failing) to sound casual, “they’re mostly for decoration. But, you know. They look nice next to glowblossoms.”
She laughed softly, looking up at Orson with her big hazel eyes. “Then I guess I’ll have to take care of both.”
They walked back toward the market lights, the little gourd glowing softly in Hannah’s hands. She could feel its gentle warmth against her palms, like holding a bit of moonlight.
When they reached the square again, seeing some vendors packing up as the banjo playing cyclops finished up her last song. Couples were dancing, twirling in slow circles beneath the lanterns. They joined the others, awkward at first. Orson held Hannah Marie close in his arms, one hand on the small of her back while the other held her side. Hannah’s flustered giggle mixed with the music, echoing softly through the evening.
When the last note faded, they stood for a moment in the golden glow of the market, surrounded by the smell of pumpkins and caramel.
Orson looked at her and said, “You know, this might be the best market I’ve ever been to.”
Hannah smiled, tucking the little pumpkin close to her chest. “That’s because you saw it this time.”
fandom: scary godmother
characters: hannah marie & cast
words: 913
author's note: so day twenty-three of spooktober is here.
triggers: none
˗ˏˋ please read my carrd before requesting ˎˊ˗
Hannah Marie would sometimes keep the leaves.
At first, she hadn't meant to. Some leaves would simply stick to the sweater that Scary Godmother had made her. When she peeled them off later, she couldn’t bring herself to throw them away. It was a sign of Scary Godmother's hard work into bringing autumn into the world. It was too perfect, too full of that feeling she never wanted to lose, like the laughter and the smell of cinnamon in the air. The way the Fright Side glowed like a dream at sunset.
So, she pressed them.
Scary Godmother caught her flattening one between the pages of an old spell book Scary had gotten her and smiled. “Careful, darling,” she said, tilting her head with a grin. “That one still has a bit of sugar on it. You might attract sprites.”
Hannah laughed. “Then I’ll have to press one for them too.”
Scary Godmother chuckled, brushing a bit of leaf dust from Hannah’s shoulder. “You have your Godmother’s sentimentality,” she said softly. “But perhaps a better eye for presentation.”
That evening, Hannah made sort of a ritual of it.
After everyone else had gone home, the Fright Side quieted. Harry full of pumpkin pie, Skully humming show tunes, Bug-a-boo carrying off half the leaf pile tangled in his fur. The trees rustled gently, their branches sighing with the leftover warmth of magic. The cauldron in the kitchen still smelled faintly of cider and spice.
Hannah sat at the kitchen table with her small collection of leaves laid out like treasures. Each one had a story.
A crimson maple leaf with a ragged edge where Bug-a-boo had accidentally stepped on it, affectionately called “battle damaged”.
A delicate yellow one that had landed perfectly on Ruby’s head, like a crown.
A deep brown one that Scary Godmother said had come from the first tree she ever enchanted.
And one caramel-colored, that had fallen into Hannah’s lap just before sunset.
She laid them out carefully on parchment, smoothing each one flat with her fingertips. Each one more delicate than the last.
“You know,” came a voice from the doorway, “most people would just frame them.”
It was Skully, of course. He was leaning against the rickety doorway as he took off the scarf he had worn outside just moments before.
Hannah giggled. “You’re spying on me again.”
“Observing, my dear. Artists must observe.” He hopped down lightly, inspecting her setup. “Ah, the old pressing ritual! Very nostalgic, very quaint. How delightfully human of you.”
“I’m not doing it for art,” she said, rearranging a few stems. “I just want to keep them. They make me feel… happy.” She even had the leaf that stuck to her sweater on her first date with Orson only a year ago.
Skully crouched beside her, tapping his chin. “Then you are an artist. Sentimentality is simply the first brushstroke of creativity.”
Hannah rolled her eyes affectionately, smiling to herself.
They spent the next hour sorting leaves. Skully proved surprisingly meticulous, debating the aesthetic merits of shape and shade as if he were curating a gallery.
“This one,” he said, holding up a jagged orange leaf, “has character. You can see the passion in the veins.”
“It’s from when Bug-a-boo sneezed,” Hannah said, giggling. “I think it got caught in his fur.”
“Precisely!” Skully declared. “Authenticity!”
They laughed together, arranging the leaves in stacks, each pressed between sheets of parchment and pages of the old spell book. It became the one thing that was just her and Mr. Pettibone's thing. She had all sorts of things with Scary Godmother or Bug-a-boo… especially with Orson. But not with Skully.
At some point, Scary Godmother returned, carrying a tray of cocoa. “Working hard, or hardly working?” she teased, setting the mugs down.
“Both,” Skully said, dramatically stretching his spine with a crack. “We are preserving history!”
Hannah blushed. “I’m just pressing leaves.”
“Every memory deserves a little care,” Scary said, smiling warmly. She reached out and smoothed Hannah’s hair back, a gesture that was part motherly, part magical. “You know, darling, the Fright Side has a way of fading if you don’t hold onto it properly. Even magic likes to be remembered.”
“Is that why you bake the leaves?” Hannah asked.
Scary’s eyes sparkled. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I just like the smell.”
When the pressing was done, Scary helped Hannah tie the pages together with a ribbon that glittered. “There,” she said, admiring their handiwork. “A proper autumn archive.”
Hannah ran her fingers over the stack, feeling the faint warmth trapped between the pages. “Do they stay like this forever?”
“Forever?” Scary mused, looking out at the glowing forest. “No, not quite. Magic fades. Colors dull. But if you keep them close, if you look at them when you need them most, they’ll remember you.”
That night, Hannah placed the pressed leaves beside her bed in the guest room upstairs (if you can even call it a guest room, Scary and Skully had set it up for Hannah a long time ago). The window was cracked open, letting in the scent of pumpkin fields and cool night air. The book felt heavier than before, like it held a heartbeat.
She dreamed of the leaf pile, of laughter echoing through the forest, of the taste of cinnamon in the air. In her dream, the leaves she’d pressed fluttered open again, swirling gently through the pages before settling back down, like they, too, wanted to stay.
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