Well for starter, my name is Lizz and I am a 24 years old girl that loves romance and good mysteries.
I am a writer, that likes to explore and delve into different style and world that makes me dream.
The dark and gothic style makes me feel alive.
I am one of those girls that wished they had been born in the medieval era.
I publish about a lot of subjects that are totally different from each other's on their own beauty.
Lets name the main titles.
•Faith the Winx Saga
•House of dragons
•Dracula, every version truelly
•Vampire Diaries
•The School of good and Evil
•Wednesday
•Pride and Prejudice
•Hazbin Hotel
Those are the subjects I like to write or post about mostly, however I always discover new interest so it might change.
My tumblr is filled with treasured and text that I've written. Their is two ways to read them or discover them. The first one is to search into it to find what you want. The second is to go check my Ao3 account but saddly their isn't all my text on there. I will eventually upload them all but it isn't done yet. Nonethless, their is a lot ot start with!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Warnings: None???, Potential inconsistencies in the tense it’s written in
Notes: For @wholoveseggs since she gave me this idea :)
Word Count: 553 (This is short, I'm sorry)
FLUFFTOBER 2025 , MASTER POST , TVDU MASTERLIST
———————
“Fred and Daphne?” you suggest.
“I wouldn’t be caught dead in an ascot,” Elijah scoffs.
“Jack and Sally?”
“The paint would make a mess.”
“Chucky and Tiffany?”
“Do you really want to see me in a little orange wig?” he looks at you, deadpanning.
“Yes!”
He raises a brow before going back to his magazine, “No.”
“Werewolves! It would be ironic!”
He doesn’t even dignify that suggestion with a verbal response. He just shakes his head, making you groan. You stand right in front of him with your arms crossed, tapping your foot like an angry mother. This had been going on for about half an hour now, you suggest a costume idea, Elijah shoots it down.
After a moment he sets his magazine aside and reaches for your hands, looking up at you with a teasing grin on his face, “Sweetheart, I told you before, I don’t do costumes.”
“I just don’t understand why you’re so against it.”
“It’s not that I’m against it… I just don’t see the point. Besides, the costumes are meant to be… scary.”
“We can be scary! Werewolves would be scary… or maybe—“
“Darling,” he cuts you off, “Do you even know the origin of Halloween?”
“…I’m sure that you do,” you tilt your head up, crossing your arms once more, “you were probably alive for it.”
He chuckles, taking no offense to your comment on his age, “Samhain, Celtics believed that what we know as Halloween was the day that the veil between the spirit world and our world was the thinnest. They believed that these spirits would cross over, good and bad. People today wear costumes on Halloween because back then, they wore costumes and masks to disguise themselves so that the spirits wouldn’t be able to identify them as human.”
You nod and he continues, “They would carve jack-o-lanterns with scary faces to scare away the evil spirits. All of these Halloween traditions we have today, stemmed from this. But now it is simply a holiday where children dress up to get free candy.”
“Adults dress up too,” you remind him.
You sit down in his lap, straddling his thighs, “For a man obsessed with appearances and parties, it’s funny you’re hosting a Halloween event and won’t wear a costume.”
“You are welcome to dress up as sexy or scary as you’d like but I’ll be attending as myself.”
Narrowing your eyes, you reach for his hair and flatten it out against his head. You grin when you get an idea.
“What if…your costume isn’t as elaborate?”
He hums, "What are you thinking?”
“You have a pinstripe suit, correct?”
“Of course I do—but I already said I wouldn’t be Jack Skellington…too much face paint.”
You grab his bicep, “too much muscle… but regardless, I’m not speaking of Jack.”
“Is that so?”
“Gomez Addams… all you’ve got to do is wear the pinstripe suit, slick your hair down, and draw on a little fake mustache, and I’ll be Morticia.”
He ponders for a moment before giving you a quick peck on the lips, “Fine. But only because Gomez worships Mortica.”
“Just as you worship me?” you taunt.
Elijah practically growls at your teasing and pulls you down for a heated kiss. His voice is deeper, huskier when he pulls back.
