#techzaspookyweek2025

Happy yaoiween!

Soon.

1. Stalker/Slasher 2. Trasformation/Frankenstein 3. Hellfire/demons 4. Apothecary/Cottage 5. Carnival/Clown 6. Cowardice/Crossroads 7. Alive by midnight/Dead by dawn

Guidelines

Post these year's prompts under #techzaspookyweek2025 or #emduospookyweek2025 for platonic works, if you prefer.

HA I'M DOING IT FUCKERS, TAKE THIS AS MY BIRTHDAY GIFT TO YOU, IDK WHEN I'M GETTING CAUGHT UP BUT BON APPETITE

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Fandom: Dream SMP

Relationship: Technoblade/Phil Watson | Philza

Length: 1,149 words.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Demons, Crossroads Deals & Demons, Banter, Implied Sexual Content, Comedy

Summary: The full moon was almost as bright as day, the trees around him casting long shadows on the ground. Phil took in the view as he bit into a cherry hand pie, and then went still. There was a dark shadow stretching out onto the road next to him, and as he looked at it the darkness was growing, like a figure straightening from a crouch. He turned to look, hand going to the knife on his belt, and glowing red eyes looked out of the dark next to him. “So, you’ve come to the crossroads,” a deep voice said.

Or: Phil makes a bargain.

The stillness of the night clung to the ruins, the remnants of ash and charred wood scattered across the ground like the bones of a long-dead creature. For months, It laid asleep - its walls crumbling, its once-proud windows now dark, devoid of the eyes that had once peered into the world. But now, beneath the suffocating silence, something stirred. A pulse; soft at first, like a whisper through the floorboards, as if a faint tremor of life returned to Its long-ignored joints.

The floorboards groaned, stretching after a long slumber. The smell of dampness and decay filled the air where fire had once scorched. The wind began to stir, but it was not the same wind. It carried with it a new chill, a promise of something darker, something... hungrier. Slowly, the charred beams groaned under their weight as the roof creaked, shifting back into shape with a low, aching sound. Like a waking giant, the cabins stood still against the cold, dark tundra. Its oppressive trees cornering from all sides.

Then came the whispers, faint at first, like the rustling of dry leaves at the edge of a forest. Voices. Soft at first, rising like steam from the earth. They approached, unaware, their footsteps as light as shadows upon the dirt. It felt them - each tentative footstep. Each sigh. The familiar pulse of life.

Trespassers.

They were drawn to it, to it, to the cabins' pulse like moths to flame. How the houses had waited for this. Waited for the return of those who would feed it once again.

The old familiar weight of their presence pressed against the walls, and It stirred with anticipation. Closer now. It could feel the heat of their bodies as they crossed its threshold, the air thick with their unease. Their hearts beat in time with the creaking floor, and their breath quickened with every step. They would stay. It was only a matter of time.

And so, as the travelers crossed its threshould, the cabins began their stalking. It had woken. It had risen once more. Yet another year.

It wasn't that long ago, in the grand scheme of things, that foundations of the buildings had shifted. The shelter in the tundra had been abandoned for longer than anyone had lived in it, that much is true, but the cabins were young yet. They still are.

What brought about the change? Perhaps it was the owners, their absence. Entities, energy, meddling with that which they left behind.

Perhaps the buildup of bodies and parts that have rotted in the floor brought about what made them a Thing; grated through and eventually, consumed- turned flesh that now cements the walls. Its oil finish coats the wooden frames with life: once an amalgamation of bodies, turned whole.

Had they always been dormant, awaiting for an unfortunate soul to cross their threshold and perish in it to wake them?

...