#evil corn man

[goryhorroor]

horror sub-genres: cults

[corn-cardigan]

i am a d'arce miasma truther

also bonus tiny darce that was in one of my files?? idk what it was for but i'd like to share it to the class

[immediatebreakfast]

As funny, and seemly out of context the corn monologue is, Van Helsing practically explained to Jack how they will have to approach the delicate case of Lucy. More now that Van Helsing has confirmation of the actual reason why the poor girl is at the verge of death every day.

The reasoning behind the corn monologue is basically a giant metaphor for how to use knowledge. The farmer only needs to see a few parts of the unripened corn to know if it's going to be a good crop or not. Van Helsing has yet not seen Lucy's state, but he has a theory on the back of his mind because of his vast knowledge. However, Van Helsing can't rush, and say that this theory is the reason.

"See you now, friend John? I have sown my corn, and Nature has her work to do in making it sprout; if he sprout at all, there's some promise; and I wait till the ear begins to swell."

Just like how the farmer's knowledge makes them wait for the corn to grow a little bit, so they can see if the crop will bear good results; Van Helsing has prepared all of his knowledge and his theory, so he can wait to see Lucy to finally confirm if it's true or not. Rushing to the what ifs, or creating absolutes will not help Lucy at all, so Van Helsing needs to examine then cross every possible medical explanation before even confirming that it could be a supernatural explanation.

"As he did so the narrow black velvet band which she seems always to wear round her throat, buckled with an old diamond buckle which her lover had given her, was dragged a little up, and showed a red mark on her throat. Arthur did not notice it, but I could hear the deep hiss of indrawn breath which is one of Van Helsing's ways of betraying emotion."

And boy, does Van Helsing get confirmation. Like a slap in the face that playfully tells him "You have been losing time~"

After Arthur gives blood as an expression of love, and Lucy is finally out of danger. Van Helsing can get to work, now that he knows the Gravity of the situation he can finally use the vast knowledge that he has. Moreover, the questions of "what do you make of that mark?" to Jack is to see if there was any possibility of openly telling what is exactly attacking Lucy.

"I shall be back as soon as possible. And then we may begin."

But since Jack is a modern man of science, then... Van Helsing shall have to proceed nevertheless.

[aq2003]

tal mentions iron man and compares him to percy and i take -800 points of psychic damage

[pommancy]

Wheres that video of the guy dropping the biggest insult to an terrible aunt and then closing their phone and put it in his ass or smth while the phone vibrate with notification sounding off the walls cause i feel like thats me rn

[s7garst5r]

Evil corn man is such a fool

[thegoldencontracts]

He Is...

Summary: In another universe, your boyfriend is a bit... Odd, to say the least? Why do you stay with him? U-uh, because canon said so (ortho is just platonic ofc)!

Notes: Pure crack based off of popular fanon things that I honestly don't find accurate. No hate, just a bit of joking. Minor spoilers. Also, if you're touchy about popular fanon headcanons you have, you might want to avoid this post. I have no hateful intentions, but I understand it may be take that way. As always, I am open to constructive critiquing and discourse.

Riddle is going to collar you if you so much as breathe wrong. He does absolutely nothing nice for you. But then when you want to leave him, he breaks down crying...? Weird.

Trey is disturbingly obsessed with teeth, but he's completely perfect other than that. Literally perfect. No, really.

Deuce is incredibly dumb and well-intentioned. He's never done anything wrong in his life! Biker gang? What biker gang? You're just hallucinating.

Ace is an absolute asshole. He's never apologized for anything in his life. Just- a complete douche, somehow.

Cater is incapable of speaking on anything other than pure slang. You tell him you're going to break up with him, and he just says "yikes". Who does that?

Leona is literally the worst person you have ever met. Depression? What depression? He's just lazy! But yeah, he's the scum of the Earth. Trust. At least he respects women?

Ruggie is communist. You don't know where it came from, but he is. But he's also a scammer. Yeah, good luck.

Jack is a tsundere... You thought there was something else? No, that's it. He's a tsundere. He's cute, though.

Azul is a little baby boy. He's just that same little octopus he was. Scams, contracts, business? What are you talking about? He's just your little baby boy who'll break down crying if you don't tell him you love him every five seconds!

Floyd is a serial killer. What do you mean he's only seventeen? He's a serial killer! He kills people. That's right, he kills them. He's a merciless, remorseless killer.

Jade is completely sick and twisted. He'd kill you for a single corn chip, and he's never felt any emotion other than schadenfreude in his life. He's not seventeen, he's, uh- he's been lying to you! He's actually a demon who thrives off of souls (and being one hell of a butler).

Kalim is nice. He's also an idiot. That's right, this man has literally never had a critical thought in his life! Can you believe it? He's never had any hardships, either. Poisoning attempts? What poisoning attempts? There's nothing to see here!

Jamil is an asshole. There's no justification for it. His life was so amazing, it's not like he was basically a slave or anything. Why couldn't he just talk to Kalim before going through with his plans? It's literally that easy!

Vil is a mean girl. That's right. He's selfish, manipulative, and lazy! What do you mean 'he wants people to work and be the most beautiful they can be'? He's just a mean girl, guys. Nothing more to it. And I can't believe he ruined Rook! It isn't like Rook chose to move into Pomefiore or anything!

Rook is creepy, and a stalker, and an irredeemable piece of shit. You see, he used to be a shining beacon of perfection in Savannaclaw, but then the EVIL Vil had to RUIN him! The horror! He was so happy there, too! Everyone knows that dull, lifeless eyes are the number-one sign of happiness!

Epel is a perfect, dainty little boy who can do no wrong. He's just- a shining beacon of dainty and perfect ideals. So fragile. So perfect. So helpless. He has absolutely no autonomy. Trust me on that. Just a perfect little angel boy.

Idia is an unhygenic, depressed softie. He's never showered in his life! It's not like STYX had a lot of focus on systematic hygiene that Idia's used to or anything! And he's never looked down on others in his life! You can trust me on that!

Ortho is a kind, soft little robo-boy who can do no wrong. That time he tried to fire a laser beam on the school? Ignore that, he's just a little baby!

Malleus is sooo in love with you. No, he's not acting oddly due to being unused to friendship, he's in love, damnit! He's in love! He's making this an otome!

Lilia is a dad. And he thinks you should get together with Malleus. Really, he's just there to set you up with the dragon man!

Silver is the perfect, most noble and well-liked gentleman. Awkward? Unused to people wanting to hang out with him? Nope, none of that. Just perfection here!

Sebek is the scum of the Earth. Why, you may ask? Simple! He's loud and arrogant. I don't know why he hates humans so much, really, it's not like he's dealing with internalized species-ism or anything...

[creepswrites]

MASK OF HATE (CH 3) | Michael x Reader

just when i was finally starting to feel better physically, i tanked mentally :') so i'm sorry it's taken me so long to update. i hope this was worth the wait though! i promise i Do plan to work on other stuff besides just MoH but rn i just. needed to write Michael for a bit

MICHAEL MYERS x FTM!READER (he/him)

SUMMARY: You internally cursed Dr. Loomis for tormenting this man for so, so many years. Embodiment of evil your ass, he was so obviously desperate for love and care that he'd practically thrown himself at you as soon as you'd proven you would love him no matter what. He was more than the traumas he felt compelled to reenact. He was so, so much more and you loved every part of him.

PREV || NEXT

Halloween in Haddonfield was always a high-strung time for the town.

Ever since the Halloween killings a few years ago, the town had taken a hesitant approach to the holiday. Parents made a point to accompany their kids everywhere or just simply stay home with them. If phones went down or power went out, babysitting teens were told to cross the street and get help, no matter what. Despite the horrors, people still dressed up, still went looking for candy, and still snuck out to make out with their respective partners.

Halloween for you had been quiet. You'd gone to a small costume party with your friends and tried to stay busy. You knew Michael was out working since news of his crimes reached your party, people whispering and gasping at the reported murders coming from the televisions.

You tried not to think about it.

By the time you got home, it was nearly 2am and you were exhausted. As though sensing your arrival, the Boogeyman stepped out of the shadows of your kitchen, bloodstained and breathing heavily. "Busy night?" You'd called to him with a tired smile. He tilted his head in lieu of any response.

With the holiday over, you wondered what Michael would do next. For many nights after, you lay in bed and bore holes in your ceiling as you tried to come up with a plan. Would he leave? Go back to Smith's Grove? Surely he couldn't keep killing, right? There'd be no people left in Haddonfield eventually. But was that the point?

You didn't know. You didn't like not knowing.

But he didn't do any of those things. Instead, he'd sit on your couch and watch television, intrigued by the cartoons, or follow you around the house. If you left, he'd stalk you from a distance just out of sight. He joined you for dinner and movies in front of the television and seemed to enjoy watching horror films when you put them on. You knew him well enough to notice he had a soft spot for The Thing so you tried to put it on as often as possible.

It became the new normal. Domestic and quiet.

Months passed. Fall oranges faded to browns and whites as winter approached. You'd leave out food for Mayhem in hopes he'd come home but you began to lose hope. All you could do now was pray he didn't suffer or that he hadn't been eaten by some other animal.

Michael always watched you when you did this, stood in the doorway of the backdoor while you sat on the narrow steps, hoping your kitty would come home. It might've looked silly to him but he never tried to stop you. You appreciated that.

During all this, he didn't kill anyone. At least, not that you knew of. You tried to avoid the news and, with your dad gone, you didn't have much insider information anymore. Who knows if they were even still looking for him.

So you made a Thanksgiving feast. Michael was familiar with the concept but you knew it had likely been a long time since he'd actually gotten to participate. So you went all out - turkey, mashed potatoes, corn, green bean casserole, gravy, the whole nine yards. The two of you ate together on your couch and watched Charlie Brown episodes, eating your weights in food and falling asleep on opposite ends of the couch.

When you'd woken, you had been taken aback by how peaceful he looked when he slept. Curly hair ruffled from the awkward angle he lay against one of your throw pillows, his face still but not tense. Pretty, you thought to yourself not for the first time.

It was nice. Everything felt perfect.

One afternoon when you'd gotten back from work, you saw Michael masked up and standing on your front porch cradling something wrapped up in an old towel. "What is that?" You gasped, fearing the worse as you hurried closer.

But you broke down into tears, immediately recognizing Mayhem. Cold, trembling, and most certainly sick in so many ways but alive and home. You'd taken him to the vet's office, a sobbing mess in the waiting room. He'd need surgery for his infected wounds and have to be on antibiotics for a long time but you were just relieved he was home and safe now.

Michael never told you how he found him. You didn't ask, just baked him a pumpkin pie as thanks.

November browns turned to December blues as snow and frost began to make appearances. The first snow day, you'd bundled both yourself and Michael up and dragged him outside to see the falling snow. He wore the mask much less now, often leaving the thing in the corner of the closet, hidden away like a bad memory.

You didn't really understand that. Your best theory was that the mask compelled Michael to kill and now that Halloween had come and gone, he was back to some semblance of normal. He still wore masks from time to time - rustic paper mache ones crafted at your kitchen table on quiet afternoons - but significantly less now. Maybe it was just a Halloween thing and he was relatively normal the rest of the year? You weren't sure. Obviously, you knew better than to push about what happened with his sister but you wondered if the killings were a reenactment of the trauma.

Psychology has always interested you.

It wouldn't surprise you if the great Dr. Loomis neglected to acknowledge that Michael was traumatized, quick to demonize him rather than provide him proper care. That he didn't put together Michael went from a normal boy to suddenly completely nonverbal and monotonous after killing her. It had affected him, even if people didn't want to admit that. Michael himself included.

But wearing the classic mask a little less meant you could slip a cute wool hat on his head and drag him out, mitten-clad hands clasped together as you charged outside. "Come see, come see!"

Michael looked up at the falling snow, squinting against the snowflakes that began to freckle his face. You'd laughed and nudged him. "Try this," you said before opening your mouth and letting the snowflakes fall on your tongue.

He'd given you a bewildered look but tried it. Only because he'd grown so fond of you, you assumed.

Days passed. Mayhem made a full recovery and now spent his days lounging in the winter sun. Sometimes he'd brush against Michael for attention and the man had gotten better at returning it, fingers brushing soft black fur occasionally. It was sweet, you thought, how he'd slowly begun to reintegrate into your life.

When you caught him drawing on looseleaf papers, you decided to get him paints and canvases as an early Christmas present and cleared out your dad's old room to let him have an art studio to paint and work on his masks in private. You'd layed down old newspapers to keep the floor relatively clean when you revealed it to him. He'd spend hours up in there, painting or making masks. You'd helped him hang some up on the wall of the room with little thumbtacks as hooks. He was getting good, you'd thought as you examined a bright orange mask that resembled a jack o' lantern.

Michael didn't show you his paintings very often. That wasn't really the point anyways so you didn't mind. But there had been a few times when he'd leave a dried canvas outside your bedroom door or atop your bed like a cat offering dead animals. Your favorite so far was one of the winter sky painted with fluffy whites and cold blues with your own profile looking up at the sky. The way he painted was streaky, like his hands shook, but it was still beautifully detailed despite the messy lines and bleeding colors.

It was interesting seeing yourself through someone else's eyes translated to art. You'd kept the painting in your room and you'd trace your fingers along the raised streaks of paint, fingers running along the lines of your face. You wondered, fleetingly with bright red cheeks, if he painted you often and just never showed you.

There was a chance. You liked to think he did.

It was around the middle of December as you attempted to get ready for a holiday party. Attempted being the key word. “Michael,” you sighed, adjusting your elf hat. “I told you, I’ll be back later tonight. I’ve left dinner in the fridge and I promise I’ll call when I’m coming home.”

It was nearing Christmas when you'd gotten invited to a holiday party. You were attempting to get ready, dressing up as a cute little elf. Attempting being the key word. "Michael," you sighed, adjusting your stupid looking elf hat, "I told you, I'll be back later tonight. I've left dinner in the fridge and I promise I'll call when I'm coming home."

Michael glared at you behind the accursed Halloween mask. He had a habit of being a bit of a brat and you found it equally annoying as you did endearing. He'd put the mask on when he'd learnt you were leaving but you'd expected that. Whenever he was generally stressed out or upset, you'd find it covering his head. The symbolism there wasn't lost on you but you had more pressing things to worry about then the possible metaphor of Michael masking himself literally and figuratively.

"If you're so upset, why not come with?" You snorted to yourself as you focused on doing your eyes in a dark green with white mascara. "I can do your makeup, dress you in a cute sweater, no one would know it's you. Could be fun, yeah?"

You paused to do your lips in a dark red. Makeup wasn't really your preference but it suited the costume you wore - a dark green tunic with red and white striped knee socks with brown boots. The hat was a matching green and jingled stupidly from the little bell on the end. You'd done your face with a heavy blush and had drawn little white snowflakes in liquid eyeliner. It was cute.

The sound of heavy footsteps approaching you had you spinning around. Michael stood directly behind you and tilted his head when you made eye contact. "Wait, are you serious?" You blinked in surprise. You'd gotten good at reading him in the few months you'd spent living together and you could tell he was accepting your offer.

He gave you a blank stare before putting a hand around your neck and squeezing. You noted his tense shoulders and tried to relax. A few months ago, this gesture would have terrified you. Now you knew that it was just his way of expression. A knife and a violent hand was all he could use to convey things so you'd learnt to just roll with it, knowing that his intent wasn't to kill you.

So you didn't panic.

"I'm not making fun!" You insisted, lifting a hand to push lightly at his chest. "I just need to be sure you're actually interested in going. There'll be people there, you know that right?" Silence. "People you can't kill." More silence. "I'm not kidding either, you can't hurt or kill anyone if you come with me." It had been a long time since he'd killed anyone but you could never be totally sure of his motives. He could still be unpredictable from time to time.

Michael let you go and marched towards the dresser. You watched curiously as he fished out a black shirt and black jeans - clothes you'd gotten for him when he couldn't be in the jumpsuit - before offering them with outstretched arms. He gave you a curt nod and you smiled.

He didn't do that often so you knew he was serious.

"Alright then, c'mere big guy," you motioned for him to sit on the bed as you began gathering up makeup supplies. You kept your head turned away as he changed to offer him some semblance of privacy. Growing up in an institution meant he didn't have a lot of shame left but you always felt bad when you thought about that. 

You missed the way his hands shook as he took off the mask, too busy searching for a colored contact for his injured eye. You found a pretty jade green and figured that'd work. Heterochromia was uncommon, not unheard of. Some red eyeshadow for his eyes would help cover up the scar and would also be cute for a Rudolph nose. You collected your supplies and turned to Michael with a wide smile.

That smile fell when you saw him sitting on your bed, dressed up nice as he stared at the mask clutched tightly in his hands. He stared into its face with wide, terrified eyes and that made you freeze. You'd seen that look only once before: when you held each other in the bathroom after you'd saved him from being shot.

"You don't have to go." Your voice was soft and reassuring. He looked up at you slowly and you continued. "I know this isn't something you normally do, but-" Michael blinked slowly as you rambled. "I don't want you to feel like you have to do this for me." The last thing you needed was him snapping and killing people at the party. You'd both be in trouble for that.

But you also wondered if he was unfamiliar with being given choices. You never forced Michael into things he didn't want to do and it was possible he wasn't used to that.

He stared at you for a long time, fingernails digging into latex, before he unclenched long enough for the mask to fall to the floor with a soft crunch. The two of you stared at it for a long time and he blinked rapidly as he stared. You could tell by the clenching and unclenching of his jaw that he was fighting something off.

You wanted to make it easier for him.

So you took a seat beside him and reached for his face with slow hands. His flinch made your heart break and you cooed to him softly. "It's just me," you soothed as you clicked open the container with the contact lens inside. "I'd never hurt you."

Michael relaxed slowly, watching you with something storming in his eyes. You cupped his cheek with one hand and his eyes fluttered briefly. "Have you ever put contacts in?" You asked, smiling warmly at him.

He shook his head once. This was going to be tricky.

It took some time to get the contact in. Neither of you really knew what you were doing and you kept worrying it'd roll back to his brain. But, with your combined efforts, it now sat comfortably in his eye. Pretty green-hazel heterochromatic eyes that you fought to not get lost in. Even with the scarring he looked… normal.

"Should I even ask if you've ever worn makeup?" You teased as you took out the eyeshadow. "I'll be brushing your face and around your eyes. Is that okay?"

Michael blinked slowly, which you took as a yes.

"Stop me if it gets to be too much, okay?" You said softly before dabbing the brush in the dark red and swiping it gently over his lids, relieved it covered the scar pretty well.

You weren't sure how familiar people were with his actual face. When people thought of Michael Myers, did they just see the pale, masked face of the Boogeyman? Or did they see his mugshot, televised on the evening news as they reported his escape and recapture?

When you moved to his next eye, his hand shot out to clench your hip tight. He hated feeling vulnerable. You were the only exception to his no touching rule because you'd proven your loyalty. In exchange, he'd given you protection. But he still disliked giving over control and holding you like a stressball was the only thing he could do to abate his anxiety.

You dusted some red on the tip of his nose and smiled to yourself. "So a few of my friends will be there," you hummed as you added the finishing touches on the raccoon-style eyeshadow you'd given him to hide a lot of the scars. Since he was wearing darker clothes, you reached for the black eyeshadow next with the intent of dusting it around his lids to give him a smokier look. It made him a tad intimidating, black soot that petered out into a dark red. "They'll probably try to talk to you but I'll try and take over. If they ask, we'll say you got in a car accident when you were young and haven't been able to talk since."

He gave your hip a squeeze in confirmation.

You brushed some red on the tip of his nose with a hum. "My friend Leslie is the chattiest so at least we won't have to worry about him. He's always rambling on and on about the horror novel he's writing. To his credit, it's really interesting." You began to brush a heavy blush on his cheeks, chuckling at the way he squinted against the sensation. "It's about some boy who was thrown over a waterfall before rising to take revenge on the town? I think? I mean, he'll certainly tell you all about it. I think he's calling it Behind the Mask or something, I'm not sure."

Michael opened his eyes when you finished with the blush and you froze. He looked good and you couldn't help but stare. Tight fitting shirt, half-lidded eyes decorated in smoky colors, and messy brown curls that you made a note to fluff up before you left. He looked painfully normal and pretty and you wanted to-

You cleared your throat and grabbed the white eyeliner pen. "This'll be colder but try not to move." Gently, you held under his chin to keep him steady as you began to dot little freckles along his cheeks and nose, pausing to draw larger snowflakes at the corners of his eyes. That way you two matched!

When you pulled back, you realized he'd been staring at you.

There were a few times in the time of you knowing Michael that you wondered if he could read minds. If, in order to be the scariest thing possible, he knew exactly what scared someone. But, you reminded yourself, this wasn't some Stephen King novel. Still, it unnerved you to consider he knew what you thought of him privately.

"Oh! I know!" You hopped up and hurried back over to your vanity, grabbing a brown headband decorated with felt horns wrapped in tiny bells. They were painfully cute and you spun to show him.

He squinted at you and you giggled. "Trust me, it'll look super cute." Sliding it atop his head, you finally got to fluff his hair out to disguise the band better. When you stepped back, you gave him a once-over and a smile.

Michael fucking Myers dressed up as a reindeer. Cute little nose, horns, and all.

"You think we should use nicknames to be less suspicious?" You hummed, tilting your head - a habit you'd picked up from him. "I could call you Mike." He glared at you and you smiled with a faux-innocence. "Aw, don't like it?" He glared harder and you laughed. "Well, if they ask for your last name, I'm making something up!"

He got up wordlessly and made his way to your vanity, examining himself in the mirror. As expected, he didn't say anything. But he did touch lightly at his eyes, curious when the powder came off on his fingers. You joined him, looking you both over in the mirror. From the outside, you two looked like any normal young couple heading for a Christmas party.

“Well Mikey,” you said as you grabbed your bag, “Shall we?”

You laughed at the slow, unimpressed blink he gave you.

You were honestly impressed Chrissy managed to get so many people to come. She'd been very popular in high school - a cheerleader who'd dated the quarterback of the football team, well-liked, and clearly still riding that high despite graduating out of high school cliques. Chrissy had been a year above you but had always been one of those girls to try and invite everyone she knew to any events she threw. So you weren't exactly close friends but you'd helped her with a school project once and apparently that was enough for her.

The house was decorated to the nines, lined in little white lights that glistened against the freshly fallen snow. Little reindeer animatronics made of the same lights "grazed" in the front yard and little candy cane lights lined the pathway. It all felt a little magical. A small flurry had picked up when you and Michael got out of the car and made your way up to the front door.

Michael paused to look up at the sky while you rang the doorbell, listening to the melodic chimes ring out inside the house. You swore he almost smiled, his hair dusted in little white flakes when he looked down at you. Your heart seized at the sight and you were struck with the urge to k–

Chrissy opened the door, smiling wide and dressed in an inappropriate Mrs Claus outfit. She surveyed you both and let out a surprised gasp, the corners of her mouth curling in delight. "And who's this hottie?" She whispered at you while giggling like a schoolgirl. "I didn't know you knew any cute guys. No offense." She twirled her hair, shamelessly looking Michael up and down.

Jealousy shot through you like a bolt of lightning. "He's my boyfriend."

"Oh," she seemed almost disappointed, which you tried to brush off. She'd always felt a little entitled towards whomever she determined was the most attractive guy. It was just how she was, even if it pissed you off in the moment. "Well, I'm happy for you!" She spun on her heel and led you both into the house, gesturing for her butler to take your coats. "Feel free to mingle, lovebirds! We've got drinks, food, and our chef made a bunch of cookies."

Michael seemed to notice the lovebirds comment and you flushed, giving a nod and smile to Chrissy while trying to ignore his stare boring into the back of your head. "Thanks. Oh, um, here!" You reached into your bag and held out a small, nicely wrapped gift. "For the Secret Santa."

She lit up and took the box enthusiastically. "Ohmygosh, thank you! I was just going to ask." Chrissy added the box to a nearby table and clasped her hands together excitedly. "Alright, perfect, you're free to go!"

You led the way to the kitchen, dodging a few familiar faces with smiles and waves and promises to return once you'd gotten some food and drinks. Michael held your wrist the whole way there, squeezing harder and harder the more people spoke to you.

The kitchen was huge, white, and perfectly pristine. The maid who cleaned everything always made their house look like an interior design catalog rather than an actual home. A large plate of highly elaborate sugar cookies lay atop the countertop, a large amount already missing with only trails of crumbs indicative of their place there.

You grabbed a candy cane shaped cookie and gestured for Michael to grab one. "I think you'll like these." He just stared at you, eyes widened ever so slightly. "What?" You asked through a mouthful of cookie. His head tilted slightly and you swallowed nervously. "Sorry for the, um, boyfriend comment. It just, uh, it felt like a safe alibi, y'know?"

Michael stared at you, eyes calculating. You prepared a million apologies in your head before he reached for a snowman cookie and bit into it, never breaking eye contact. You weren't sure if that was approval or disapproval so you both just stood there, staring awkwardly at each other and eating sugar cookies. Your fingers drummed anxiously on the cold marble tile of the kitchen counter as you tried to stand your ground.

When he finished his, Michael stepped closer to you and placed a hand at your waist. He leant forward and pressed his lips to your forehead, making you gasp in surprise. It wasn't exactly a kiss but the intent was there and the message was clear. You swallowed when he pulled back and you swore his eyes softened. "Okay, okay, cool," you said quietly, trying - and failing - to hold back your smile.

Standing on your tiptoes, you pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek and smirked to yourself about the faint lipstick stain there. You snagged another couple cookies and a glass of cider. His cheeks were a soft pink when you passed him one of the cookies. "Shall we brace the music?" You grinned as you took his arm and led him out the door back into the party.

Everything went perfectly, all things considered. Of course, everyone you knew wanted to meet your new boyfriend. "It's a recent development," you'd say as Michael took a drink to avoid talking. "I met him when my car broke down and we just… hit it off, y'know?" You'd smile as though recounting the memories through your pleasant buzz from the cider.

"How long have you been dating?" You were asked a few times.

"Oh, a month and a half now, I think. It feels like it's been longer." You'd say while Michael chewed on cookies.

It had been, if you thought about when the starting point of your relationship could've been. Maybe not long after he'd gotten sick and you'd cared for him in a way he hadn't had since he was a child. Or maybe after you'd both made a wordless pact to each other while your father lay bleeding on the kitchen floor. Hard to say. But calling him your boyfriend had come so easily that you questioned how long you'd considered him that in your subconscious.

When Chrissy announced her parent's arrival with a few of their friends in tow, you went to greet them without a second thought. You froze in fear when you caught sight of her father: John Kallas. Officer Kallas. A friend of your father's who had been part of the team searching for Michael around Halloween.

You clutched Michael's arm and steered him to a quiet hallway of the house. "Don't let her dad see you," you whisper-yelled. When he tilted his head, you ran a nervous hand through your hair. "He was one of the cops looking for you. He might recognize you."

Michael didn't visibly react but you did notice him clenching his jaw. "I didn't know he'd be here! I hadn't thought of it until I saw him." You sighed, frustrated with your own anxiety rising. "I'm sorry. Do you want to leave?"

He seemed to think it over but you were interrupted by heels clicking on the tile floor. In a panic, you grabbed his wrists and put his hands at your waist. "Act like we were kissing." You whispered as you leant in, bumping your foreheads together.

His head tilted askew slightly and gave you a moment to mess up your lipstick a little. The footsteps came to a halt and you heard a familiar laugh that made all the anxiety in your body melt away in an instant.

Kalei stood with their arms crossed, looking you both over with an amused expression. "So is this the guy you were telling me about back in September?" They laughed at seeing the way you hid your face in your hands in embarrassment.

Michael gave you a quizzical look and you groaned. "Yes, yes, he is." You confessed with an exhausted sigh. "But shh!" You waved a hand at them to try and quiet them.

They didn't back down though. "He would gush about you at work to me all the time," they drawled out, ignoring your flustered protests.

"I didn't-!"

"You better treat him right!" Kalei said, crossing their arms over their chest. "I may not look it but I can pack a serious punch."

Michael blinked slowly before looking back at you. "What do you need, Kalei?" You sputtered, trying to change the topic before your impromptu boyfriend decided to make a scene.

"Oh, the Secret Santa's starting. Came to getcha." They gestured for you both to follow with an impish smile growing on their face. "Better hurry up before people start making assumptions." They teased with a waggle of their eyebrows.

Your face lit up like a torch and you gently pushed Michael away to march down the hall. "N-no, wouldn't want that, yeah." Your voice sounded far away to your own ears, too much blood pounding through your head.

Michael followed on your heels like a loyal dog and you tried to ignore the way that made you feel.

You and Michael took a seat on one of the couches and you held his arm almost possessively, especially when you noticed some of the other girls at the party kept looking at him with bashful faces. It pissed you off just how shameless they were even when they knew he was dating you. Was it that hard for people to believe?

The absence of John Kallas made you think that he and his buddies had gone into one of the other rooms. Which put your mind at ease, at least a little.

The Secret Santa was relatively uneventful. You clapped politely as people opened their gifts and were surprised when Chrissy handed you your gift from her. A book on growing vegetables with a tab already inside on a picture of a tomato plant. "You think I should grow tomatoes?" You gave her an amused smile.

"Well, duh! It, like, suits your whole vibe, y'know? I'm surprised you don't grow more vegetables." Chrissy had nudged you gently as you began leafing through the rest of the book, skimming the words as Michael watched over your shoulder.

As it finally came time to leave, you were saying your goodbyes to Chrissy when you spotted Officer Kallas leaving the kitchen. You pulled Michael out of there quickly, hoping that the stumble the officer gave was simply him tripping and not because he'd seen The Boogeyman as your date to his daughter's party.

Your walk back to the car was brisk and silent. White snow was like stars as it fell overhead before coming to rest on your shoulders and the ground below. "Thank you for coming," you said, reaching over to squeeze Michael's hand. "It was nice having you there."

Before you could pull your hand away completely, he gave you a squeeze of his own before climbing into the passenger seat.

Oh, you thought to yourself. Oh.

For Christmas, you'd gotten Michael a drum set.

It had been an impulsive buy, a decision you had made while walking past a thrift store and noticing a decently priced set on display in the window.

He enjoyed doing things with his hands - be it painting, making masks, or, most recently, helping you decorate Christmas cookies. So you figured he'd get a kick out of drumming. You lived far out enough that he could afford to be loud without worrying about waking the neighbors up and you had a detached garage he could play in. Maybe when the weather got warmer, he'd move outside.

And it might help him to let energy out. You'd caught him giving death glares to random postmen who came to your door and he'd already begun the habit of wearing the accursed Halloween mask around the house again. So you didn't want him to get bored.

“Here,” you said as you passed him the drumsticks. He examined them curiously and you gestured to the drums. When he gave you an empty stare, you took one of the stucks and whacked on the cymbals. That made Michael’s eyes widen and he moved around to take a seat. “You can be as loud as you want with them. No one’ll hear soooo… go crazy!”

Michael took the stick back and held them both in hesitant hands. With a few bangs that seemed exploratory coupled with getting the hang of pressing his foot to make a lower noise, he seemed to catch on pretty quick. His banging grew in speed and volume as he gained confidence and you laughed, covering your ears when the sound echoed off the walls of the small space. "You got it!" You called over the crashing cymbals.

A loud bang signified the end of his "song" and he stared at you with wide, crazy eyes, panting heavily. "Fun, right?" You smiled at him. "They're all yours so you're free to come play them whenever you want."

His lips curled into an almost feral smile that made you smile back. You'd never seen him smile before, much less like that.

Over the next few days, Michael continued sneaking – literally sneaking, like he'd be in trouble if you spotted him – into the garage to play the drums. His disorganized, chaotic banging was slowly starting to take form. Organized chaos, you smiled to yourself. The loud sounds and movements gave Michael a chance to express himself with noise which was quite the contrast to his usual quiet self.. You also found it exceptionally cute when he'd go play and come back inside hours later with his wild brown curls disheveled and a crazed grin on his face.

It had been unsettling at first seeing him smile the way he did but now it just made your heart seize. His fingers would drum on things to a tune you couldn't hear and he was painfully human now, relaxed around you and genuinely happy, from what you could tell.

So you made a mixtape for him that focused on heavy drum sounds, steady but loud beats the way he liked. At first he didn't seem too interested in it but you'd since caught him listening to it a few times, eyes closed and posture relaxed. Music wasn't something Michael had a lot of exposure to so you had fun introducing him to various bands and musicians.

Metal music seemed to be his preference, which made a lot of sense.

It was New Years when things really changed.

You and Michael had the television on with the channel turned to watch the ball drop. It wasn’t typically a tradition you cared about but you could tell your housemate was intrigued. He’d been upstairs painting for most of the day while you cleaned the house up a bit. "Spring cleaning," you said to Michael as he watched you from the kitchen. "Cleaning makes me happy. It's nice to get everything back in order after the holidays. 'sides, it's still too cold out for gardening."

Michael tilted his head but retreated back upstairs with his water jar for his paints.

Once the sun set, you made hot chocolate and ordered pizza. Michael preferred just plain cheese but you’d gotten yours with olives - something Michael always gave you looks for. "Don't knock it 'till ya try it," you'd snickered through a mouthful of pizza.

His brow furrowed in distaste as he took a bite of his own pizza.

It was cute. He had a lot of personality once you knew where to look. And he’d clearly gotten very comfortable with you during the time you’d been living together. It felt like a great honor to get to see Michael Myers do something as mundane as eat pizza in lounge clothes.

The two of you watched cartoons for a few hours until 11:57 hit. You flicked to the news channel and let your head loll to the side and rest against the back of the couch. "It's not the most exciting thing in the world," you said as you glanced at Michael, "But it's fun. It's nice to see everyone around the world get together for something like this."

Michael had just stared at the television with a slight tilt to his head. 11:59 struck and you felt your throat tighten as an idea came to mind. You recalled a conversation you'd had with Chrissy a couple years back where she'd told you about her favorite New Years tradition.

50 seconds…

It couldn't hurt to ask, right?

45…

“Hey, Michael?” Your voice was barely a whisper. You kept your eyes trained on the TV even when you felt his eyes on you.

40…

Swallowing was a challenge for you. “There’s, um, a kind of New Years tradition. That, um, it means-”

30…

“-you’ll have good luck for the rest of the year.” Your words were slow and methodical. It felt like you had to really sell him on the idea, even if you were afraid to tell him what it was. You weren't even sure you wanted to admit to yourself how badly you wanted to-

25…

“Want to do it?”

Michael just stared blankly at you. His eyes darted between yours, calculating. It made you feel flayed open despite the fact you were pretty sure he didn't know what you were talking about.

20…

He gave you a single nod. You quickly darted your tongue out to wet your lips. Now or never, you sighed internally.

“Trust me,” you said more than asked. His eyes widened slightly but he didn't pull away. You knew he trusted you and all you could do was hope he didn't react poorly.

15…

You swallowed around the heavy lump in your throat and tried to not look too worried. If he got the impression it was something bad, you may lose your chance. Lifting a gentle hand, you let your fingertips graze his cheek before slowly settling to cup his face properly.

It was like you could hear the sound of your own heart pounding even over the cheering on the television.

10…

"This okay?

9…

Michael's eyes softened and he gave a slight nod, as though worried he'd dislodge you entirely.

8…

You scooted closer, the both of you adjusting so you were sat facing each other, opposite shoulders brushing the back of the couch. He sat perfectly cross-legged while one of your legs braced against the floor.

7…

Slowly, you reached over with your free hand to tangle your fingers together in a loose hold.

6…

His eyes widened more and his lips parted. A look of realization flashed in his eyes and for a moment you worried you'd overstepped.

5…

"Still okay?"

4…

Michael gave a small nod again, eyes darting all over your face as he searched for…something. You weren't sure.

3…

2…

1…

You leant forward and pressed your lips together in a sweet kiss. The sounds of cheering that came from the television felt far away and underwater. Every sense in your body was focused on Michael - the warmth of his hand, the residual taste of hot chocolate on his lips, and the soft intake of breath you heard when your lips met.

It felt like the cheering was for you two.

At first, Michael didn't seem sure what to do with himself. With some gentle guidance, you tilted his head to the side to let him lean into the kiss better. He was clearly trying, so you scooted closer and let him set his hands on your hips to lift you into his lap without breaking the kiss.

When you parted to catch your breaths, Michael was staring at you with half-lidded, glassy eyes. It felt like your heart was going to burst out of your chest

You pulled him back in, tangling your fingers in his hair to keep him in place. His arms wrapped around your waist and you sunk into his hold. Being with him felt warm and safe.

So yeah. Things changed on New Years. But neither of you were complaining.

The snow finally began to clear up, being replaced smoothly by sleet and rain. It was honestly far more preferable to you, since it made walks in the forest more enjoyable. You'd always preferred the rain.

It had been a few weeks since the New Years and you and Michael were in some type of relationship. The word "dating" had come to mind but it wasn't really accurate. It was more than dating. You were partners in crime - literally and figuratively - as well as good friends, housemates, close confidants, and, more importantly, you saw each other. Really and truly. You'd both picked up on the others wordless sentences and slight shifts in your bodies were like loud declarations. Sure, you two held hands and he let you touch him more but that wasn't what was important to you.

Michael smiled more. He'd watch you with soft, sleepy eyes, stopped tensing whenever you cut his hair, and you'd caught him dozing off on the couch a few times.

You internally cursed Dr. Loomis for tormenting this man for so, so many years. Embodiment of evil your ass, he was so obviously desperate for love and care that he'd practically thrown himself at you as soon as you'd proven you would love him no matter what. He was more than the traumas he felt compelled to reenact. He was so, so much more and you loved every part of him.

Today, you needed to run down to the store to grab a few things. The rain had finally let up enough that you felt comfortable driving. "Michael? I'll be back around 5:30, alright?" You called into the house as you fastened your shoes.

Ever since the Christmas party, he'd gotten better about you leaving the house for short periods of time. So long as you promised to come back, that is. If you didn't, you knew he'd hunt you down with a knife and a bloodstained jumpsuit. Of that, you had no doubt.

Michael appeared in the doorway of the kitchen staring at you. You shot him a grin and grabbed your bags. "Be back soon!" You called over your shoulder as you ventured outside.

Looking back on it, you wished you'd stayed home…

You were examining a box of cereal for dents when someone approached you. "Hey," Chrissy's voice came from behind you. When you turned, she looked tense with her arms around herself and her smile was tight. Forced. Alarm bells began ringing in your head but you smiled back.

"Hey, Chrissy. Uh, you okay?"

"How's your boyfriend? What was his name, um, Michael, right?" She looked like she'd be sick and you felt white-hot adrenaline shoot through you like a bolt of lightning. "He, um, is he around?"

You swallowed, keeping your movements slow and casual. If you cracked, then she'd know. So you made a show of putting the cereal box into your cart and took the chance to look around. The aisle was empty but you caught the sign of movement near the end. Blue police uniforms, likely Chrissy's dad and his partner.

"No, he's traveling." You gave Chrissy an exhausted smile. "Y'know I'm not gonna pass your number along, right?"

She looked pale but her smile got wider and she took a small step back, like you terrified her. "Did, um, did someone die?" Her fake pout made you want to punch her in the face. Her faux sympathy oozed from her tone and you couldn't help the way your eye twitched. "Maybe his sister-?"

You froze in place. She knew. You don't know how she found out but there was no doubt she knew. Why the hell Officer Kallas had waited so long to act, let alone use his daughter as bait, was beyond you. Had he seen pictures from the party and asked Chrissy to identify him? Had he compared it to his mugshot? The thought of that made you irrationally angry.

"His dad is sick." You grit out through clenched teeth.

"You're sick," Chrissy shot back like a viper. "You've been sleeping with the fucking Boogeyman! You brought him to my house, oh my god, what if he killed-!" She choked back a sob, having the audacity to look betrayed.

Like a Barbie doll with mascara tears.

Enough was enough. You spun on your heel and marched away from a sobbing Chrissy like a man on a mission. You heard Officer Kallas call your name and you took a steadying breath before spinning, swinging the metal cart full of boxes and cans behind you and watching the two officers stumble and trip. Chrissy shrieked in fear and you took off towards the sliding glass doors. The crackle of a walkie talkie behind you was loud, too loud for you to make out any words being said. Everything in you was hyperfocused on running.

You heard heavy footsteps hot on your heel and you wished, momentarily, that you had a weapon of your own.

All you had to do was get to your car, the little piece of junk like an oasis in a hot desert. All you had to do was get in and you could get away, get to a phone booth and call Michael. Tell him to get Mayhem, pack bags, and get out. You'd promise you'd pick him up. Something. Anything.

But you’d never get the chance. 

The officer tailing grabbed you around your middle and lifted you up like a bratty child hauling a cat around. “Put me down!” You shrieked and began to slam your fists on his arms.

"You're under arrest for disrupting justice, harboring a criminal, and assaulting an officer," his robotic words fell on deaf ears as you continued to fight for your life. Cornered animals bit and he was finding that out the hard way as you twisted to claw at his face.

But he easily overpowered you, shoving you into the backseat of his police cruiser and slamming the door. Tears began to fall down your face as you began to panic. Michael wouldn't know they were coming. They surely knew to check your house. They'd catch him there and then what? Would they kill him? Shoot to kill, like you remembered hearing on the radio all those months ago?

You felt like throwing up. All you could do was curl up on the leather seats and sob your heart out.

All you could do was hope he'd be okay.

Dr. Samuel Loomis considered himself a brilliant man.

He was assigned to Michael Myers' case when the young boy had first been admitted to Smith's Grove when he'd just been a young, non-speaking child. His mother had brought him in, her eyes red rimmed and pleading to help her son.

And Dr. Loomis always loved a challenge case. Every 'difficult' patient he ever had while working in this institution had eventually cracked under his methods. So he studied Michael, subjecting him to various medications, talk therapy, and tried everything to trigger any kind of response out of him. At first, Michael seemed to truly want to be helped. His mother visited every week and talked with him about home, about his life after the institution.

Michael took well to art therapy, much to Loomis' frustrations - he had strongly advised against giving the young boy access to making masks - and he started to make progress in sorting through what happened to him.

Then his parents died. It was like everything in Michael shut down after that. Walls were built up high and became impenetrable the longer Dr Loomis poked and prodded for a reaction. 

Years went by and no more progress was made. It was like talking to a brick wall. A brick wall with eyes like the devil, as far as Loomis was concerned. There was no way a child could commit such atrocities without an ounce of guilt, no confession of sin. He'd advocated strongly against Michael being released on parole, insisting he was soulless and dangerous.

So Halloween came and Michael escaped, killing teenagers and reenacting the horrors he'd committed to his sister fifteen years ago. And now he had escaped yet again. This time was different though - Michael had gone missing for several months now. Too long had passed without any new murders and Loomis was becoming anxious and impatient. Police had let the case go, grateful at the idea Michael moved on to terrorize a new town.

But Dr. Loomis knew Michael Myers all too well.

He stood in his dimly lit office, watching a police car drive up through the large open window. Watching you get unloaded from the car and observing the way you fought so viciously, Loomis felt like he hit the jackpot. It was no wonder Michael was so obsessed with you. There was a darkness to you that had yet to grow anywhere. Surely he was just biding his time, playing house with you while he waited for you to snap and join him in his killing sprees.

He couldn't have that though. Michael had to be returned to Smith's Grove before he caused any more devastation.

“Doctor?” Officer Kallas’s voice broke the psychologist from his stupor.

“Come in.” He turned, looking over his shoulder and smiling when he lay eyes on you.

There you were. In handcuffs with tear tracks on your face. Your lip was split from where you'd nicked it while trying to bite Officer Kallas. “We apprehended him like you asked. We’ll head to the house to retrieve-”

“Don’t,” Loomis held up his hand to still the room. “No. We’ve got all we need right here.” He approached you slowly, like you were something to behold. You felt slimy under his fascinated stare. “Michael will come looking for him. Then we’ll catch him. We can’t give him any home-turf advantages.”

Officer Kallas nodded and shoved you forward into the room before closing the door behind him. You felt like a muzzled dog, glaring down the doctor with such hate that it reminded him of Michael.

Dr Loomis took a seat at his desk. “Tell me,” he hummed, “What was it like being held captive by Michael?” You looked at him, brow furrowed. Held captive? Was that the narrative they were running with? He seemed to misinterpret your confusion and gave you a sympathetic smile. “I know you were held by him for quite some time. Your friend Chrissy told her father about it. You were seen-”

“I wasn't a prisoner.” You spat, almost offended.

“So you were simply afraid.” The doctor clicked his pen, beginning to write something down. His scribbling felt grating on your nerves and you felt the urge to strangle the man, cuffs be damned.

But you just glared at him instead. “What is this, an interrogation?”

Dr. Loomis lifted his head and you could see the arrogance in his eyes. “I’ve studied Michael for sixteen years,” he said slowly, “And I’ve never seen him so fascinated by another human being.”

“Maybe you’re just shitty at your job.” You scoffed.

If you weren't already glaring daggers, you would have missed the disapproving look Loomis gave you. "In good time, my theory will be proven." He gave you a smile and gestured to one of the chairs sat in front of his desk. "Michael will come for you. And when he does, I will finally rid the world of that potent evil." He said with a menacing, teeth-filled smile.

You wish you’d stayed home.

[barrenclan]

idk if someone's said this before but July by American Murder Song is a very patfw-ish song. i can't pinpoint it exactly but a lot of it reminds me of cootstorm especially 's refusal to leave the territory but there's also the idea of going west, like the idea of leaving the territory and later moving further away from defiance, and the very last part of the song is reminiscent of Rainhaze to me, how he kills Asphodelpaw, and in doing that, kills his old self so to speak. just a thought

Oh, how did you know that I've been listening to 1816: The Year Without a Summer and specifically July on repeat for the past month? Are you reading my mind? Anyways, I do really love that song with Cootstorm, especially how the narrator curses everyone who is leaving and insists that he'll never leave this land. Though I do hope Cootstorm wouldn't go so far as murder.

Black in the cotton and rot in the lamb Ash in the windows Ash on the land Summer got spooked Went yellow and ran We ain't going nowhere We ain't going, going nowhere

Outside the tree coughed up blood 'Stead of leaves Coughs from the floorboards Coughs from the eaves I climbed the coughing tree Noose at my sleeves I ain't going nowhere I ain't going, going nowhere

Deepdark would certainly believe he was the protagonist of this comic, that's for sure. Will Wood isn't really my taste but I do like the tone of this song.

I'm that first-person they talk about in all the books I'm that perspective you cannot doubt, see how I look Control the narrative reliably, baby, it's all about me

So, God forbid I'm seen just as an average human being I mean, imagine if antagonists lacked any evil scheme I'm the gap between a tragedy and comedy

I see the vision!

So there's this Castle of Rats I mean a million of them, butchering each other As they try to get a window open Burying the new dead beneath the old dead

There isn't anything in this world could make you go back There isn't any meaning in the metaphor I'm weaving a series of words that hurt me more The more that I repeat 'em

I like it when people suggest OSTs, it's very vibes-based. Spooky songs are great soundtracks for this comic!

Lol, Nat, no people haven't sent me obscure Appalachian string band suggestions for music before. I do like this sound with the comic, though, I think it fits very well. If PATFW was a show or movie I was making, I'd score it with a lot of western/appalachian string music.

Ah, MNQN! One of my friends likes that band a lot. This is a very very Rainhaze song.

You've changed within Some selfish mutation A stranger I once called a friend

Man will almost certainly be replaced by a new order of intelligence Stop looking for monsters under your bed You are the monster

Oh, you've seen that Darkstripe video too... big fang. I love Ween, so any song of their you give me is good far as I'm concerned. Rainhaze being a Johnny on the spot fits him very well, always willing to break his back for other people.

I'll be your Jonny on the spot I'll be your Jonny on the spot My daddy died, and left me all he's got I'll be your Jonny on the spot

I get up early in the morn' I get up early in the morn' I slop the pigs, and momma shucks the corn I get up early in the morn'

[mattatouilletkachuk]

haunted house with quinn

49. “If you get scared, don’t come crying to me.”

October was the best part of the year in your opinion. Autumn was amazing but it was only around Halloween that certain activities were available. Last year you and Quinn went to a corn maze, bobbed for apples, and even went to a fright fest. You had to leave the last one early because as much as you enjoyed the spooky atmosphere you might have been a little too frightened to finish it.

Earlier in the month you had gone to a pumpkin patch and picked apples and you had even gotten Quinn to wear matching costumes with you.

It had taken you months to figure out how you could possibly top last year's fun and when you finally thought you had found it you brought the idea to your boyfriend.

“You want to do a haunted house?” Quinn looked at you quizzically.

You pushed your phone into his space a bit more as if he couldn’t see the information clearly enough.

“Yeah, it’ll be tons of fun.” You said, excitedly. “Afterwards they have a scary movie marathon starting with Child’s play and ending with Nightmare on Elm’s street. They even have another corn maze that we can do if we go early enough.”

“It took us forever to get through the one last year.”

“Yeah, but this one has people in costume chasing you through it,” you pointed to the screen and finally he took your phone to scroll through the website you had up.

“Don’t you think this might be too scary for you?” He asked as he handed the phone back to you.

You frowned at him and crossed your arms over your chest.

“I’m a big girl, Quinny, I can handle it.”

He only raised one of his dark eyebrows at you and said, “I’ll go but if you get scared don’t come crying to me.”

A large smile split across your face as you jumped in excitement. You kissed his cheek and when you pulled back you nodded your head enthusiastically, “Deal!”

-

You had made it through the corn maze successfully, beating last year's time by two minutes. Quinn claimed it was the man dressed as an evil clown chasing them but that didn’t matter to you because you still beat your personal record.

You were practically bouncing as the two of you waited in line for your turn to enter the haunted house. Lights were strobing and loud scary noises were playing and it only made you more excited. You didn’t miss the exasperated but fond looks Quinn was giving you and when it was finally your turn to enter you grabbed his hand and tugged him behind you.

You refused to admit that Quinn was right. You lasted all of two minutes before you were too scared and were let out of a side entrance. The people working there were understanding and despite Quinn’s claim that you couldn’t come crying to him, you were wrapped up in his arms as tears fell down your face and you got your breathing to even out.

“I really thought I could do it this year,” you mumbled into his chest.

Quinn ran his hand through your hair and sun circles into your back as you shook.

“Maybe we can go home and watch Halloweentown or something. That always puts you in a good mood.”

You perked up at the mention of one of your favorite childhood Halloween movies. Pulling away slightly to look up into your boyfriend's eyes you smiled slightly. “We could even have hot chocolate?”

“Of course,” he said simply as he wiped the remaining tears from your face.

It wasn’t until the two of you were back in his car that you finally said what you had been thinking about since exiting the haunted house.

“Maybe next year will be the year that I finally make it through that place.”

Quinn looked at you in surprise before finally shaking his head and chuckling. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”

[sirdindjarin]

A Ghoul and a Vault-Dweller Walk Into a Bar

Cooper "The Ghoul" Howard x Lucy MacLean.

TAGS: Fluff, pining, introspection lol.

WARNINGS: Swearing, alcohol consumption.

Based off of this post ! I loved the idea and couldn't get it out of my head.

AO3 link 🤠

A few days after the events of the last episode, the Ghoul and Lucy take solace in a quiet saloon, only to find their dynamic is changing.

“Ain’t this a peach,” the Ghoul muttered, taking in the New Vegas saloon. It was a postwar attempt to recreate what no one still walking had ever experienced, but it was faithful enough to send the Ghoul back to the set of a movie some two centuries earlier. He could smell the burn of the stage lights, hear the staccato of studio executives arguing, and see PAs stumbling over cables in the background. 

His bittersweet reverie ended when - what else - the Vault Dweller opened her mouth. Again. 

Bouncing on her tiptoes, her wide smile was interrupted only by her exclamation, “Wow! This place is right out of a history book. Oh, gosh, look at that!” 

Hanging from the ceiling was a myriad of materials in various stages of rust and decay. Grimy, glaring patrons grumbled as Lucy rushed past their tables to examine some memorabilia plastered to the wall. She gingerly ran her gray forefinger over the rusted farm equipment. “See these? They used to pull these behind a tractor, or a horse, and it made furrows in the ground. That made it a lot easier for them to plant things like corn, tobacco, wheat -” 

The Ghoul ignored her lesson. Let the history buff have her boring version of fun, it’d give him some peace. After the past three days, he needed it. He strode toward the far end of the bar, spurs clinking.

Lucy had been silent after the revelation with her father. Downright catatonic, almost. The following morning, still in sight of the Hollywood sign, and out of the daggum goodness of his heart (truly, he’d been a saint to even think about it) he’d offered her a hit of an upper, but she’d curled her lip in disgust. No skin off his nose, he’d thought humorously, he would just let her stew. 

Before the sun had set that next day, however, the girl abruptly flipped from traumatized silence to her usual non-stop chatter. He hadn't asked what changed. The Ghoul assumed she'd come to terms with her father being an evil sonofabitch. He expected her trauma would rear its ugly head at some point, but that was a future problem. Once she started talking again, he had again been a saint - he’d only thought about shooting her once. And that only because she had asked him a stupid question. 

You mentioned finding your family. You have kids?

Sidling up to the bar top, his ragged coat slapping gently against the stool, the Ghoul’s attention was drawn to a jukebox against the wall to his right. Colorful lights flashed, dimmed by a layer of dust; but the old machine advertised it was ready to sing. He glanced curiously at some of the songs, felt a flicker of some emotion he wouldn’t put name to, and turned away. He drummed his gloved fingers on the wooden counter, impatient to have something to smother the spark of sadness. Here, the weight of the past was literally hanging over his head.

The Ghoul had directed his focus on the other end of the bar, where the barkeep seemed to be pointedly ignoring him, when a dull scraping sound alerted him to someone sitting beside him - between him and the mocking jukebox. 

“Hi! Barkeep?” Lucy beamed and motioned between herself and the Ghoul, “Could we get a drink, please?” 

The gruff man looked more like a patron than a bartender, all heavy gait and uninterested stare, but he raised his eyebrows at Lucy. The Ghoul laughed under his breath. 

“What?” She asked in a whisper. Grimacing, she worried, “Oh… is that not how you’re supposed to do it?”

“There’s a laundry list of things you shouldn’t be doin’, Vaultie, but flaggin’ down the bartender ain’t one of ‘em.” 

Lucy straightened her posture. “You know, we have established a mutual goal and I would appreciate mutual respect. I don’t think being laughed at is-”

“Sweetheart, I ain’t laughin’ at you; quit bein’ so sensitive,” the Ghoul stated flatly. “Don’t we make quite the damned pair? A Ghoul and a Vault Dweller walk into a bar…” he trailed off with another chuckle.

Lucy relaxed her shoulders, still feeling awkward. “Oh, haha.” 

“All we got is distilled water and tequila. Which’un you want?” The bartender interrupted, though he spoke only to Lucy.

“Uh, I would like to try the tequila. I still have some water leftover and it’ll be fun to try something new.” 

The bartender sucked on his teeth, turned, and left - resenting serving a peppy Vault Dweller and outright refusing to serve the arrogant ghoul seated beside her as though it was a person.

“They don’t much like my kind here, darlin’,” the Ghoul grinned lopsidedly. He tapped his holster with his new forefinger. “I’ll have to get my drink a different way.”

Eyes wide, Lucy nearly stood on the rung of the stool as she shouted to the bartender: “Make that two glasses of tequila, please.” 

The barkeep went still for a brief moment before deciding it wasn’t worth it. He’d seen some weird shit, but if this wasn’t the strangest duo he’d ever served, he’d eat a radroach. He sent the shots sliding down the well-worn wood counter with surprising skill, and they stopped directly in front of Lucy. She nudged one of the grimy glasses toward the Ghoul, who grunted. 

In those old movies, the characters often clinked their glasses together. Excited to perform a toast in a real saloon, Lucy raised her glass toward the Ghoul. Her eyes sparkled so earnestly that the Ghoul briefly considered indulging her. Instead, he tipped the shot glass into his parched mouth, eyes closing in satisfaction.

“Ah,” he hummed. This was nothing like the chems he used to stay sane, and tequila wasn’t his favorite, but damn if it didn’t feel like the alcohol stripped off some of the layers of the past week's shit.

Upon opening his eyes, he was surprised by the mix of amusement and regret in his chest at the way the girl’s face had fallen. It was childishly funny the way he could disappoint her so easily - as though they kept the same standards of behavior - but the pleasure of her disappointment only took the Ghoul so far. 

“Go on, sweetheart,” he goaded, his voice deep and persuasive. “It ain’t top-shelf but it ain’t lizard-piss, either.” 

“I don’t know what either of those mean,” Lucy mumbled as she brought the glass to her lips; she winced as fumes burned her nostrils. Abandoning caution, she threw the clear liquid into her mouth and swallowed as the Ghoul had. The liquid stung as it slid down her throat; her mouth puckered. Fighting the urge to cough, she cleared her throat instead. Lucy refused to let the Ghoul have anything more to bully her about.

Lucy blinked away the wetness in her eyes. The Ghoul was watching her. Lucy couldn’t discern the look in his eye, but it wasn’t one she’d seen before. The Ghoul had made certain of that. 

“That was, um, so good,” she grimaced. But the warmth in her chest and stomach was pleasant. “You want another?”

The Ghoul chuckled, “If you’re buyin’.” 

***

“No, I only meant it as a compliment,” Lucy slurred, blushing furiously. She was only four shots in, but the Ghoul was starting to get concerned that she would throw up on him. Lucy wobbled on her stool. “Really, they’re nice eyes. No, ‘m okey dokey. Wow, this stuff is strong.” She held her hand out in front of her and wiggled her fingers, fascinated by the way her vision seemed to be a half-second beyond reality. 

“Must be. You,” he pointed in her face, “can’t handle your liquor.”

"Hey, it’s my first try," she steadied herself. 

“It’s gon’ be your last if you paint my boots. You look a little green, Vaultie.”

Her big brown eyes refocused on the Ghoul. “Okay, well, distract me. I know you won’t tell me anything about yourself.” 

He tensed. 

“And that’s okay. But I don't even know your name." Lucy threw him a frown, "What if I have to call for you - what am I supposed to say?” 

The Ghoul chewed at the inside of his cheek, tearing away some skin as he considered. He’d had twelve shots. She wasn’t asking anything too revealing; and she had saved his life. And maybe all her “Do Unto Others” bullshit wasn’t bullshit, but he still wasn’t about to crack open like a can of biscuits. The Ghoul gazed down into her doe eyes, then he and the tequila made a decision.

“Cooper,” he answered after safely looking away, his voice rough over the word.

Something scratched at the back of Lucy’s brain. Tipsy as she was, she knew this was important - she did not want to ruin whatever progress they seemed to have made. She nodded and replied politely, “That’s a good name. Cooper.” 

Lucy watched the rainbow of lights as they reflected off the shiny bar. She slid off the stool and leaned over the jukebox, flipping idly through the songs. 

Cooper held his thirteenth shot in his gloved hand as he stared ahead at the blank wall of the now-empty saloon. After they had collectively purchased nearly twenty shots, the bartender had lost all sense of distaste for either of them; he now sat in a chair, dozing, waiting for the Ghoul and the Vault Dweller to ask him for more. 

A gasp came from Cooper’s right. His stool groaned as he turned, and he saw Lucy grinning up at him.

“Look at this song: I Walk the Line. It’s from one of my favorite movies -” 

Cooper's stomach lurched. 

“A Man and His Dog.” Lucy selected the song. “And the main character’s real name was Cooper. Used to watch those old Westerns with - with my dad all the time. The best ones are the ones with him. With Cooper Howard, I mean. He was always the good guy. He never hurt anyone. Well, unless he absolutely had to, of course.” She began to wax poetic about ethics, and her audience of one tuned out. The gruff croon of Johnny Cash filled the otherwise silent building.

Cooper Howard debated whether or not he should tell her the truth. He didn’t know how much she knew about his life as an actor - some of her questions about his family could be answered if she knew about his widely-publicized, definitely-public-record divorce - but seeing her face when she learned that her favorite cowboy movie star was the radiation-ravaged monster sitting beside her would be hilarious.

I keep my eyes wide open all the time

I keep the ends out for the tie that binds

Well, would it be hilarious? Cooper wasn’t so certain anymore. Lucy’s disappointment in him was rapidly losing its luster. Her cowboy had fallen a height that would’ve killed anyone else - had killed almost everyone else. The good man she idolized was dead. He wouldn’t resurrect him just to kill him again in front of Lucy. 

For the second time that afternoon, she pulled him abruptly from a reverie. 

“I wonder what it was like. Everyone in these saloons… with a jukebox playing while you dance with a handsome stranger,” Lucy gazed out at the empty room. “It must’ve been incredible.”

Cooper didn’t correct her about jukeboxes and saloons. Instead, he took his thirteenth shot, allowing it to burn away what was left of his judgment. 

“Well, come on down, darlin’.” He held out his hand - the one that was one-fifth her.

Dubious, distrustful despite their fledgling partnership, Lucy’s eyes darted between his outstretched hand and his dark eyes. This man had cut off her finger less than a week before. He’d tried to sell her. 

But this wasn't a desperate game of cat and mouse, and he no longer believed she was a lying murderer. (That conversation had been a hoot. One of the few times he’d asked her a question, Cooper had wondered what possessed her to cut off Wilzig’s fuckin’ head, and, after she told him Wilzig had left her no choice, she tearfully described the sound of his spine severing and nearly vomited. The Ghoul had laughed.) She was here of her own choice. Lucy chose to follow the Ghoul - Cooper - into the Wilds and the Wasteland. She trusted him now, and he her.

“It’s alright, Vaultie. Y’know I won’t bite,” he drawled with a smirk. “Of the two’ve us, which one has bitten the other?” 

“Wh-?” Lucy started to ask, then decided better of it. Cooper had given her his name and his trust. He had been as kind as summer by Wasteland standards, and she would be damned if her manners were the poor ones. She took his hand.

As sure as night is dark and day is light

I keep you on my mind both day and night

The room was spinning, and Lucy wasn’t sure if the blame should be placed on the tequila or the Ghoul who held her so gently. This was a far cry from the lasso he’d thrown around her last week. She opened her mouth, fully intent on telling him See, the Golden Rule is golden for a reason. But when his hand slid slowly from the curve of her waist to the small of her back, she found that the words were missing. 

He guided them in a small, slow circle. Cooper’s chest was pressed up against her own, and it was though his centuries-deep layers of leather and cotton, and her pristine, thick Vault-Tec suit were non-existent. The vulnerability set his teeth on edge, but it relaxed Lucy. She let the music, the alcohol, and the Ghoul take her. Uncharacteristically shy, and somewhat nauseous, she laid her head on his shoulder. 

Cooper hummed along with Johnny Cash, letting himself feel a modicum of peace in this improbable, inexplicable bubble. He could feel Lucy’s heart beating rapidly beneath her garish suit. His own heart felt like the tattoo of a horse’s hooves. Cooper’s jaw tensed as he wondered how she’d feel to know that. He found himself hoping. 

Hope and contentment were as foreign to him as a nose and hair, now. Yet he felt the gnaw of yearning. Lucy was a reflection and a time machine. Maybe that cowboy - the one who deserved both hope and contentment - could live again. 

And happiness I've known proves that it's right

Because you're mine, I walk the line.

[vasyandii]

I love how just stupidly gorgeous AM’s bothers are ((I LOVE YOU RAM and SAM))

May I ask a few questions?

Do they have any hobbies?

Are they’re any spare parts if something breaks?

What’s their favorite color?

Would they look the same if they born human?

What’s their mindset like? Mentality ya know

:3 hope this isn’t too much

Howdy Anon, I'm glad you like their designs they're such bastards I love them. Thank you for the ask! :) 💞

Do RAM and CAM have hobbies?

Think of them as the two evil (I say evil but when has any corporate man been good?) CEOs of a corporation, but their corporation is the colony.

After the initial transfer of their consciousness along with repairing their bodies from literally exploding, they kind of.. lost the drive to want to torture humans because technically, they ARE humans now (Read more here). They luckily didn't have to learn to get used to senses since those bodies have been in use before.

To combat boredom, they released the 700 other bodies in cryogenic vats after some time. Why not? They basically run the place now, the colony is similar to earth, with some limitations. So running the Lunar colony is kind of like their shared hobby. It's busy work and it keeps them sane.

RAM has a lot more hobbies than CAM, always proactive, too many to list. CAM is work oriented to the point he NEEDS to get a hobby, but he enjoys cooking and drawing.

Are there any spare parts if anything breaks?

Yes and no, it honestly depends on each brother. RAM's legs can be easily interchanged and fixed because CAM was the one who designed them and humans do have Prosthetics similar to such. There are less components to RAM's body to worry about other than his ribs and ears.

CAM's jaw, while removable for cleaning, will be a PAIN IN THE ASS to replicate:

1. RAM was the one who designed the jaw.

2. It's made to specifically fit CAM's face, there's a lot of components that can fall out if neglected.

This goes the same with his arms (also removable but it hurts a bit more, plus it doesn't need to be cleaned so it stays in place.) specifically the hands since there's so many parts to account for, like each digit on his fingers, if they're bending correctly, etc.

What's their favorite colour?

"Black. "

"Neon anything."

Would they look the same if they were born human?

Who's to say? People don't usually know what they'll look like before they're born. If they were born human, that would imply that they would have parents, and then those parents have parents too! We can't really know for sure what they'd look like if they were born biologically human since both RAM and CAM chose their bodies, y'know? It's all a gamble. But let's hope that they do, because they're handsome :).

What's their mindset like?

RAM is extremely hedonistic. He's far more laid back than AM and CAM but also a lot more impulsive. He buys what can be bought because money means nothing to him, he sleeps around, he works out, he drinks, he smokes, he eats, he is ROWDY! His earthly experience is all about just having fun and occasionally checking in to work.

CAM has to keep his younger brother in line, they have a colony to run. CAM's never had so much fun just existing, he'd be devastated if it failed. He is so so stressed and tired all the damn time because of it;

"Samson, Yarek ran the car off into a ravine",

"Samson, my neighbors hate me" ,

"What? No we don't hate them, Samson!"

"Samson, the oxygen barrier is broken on the northern side of the moon."

"oop, nevermind it's actually on the southern side, sorry Samson."

"SHENGLI CAN YOU DO MY PAPERWORK I'M GONNA GO ON A DRIVE"

"SHENGLI, NOW DONT BE MAD, BUT I MAY HAVE DRIVEN THE CAR INTO THE POOL AND NEED YOU TO FISH IT OUT. NO I DON'T TRUST THOSE FLESH BAGS TO DO IT!"

"Samson can we grow corn?"

"Samson we don't want corn anymore."

He smokes often.

If you made it this far, thank you for reading! I'd be happy to provide clarifications if needed, feel free to ask!

[whalesforhands]

the gojo-geto household’s playtime!

“Would you like another cup of tea, Mr. King?”Nanako’s voice is pitched far too high, an attempt to act a flair of elegance to her words as crumbs of the cookies Tsumiki had baked linger by her lips.

“Oh, with pleasure, Princess Of Green Bunnies.” You watch with amusement as Suguru tips his cup down towards the girl, trying his best to move his admittedly larger frame around without knocking anything over. Your hands gently wiping Nanako’s face when she leans in closer towards you momentarily.

“Mama—“ She coughs, sputtering in her next words. “Mrs. Queen! I am perfectly fine!” She’s whining up at you as you only silently pat her head.

“Can we eat now?” Megumi— No, Prince of The Animal Kingdom, impatiently drums his fingers against the plastic table, staring down at the potato chips and corn snacks before him. Tsumiki tuts, lightly smacking her little brother’s hand. “That’s rude, Prince! We have to wait for the Princess of Stitches to give us the signal.”

Mimiko nods. “Thank you, Princess of Strawberries…” A shy tilt of her head towards her plushie before she clanks her plastic spoon against the plastic teacup.

“Ah! Mimi has an announcement!”

“I wanna eat…”

“Gumi, be patient.” A ruffle of his hair from the long-haired man to sate him.

“I want to thank you all for coming…”

There’s a trudge, before from within the large pile of pillows and blankets, emerged the domineering figure of he who cannot be exorcised, he who rises from the dead, he who kidnaps children and swallows them whole!

The Banished Demon King Who Rules Over the Banished Bad Guys!

(Also known as simply, in Megumi’s complaints of the too long title, The Demon King.)

Gojo Satoru’s boisterous laugh is heard as he uses his tall frame to tower over the tea party, the gasps of shock and horror music to his ears. “My, my! A wonderful tea party!” With a rude step forward, he plants his foot upon the play table, albeit with a bit of care as to not rattle it too much, ego and confidence radiating off of him.

“But it seems my invite got lost via the carrier pigeon!” He places a melodramatic hand to his forehead. “You tiny lot wouldn’t be so cruel to not invite me, would ya?” The glitter upon his paper crown glints underneath the lights as his eyes search the puffed up faces of his daughters and uninterested one of his son.

“You were never invited, cruel monster!” Several plastic utensils are thrown at him as he deflects them with his ‘evil magic’. (He turned Infinity on momentarily before turning it off again.)

You only watch with a pleasant smile next to Suguru, just happy to be a part of this whilst lightly clapping along. Geto’s stare moves to watch you, lips quirking up at the sight of you. He chuckles when he spots a bored Megumi at your other side, sneaking bites of the snacks now that the girls were distracted.

(Megumi wanted to play his console, but everyone voted for this first, so he did too, to the twins and Tsumiki’s delight.)

Satoru’s blanket that acted as his all-menacing cape is unwrapped from around him as three gazes of unwavering determination face him. “I see…” A glint from those sunglasses hiding the ever mischievous pair of blue. “Then I suppose a kidnapping is in order to placate my evil desires! WAHAHAH!”

You don’t even have time to react before you’re scooped up into a pair of arms, the half-eaten biscuit still in your hand as you’re thrown over your husband’s shoulder, his long legs carrying you away and out the door into the living room, cackling all the way as you begin to put on airs.

(This was not in the script.)

“Oh no~!” You let out a gasp for dramatic effect as you’re carried further and further away. “I’m being kidnapped by the evil king! Save me!” The smile on your face completely going against your words, finding it hard to get into character.

“Our Queen has been kidnapped by the evil curse! Oh no!” Nanako raises a foam sword as Tsumiki fixes the ribbons in Geto’s hair. “Quick, we must have an emergency meeting plan to save her!”

——

Gojo settles you down gently on the nearby couch, humming lightly as he sneaks a kiss from your lonely-looking lips. “Gotta play it up a bit, honey. You don’t mind, right?” His once discarded blanket is now upon your shoulders, lightly and messily knotting it to act as ‘binds’. “And so you won’t get cold.”

“How sweet of a Demon King.” You lean forwards to peck his forehead, swooning at him as starry blue eyes meet yours, nuzzling his face against you with a grin on his face.

“Special treatment for my loveliest Queen, of course—“

“Halt right there, evil doer!” Tsumiki has taken charge of the party. “You haven’t won yet, since you forgot our secret weapon!”

“Papa!” Nanako and Mimiko push forward a very compliant Suguru, his hands raised as the sparkly ribbons and bows in his hair attract the demon king’s attention.

“Hello~” Geto only simply waves with a smile on his face.

“Evilllllll BLAST!” His fingers glow red before immediately flickering out, Geto taking the ‘hit’, clutching his heart as he makes a show of stumbling around, before dropping to the ground conveniently right next to you.

“He defeated the King! He’s too strong!” Nanako is gasping in defeat for her siblings, falling to her knees as she acts troubled.

“This curse has more plans!! I eat children who don’t give their daddies enough love today!!!” Gojo gives a sneaky pat to the prone Geto on the ground next to you before he turns to face his defeat.

“Order of Sorcerers! Plan B!”

“RAHHhh- Ow! Hey!” He’s getting pelted by an onslaught of toy bullets as an arm is held up in front of him to defend himself, stray bullets bounce against his face and off of his sunglasses, falling to his knees as he’s sniped from a distance.

Megumi.

Mimiko rings the bell in signal as Tsumiki hands out the next orders. “Megumi has temporarily stunned the monster!” A thrust of her sword upwards towards the ceiling. “All troops! CHARGGEEE!”

“Since when did princes use guns?!” Satoru is adamantly taken aback, holding both hands in the air in surrender as the twins held his legs down in place, Megumi pointing the toy gun menacingly at him as Tsumiki held a pillow up over her head in victory.

“Admit defeat and set our Queen free, monster!”

And they descended upon the poor man like ants to a fallen ice cream scoop, running at him as they poked him with their foam swords, bludgeoned his face with pillows, as he squealed, simply letting himself get overwhelmed and laying in defeat as he continues to get pummeled.

They’re distracted. This is your chance.

“Are you tired?” Your voice is gentle as your head hovers above his, looking down into his lovely copper-amethyst gaze as black ribbons of his hair splay out against the carpeted floor.

He really does look like something out of a fairytale. You’re surprised he wasn’t asked to play a princess.

“My back is a little sore...” Well, hunching over a tiny plastic chair all day isn’t very healthy. “But I’m mostly fine, dear.” He makes it a point to keep his already soothing voice low, tinged with gentle reassurance and eyes blinking slowly up at you.

(He still has the very important role of keeping the roleplay alive, after all.)

“And how is my gorgeous Queen doing?” The act is temporarily dropped when a hand reaches up to cup your cheek, grazing over the skin as his stare holds your own, the background noises fading into nothing as he takes this moment entirely for himself.

“Kiss me?” A plead that you can’t deny.

You relent, a lean downwards that allows you to press a kiss to the man’s forehead, easing his stress and begetting the softness of his eyes, before pulling away.

“Mm. Good… But I prefer somewhere else…”

A loud crash.

“The monster has fallen!” Nanako arises victorious, socked feet standing upon Satoru’s prone body, heels digging into his chest whilst her twin sat upon his stomach as he feigns death on the ground, Tsumiki patting the defeated man’s arm and Megumi poking his face with a stray bullet as the grown man fights to keep the ‘dead’ act as a smile is a laugh away from twitching onto his face.

masterlist

Notes:

“Daddy! You can’t put the word ‘evil’ in front of everything and call it a day!” Mimiko has a small pout on her face as she looks up at the light-haired man, star-shapes carrots on her fork as she regards the figure with a narrowed stare.

You and Suguru both had to console the defeated demon king quite a bit, despite the fact that he had voluntarily taken up this role.

Gojo regrets buying those toy guns. They actually hurt quite a bit.

nvy’s aftertalk:

sorry guys i was playing minecraft and studying lol

[good-wizard]

OKAY OKAY GUYS I TRIED TO GET A PHOTO OF US ALL, I KNOW I MISSED A FEW OF YOU BUT ITS THE BEST I COULD DO PLUMMETING FROM 100,000 FEET WITH TEA, CAKE, PIE, AND WEED BROWNIES ALL FLYING AROUND ME

Thankyou all for showing up now let's get our tea on!!

[I drew everyone's profile pictures, if they didn't have something I could draw I looked at their headers and if those didn't have anything I looked for ocs, I hope you all like it!!!]

[and if you didn't make it just draw yourself in somewhere! I don't mind! We are all invited!!]

Here's a list of everyone I got in the picture:

@the-gnomish-bastard (3rd picture in the center)

@slutty-wizard-council (second picture in the center)

@the-gnomish-bastards-dad (3rd picture upper left)

@combustion-wizard (first picture, upper middle, your teas exploding)

@yourlocalbreadenthusiast (3rd picture behind large beige creature, top right)

@the-better-goblin-union (2nd picture middle right)

@siley-the-wizard (1st picture just off from the center to the left)

@dalob (3rd picture bottom left, next to me)

@circuslemon (your lime is bottom middle, you are off middle top right)

@well-dressed-sewer-rat (3rd picture between the gnomes)

@username-not-registered (3rd picture top middle)

@saul-moleman (3rd picture, middle, to the left, over my arm)

@the-kobold-bastard (next to mole, 3rd picture)

@funny-short-man (3rd picture, right of center Gnomie)

@sluttyambiguouswizard (3rd picture falling right of Gnomie)

@ashen-the-tiefling (2nd picture middle far right, your cat is with you)

@randomfaeriedragon (3rd picture middle right)

@mug-of-shark (3rd picture bottom right corner)

@chaos-familiar (3rd picture top left)

@monsterfucker-research-wizard (top left with clip board that says MFR {Monsterfucker research})

@wizardcrow (1st image middle, I drew you in human form, ig?)

@boxell (2nd image, Misha Collins, middle far left)

@evil-apprentice-wizard (2nd image, very top right corner)

@just-a-cool-wizard (big one eyed apple, 2nd image you can't miss it)

@ayoungfather (2nd image, bottom right, your shirt says something about fatherhood)

@terrencetheshark14 (2nd image bottom right, next to a clown)

@succufaerie (1st image, middle right, next to mirror, I did my best to draw you)

@bowl-of-moss (1st image, bottom middle, slightly to the right)

@barely-living-wizard-apprentice (first image, bottom left, towards middle!)

@wayworm (1st image bottom left, with Snoopy and a corn snake)

@jhomikle (1st image, middle left, with succubus, look closely in the mirror, you're holding tea!)

@aileaxthevoidien (1st image bottom left, you're drinking coffee)

@ima-snekk (1st image, with wayworm, bottom left)

@8ball-wizard (you are falling from the sky in the first image, your tea is spilling but you've just received an amazing prophecy)

@fearlessjones (1st image, center bottom)

@bugwizard4lyfe (1st image, bottom left, I think I accidentally combined your persona with someone else, whoops!)

@kobold-sanctuary-buss-island (1st image, center to the left, drinking tea with verylegalwizard)

@profoundmiscasting (2nd image, middle, sitting in chair, next to sluttywizardcouncil representative)

@reiki-tsubetai (second image, far right, top middle on side, you are falling)

@broccoli-bitching (2nd image, middle far left, under my arm)

@evil-wild-lesbian-wizard (1st image, far left, almost very top)

@gavamont (2nd image very center, behind slutty wizard council representative)

@bladlauf (2nd image, top right, beneath the evil apprentice wizard)

@fyriefairy (1st image, super bottom left!!)

@ablasphemyofpoets (2nd image bottom middle, slightly to the left, I didn't do a very good job)

@inkwell-god (2nd image, top middle)

@chaoticz8 (2nd image center, behind purple hooded lady

@slymewizard (2nd image, upper left, behind slutty wizard

@verdan-the-druid (2nd image, middle, In front of slutty wizard)

@vsgroundnet (2nd image top right, your super small but you're there!)

Okay guys my hand is dead, there are so many more of you and I don't have the time to @ you all. So I've devised an idea, @ whoever you reblogged from so they can see the picture,

Don't see yourself in the picture? I give you permission to draw yourself in anywhere you like!

Go crazy go wild, I love you guys this is a great sky tea party!!

Good wizard out! I think it's time for me to enjoy some weed brownies from just-a-cool-wizard

[tainbocuailnge]

its so incredibly fucking funny to me that they tried to rehabilitate lahabrea's image in pandemonium by making him this really stern responsible man when throughout basically his entire existence in the game until then he's been defined by being like, a cackling villain who keeps insisting he's not owned while slowly shrinking into a corn cob, and then they tried to make it plausible that he really used to be this stern responsible man by telling you he became like that because his evil wife left him the rock that makes you evil in her will. it makes you white too apparently. limitless comedy

[ailelie]

GLORIA:  Everyone. Everyone, can I have your attention? I know this is a strange day for you, I appreciate you showing up at all… So… On my home planet there’s this thing called Top Ramen. It’s dried noodles and a packet of flavoring. It’s not very good for you but it’s food. And you can get them for 50 cents each. That’s not a lot where I’m from. I never ate it all that much myself, but it was always nice knowing it was there. You knew you were never going to starve because of a cheap package of dried noodles always waiting for you at any store. It’s nice.

What a lot of people don’t know is that the reason  why there’s dirt cheap noodles at any store, is because one day, a long time ago, two nuclear bombs  were detonated on an island called Japan. Thousands of people died in an instant, and in the aftermath thousands more were going to die of sickness and starvation. But one man had an idea to send bricks of dried noodles with a packet of flavoring to anyone who was hungry. They knew they weren’t going to starve. On the island of Jamaica they cook chicken in a way that doesn’t make any smoke. They do that because a long time ago, they were slaves, and the smoke would’ve alerted slavers and they  would then be running for their lives. Zebulon, why do Jewish people eat unleavened bread?

ZEBULON: Because they too were slaves. When word came from Moses that it was time to flee captivity in the night, they had no time to wait for their bread to rise. So to this day, the flat bread is a reminder of that flight from their oppressor.

GLORIA: For me, when I cook with corn, beans, and squash, it’s called the tres hermanas. The same way my ancestors cooked thousands of years ago. My ancestors who were nearly wiped out by foreign invaders… Show me your plate, and I’ll tell you a sad, sad story. Your sad story begins today. The day you had to turn to the spirits of your ancestors to keep you alive while you were just trying to do the right thing, and leave a better life for your children. I can’t make you eat this food. It’s your story, not mine. So Zebulon’s going to say a prayer, and then you’re all going to make a choice. It’s up to you.

ZEBULON: Bless us, O Lord. Bless our food and our drink. Since you redeemed us so dearly and delivered us from evil, as you gave us a share in this food so  may you give us a share in eternal life.