#she was in the middle of sorting out a bunch of halloween costumes and came across a load of hp stuff

[maximumgayce]

thinking about the fact mum said the JK Rowling is a horrible person lol

[defavorise]

IC TASK #001  — THE HAUNTED HOUSE @ogdencollegerp​

Truth be told Sloane loved a haunted house. Even a shitty, braindead sorority run haunted house managed to have its charms. She usually loved Halloween. She loved putting an immense amount of effort into her costumes (even if people didn’t always know who she was), she loved scary stories and horror movies, and it was one of the few holidays you weren’t pressured to be surrounded by family. 

Sloane toys with the glowstick around her wrist as she enters. It wasn’t that she was afraid to be touched, it was more that if she was touched by surprise by a scare actor someone would most likely end up with a bruised lip and it wouldn’t be her. Besides it was hard to be afraid of a bunch of theater kids. The scariest part about the evening would be the party found at the end full of drunk and rich college students downing water downed cocktails in bad wigs. 

Her heels click-clack against the ground as she slowly turns a corner and runs into her first creature— someone dressed as a clown cackles loudly as they jump in front of her. How original. The blonde jumps back before rolling her eyes and was relieved nobody was around to see her react. She continues onward. It was longer than she expected it to be, admittedly, and of course the decorations were annoyingly impressive. She hears moans as she enters the chain hallway. Hands slowly reach out as if they’d touch her and Sloane walks through it casually. She thinks about how one time when she was little Greer had started crying in the middle of a haunted house and Sloane had to take her hand to guide her through. Goddammit. You really did think about someone more when they were gone. 

Next there’s a mirror. She walks right up to it and peers to read the text written in fake blood. Something wicked this way comes. If they really wanted to scare the students, they should have written something like mom and dad aren’t going to pay your rent anymore or you must get a job. The thought makes her laugh, which is quickly cut off by another scare actor coming out from behind. They grab her jacket and she’s quick to shove them off, causing them to stumble back into the wall. “Are you kidding me? Asshole.” She raises her hand to show her glowstick and flips the person off and huffs to move on to the next attraction. 

For the first time that night, Sloane stops dead in her tracks. Her eyes ice skate around the room full of missing persons posters. Couldn’t she just have one night where she didn’t have to be reminded about Greer? The only positive was she wanted to compliment whoever’s idea it was because they truly had some sick taste. It was probably one of those obnoxious girls who consumes too much true crime. She pulls out her cellphone, turns the flash on, and takes a picture. Immediately she sends the photo to her mother without any context. There was some satisfaction the in possibility of ruining the woman’s night with photos of her missing posters hung up on a tacky Halloween attraction. She stares for a little longer, all sorts of emotions bubbling up, and she begins to tear them down forcefully. The papers pile up at her feet until an actor approaches the young woman. “Hey, you can’t—.” 

“I can’t what? Because actually I can. There’s nothing physically stopping me from taking down your shitty decorations.” She hisses, ripping another poster off and dropping it in front of the other. They’re unsure how to react but fortunately Sloane decides that she’s done in the room and brushes past them without saying another word. Fuck this place. 

The end is near, she can hear the loud music from the party, and she’s half tempted to turn back the way she came. That is until something else catches her eye. A door labelled UR NEXT appears. They clearly had a theme this year and ran with it. The blonde decides she’d rather take her chances with whatever entity was behind the door rather than face her fellow partygoers just yet. She puts her hand on the doorknob and turns it. 

You’re next? She should be so lucky.

[henryhallows]

My Body, Broken For You

It was a special day for Mike. Ever since he came to Glenborough three years ago, he felt like an outcast. It wasn’t because of the neighbors, oh no, they have proved to be a charming bunch, always ready to lend a hand. Mike was just reclusive in nature. He was a car mechanic, and opened up a small shop in the middle of the town. The job didn’t pay millions but enough to stay afloat, and it was a peaceful region. While friendly, he knew people from smaller regions didn’t trust the newcomers much. But all of this was about to change that night.

The locals hold a festival every 31st of October. Apparently, since they disapproved of Halloween but didn’t want the kids to miss out on a fun activity, they created a little carnival for all ages. Pumpkin pies, caramel apples, loads of fun games for children to try, overall a fun time for everyone. The little ones are discouraged from wearing costumes resembling demons and other harmful beings, but more happily associated entities like gnomes or fairies are allowed. And the day after that, All Hallows Eve, nothing out of the ordinary.

But it wasn’t the „all ages” part that excited Mike. After the kids are tucked to bed, all the adults are gathered in the old church in the outskirts of town. What happened there was unknown for him, as they are very secretive about the procedure. Mike shot down any possibility of orgies or heavy drinking as this was a tightly knit christian community, and the church, while abandoned, was still the house of God.

Nevertheless, Mike expected some sort of a feast, that’s at least what Mary implied when she finally invited him. That must have meant that they trusted him, which made the simple mechanic quite happy. Mary was a catholic teacher in the local primary school and made the parish her second home. She was only in her 30’s but talked like she had at least a couple centuries behind her. Always calm, but cheerful and often retrospective. The best place for advice in the whole village. If you could stomach the endless fables about God, that is.

Mike was not a religious man, not by a long shot. He never opposed the idea of God per se, but saw it as fairy tales for people afraid of death. Prayer never put bread on the table, he reasoned, so there was no place for it in his life. Mary wasn’t the biggest fan of this mindset, but said that everyone has their own perspectives from walking this road of life. Although, when she was inviting him, she mentioned that what he was about to see will make him reconsider his stance. Mike thought nothing of it, thinking it was something about the taste of the food or the songs they will sing. Mary was a tremendous baker and often treated the schoolchildren to her famous pastries.

The young mechanic looked into the mirror. He was wearing a pilgrim’s outfit, all clad in black with a dapper hat on top. The adults didn’t have to wear a costume for the festival, but many still did for the fun of it. Once he saw Father Garcia dressed as a man inside a whale, a clever costume referencing Jonah from the bible who was eaten by the whale. Yes, he knew that from Mary.

Opening the door, Mike was instantly hit by the cool and crisp air of an October evening. He heard children laughing in the distance, all probably gathered around Town Hall, where most of the attractions were placed. Most of the teens set up their own tables and activities in the westmost part of town, close to the woods where they couldn’t hear the screaming children. Every once in a while Old Man Henderson would check up on them just in case nobody was getting killed.

Henderson was a peculiar weirdo, most of the Glenborough found him utterly insane on the best of days, but teenagers found him hilarious. You could never guess which rant about the government would turn into a half-an-hour ode to his beloved garden gnomes. Even still, a pretty friendly fellow. As luck would have it, he was the first person Mike spotted on the street. He was wearing his usual Hawaiian shirt, shorts and flip-flops.

„Would you look at that, a mighty fine costume you got there!”, shouted the tooth deficient old man.

„Thanks! Aren’t you a little cold Mister? It IS October!”, Mike questioned.

„Cold? Let me tell you something, kiddo. Cold is a government PsyOp made so the Big Fashion could sell more jackets! Haha, kidding, of course!”, said the man, laughing. Every once in a while, the elder almost seemed self-aware, which only made him more terrifying.

Waving goodbye, Mike arrived at the town’s center, where most of the attractions were situated. There, he met with Mary, Randy and his wife, Holly. The Carters were a lively couple that loved to help around the town in any way they could. Now, they were supervising the children just in case any of them fell into the barrel of apples trying to catch them with their teeth. He offered to help too, an offer they gladly accepted.

„Mike, my man! Great to see you, baller costume by the way. So, are you ready? It’s nothing that exciting, but hey, the kids are loving the carnival.”, said Holly, who was eating a caramel apple.

„You bet!”

„We’re so glad you’ll be with us at the meeting tonight. You know, Billy was unsure if you were ready but our Mary vouched for you!”

Mary grinned from ear to ear. „You are a trustworthy fella, Mike, I have no doubt you’ll fit with us just fine.”, she took a swig of a bottle of apple juice.

Young Grant Carter, son of the other two, ran up to him, dressed as a gnome.

„Mr. Mike! Look at all of this cool stuff! This is going to be the best night ever!”, the child screamed, unable to contain his excitement.

„For sure kiddo, but remember: don’t come near Ol’ Henderson or he’ll have a heart attack!”

„Yeah! He stinks anyway!”, the kid scampered off to his friends.

You’re not the only one in high spirits kid, Mike thought with a small grin.

…

The festival itself was quite uneventful, mostly standing around and talking for the parents. The children had the usual stuff; throwing a plush spider on the web, dunk the scarecrow, whack-a-mole, someone even redecorated their shed and turned it into a haunted house. The older kids, trusted not to wander off somewhere, went door to door trick or treating. One kid fell into a barrel like speculated but was fished out quickly. Overall, a really fun time for the younglings. Now, this is where fun was supposed to begin.

After tucking their little ones to bed, all the adults went on a little pilgrimage to the old church. The fields were dead quiet, the only sound heard were the occasional grunts and the wind. Mary mentioned that the locals always use this silent walk to reflect on their deeds, the good and the bad. For Mike, it was slightly creepy, but who was he to judge some harmless customs?

The pastures stretched past the horizon. At this time of the year they were pretty barren, all the wheat and corn already harvested a long time ago. Here and there hills were scattered across the fields, getting rid of them would be too much work. Since it was an extraordinarily windy area, the trees already lost all of their leaves, now standing dead and making great spots for crows to plot whatever it was crows were plotting.

The whole town started with the field, it was the Temples that decided to turn this meadow into a settlement. Two hundred years later, you would still struggle to find this place on a map, but now they had plumbing.

Finally, the congregation reached the decrepit stone church. Upon entering through the giant doors, Mike noted that the place has seen better days. It was in a poor state to say the least, kept barely alive by Father Garcia going there once in a while to pick up rubble and fix some holes. Half of the roof was missing, the wooden benches were older than the United States and all the paintings were left blank. When questioned about the place, Mary said that it might not be as extravagant as the new one, every church is the house of God, and even a place as somber as this one deserves visitors.

The benches were arranged across a giant table. No food was laid out yet, but that was to be expected. The guests were ushered to their seats, signicated by little cards with names on them. Mike was positioned close to the exit, so he felt particularly cold. No other person showed even the slightest hint of a shiver, which was certainly odd. Not to worry, he thought, the food will make me warm.

In all of this rushing he lost Mary from his sights. Old Man Henderson was engaged in a conversation about the best lawn decorations with Miss Lenore, the Carters were chatting it up with the Trevors, and Mike was desperately trying to find something to say to Rob Graves. That guy was a can of mysteries. He was the town’s mortician and gravedigger, but was suspiciously wealthy. The last guy to know how to small talk but Mike was grasping at straws.

With a chime of the bell, Mary came from the backdoors area, carrying an enormous loaf of bread. The thing was so massive that four other people had to help her carry it. The loaf was put in the middle of the table. With an array of plates by her side, Mary started cutting the pieces. People passed along the slices from the nearest center to the farthest. Mike was the first to get his slice, but soon enough everybody was sitting with a plate for them. That was… disappointing, to say the least. Maybe the feast comes after this? As he went to grab the slice, Rob motioned him to stop.

„Before we eat, we need to pass the wine and say a prayer”, whispered the gravedigger.

„Oh, gotcha," replied Mike, embarrassed.

Just like Rob said, Father Garcia came from the backgrooms with a few bottles. The guests passed them along as well, making sure every glass was full of the stuff. Garcia offhandedly mentioned that the wine was watered down, probably not to have a bunch of hungover adults on the All Hallows Eve.

The excitement in the room was palpable, and Mike couldn’t for the life of his guess why. After making sure that everybody had a slice and wine, Mary spoke up.

„Thank you all for coming! The carnival was simply wonderful, everybody gave their all to make it a special night for the little ones!”

A round of applause filled every corner of the ruins.

„Now, before we start our feast, let us pray to our father who watches from above and gifts us with all that there is and really can be. And for his son, who will grace out company tonight. For did he not say: „Take, eat; this is My body broken for you: this do in remembrance of Me.””, almost shouted Father Garcia.

A shiver went down my spine. That was one hell of a quote from someone he assumed to be some mad carpenter. From a corner of his eye, he saw a wave of fog, gently moving through the broken window. There was no fog today. Everyone clapped their hands in prayer and closed their eyes. Mike quickly followed, but his breath became unsteady.

„Our Father, who art in heaven…”, the congregation started. He didn’t know the words, so he simply moved his lips to the general rhythm, „And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen”

-SLASH-

Mike heard cheering. Joy overwhelmed the occupants, but he was unable to open his eyes. Something felt wrong. Very, very wrong. He was petrified on the spot, as the cold wind made his whole body shake. Don’t make a scene, he thought. It was just your imagination, playing a joke on you. He opened his eyes.

A severed arm. Right there, on his plate, laid a bloody, goddamn arm. Mike looked around the parish in a frenzy and he almost vomited. Every guest was devouring a part of a body. They were slicing up tendons, picking out eyes with their forks, simply tearing into them like abhorrent beasts. Gouging on another human being. The remaining part of the bread in the middle of the table was now a bloody human carcass. The wine, too, changed color.

Before Father Garcia, on the altar, laid a decapitated lamb. This must have been the source of the slashing sound he heard earlier. It was all too much, his head spun, he held onto the table for any stability. With tears in his eyes and surrounded by cheerful celebration, he looked at his plate. The hand moved a finger.

Mike puked the entire contents of his stomach onto himself. Mary caught his horrified look, but before she could react, he bolted out of the church and into the barren field, now foggy and suffused with his own screams.

They were cannibals. Those monsters were eating someone, and he was supposed to be okay with it?! Was this some kind of twisted joke?!

Mike heard a call from behind him. Now they were chasing him! Branches broke under his legs, caressing him if only to slow him down. This had to be a nightmare. He was going to wake up in his soft bed, drink his morning tea, and chat with his neighbor Mary, who WAS. NOT. A. FUCKING. CANNIBAL.

He climbed up a hill quite a distance from the church. He could still hear the muffled voices, but he had to stop somewhere, he was coughing his own blood from exhaustion.

The fog became even deeper. In a matter of seconds, Mike could not see anything past the hill. A faint whisper could be heard, hanging in the air. The man saw a small magenta gleam, something he assumed came from a flashlight. It was…alluring. He had to come closer. He NEEDED to come closer. He moved in its direction, when he suddenly stopped. The luminescence DID NOT come from any light source, but simply hang from the air. In a fraction of a second, the thing turned into an aurora borealis.

Mike stood still, paralyzed in silent horror. The more he stared at the… THING, the more confused he became. The entity changed shape, size, color and dimension on a whim, never the same after every blink. The world was suffused with sound; as loud as an exploding star, and as crisp as an exam recording. It felt like the whole universe was collapsing on top of Mike. He felt his brain melting, threatening to leak out through his eye sockets.

And then, it took shape. Mike’s breath was taken away as he witnessed a nightmarish visage. It had the body of a lamb, not too dissimilar from the one sacrificed minutes ago. Its body was pierced by a spear. It possessed seven eyes and seven horns. Wrapped around its front leg was a scroll adorned with seven wax seals.

The „lamb” did not utter a single phrase, it simply looked into the man’s eyes. And there, he saw it. The firmament. Gigantic rings with eyes were tasked with keeping reality stable, and the curtain closed. The rot infests all aspects of life, and the holy fire that burns through flesh like a candle. The world’s madness and screech of mindless space, and a peaceful choir of the angels. He created it all. He was endless, boundless, limitless. The existence was chained to his will, from a tiniest speck of dust to the tremendous black holes, all was a part of his heavenly machine, the oldest song.

And then he saw the Devil. The grotesque, scarred dragon and his army of demons. The spires of basalt, the gray and smoldering ground of Gehenna. The hordes of screaming horrors danced in a trance. And then, a slaughter. The angels ripped the demons limb from limb. The chimera-like beasts of God bathed in the blood of their fallen brethren. Their faces still as stone, as they too, possessed no will of their own. Satan, a dragon that could dwarf our sun, was killed by a single swing of Archangel Michael’s sword. It was all written into the firmament. It WILL happen. Even the beings that opposed God’s design and spit in the face of his creation, are nothing but puppets on his stage.

And then, the final vision. At first, he was unsure of what it was that he was seeing, he squinted his eyes. The blurry image began to clear, it’s shape turning into-

Mike’s knees fell on the ground. His tears flew like a waterfall, any control ripped away from his body. The body, mind and soul - utterly crushed. He just saw something that stripped all color from his face. He saw himself. Every moment that happened, and all that was to happen. Every possibility or a branching path, already planned for, with no room for error. He too, was a simple actor on the stage, his role dictated by the entity he only took as a fairytale. Mike was a toy.

The vision stopped, and the lamb disappeared into the fog. The only thing left on the hill was a broken man. The congregation joyfully chanted Mike’s name. Mary was the first to find him, and she let him embrace her, a sigh of relief escaping her lungs. The mechanic, now pale and terrified, gently wept in her arms. She whispered something to him, but it fell on deaf ears. That, too, he saw in a vision. A small grin crept around his face as tears unshed.

What a fearful thing, to fall into the hands of the living God.

[nocturnal-milk-dud]

Emily! I am so glad that you're bringing back Spooky requests 😩

Can I pls request baby boy Ossie and Scream?

I feel the need to apologize in advance. I am (quite) rusty. I also love love love that you're so excited for this, it made me even more excited for this! I'm also full on ready to pick a fight with tumblr because I made a bunch of edits and it didn't save any of them. P.S. if you notice any mistakes no you didn't.

Hidden In His Coat Is a Red Right Hand

Pairing: Ossie Mejía x Reader

Warnings/notes: blood; alcohol mention; death; a little gore; vomit (sorry); hanging (sort of); violence in general; there's a Stranger Things reference just for you Alex, even though I don't watch the show

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 2077

The music is too loud, the whole room vibrating with it, and the party lights swirling on the floor and across peoples’ faces is starting to make you feel nauseous. The partygoers are getting on the wrong side of drunk, men putting hands where they shouldn’t, and women laughing too loud. It’s time to go home, peel yourself out of your costume, and get into bed. You say your goodbyes to your friends, not even sure they heard you. As you’re making your way to the door, bodies beating you back a step or two like heavy waves, a guy dressed like Ghostface bumps into you, his drink spilling all over the front of your costume. You had so nearly made it out. He’s in the middle of apologizing profusely when he really stops to look at you and lifts the mask off his face, leering as he looks you up and down.

“If you want we can go back to my place, throw it in the wash, find a way to pass the time?”

“Thanks but I can do my own laundry,” you say, shoving past him and making a beeline for the door. Pausing in the lobby, you take a moment to really look at yourself. Ghostface had the signature cocktail, something Halloween-themed, with too much sugar, and a candy eyeball floating in the bright red liquid. Bright red liquid that was all over your Hellfire Club shirt. Yeah, okay, you’d kinda phoned it in for Halloween this year, but you didn’t have a lot of time, the invite to the party so last minute. 

The lobby is quiet–the only sound the persistent thump of the music in the other room–and strangely vacant. The coat check girl is gone too.

“Hello?” There’s no answer and you look around helplessly. This night has gone on too long and you’ll be damned if it lasts one more minute. The coat check room is stuffed despite it being only fall, racks standing at head height in the center of the room and brass closet rods sitting higher on either side along the wall, all holding some form of outerwear. This October has been unusually cold, the wind strong and biting through everything. The labels are obvious though and you find your coat quickly. You find something else too. At first you think she’s just standing there, the coat check girl, maybe checking her phone, and you want to be angry at her for not hearing you before. But she didn’t look up when you came in, and she’s not looking up now. Your stomach pinches, your feet going heavy, but you inch toward her. It’s just the alcohol, just the atmosphere making you feel this way. Silly, really. 

“Are you okay?” you ask. As you get closer you realize she’s standing in between the coats hung on one of the closet rods, one of them wrapped around her shoulders. No, she’s not standing. She’s not standing at all. The closet rod is too tall for that. 

The collar of the coat hid it. The coat hid a lot. 

A rope is knotted around her neck, cinched tight to the rod. 

Your first thought is to take the weight off her neck. Maybe this was recent, maybe there’s still time. You rush to her, wrapping your arms around her legs, hoisting her. All easier said than done really, you quickly come to find. None of it matters because the coat opens up, and you see everything else. Everything that was meant to stay inside. The vomit bubbles up into your mouth before you can do anything about it. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck.” You keep repeating the words, hands shaking and covered in blood as you reach for your phone. “911 please 911.” The phone is ringing before you can even dial and the vibration in your hand almost causes you to send it flying across the room. It’s not a number you recognize so you hit decline and try again. The phone is ringing before you can even hit nine.

The process repeats. 

“What?!” you scream the word into the phone before anything else can happen. 

“That’s no way to answer your phone.” The voice is creepy and sinister, far too confident. 

“I have more important things to do than talk to you,” you say.

“How do you know? You don’t even know who I am.”

“I don’t need to know who you are, I need you to shut up and let me make a fucking phone call!” 

“Wait!” You pause, finger over the end call button. You don’t know why but you put the phone back to your ear.

“What?” 

“I hope you weren’t calling the police.” Everything goes cold and you look back at the coat check girl, wondering if she is actually dead, or if some sick prank is going on around you. 

“Why?” you ask.

“Because then I’ll have to gut you, same as her. And hang you with the rest of my decorations.” You hang up the phone, suddenly feeling very alone and turn around, looking out at the lobby. Still very empty, very quiet. The kind of quiet that makes you want to hold your breath and listen as hard as you can. You glance back down at your screen, typing in the numbers uninterrupted this time, heart hammering in your chest as you hesitate over the call button. Maybe it’s just a joke. A fucked-up, twisted idea of a prank. Everybody will be laughing at the end. Yeah. 

Something moves. In the corner of your eye a flash of black. Probably just another partygoer, coming to get their coat from the maybe-not-really-dead coat check girl. She’ll strip herself of the fake intestines and wash off the sticky corn syrup blood. Everyone will laugh. Everyone will go home.

Happy Halloween. 

Something in your brain told you to move, and you have been, eyes glued to the entryway, one foot at a time, further into the room, past the really-truly-dead coat check girl. Your jaw is clenched uncomfortably tight, fingers clamped around your phone, the screen still waiting for you to hit call. 

They lurch out from the left. The two of you have been moving through the room together, both watching different things. They dive at you, something glinting in their right hand and you scream, the sound lost in all the fabric around you and throw yourself forward. 

You sprint toward the lobby, weaving through the coat racks, not looking back, certain they’re right behind you. 

You’re not looking ahead of you either, apparently. Racing toward the exit you crash into a body–living, breathing, real–the two of you landing hard on the floor. 

“Sorry,” you gasp, forgetting for a moment what you were running from. 

“It’s okay, I needed something to wake me up.” The man beneath you isn’t in costume, and thankfully not a Ghostface mask either. He’s wearing a blue jacket with a nametag: Ossie. 

Security. 

You scramble to your feet and try to help him up, all the while trying to explain to him what had just happened, the words tumbling from your mouth in one giant mess. 

“Slow down,” he says, but you’re becoming frustrated and scared all over again.

“No, he killed the coat check girl, I found her body, and he tried to kill me! We need to call the police, we need to get everybody out of here–” 

The party. All of those people, drunk and stupid fish in a barrel. 

On top of that, what was to stop the killer from walking right out with the guests? You had seen several people dressed up as that fucking slasher from the Stab movies. 

Ossie is looking at you skeptically, eyeing the giant red stain that had blossomed over your shirt. You probably smelled like puke too. 

“Listen, this wasn’t me, it was some idiot in there,” you say, gesturing to the closed doors. “I’m not drunk, either, if I was I would probably still be in there. Okay, I know what you’re thinking, it’s Halloween, it’s a party, and I’m fucking with you, but I know what I saw. Please.” 

You watch as he seems to mull it over, his face going through all the motions, eyebrows pinching, lips pursing. 

“Show me what you saw,” he says finally, and your throat constricts at the thought of going back in that room. 

You’re going crazy. You must be going crazy. 

The coat check girl is gone. Her body is gone, anyway. 

“No, no, no no no no, no! She was here, she was right here!” You point at the section of coats, the one she was shrouded in also missing, looking at Ossie like he has to believe you, he has to because it was real, all of it. 

“It’s Halloween, maybe someone was just–”

“Don’t you dare,” you snap, cutting him off before he can say it was a prank. “Besides if it were a joke, where is she? This is the part where people jump out and say ‘gotcha!’ Where’s the fucking ‘gotcha!’?” You’re handling this well. And Ossie is smiling at you softly. Not like you’re an idiot, but, well, something else.

A glass-shattering scream stops everything. A no-joke, scream to end all screams, over the music, over the crowd, out into the lobby. The two of you are running for it, but are met by a tidal wave of costumed partiers running away from it. The music has stopped and the lights are on in the ballroom, illuminating everything. Two people are left in the room: Ghostface, the one who had too much to drink. His mask is up over his head, but he might as well still be wearing it. His mouth is hanging open and his face is white as, well–as the mask. A woman wearing a shirt that says “Final Girl” is lying on the floor in an ever-growing pool of blood. Apparently the killer appreciates irony. 

“Fuck,” Ossie whispers. You don't know how long the two of you stand there, but when Ossie starts to move you go with him, the two of you looking down to see your hand in his. You don't even remember taking it, or had he? Ossie gives you a reassuring smile and lets go. You let him, watching as he guides the man away from the body and out into the lobby, the man mumbling all the way that he didn’t do it. You start to follow when something wet hits your cheek, making you flinch. You wipe at it and your fingers come away dark and red. Up above you is one of the fake corpses, wrapped in black plastic. One of the many Halloween decorations rigged from the ceiling. Another drop lands on your forehead. Hand trembling, you swipe it away, smearing your fingers over your jeans, trying to get rid of it. 

“Hey, c’mon, it’s time to go,” Ossie says, appearing at the door. You nod, but notice a quick shift in his expression. He’s not looking at you anymore. “Behind you!” You turn and the first thing you see is the mask, next is the sharp, shining blade. Ossie grabs you by the arm, hauling you out of the way, putting himself between you and the killer. As they grapple, you run to grab a chair, turning just in time to see the knife sink into Ossie’s stomach. With a rage pure and white hot you crack the chair over the killer’s back and they both go down. It’s a race to see who will make it to their feet first, Ossie’s arm across your shoulders, blood leaking out over his fingers as the two of you try to get him to his feet. The killer is slow, and though you can’t see his face, you know he’s angry. 

“C’mon,” you urge, not taking your eyes off the killer, “c’mon, Ossie, c’mon!” The two of you stumble your way through the doors, slamming them closed behind you. There’s no way for you to lock them so you use your weight until the killer gives up. There’s always another way. 

“The cops are on their way right?” you ask Ossie, and he chuckles, shakes his head. 

“No signal,” he says, and you look at your phone, which you had only used a short while ago. He’s right. Nothing. “Doors are locked too, and I can’t reach any of my guys.” You think of the other corpses hanging in the ballroom. Were they all bodies, or were some still just decorations? Ossie groans, looking down at the stab wound, and a renewed sense of urgency sprouts in your chest. 

“It’ll be okay,” you promise, willing yourself to believe it, as you spring to your feet. The fact remains that you’re trapped, with no help on the way, and a killer determined to pick everyone off, one by one. 

[belphies-cuhm-sluht]

I'm sorry if I'm bothering but I cant stop thinking about the brothers reacting to the mcs family accepting them as mcs bf before and after they find out the bro is a demon

The Brothers When MC’s Family Accepts Them As Demons (Headcanons)

These got super long, so I’m gonna put them under the cut. Thanks for the request, this was super fun to do. 

Lucifer 

The amount of stress he had going into this was ridiculous. He didn’t want to meet your family in the first place, he thought it was unnecessary and he would have much rather they not knew that he and you were dating. You insisted though, and he begrudgingly agreed to meet them when you went back up to the human world for your birthday. Everything was going fine until you slipped up and used his full name, and he was honestly… relieved. He had hated the stupid nickname you had given to him… “Luci”. It made him cringe, but nobody really named their child Lucifer, so apparently it was necessary. That one slip though, and he froze up, waiting for your parents to freak out… but they didn’t. Honestly, he wondered if your parents were even listening, but then your dad tried to make a dad joke. “So Lucifer, what was the fall like? Just joking, glad you could join us.” Confused. Kind of worried about your parents judgement, because, of course he loves you and wouldn’t want anyone to get in between the two of you… your parents are just… okay?With you dating a demon? Might need to take the second that your parents didn’t take. 

Mammon 

Not really all for meeting your family, but then again, that could be another way of getting free gifts or money. Definitely decides that he wants to meet them around Christmas, and make sure to let them know that you’re bringing your boyfriend, and that he likes gold anything or just flat out cash. He was nervous, but he wouldn’t let that show. Obviously The Great Mammon doesn’t get nervous, not around some measly humans. But these humans, these humans were important to you, and if he didn’t make a good impression, well… he could handle his brothers talking bad about him, but your family was a whole different thing. Christmas morning seemed to be going along without a hitch, the two of you had decided to just call each other by pet names so his real name wouldn’t slip… that is until his greediness started to show and he started pestering your parents about what he got. You lightly smacked his arm, whispering his name, hoping that your family didn’t hear you. “Oh, Mammon? Like the demon of greed Mammon?” Uhm… why weren’t your parents freaking out? “Don’t worry. We didn’t really know what to get you, so we just decided on money. I’m sure you won’t mind.” He’s on a whole new level of shook. Your family is so chill, he wants to come back for every holiday. 

Leviathan 

Getting him to leave his own bedroom was a job on its own. Trying to get him to agree to meet your family was a whole new level of difficult. There was no need for it, they won’t like him, he’s a loser… he gave all these excuses, and although none of them were true to you, he believed them to be true. You were on the verge of giving up and he saw that, he saw that you were upset about it, and he didn’t want to be the reason for you being upset so he finally said that he would. Only for a day trip though. His anxiety was already through the roof and he didn’t want to be stuck in a house of a bunch of people he didn’t know longer than 24 hours. That was no problem for you though as your family was having a small get together. It was a cookout and there would be a pool and everything, just a pleasant day of family fun. That’s how you sold it to him, and although he was still reluctant, he liked the idea of a pool. So now, here you were, goofing off in the pool. He was pushing you around the pool in a little donut raft, and he decided it would be funny to flip you off of it. You squealed his name when you came up from out of the water, forgetting for a second where you were, and your entire family was looking at the two of you now. “Leviathan… I know I heard that name before… isn’t that that one demon who…” “Doesn’t matter what he is, they’re both having fun. Burgers are up in five minutes, kiddos.” They’re not… shocked? Not running for the hills, having a panic attack. Nope, just burgers. He finally feels like he can really relax now, and that’s all that matters. 

Asmodeus

Pfft, worried? Not him. People love him. Your parents will too, he was sure of it. He was all for visiting your parents, actually, he was the one who brought it up. You were about to visit your mom for her birthday, and he decided that he wanted to come along too, since he’d never met your family before. He felt like you were hiding him and he didn’t like that feeling, so now he was coming to your mom's birthday and he even picked her out a gift. Obviously it was self-care set, but what else was he going to get her? It’s Asmo. Of course, your mother loves him immediately. He’s kind and he’s gentle and soft spoken, and he keeps calling her beautiful. He was a charmer, and everything was going great. The entire party went flawlessly, and you both thought that you’d get through the day without anyone finding out that your boyfriend was in fact a demon. That is, until your mother stopped the two of you for goodbye hugs, and she decided to become curious about his name. “Is Asmo your full name, or is it short for something else?” She was so inquizitive, and you bit your lip, hoping that he’d just agree that Asmo was his name, but, he had no shame. He told her that it was short for Asmodeus, and at first she looked shocked, but then she just shrugged. “Hmm, well… isn’t that something. You two get home safely, and come back soon, okay?” At first he thought that she just didn’t know who he was, but you explained to him that she knew, she just didn’t care. He kind of had a feeling it would happen that way though, so he was just as happy as he was before he came up to visit. 

Satan 

He’ll agree to visit your parents, you don’t have to bribe him, convince him, nothing. He just wants you to call him by his real name. He said he would be on his best behaviour, and that your family would have no reason to hate him unless they’re judging him strictly off of his name, but if that’s the case, then they’re shit anyway and he doesn’t want to associate with them. It was a Fathers Day party, and you were on edge the entire time. Your parents weren’t judgemental at all, but the name, his name alone would freak anyone out. He was a true gentleman, shaking your fathers hand and having regular conversations with him about different books that they’ve read. Things were great, and then dinner came along. Satan and your dad were still talking amongst themselves when he stopped in the middle of his sentence. “You know, Y/N never did tell us your name. Things have just been so busy, I’m sorry about that.” Satan didn’t hold back, he almost too proudly stated his name to your father, like he was expecting some type of freak out. It was your mom who chuckled lightly, shaking her head. “Ah, leave it to Y/N to date Satan. Well, everyone seems happy in the relationship, who am I to judge?” And with that everyone went back to eating. You were more shocked than Satan was, he just seemed really smug now, continuing his conversation with your dad. It felt like a giant weight had been lifted off your shoulders. 

Beelzebub 

Halloween, you chose Halloween. There was candy involved and he seemed excited about it. He was always so sweet and you really felt like you had nothing to worry about with him, how could anyone not like Beel? He was a big teddy bear, an absolute sweetheart. He wasn’t even nervous about meeting your family, and there was no reason for him to be. When he walked into your house everyone greeted him with open arms, warm welcomes, and soft smiles. Honestly, the only thing intimidating about him was his height, but everyone quickly got over that and it even became a sort of joke between him and your dad. “Oh, watch your head there, pal. If Y/N would have told me you were so tall I would have raised the archways a little more.” Dad jokes, and while you were embarrassed whenever your dad said anything, Beel seemed to love it. When snack trays went out, Beel devoured everything almost immediately, and it was only when he had cleared the entire table that he realized what he did, smiling sheepishly at you. Your family was clearly… concerned. Beel decided to take it upon himself to explain everything since you seemed so worried, and his plan was, if they freaked out, he’d just take you back to the Devildom to celebrate Halloween there. It was quite the opposite though, and your mom actually seemed relieved that there was a reason for him eating so much. “That makes so much sense. I was getting worried that someone wasn’t feeding you. Well, you can always come home anytime for dinner, alright?” So happy, he’s so happy. Ends up changing into his demon form for a Halloween costume which amazes everyone. He asks to visit your family at least once a week for dinner now. It’s a second home to him. 

Belphegor

Why visit your family when he can just sleep? Sleep is life. He’ll probably just zonk out at your parents house anyway, but that wasn’t the point. You wanted him to at least meet your parents once. They had asked you to come home, and you had told them before that you had a boyfriend and they really wanted to meet him too. It wasn’t particularly hard to say no to you, it’s just that he didn’t like hurting your feelings, and he felt like it was the least he could do considering he did… kill you once. He really did do his best to stay awake, not for your parents, but for you. He didn’t want you to think he was rude for falling asleep at the dinner table, which almost happened. Once everyone moved into the living room though, he couldn’t help himself. Leaning against your shoulder he slowly dozed off and your mom noticed immediately. “Just like your father, able to fall asleep anywhere and everywhere.” You heard Belphie scoff quietly, deciding that he would throw out a joke about being Belphegor, the Demon of Sloth. Of course, you knew that it wasn’t a joke, and you tensed up, waiting for your mom’s reaction to it. “Oh, well, that makes sense now. Do you need a pillow, or a blanket? A warm cup of tea?” He peaked one eye open, staring at your mom for a second before looking up at you and declining, almost too politely. He was kind of bummed out that your mom wasn’t scared of him. There was no fun in it. At least he got to nap a little longer though, and she brought him a cup of tea anyway, so he was still winning in the end. All is well that ends well.

[bomberqueen17]

monday

well, i’m back home in buffalo.

MM, DF, the kids, and my dude went out trick-or-treating. I sat in the front hallway and handed out candy to an assortment of adorable children. Most of them were middle schoolers, awkward and crack-voiced and remembering to say thank-you with varying degrees of success. A few of them complimented my costume.

The resident kids came home and were so excited to hand out candy, but mostly everyone had already finished trick-or-treating, as it was well after dark and it’s still kind of covid-y out. So I went out and trick-or-treated them so they gave me a bag of candy, and then they bestowed one apiece on each other, and then one for all the other adults present, and that was that, we’d used up all the candy, and we turned out the light. I loaded everything into my car and drove home.

Got home after 9:30, and the cat was delighted to zoom around the house about it. I had an Amazon package-- I know, I know, but I needed some things and Amazon’s the only place to easily get them-- and so I looked at what I’d bought and the cat jumped into and out of the box. And then I collapsed into bed.

Slept somewhat poorly, as the cat needed me to hold her at all times. Me gone for a week, and then Dude gone overnight too, was a lot for her. Also I wake up when she sits on my head, so I did and kept petting her, which only encouraged her.

This morning I had to leave before sunrise, and I couldn’t find my clothes, and I don’t have much by way of food in the house-- I brought meat and vegetables from the farm, it being cool enough that the ice packs in my cooler could keep everything cold overnight, but I don’t have like. Lunch. That sort of thing. So it was icky getting ready for work this morning.

And now I’m at work but I don’t wanna. It’s my own fault I didn’t take any time for myself at home but Halloween comes but once a year and I hadn’t seen the DF/MM family in quite some time. And that’s just. How it goes. Alas.

We’ll see how I do this week, maybe I’ll be able to get stuff done. At least I haven’t woken up with vertigo like last time after I pushed myself this hard. And I hope the sun won’t have gone down yet when I go home, that’s the part of this time of year that’s hardest.

I am utterly filled with a desire not to be at this job anymore but I can console myself that I’m certain I feel like that about literally every job so there’s no real solution for it.

The thing I’m excited to go home and do (besides nap) is that I want to learn whittling, and I have a bunch of collected wood scraps in the car, and I bought myself woodcarving Dremel heads on Amazon, and I bought myself cutproof gloves too, and I have some knives and I want to see if i can make these blocks of wood be shaped like other blocks of wood and I’m excited by the concept and I don’t want to sit in a windowless office desperately trying to make numbers be other numbers on the Internet for eight hours, I want to be in my house and make blocks of wood be other blocks of wood. There’s no justice in this world.

[princess-of-the-corner]

Ask HC Crossover Halloween Spectacular!!

((Welcome all! We have quite a feature tonight! A Halloween event for our usual ask game. Hopefully it will be.... entertaining....)))

Team Miraculous sits in Le Grand Paris Hotel their secret hideout. Like many nights, they are set up to stream and answer questions. Everyone is wearing costumes over their costumes, as suggested by Chat Noir.

They set up early, and had already greeted their viewers. Answering a few questions before they were to head to a Halloween Party.

However, right as they were planning to wrap this up and move to the Kobold’s Den, the stream malfunctions. Going to static for a moment. Pegasus and Rena Rouge are immediately at the controls to figure out what's going on.

In the next moment, while they are still broadcasting, another broadcast pops up in the corner of the screen. There is a man(?) who is a blueish-white, and a face almost masklike.

While everyone else is confused and concerned, Talon's eyes light up with excitement and recognition.

"Holy fuck!" Talon shouts.

However, her expression falls. Not just to concern, but to pure horror as she realizes what is happening.

"Holy fuck," Talon repeats, her voice much more quiet now.

"Talon, do you know-" Ladybug tries to ask.

"Greetings and bienvenue," the newcomer grinned. "Quite sorry to hijack your video, but as my own studio has been shut down for a few years, it was much easier to do this as a way to reach such a wide audience."

Despite the apology, he didn't seem sorry at all. Everyone looked to Talon again, but she was furiously texting someone. Honeybee elbows her, while their 'guest' patiently waits for an introduction.

"Okay," Talon said, still attempting to multitask. "Remember I told you about that show I watched as a kid where it was suddenly canceled out of nowhere? Turns out the reason was that the host was actually a supervillain hellbent on world domination, and he got killed by trying to contain the Magic of two Gods. And uh.... that's him. Vincent Vladislav Argost."

"The girl has taste in television," Argost chuckled.

"Wait," Carapace frowned. "He came back from the dead???"

"Is that really the weirdest thing you've seen?" Tigress asked.

He shrugged. But everyone's attention turned back to the chuckling villain.

"So," Viperion began. "You came back from the dead to.... hijack our show?"

"I believe that is a lame plan," Arashi said.

"Not quite, child," Argost replied. "I am using your show to put on one of my own! I have contacted a few... allies. By now they should have taken over that dusty little bar that your Dragon frequents. A trap is set for other Heroes, and is being sprung as we speak."

"Then why just hijack us?" Ladybug said, taking control again.

"I have been known for my theatrics," he said. "And what better way to announce my return, and the destruction of a few pesky heroes, than by using your platform as an announcement to the world? Though your villain attempted to back out while quoting his own morality, we have other plans.”

"Did he just say that Hawkcock has morals?" Roi Singe asked.

"Doubt," Tigress said.

"Maybe?" Pigella suggested. "I mean, if we're not getting dragged in-"

"Oh, don't misunderstand," Argost said. "Of course you're being brought in, just like all the others! After all, it's our house now!"

He snaps his fingers, and the Team (along with their broadcasting equipment), is sent elsewhere. With a blink and a stomach-churning flip, they find themselves in The Kobold’s Den. 

The tavern’s owner is just facedown on the bar, muttering about what a disaster this is. Ariel and Guy are also present, the former looking bored and the latter a minute away from snapping. 

Everyone else in the bar seems to be in the middle of a brawl. Team Miraculous recognizes some, either from news reports or previous contact. A bunch of other Heroes and their Villains. 

“Well at least if can’t get worse,” Chat said. 

On cue, some sort of portal opens and drops Shadowmoth from the ceiling.

“You had to say something,” Ladybug sighed. 

[twinrowcitizennews]

snapshot

Note from the editor:

This is the first letter of this nature that I’ve received from someone who wanted their question published. Other than editing for formatting and grammar, it’s in their own words and their own words alone. Please send an email or ask if you know how to solve their problem-- and quickly. 

I have to warn you, this letter isn’t for those who are put on edge easily. Reader discretion is advised. 

I don’t know if I’ll still be around by the time this is posted, but that doesn’t matter. So long as this reaches whoever might need it. 

I first saw it last October. The 27th, I think. Kind of cliché for this sort of thing to be happening right around Halloween, but truth is stranger than fiction. It was late in the evening, almost nighttime, when I saw this stray dog roaming around in my front yard. I grabbed my dog’s leash and went to get it, thinking I could keep it in my backyard until I could find the owners, but the second I left the front step, it started off towards the bike trail. I sped up to a jog and followed it, hoping not to scare it off any further. 

The bike trail veers away from the neighborhood and through this piece of undeveloped land that separates the suburbs from a nearby farm. The dog was mostly sticking to the path, moving along at a trot, stopping every once in a while to look over its shoulder and wag its tail, like it was waiting for me to catch up before starting off again. After a few minutes of this, I called for it-- tried to whistle, asked it to heel, etc. It came over when I pretended to have a treat in my hand, holding my fist out like there was something inside. When it leaned over to sniff, I clipped a leash on its collar, a simple fabric band without any tags or ID. I’d never seen the dog before, so I got out my phone and took a picture of it to post to the neighborhood Facebook page, asking if anyone knew its owner, before walking it back to my place and letting it out in the fenced back yard. After feeding my own dog, I sat down to check Facebook to see if there was any response. 

No one recognized the dog from the photo. One comment asked me who was standing in the background. 

There hadn’t been anyone else in the woods, as far as I remembered, but I double-checked the photo anyway. In the background, about 20 feet away, it looked like there was a figure-- vague, kind of person-shaped if you squinted-- standing just to the side of the bike path. It was all indistinct and fuzzy. Probably just a smudge on the lens. I responded to the comment before trying to clean off the lens on my shirt, then taking another photo down the hallway to see if the smudge was gone. There didn’t seem to be anything. The rest of the night was relatively normal. 

The next morning, I ended up trying to clear out my camera roll, to save some room for any pictures I might take of my baby cousins in their costumes. I deleted a bunch of screenshots, old photos, and the image of the dog, before going to delete the hallway picture. 

The smudge was still there. Like before, it was around 20 or so feet from where I’d been standing when I took the photo, around the size and height of a person. Unlike before, it was peering around the corner from the door to the bathroom. 

I was freaked out some, to be honest.  I scrubbed the lens down with a Lysol wipe and took another photo down the hallway, trying to prove to myself it was just some sort of shadow. Nothing that would show up in the daylight. And it didn’t-- nothing strange, no smudge, just a block of sunlight from the windows. I didn’t delete the picture from the night before, though. Just in case. 

It was a few more weeks before I took another nighttime photo. My cousins are too young to stay up late, so they’d been out trick-or-treating around 5:00 in the evening, back before it was even dark, so I didn’t really take anything on Halloween. The dog was returned to its owner a few days after, so nothing there, either. 

It was around the middle of November when I ended up catching it again. I was on a nighttime walk and passed the home of this older couple down the road who always put up their outdoor Christmas decorations about a month too early. I wanted to get a picture of the setup-- they had this new animatronic Santa, sitting on a throne and waving to the road. I can promise that no one else was in the yard. I used the flash (on accident, but still), and if someone was there, I would have seen them. When I got home, I sent the picture to a friend of mine for her to make fun of. She messaged back with a few laughing emojis before asking who took the photo.  

(ID: Two texts from my friend reading “lol” and “really who took it”. My response says “wdym?”. She responded with two texts saying “I see you in the background, genius” and “just vibing by the garage”. End ID.)

I checked the photo again. By the house’s garage, a little under 20 feet from where I’d been, was a clearer, more distinct figure. For once, I could make out its face. 

I don’t know who or what it is, or how it got there, but it definitely looked like me. It was even wearing my clothing, had its hair done the same way, everything. Just standing there and smiling for the photo, like someone just out of frame was telling it to say cheese, looking right into the camera. 

I immediately turned all the lights on that I could reach. I almost deleted the photo, staring at it for too long, before closing out of Photos and reopening my camera. I figured this had to be some weird hallucination or something I was making up, but that didn’t make it any less terrifying. I aimed the camera down the hall and took a video. Nothing. I checked it, sliding the scrub bar back and forth to inspect each individual frame. All of them were just empty, illuminated hallway. That didn’t shake the feeling, though, so I turned the hall light off and tried again. Nothing showed up on this video, either. I took a photo. 

It was there. Again. It wasn’t peeking out from around anything, just standing in the middle of the hallway, the same distance it had been from the camera in the yard. 

I didn’t sleep that night. Or the next few. 

I ended up searching the internet as much as I could for anyone with similar experiences. I saw things about ghosts, things about illusions, things about solid doppelgangers that people saw with their own eyes and not through pictures, but nothing like this. Over the weeks and months that followed, I took investigating into my own hands. 

My fears were quieted some-- some-- when, after the first few nights, I realized that it wasn’t hurting me. It never even moved, staying in the same poses each night. The only change was, no matter where I was, inside or outside, it was always the same distance away.

I started taking pictures almost obsessively. Every day, every night, I tried something new. I tried every condition I could think of to see when and where this thing would show up. It became a part of my routine-- almost a companion. I’d even jokingly wish it goodnight. 

I could put walls between myself and it. At one point, I stood inside my closet and took a picture, only showing racks of coats and clothes. It could be seen through windows, if there was no room for it to appear indoors. I could take pictures out my bedroom window to show it standing right there outside the window on the front walk. It always looked exactly like me, down to the smallest detail, except for the face. It never had any expression other than a smile. No matter where I was, inside or outside, it could be there. I got pictures of it at home, at work, out of town. It never showed up in well-lit photos. Things in the dark with flash were okay, but it would just be a little indistinct. Dimmer lighting, pictures taken at night, all of that was free game. I never got a picture of it in daylight. 

Around February, I sat down and tried to sort all the successful photos into one album to clear up my camera roll. At this point, it was mostly just pictures of the thing, since I was sometimes taking up to dozens a night. I deleted all the failures, saving all the pictures of it into one album. That’s when I noticed.

It was getting closer.

I guess I had ignored it over the first months. It had been too gradual for me to notice, only an inch or two each night, but looking at all the photos in order, it was obvious. Instead of being around 20 feet away, the thing was closer to 15, still just standing and smiling.

I had to tell myself it was coincidence, or something I was imagining, or I think I would’ve done something I’d regret later just then. Now that I knew it could move, I didn’t really think of it as a friend anymore. 

I kept taking pictures throughout the following months. Only at night. It stopped showing up outside my bedroom window-- in retrospect, probably because the ground wasn’t close enough for it anymore. It stopped lurking at the end of the hallway, drawing nearer until it was standing right there in the living room. It started putting its hands against the glass of the kitchen windows. Then it started showing up at the kitchen table. 

I got desperate, some. I tried everything. I burned incense, I tried to talk to it, I bought fucking crystals. I’m an atheist, but I even considered calling a priest or something. All spring, I was constantly scrambling to find some way to get that thing to leave, or at least stop moving. Every night I took more pictures, too many, before scrolling through my photo album with a looming sense of dread. Nothing worked. It kept coming, slowly, always dressed like me and always doing that smile. It got close enough that I could see the whites of its eyes. I almost wish I could say that there was something messed up about it, something that made it obviously inhuman or dead or anything, but there wasn’t. It was just me, just exactly like me, and somehow that was worse. 

I’m sending this in now because it’s really close and I don’t know how to make it go away or if that’s even an option anymore. These past few nights, it’s been right in front of me-- I could reach out and touch it, if it was solid. Hell, I could probably feel its breath, if it had that. I’ve been taking pictures every hour or so, sometimes every couple of minutes.

Last night, around the fifth or sixth picture I took, it wasn’t there. Just gone. I took a few more pictures, and it didn’t matter where I was, it just wasn’t there. I don’t know why I did it, but I turned the camera around to selfie mode and took a shot. 

That thing was standing right behind me.

One of its hands was hovering right over my shoulder, like it was about to touch me. I freaked out and took another picture. It hadn’t moved more than a hair. I turned all the lights on and haven’t slept. 

I’m not sleeping tonight. I’m not turning any of the lights off. It can’t get to me if the lights are on, or I hope so. If anyone knows what to do or what this thing is, please respond. It might already be too late, but I don’t know what this thing will do or who it’ll go for when it’s done with me. I don’t have much advice to give, other than to sleep with the fucking lights on.

[catharrington]

13 from that prompt list is so cute🥺💖

13/ This wasn’t meant to be a date, but we’ve had such a good time and now it’s 2 a.m. and I should really go home…

I’ve already done this one but I’m doing it again anon because I love you just that much!!!

***

Trick or treat! (Give me something good to eat)

Billy thinks he was in love with Steve before walked up to stand next to him in the middle of the street dressed as Michal Myers, but now he knows. The rest of the kids all piled out next to him, in their own nerdy costumes, the boys giddy as fuck joining where El and Max stood waiting. Billy’s breath caught in his throat as Steve casually got close enough to touch.

“Hey,” he greeted easy, trying not to give away the affect the pretty boy has, “ready for a- wait a second, Harrington?”

Steve was wearing his light blue zip up windbreaker, some stone wash true blue jeans, hands on his cocked hips, a preppy attempt at the blue jumpsuit Myers wears in ‘Halloween’.

Billy’s got his eyes focused on that goofy rubber mask, the mess of plastic hair on top. “Please tell me you didn’t take the time out of your life to style that fucking mask’s hair?”

And Steve turns to him, the mask moving, his big browns showing through the cut eye openings. “Maybe I did, Hargrove.” He casually mumbles. “Did you glue leaves on that ugly net to make it look like Jason Voorhees coming up from the bottom of the lake?”

So Billy’s smiling behind his own mask. A cheep hockey mask hand painted with red slashes and some brown paint to make it appear worn, dirty. To look like Jason as close as Billy could get inside his small budget inside his small bedroom. He shrugs and the dark green net laying over his shoulders with Melvald’s general store olive green leaves and moss dollar floral picks glued to it jostles with the movement. He spent too long on this dumb costume.

But it’s totally worth it when he’s standing next to Steve. Michael Myers with gel and hairspray locking his hair into a handsome swoop. At least he’s not the only teenager taking this too seriously.

“I told you guys before, we so don’t need babysitters for trick or treating,” Mike opened his mouth from behind Billy’s shoulder.

“Yeah, no,” Steve sighed, his voice still muffled from the mask but still sharp with authority. “Dustin told me all about the kids who stole your candy last time. Sent Will into a full panic attack. That’s not happening this year, not with us here.”

“Very heroic,” Mike drawls back, he rolls his eyes. Such a fucking headache. “But we’ve got El for that! She’s stronger than anyone-,”

Steve shakes his head, cutting mike off with a wave of his hand. “We are also here to make sure nothing happens to El because she’s still not supposed to be in the open like this. Hopper’s orders, Mike. Why don’t you go argue with him, hum?”

“How ‘bout this,” Billy interrupts Mike as he opens his mouth to say something else bratty, “I want some punk kids to pick on you so I can bash their fucking teeth in. Genuinely looking forward to it. I’m here trying to have a fun night- and you are my nerdy bait!”

Max rolls her eyes, kicks some dirt across the road. But Billy’s words shut Mike right up. And the rest of them look warry, but on board to say the least. Billy side glances Steve, wishes he wasn’t wearing that mask so he could see if that made him laugh.

The kids all look exasperated in their own ways. Billy doesn’t miss the way Will gives a shy smile turned only for Mike to see.

Steve traces one hand down Billy’s arm, cups over his shoulder with all the scratchy net and thick hot glue. Runs comfortingly and steady down the back of his arm, curls around his elbow soft, then brushes off the end of his jacket. Like smoke evaporing off graveyard soil on Halloween night.

Billy snaps his head to watch as Steve leaves. Following the kids as they start walking. Billy jogs to keep up.

That’s how they find themselves in the Wheeler’s upper middle class basement huddled in the corner while the kids sort through their plastic pumpkins. Making confusing piles of candy bars and taffy, some pixie sticks and gum, one huge mountain of jaw breakers Billy wouldn’t mind snatching a couple off the top of. Or a whole handful.

Mrs. Wheeler had opened the front door in a full saloon girl get up, dark mole drawn on her upper lip, smiling in a tight frisky coil as her eyes trail over the tightness of Billy’s jacket across his shoulders. Steve’s already ripped his mask off as they came up to the porch, whimpering in his pretty voice how much he messed up his pretty hair.

“I’m all sweaty,” he whines, pushing both his hands through his hair so his zipped up jacket raises off his hips. His skin pale blue in the cold porch light.

Billy gives Karen one glance, a smile as he lifts his own mask to rest on top of his head, before he offers to hold Michael Myers’ rubber head. Holds his hands out all gentlemanly. It’s worth it for the surprised perk in Steve’s glossy brown eyes. And the annoyed start in Karen’s perfect smile. Billy holds Steve’s mask so he doesn’t mess up the hair as they follow inside.

That’s how they find themselves sitting so close their shoulders are touching. Arms flush and warm feeling, the muscle of Billy’s flexing and taught. Steve’s softer, relaxed, letting his body’s weight tilt ever so to rest against Billy.

The shitty costume net bunching up to make room for Steve. Billy sucking in a breath as he lets Steve get comfortable.

He feels so damn warm on the cold October night. His hair is messy, smells like roasted pumpkin seeds. Billy can’t help it, must be how tired he is from walking around until midnight with a bunch of kids. He must be deliriously high from spending all night trailing behind Steve’s perky ass in those tight jeans. Must be all the sugar going to his head and making him damn near drunk on it. Because Billy knows better.

Knows he shouldn’t. But he wants, he so wants. And Steve’s made it so easy. Made it smell like roasted pumpkin seeds his mother used to make, one of the few smell of home.

Billy leans over and nuzzles his nose into Steve’s hair. Uses one hand to cradle the back of his neck gently, if not possessively, as he does it. Steve jostles alert, his eyes drowsy from dozing off. But he doesn’t move away. Doesn’t startle or even stiffen in Billy’s hands.

The hands that could beat him, have beat him. The hands that know blood more than chocolate. Abuse more than love.

Billy’s breath catches in his throat as that word ghosted around his head, love.

Steve turns from where he’s leaned. Shifts so he’s pushing himself off Billy’s shoulder to look into his eyes. Bracing himself up on one of Billy’s thighs.

“Hey,” he says dumbly, like they haven’t been shackled together on babysitter duty all night long. Brown eyes move over his face, across his dark circles and ratty mustache to his lips. Billy slightly parts them.

“You made that mask look really good,” Billy compliments him like an idiot. A full on skeeze brain. “You can make anything work, Harrington. Like a super power.”

“Think I could work a mullet?” Steve snarks back, and it serves Billy right for how embarrassing he’s being. His hand tightens in Steve’s long hair slightly grown out in the back, a baby mullet, strands gossamer across his fingers that don’t deserve it.

“Yeah,” he nods.

Steve smiles as he leans forward, nuzzles that sharp nose right up next to Billy’s chubby one and seals their lips together in a kiss. Eyes flutter closed. Billy wraps his arms around Steve’s neck, pulls him in close. Gasps into the kiss while Steve’s still smiling.

He tastes like chocolate and peanut butter, kisses deep and sucks on his tongue like he means it. Because he does. Steve’s hands come up to cradle his cheeks as if Billy’s something precious to be held.

They part for beath and Billy can still taste him. Never wants to stop. Laughs because he’s so far gone. So in love he’s making Halloween costumes in his room and babysitting brats when there’s perfectly good high school parties to hit up. Got him complementing a stupid Michael Myers mask with stupid pretty boy hair.

Steve swipes his thumbs over Billy’s cheekbones before leaning down to kiss him again. He’s sure it’s been the best Halloween of his whole life.

[krsnlove]

Halloween Phases

A/N: An idea came to me one night about the different phases we go through in life and how holidays/important events and their associated activities can change. Also, I know we’re in November ...Don’t. Just don’t Lol. 

Pairing: Bryce x Casey

Rating: PG

SINGLE MAN

“Did you see Lahela’s costume?”

Casey scrolled through her patient’s chart, reading the results of the lab work drawn earlier, unbothered by Sienna’s question.

“Surprised he’s dressed as someone else other than his meathead self,” Jackie arched a single brow at the news.

“What’s he dressed as?,” Elijah asked as he straightened the plush E.T. doll of his Halloween costume.

“Oh, you’ll see. By the way,” Sienna adjusted the strings to her Red Riding Hood outfit, “the contest for Best Costume ends in an hour. I hope you all voted. The winner gets a $50 Visa gift card.”

“$50. Wow. The hospital sure is pulling out all the stops.”

“I’d be negative too if I lost,” Elijah gave Jackie a pitiful stare in her usual work attire. “Where’s your Halloween spirit?!”

“Right here,” she flashed her middle finger in his direction with a wide smile before walking away. “Byeeee!”

“She’ll be sorry when she sees what I’m going to buy with my winnings,” Elijah proudly smiled before wheeling himself away. “I’ll see you guys at home!”

Sienna watched him turn the corner down the hallway before turning her attention back to Casey.

“So, have you seen Bryce’s costume?”

Sienna made sure her question didn’t go unanswered as she tapped her pen on the computer screen, forcing Casey to look up from the screen.

“I haven’t,” she blinked a few times, surprised to see her still there.

“It’s pretty good,” Sienna’s cheeks color slightly. “I mean, it’s not too bad to look at. You should check it out.”

Casey studied her usual calm friend, nervously surveying the nurses station they were at.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine it’s just...it’s hot in here, isn’t it?” She closes her eyes for a brief moment as she begins to dab her forehead with the back of her hand.

“Weren’t you just complaining about it being cold earlier?”

“No. No. It’s hot now!,” Sienna begins to fan herself with one hand. “I wonder what...what do you think the temperature is in here?”

“Sien, it’s only--,” Casey’s sentence is cut off as a familiar voice comes from behind her.

“It’s one Lahela degrees!”

Casey turns to face the familiar voice. Bryce stood there, fully dressed in his Halloween costume: a firefighter. Or, Casey’s eyes slowly take in him being shirtless with suspenders holding up the yellow latex shorts, almost sort of fully dressed as a firefighter.

She can’t help the smile that comes to her as Bryce stands there beaming with pride.

“How long were you two working on that?,” she looked to Sienna who playfully shrugged her shoulders before walking away leaving you alone with Bryce.

“I owe you, Double Oh Tiny!”

Casey stands from her seat and sits on the edge of the desk, watching Bryce begin to greet each passerby.

“Quit shopping at the toy store for your clothes Lahela,” Zaid groaned before turning around and walking the opposite direction.

Ines is barely able to form a sentence when she looked up from her notes and saw Bryce in his costume. It was a wonder she didn’t walk into a wall when he escorted her to the safety of the elevators.

“Is it too much to ask to go a week without seeing you shirtless?,” Ethan shook his head as he walked past him with Rafael following close behind.

“Seriously Lahela. Do you even own shirts?”

“Okay Jealous #1 and Jealous #2. I’ll see you guys at tomorrow’s game,” Bryce called out after them before turning to face Casey once again.

“So…,” her head tilt slightly to the side, “big fan of Halloween I take it?”

“Not really,” he shrugged. “Why would I want to pretend to be someone else when my life is already great? Besides,” he took off his helmet and wiped at the smudge on the shield, “$50 is $50. I love a good contest.”

“Bryce Lahela, did you just share something personal with me? Be careful. We might become friends if you keep it up.”

A smug smile came to him as he put his helmet back on and looked at her determinedly.

“I’m counting on it, Valentine.”

MARRIED MAN

“Babe, please?!”

“Absolutely not Lahela!”

Bryce kept the laugh threatening to surface at watching his pregnant wife waddle away from him, signaling the end of their discussion. It had been weeks of scouring the internet for an idea and even longer for Amazon to deliver the costumes.

And after an extremely convincing argument, or so he thought, to his wife, Bryce was all too set to don the blue body paint and glossy pants like the Genie from Disney’s Aladdin.

“You’re not putting that thing on me!”

Casey’s adamant voice echoes from their bedroom down the hall.

“Have you talked to Sienna lately?,” he casually asked while picking up the genie lamp costume.

“No. Why?”

“They’re having another Best Dressed Costume Contest.”

The sound of Casey’s mocking laugh overpowered the sound of an episode of the Golden Girls; Her latest series binge.

“$50 will only cover my cravings for one night Lahela. You know that better than anyone.”

Bryce laughed out loud at that, thinking back on the last few nights of his 3AM food runs whenever a new inspiration struck for a strange food combination.

“It’s not $50.”

“$51?,” she scoffed.

“Not exactly,” he sat down at the kitchen table still holding onto her costume. “Winner this year doesn’t get any money.”

“Wasting my time Lahela.”

“You’re right. I mean who would be interested in a month's supply of chocolate?”

The familiar voices of Blanche Devereaux and Dorothy Zbornak lowered, just slightly, from the TV in the bedroom.

“Chocolate?”

Casey’s curious yet cautious tone brought a smirk to Bryce’s lips.

“Yeah,” he said regretfully, “And pickles. Can you believe that? What is anyone going to do with a bunch of chocolate and jars of pickles?!”

Bryce can hear her footsteps growing closer as he holds up the undesirable costume.

“Not a word Lahela,” Casey tells him just before snatching it from his hands.

FAMILY MAN

Jackie straightened the gold cuffs covering both her wrists. Never mind the sleeves of her doctor’s lab coat hid them once she put her arms back down. Or the fact that the majority of her Cleopatra costume is hidden if she didn’t purposely pull her doctor’s coat back.

“This is the year guys,” she announced to anyone within earshot.

Elijah, fully dressed as a Roman soldier with his wheelchair made up to look like a chariot, glanced up at her for a moment then back down at his phone.

“You said that last year.”

“Wasn’t Casey’s baby bump last year dressed as the genie’s lamp adorable?!,” Sienna chimed in.

“That was a cheap shot,” Jackie pointed out. “Anyone who uses their child, unborn or not, to win a contest isn’t afraid to hit below the belt.”

“And,” Rafael unenthusiastically added, “Big surprise. Lahela upped it last year by not only being shirtless but had blue body paint on too.”  

Sienna chuckled at the memory of Bryce smearing blue paint on her lab coat last year after announcing him and Casey as the winners. 

In an attempt to boost morale at the hospital, the costume contest was born. Watching her colleagues slowly participate each year was thrilling especially knowing they weren’t in it for the prize. Bryce’s winning streak was enough to bring the competitive spirit out of everyone.

“I’m going to knock him right into a v-neck shirt. He seems the type to wear one if....you know, he actually were to wear one,” a smug smile spread across Jackie’s lips.

“Hopefully with a sweater on too,” Ethan casually mentioned while walking by, perusing a file he had in his hand. Even the infamous diagnostician participated in this year’s contest with a Halloween-themed tie.

“Sienna, will you please announce the winner already?,” Aurora bit out. “If Elijah’s chariot run over my toes one more time…”.

He grimaces at the reminder and avoids her glare.  

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Bryce and Casey?”

Ines’s voice cut through the icy tension between Aurora and Elijah. A delightful expression crosses her motherly features as she took in the variety of costumes surrounding her. The boost of morale at the hospital around this time of year never fails to bring a smile to her face.

“They both know how to tell time. It’s not our fault they’re late,” Jackie stood with folded arms.

Just then the familiar sound of the elevator doors being opened caused everyone to face the same direction and out step Bryce and Casey in their Halloween costumes with their newest family member in Bryce’s arms.

“I know the both of you must be cold,” Aurora shook her head, eyeing Casey’s one-piece bathing suit and Bryce’s red lifeguard shorts.

“The winners,” Bryce’s voice is almost above a whisper as he motioned to his daughter fast asleep in his arms, “are here!”

Jackie points to their daughter, fully covered in a shark costume.

“Below. The. Belt!”

Casey gently folded back the material of the costume obstructing her daughter’s face. 

“Our little baby shark has had a long day. Scouring the ocean waters for her next victim and all,” she shot a playful wink at Jackie.  

Elijah begins to clap in total awe of the commitment the couple had in the contest.

“I vote for you guys. Mostly because of the cute baby shark in your arms but since you came with her…”.

“Weren’t you saying something about knocking a certain someone into a v-neck shirt?,” Rafael nudged a begrudging Jackie.

“Bite me.”

“Look out for your lab coat Sienna,” Jackie’s glare at Bryce and Casey softened once her eyes settled on her goddaughter.

“Looks like Lahela is going to get spray tan on it when he comes to hug you.”

Tagging: @alj4890 @vickypoochoices @anotherbeingsworld need more Bryce shippers LoL

[alias-b]

sins of my youth. 004

Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3

Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together.

A/N: Hello all! Pushing out a baby chapter early so I can focus on my other fic! Thank you so much for the support on this fic. Billy goes to dinner and Tries It. That's the chapter. :D  Tag list open!!!

Chapter 4: No Day But Today

   “Claudia, do you have the keys?” Mona crossed the salon floor.

   “I do, we’re fine here, go on. Dusty is spending the night at the Wheeler’s place. Having some castle and dragons party.” She'd gushed.

   “Feel free to close up early if we’re dead the last hour. Thanks, sugar.” Mona patted her back as she followed Evie out the door.

   “Can I drive?”

   “I was hoping you’d ask.” Mona smiled.

   Evie was saving for a car. And college. And her future. 

   And it was a lot.

   Truthfully, she didn’t care for school. It was in the way. Wished her lyrics could carry her straight to the red carpet before all those flashing paparazzi.

   Wanting to unwind, Evie hid in her room when she got home. Shut the curtains and prodded at herself before the vanity. Sorted dangly earrings in a mesh metal display. Huffing to lean over when Bourbon swept into her legs. His little body shivered and she plucked him up.

   “Okay, BB, you’re my best guy. You can’t let me down.” She scratched under his chin, gave him a little boop on the nose. “You take one look at that walking Def Leppard poster and you hiss and run. Got it?”

   A purr.

   “Good boy. You’re my only hope here. We can’t lose. Not to Billy Hargrove.” Arms let him down. She'd feel this sentiment often about Billy. A sigh. Evie applied a fresh lip color and paused. “Ugh.” She pushed up and didn’t change. Did her school work to get it out of the way and wandered out, turning the TV on to some game show. The savory smell of dinner wafted. “Need help here, Mom?” One tug and the ceiling fan spun, cycling cooler air.

   “No, I have it. You can set the table for me.” Mona drained some noodles.

   “Got it.” Plates and cutlery clicked around. Evie slid everything into place, perked up when the doorbell rang. Mona turned and smiled as her daughter adjusted fabric and fixed curls into place all the way to the door.

   Evie half expected Billy to not even show. But, there he was. Sly smile and all. Billow of date night cologne. A vision in moonlight.

   “Hey.” Evie said slowly. The surprise evident.

   “Hey." He mirrored it.

   "You're here." An exhale out. He blinked, found himself again.

   "I was gonna steal flowers from the old lady’s garden across the way, but there’s a huge opossum in her trash guarding it.” He tilted his head, earring catching the porch light and she cracked a grin.

   "Big Ben? Yeah, he's the neighborhood menace. Chief Hopper's nemesis because they get so many calls about it. You'd be a hero if you took him on." Evie persuaded lighter. His face fell.

   "I'm not trying to die in Hawkins, Indiana. That thing was bigger than anyone on our football team."

   “Color me impressed. King Billy didn’t want to do battle for the first time?” She actually teased him. Her nose crinkled when she smiled. Cute. “Shock and awe.”

   Billy felt this tug pulse up his ribcage. Pulled a genuine chuckle from his lips. He had to look away to give it. Glowy in starlight.

   “Sometimes I surprise people. I know my weight class and the pests here look like they were grown and mutated in some lab.” He shrugged into the door frame with one fist lifted, clicking his lighter shut. Hooded eyes all over. Evie went still as he leaned forward to her face with his tone lowering. “Am I allowed inside? Pretty please?”

   “With cherries on top?" Bright, wet lips parted. His lashes fluttered, a baritone sinking. Bringing her with him.

   "With anything your heart desires on top." Smooth.

   "Huh. I guess. For now.” Evie stepped out of the way. “We go to school with plenty of those lab grown pests by the way.”

   “No kidding.” Billy shrugged his jacket off and she awkwardly reached to take it. Hung it up behind her.

   Evie turned to see him staring again and swallowed a hard lump down. Thought maybe he saw all the begonias blooming behind her eyes and up her throat.

   “Billy.” Mona came out of the kitchen, arms out. “So glad you’re here.”

   “You saved me from a sad date with a TV dinner.” Billy winked, charming Ms. Fenny to bits. She giggled and shook her hair out.

   “Dinner’s got about ten minutes. Why don’t you show him around, baby?” Mona hurried back off, leaving them alone again.

   “Tour? Great idea." He peered behind Evie. A mission at hand. "Where’s the cat?”

   “Hiding from you, clearly.” Evie beamed, gesturing. “Welcome to the living room. Mom's showroom is a better word.”

   “Your mom like tchotchkes or what?” He came to the full mantle. Scanning.

   “How’d you guess?” Evie reluctantly trailed to his side.

   It was strange to let this boy wander around and see little bits of her life. Guess things about her as he went along, trailing deft fingers about the fireplace. She wondered what was blooming within the pit of his stomach, if anything.

   Mona Fenny's house overwhelmed.

   Photographs, plants, and crafts. Little porcelain figurines. Too many handmade candles. Crochet projects. A full dollhouse on a table in the corner.

   “My grandma passed a lot of craft skills down. She owned this amazingly strange trinket and voodoo shop in New Orleans that my aunts run now after Nana died."

   "Your mom didn't stay for a piece of that?" Billy let his eyes trail over every little thing.

   "Ah, I don't know. She was the baby and married pretty young. Seemed like she wanted something new," Evie peered behind her and whispered. "Never really got along with Nana like her older sisters did."

   Billy hummed a little. Decided not to pry with Mona in the next room. Evie brought him to the corner and flicked a lamp on.

   "Mom’s dollhouse is her pride and joy. Lights up and everything.”

   “Tell me why your mother has a framed photograph of Dolly Parton next to a picture of you two on the fireplace. And the same photo shrunk down in the dollhouse?”

   “Science may tell us the truth one day when the world is ready. And I fear for that day.” She replied in all seriousness and Billy snorted. Laughing.

   A truly enchanting sound Evie decided she liked.

   “And I have to say,” he plucked a photo off a bookshelf with a broad grin, “this one is my favorite.”

   One of Evie on Halloween. Had to be about six. Dressed in the campiest pink daisy costume with a huge toothy smile.

   “Gah,” she cringed and swiped it from his hand, “this house is a museum of embarrassment.”

   “You’re into the museum shit, guess this is like our first-” Billy stopped himself from producing the damning word when Evie turned. Blushing. Oof. He scratched the back of his neck. “So, uh, you got a bedroom in here or do you sleep in the dollhouse?”

   “You won’t find the cat that easily.” She caught him peering around again and led him past the kitchen. “C’mon, not much to the rest of the house. Garage. Spare room.” That used to be her dad’s office space. “Mom’s room. Attic up there and on this end. My cat's room that he lets me stay in too.”

   The door was open so Billy prodded it to peek inside. Evie exhaled and flicked the light on.

   It didn’t feel like a teenage girl’s bedroom. Not covered in decorations and pictures like the rest of the house. No posters cut from magazines covered in pink lipstick kisses.

   A vanity full of disorganized makeup. Desk. Overfilled bookcase of novels and tapes. Crafts and trinkets she collected in labeled tin boxes. Dresser covered in jewelry. Music player. Bed. Closet. Couple of pictures taped by the vanity and headboard. Mostly Evie and Heather laughing and bright. Her beloved acoustic guitar propped in the corner. 

   It felt like it was decorated by one trying to take up as little space as possible. Everything was compacted. Billy eyed the wall by her bed. Realized most of the papers were notes with random lyrics and words patched together.

   “Yeah, I tend to jot every little thought down even when I’m half asleep and hope it makes a song eventually.” She peered aside. It felt too intimate, letting Billy shift about the space.

   "Hey, everybody has a method." Two fingers traced over a note taped up to straighten it. She caught the ring gleaming on his middle finger. “My-”

   “Ah, don’t read them aloud, I may combust.” 

   “Oh?” Billy slunk toward her, licked his lips. A hungry way about it. Mouth watering fangs full of sweet venom. Wonder how they'd feel sinking into her throat. “Because I make you nervous, Angel?”

   “No, it’s just...just…weird.” Evie pressed up into her desk. Billy closed the distance. Got within inches of her. “It’s weird.”

   Repetition didn’t ease the sear of those ocean eyes drowning her too sweetly. She felt her chest fill and flutter all the way down. Flowers unfurled to be plucked and caressed. Billy pushed into the space until she was seated there on the desk. Scrambling further. Unable to climb the wall.

   “You do seem nervous though, Evie.” His tone hushed. Fingers brushed her thighs and palms came to rest there. The bunched fabric of her dress barely separating them. She inhaled his cologne. Smelled peppermint from his breath. Chest heaving.

   Billy knew this wasn’t part of the quest. If that’s what this was, maybe that was a nicer way to put it. Maybe rationalizing it a thousand times would help him get some sleep at night. Just show her a good night, cash in, and go home.

   It still sounded shitty. Wasn't doing Evie any favors. This girl painted too many iridescent colors. They could bleed and Billy wouldn't step away if it pooled too close.

   He liked to watch the blush spread across her freckled cheeks. Rose petals falling into a cool pond. Liked the way her nose scrunched when she smiled and when she was cross with him. 

   Billy didn't want her because she was a conquest. A challenge. Sure, she challenged him, that was part of it. And she also made him smile like he was looking at the rocking ocean waves again. Sand and wind kissing his warm skin. There was a mystery in those molten eyes he wanted to taste for himself. Maybe it was possible to just enjoy a person without strings.

   To let colors bleed and swirl. To just watch it happen without fear or judgement. To not step away from it either. Just sink right in and create those echoing ripples.

   It was too sweet and peculiar, how soft Evangeline Fenny was against the hard edges of his steel frame. So sharp, it warded everyone off.

   But, not Evie, she fit perfectly against him. Fire with fire. It gave them so much in this world that had forgotten them both. Freckles to count. Eyelashes to wish upon. Flesh curves and razor angles to explore.

   Hell, he even enjoyed how shaken she got as he neared and how still she went when his fingers trailed up her legs. 

   Evie watched his muscled chest rise, the saint pendant caught the light. Looked up at his eyes and then his mouth because it couldn’t be helped. Billy Hargrove filled Evie's space and lungs with sugary smoke. He was too many colors in one soul. So, he pushed further because those painted lips were big and full and right fucking there.

   One curious taste, that couldn't hurt.

   Brought his hand up toward her chin and leaned forth when…

   “Dinner!” 

   Evie practically shoved Billy back. Scrambled up so the desk gave a rut. Bright red as he stumbled.

   “Sorry.” She shuddered, passing him. Smelling of amber perfume. “Coming, mom.” Billy stared at the back of her hair. Blinked a couple times to pull himself together. To rationalize some.

   Curiosity. A deadly thing and so sweet too.

   It felt like he was dreaming and woke up sitting at the dinner table. Evie clicked a Coke in front of him, flashed a knowing expression that made him smirk before she sat down.

   “Now, I left a bowl in the kitchen to cool. We always bring extra to Miss Abigail, she’s three doors down.” Mona was setting plates about.

   “It looks amazing, Ms. Fenny.” Billy even shifted a dish to help make room for another.

   “Please, Billy, just Mona. Ms. Fenny was my mother and she was a harder woman.” She set a glass of water down and smoothed her dress out, sitting. Billy went for his fork and his hand was snatched. Evie shot him a look as Mona reached out. “I always say grace. Don’t feel pressured to join, sweetheart.” 

   Billy peered at Evie’s warm hand in his and accepted her mother’s. Bowed his head a little so Mona could say her prayer. 

   “Bless us, oh Lord. For this and all we are about to receive, make us truly grateful. And thank you for bringing Billy to our humble table, may he truly feel welcomed in our home. Please guide and protect him. Through Christ, we pray. Amen.”

   “Amen.” Evie offered softer. Lips lifting when Billy peered at their hands again leaving each other. Clearly not expecting such words from a neighbor.

   “You’ll forgive me, Billy, some people say they leave their hearts open. I just let mine fill the room.” Mona settled a napkin in her lap. “May I ask, if your family is religious at all?”

   “Dad’s Lutheran.” Which meant Susan was by default now whatever she believed before. “We don’t go to church or anything.”

   As if Neil Hargrove could drag his son under a steeple without one of them spontaneously combusting.

   “Well, that’s perfectly fine.” Mona cut each of her meatballs into smaller pieces which Evie mirrored. “Evie doesn’t attend with me when I go. Although, the choir sure misses her voice.”

   “Mom...” A teenage whine, near silent as she prodded at noodles.

   “She get all the solos?” Billy encouraged the pink spreading Evie’s cheeks.

   “Oh, every single one. She’s even been asked to come sing the national anthem at minor league baseball games.” Mona prattled and Evie’s head fell back.

   “Mom!” Another drawn out groan. Evie sunk down lower.

   “Oh, Evangeline, let your mother brag about you.” Mona ignored her.

   "Yeah, Evangeline." He chimed in, earning a harder glare.

   “Now, Billy, you’ve been in Hawkins just over two months?” Mona continued. Blue eyes lifted from the plate before he gave a nod. “How are you liking it? I’m sure it’s such a huge change from California. You must miss the beach.”

   “Getting used to the cold.” Billy speared a meatball and didn’t sound convincing.

   “I’ll bet you’ve never seen snow before, your poor sinuses aren’t going to know what to do. Anyone in your family takes ill, just give us a ring.” Such a mom. “It took me a few years to get used to the cold here too. We moved when Evie was just a baby straight up from N’aw Lins.” 

   Billy bit his tongue.

   “What type of music do you write?” Billy asked and there was a beat when Evie realized he was looking at her. Addressing her pointedly. Maybe to make conversation and suck up to her talkative mother. Evie’s back grew taut, lips opening.

   “Evie’s gonna be a folk singer.” Mona had cut in. “Voice of an angel, she’ll make it big. She’s been in competitions, just one look from any talent scout and she’s sold.” Evie sank down again to go back to her food. Billy watched her roll a meatball around her plate like it was the most interesting thing in the room. 

   Mona Fenny struck Billy as a woman who always meant well. Frilly like a lace doily. So well, she steamrolled over you because she knew best. Evie barely got two syllables out before her mother was flicking her hair and boasting. A doll that constantly had the string in its voice box yanked.

   Billy learned a great deal about her.

   That Mona had been arrested twice in her life for marching and protesting. Civil and women’s rights. She joked that she hadn't been arrested for gay rights yet, but looked forward to the inevitable. She was a pageant queen too. Stopped when she found out she was pregnant and couldn’t compete after that. No bitterness there of course. She had a daughter to mold and complete the legacy now.

   Mona insisted on taking the plates away. Grabbing her own, Billy’s, and a side dish. 

   Evie was still rolling that meatball around until Billy plucked up a fork, stabbed it, and swallowed in one bite. She perked with flushed cheeks. Glared again.

   Billy wanted attention.

   “Your mom is friendly.” Statement of the fucking millennium.

   “Just wait til she busts out her old pageant scrapbooks. You'll never see home again.” Evie quickly flashed a smile and picked up her own plate to follow her mother off. Billy stood too, peered around. That cat had to be close. “Give it up.” Arms crossed when she leaned into the doorway working a melting ice cube around her mouth. Swallowed it whole instead of crunching. Water ran in the kitchen behind her.

   “We agreed on an hour of television.” Billy matched her stance, saw her hip cock.

   “Half hour.”

   “Hour.” Billy went in to sit on the couch like he owned it. Legs spread. “Come on in, the water’s fine, Evangeline.” Evie plucked up the remote, sat as far away from him as she could. Turned the TV on to something campy just to make him suffer.

   “Fucking Love Boat. Really? Susan watches this crap.”

   “You said the full hour.” Evie flashed a smug grin. “I think The Golden Girls is on too.”

   “Love Boat is fine.” Billy lifted his hand. Swiped the remote from her to set it on the other side of him. They both sunk in there. Eyes on the screen. Mona left them alone to bring the plate to their neighbor, stayed for conversation.

   Billy fidgeted. Stretching to scoot closer so he could nudge his knee into Evie's. Her face remained at total peace. She pushed back at his leg which drew slow smiles upon them both.

   “What kind of music do you really like, or does your mother always do all the talking?”

   “Doesn’t matter.” Evie felt him peer back over and held herself. A beat.

   “Yeah, your dreams. They don't matter." Came sarcasm. "A girl who wants her name in lights. Don't spend too much time feeling for the switch in darkness, Angel."

   "Why do you want to know?"

   "Just asking. You really want to sit in silence to this cheesefest? Young actresses paired with old ass grandpas playing love sick.” Billy put his arm up over the couch. Missed Evie twitch. Got his hand smacked for tugging her curl like a giddy little boy. 

   “I don’t know,” Evie faced him with a shrug, “somewhere in the rock and pop area. Maybe with a touch of soul. Not the hair metal I’m sure you’re into."

   How beautiful she looked when she hoped.

   "And my name in lights won't ever be enough, I need people to chant it too.”

   Lips curled at Evie.

   “Better than folk music.” Billy decided. Pride welled because she smiled too. Genuinely. Evie fiddled with her necklace. Delicate little music note caught the technicolor glow. Brown eyes turned to see him, she tried to bite the smile down. Failed.

   “So, what’s the deal with this party thing? A dance?”

   “One of many in the city. Bunch of high schools will probably run drunk through the streets with everyone else. No one will get carded because no one cares on New Years. Dancing and whatever. Watch the ball drop, it’s just the feral thing to do that night.”

   “And you could score with any girl, but you’re asking me. It won’t be like a date or anything.” Evie dropped the charm in her fingers to see Billy’s eyes linger.

   “You mentioned that. I know how to get out and have a good time without fucking. I have all sorts of tricks.” He noted the word didn’t make her wince. “Not looking to break your seal.”

   “You’re gross.” Again, no argument on the details of it.

   “You’re too tightly wound.” He paused, whispering. “Maybe not, but you hide it.”

   "Nothing to hide, I'm an open book."

   "A never ending record," Billy pushed into her so their legs pressed flush, "not nervous around me though."

   "Nope." Her lips popped, fingers curling into the hem of her dress when his arm snaked behind the couch. "Not nervous."

   "Not running either." That realization seemed to hit them both.

   "Why would I? I can handle you just fine." She hissed at that because it came out sexual. Billy licked his lips and snickered, shifting to face her head on.

   "Oh, I like the sound of that." He'd murmured, inches from her face. Evie found herself wondering how he managed to weasel his way in this close. Wondered why she was drinking him back in. "Picture this. You and this perfume enjoying a couple free drinks and some fireworks in the city. No strings attached. Not a date. Just those exploding lights and that chilly wind cooling your cheeks down, because you'll be blushing and you won't know it."

   "Uh huh. I guess I can see it." Evie sized him up and crossed her legs to lean back into him. "You and the roar of a Camaro commanding the city to its knees. Glam and hairspray working their magic."

   "I love an audience, Angel." Billy shook his head and froze because her palm came to his knee. Bold move. "But, I don't mind the front seat to see you blush too."

   "What about you?" She whispered with a hum. "What makes King Billy blush? Does all the noise you like to make hide it?" A spark flitted up her eyes. Made his chest heave. "Is that your secret?"

   "Come to the party, I'll tell you all my secrets." Fingers grazed up her arm when soft digits gave a rhythmic tap against his thigh. Billy went for it. "Do this dance with me."

   "You don't play as hard to get as you let on."

   "Not when I want something bad. Better to just play harder." Lips parted to hit that word. Her brows lifted at such an admittance. "You're sizzling up a fuse, aren't you, Evie?" She shook her head with a lazy smile. Eyes finding his again after. Near sultry.

   "You have to light a fuse first, Billy, for it to sizzle." Her hand crept along denim. Felt him go rigid and part his thighs just a little bit wider before she sat back. "And the fire's out anyway. I'll make good on the deal. If you win."

   "I hope you have a dress picked." Billy scoffed, breathless and still intent on her while she looked ahead at the screen.

   “Time is ticking. As if you taking me out will do me any good." Evie rolled her eyes and reclined back into his side. Quite comfortably like she wasn't thinking about it. "Give me cool points so Tommy and Carol leave me alone.”

   “They’re assholes to everyone. It’s not you.” Billy replied dismissively. Curled his finger into her locks behind the sofa.

   “You don’t notice who they target because you’re too busy chasing skirts and fighting others yourself. Also haven't seen the writing about me on the bathroom walls. School hierarchy rules. Open those pretty ocean eyes and see the world for what it is. You're untouched because of your front. Everyone wants to be Billy Hargrove or screw him.”

   Evie looked at him there, blinking.

   "What side of the line are you on?" He bit his lip. "I can guess."

   She plucked his hand from her shoulder and placed it back into his lap. Patted it for good measure.

   “So, you really think my eyes are pretty?” Billy laughed when a square pillow nailed him in the face. "You said it before too! When we were drunk and you still think it now that we're sober. Telling."

   Tension shattered. Evie glittered right back at him, teeth flashing. Still chuckling, he tilted his head back to create the magical sound. Quieted.

   “Fine. I’ll pay attention if it helps you sleep at night.”

   Evie blew air out her lips, let a curl fly up and bounce down. They watched the screen again. Shared a space. Maybe it shouldn't have felt so intimate. 

   “Episode’s almost over. Thanks for playing.” She about sang. Triumphant.

   “I guess you have me, Fenny.” Billy pushed up. “Mind if I take a leak?” He was already pacing off so she said nothing.

   Just watched couples go hand in hand into the sunset.

   There was a flush, the sink running, and then Billy’s huge smile crept back down the hallway. The boy was gone all of three minutes.

   Bourbon in his arms. Purring. Perfectly happy. Evie’s jaw dropped open.

   “Guess who crawled out of the shower to eyeball my junk? Not that I blame him.” Billy quipped, scratching the cat’s chin. Bourbon rubbed back into the touch. Rasped his scratchy meow for more.

   “Traitor...” Evie muttered, coming to her feet. “Damn it.”

   “Oh, yeah. You’re mine now, Evie. Seven o’clock. Wear something short if you like.” Billy’s lips were pressed up. Such an ass.

   "I call foul." Her finger lifted.

   "And I'll be calling on you. New Years Eve. Just an annoying dance. It'll be fun and free." His chin gestured at her. "Just say yes, Evie. Get out of this small town and see some lights for once. You want your name in them so bad, you gotta look at the damn things first. No day but today. Right?"

   "Right," a lengthy sigh, "but, the fire's still out. Bourbon, why? First, mom and now you. He's just hypnotizing you both.” Evie took the cat from Billy, watched his face scrunch.

   “Your cat is really named Bourbon?” He said flatter.

   “I found him when we visited family in New Orleans. Bourbon street.” She let the feline nuzzle into her chest.

   “God, Angel, I hope your lyrics are more creative than that.” Billy lightened, chest shaking as he peered away shaking his pretty head. “Well?”

   She pouted and if that cat wasn't between them, Billy didn't know what he would have done. Another time or place. Another pretty dress. Another shared beat of bleeding together.

   That itched him the rest of the night.

   “I’ll go. Seven. I’ll dress nice. It’s not a date, so don’t try anything and get me home in one piece. I reserve the right to leave you if you act like too much of an ass.” Evie grumbled some about it, defeated.

   But, she wondered about the lights and what it might be like to share them. Suppressed all urges that longed to hope.

   “That much I can do, I might even keep my ass in check. Don’t flake, we have a deal. I’ll be your Mr. Darcy or whatever.” Billy made for the door, plucking up his jacket as she opened it.

   “That’s an impossible standard, but keep dreaming.” Evie sighed out. Watched him turn to beam. Offered a pet to Bourbon. “Least you got his name right.”

   “Quick learner, I get points. New Years Eve. Don’t make me chase you, Evie, because I will.” Billy stepped off the porch lighting a cigarette, idly waved behind him.

   Game. Set. Match.

   “I’m not gonna be nice about it.” She called.

   “So, you’ll be your normal, cheery self with me. Great. Won't ask for anything else, we have a good thing going.” He turned to wink, curling a final smile. Evie stilled, petting her cat before sighing into the cold air. “See you then, Fenny.”

   “Whatever you say, Hargrove.” She shut the door as he climbed his own porch. Looked at her cat.

   “You did this to us, I hope you’re proud.” 

   Bourbon blinked. Another rumbling purr in response.

** ** **

   “The world...” Evie plucked an idle cord. Sang soft to not disturb her mother down the hallway sleeping. Nestled into the wall on her bed next to the window. “May think I’m foolish. They can’t see you like I can...”

   Darkness shrouded save for a small set of twinkling lights around her bed frame. Eyes kept averting to the clock.

   “Oh, but anyone...who...” 

   Another pause to see the clock. Eyes flickered out along the street marked with lamps. Cracking her window to see out. Nothing. Evie settled. Changed the tune to something original and plucked another heart string.

   “Those ocean eyes… Drowning me out. What I wouldn't give to...” Her palm caught the vibrating cord to snuff the sound. A groan as she set the guitar aside. “Shit.”

   That was not happening.  

   A car went down the street at the exact moment the clock struck eleven. Evie grabbed her coat and locked her bedroom door. Checked her hair and makeup before hitching one leg over the window. Felt the naughty thrill pulse into her heart as she snuck out.

   Billy peered to see beyond his own window near the foot of his bed. Unseen in the pitch black space. Thought about catching her. It was always a Saturday night. Evie Fenny crept out like clockwork. Wearing something nice under a jacket she held close. Sometimes with the guitar on her back. Lips painted red. Went down the street and returned as the sun rose. He’d observed it often. Sometimes it happened on school nights. Two to three times a week. Never asked because it didn’t seem important enough before. But, now…

   Billy knew a teen girl didn’t paint her lips red at eleven o’clock on a Saturday for just anyone.

   Evie hurried down the street toward the woods at the end. Got into a shiny car. Disappeared until sunrise.

~~~~~

Chat with me about Evie & Billy and the impending Skirt Safari Dance! Thanks!

TAGGED:@80sbxtch​ @nottherightseason​ @orxhidshavana​   @alagalaska​ @alongcamedolly​

[autistic-girl-academic]

Cookie Run OCs

gdi apparently one of the cookies in cr kingdom is named licorice cookie so screw it i’m biting the bullet and posting my half-baked (ha) oc ideas now even if some of them have already been taken anyway. sorry there’s no art bc i’m terrible with digital stuff and can’t access a scanner to upload my drawings. there are almost certainly going to be more to come later because this game refuses to leave my brain.

Black Licorice Cookie: The powerfully astringent flavor of black licorice certainly isn’t to everyone’s taste - and that’s just the way Black Licorice Cookie likes it! This daredevil of a Cookie loves nothing more than testing her limits, so she’s always on the lookout for something to get her adrenaline pumping. That doesn’t mean she isn’t without her sweet side, however, which comes out most strongly when protecting her precious little sister. Get between them at your own risk!

Red Licorice Cookie (Sibling): Don’t mess with my little sis if you know what’s good for you!

Mustard Cookie (Trust): Nobody else gets me like Mustard Cookie does!

Kiwi Cookie (Friendly): Hey, I’ve got an idea for some cool bike tricks!

Roll Cake Cookie (Friendly): Going for a ride in that road roller and smashing things is such a rush! WHOO!

Initially I had the mental image of her as a Cookie with a web design and a spider pet, but then Truffle Cookie came out, so now I pretty much picture her skill being that she runs a Ninja-Warrior-style obstacle course or something. Maybe her pet could be a black cat instead?

Red Licorice Cookie: Between the fruity fragrance of her signature red hair and her sweet, outgoing personality, it’s no surprise that this Cookie is so popular! Red Licorice Cookie is a champion at gymnastics with plenty of fans, and performing with the ribbon is where she shines the most. She and her older twin sister might be as different as night and day, but their bond is as strong as a thousand strands of licorice twisted together!

Black Licorice Cookie (Sibling): I’ve got the coolest big sis in the world!

Cheerleader Cookie (Trust): Cheerleader Cooke is my BFF!

Yoga Cookie (Friendly): She’s helped me train to be much more flexible for my routines.

Skating Queen Cookie (Admiration): I can’t believe I actually got her autograph!

At first I imagined her as being a sort of epic version of Cheerleader Cookie, performing double dutch with a few friends much like the cheer team. Her pet would be a charm bracelet.

Oatmeal Cookie: Every day at the crack of dawn, this dutiful cowgirl is already hard at work, keeping a watchful eye over her herd with the help of her trusty steed, Raisin. If even a single cow goes missing, Oatmeal Cookie won’t rest until she’s got them home safe and sound. The tricks she can perform with a lasso will certainly knock your socks off! And when the sun starts to set, you can hear the sound of her yodeling from far across the plains.

Peanut Butter Cookie (Family): I’m the luckiest Cookie alive to have such a beautiful gal as you...

Knight Cookie (Friendly): You sure know how to burn the breeze!

Adventurer Cookie (Friendly): Nice hat ya got there, pardner!

Space Doughnut (Tension): Hey, stop spookin’ my herd!

Her skill would probably involve dodging obstacles on her horse while catching some runaway cows, and her pet would be a cowbell.

Peanut Butter Cookie: There’s nothing better for a boost of energy than some delicious, nutritious peanut butter! And forest ranger Peanut Butter Cookie definitely needs that energy, as she spends every day traversing the woods to keep them safe. Whether she’s helping Cookies who have gotten lost find their way home or rescuing woodland critters from danger, you can always depend on Peanut Butter Cookie. She’s especially fond of younger Cookies and enjoys teaching them wilderness survival skills.

Oatmeal Cookie (Family): She and I pack each others’ lunches every day.

Pancake Cookie (Friendly): Be careful climbing trees for those Acorn Jellies, dear!

Cream Puff Cookie (Friendly): I’m sure you’ll get that spell right next time, hun.

Fig Cookie (Trust): They’re always eager for me to tell them stories.

Fire Spirit Cookie (Tension): You keep those flames away from the forest, you hear?

You can probably tell by now that I’ve put like 0 thought into any of my Cookie OC’s skills. Anyway, her pet would be a bear that she helped when it was a cub, who shows up to help her by smashing obstacles.

Coconut Cookie: The Tropical Soda Archipelago has a long history of telling stories through traditional dance. Coconut Cookie comes from a long line of those dancers, and Cookies will flock from every island to watch her perform. Crowned with a garland of bright yellow coconut blossoms, she moves with the utmost rhythm and grace. It’s said that she practices every day so that she can bring peace and good fortune to the islands.

Mango Cookie (Trust): My best friend since we were little - I remember his very first boat!

Ananas Dragon Cookie (Admiration): The Dragon honored my ancestors by praising their dances.

Soda Cookie (Friendly): Going for a ride on the waves is the best, isn’t it?

Squid Ink Cookie (Friendly): Poor little thing, there’s no need to be shy.

My first thought was for her to make a sort of bubble shield out of coconut oil, like Lemonade Cookie but without the magnetic effect (maybe slower energy drain instead?) - I’m still undecided about it though. Her pet would be a bunch of coconuts who make coconut milk potions. Also, I picture her being related to Artichoke Cookie, but he’s not in Ovenbreak...YET? (pls devsis)

Honeycomb Cookie: Out in a charming little cottage atop a hill lives Honeycomb Cookie - and her many hives of Jelly Bees. Years upon years of working with the bees has allowed her to understand them so well, it’s almost as if she talks to them! If you happen to arrive on her doorstep, you can be sure that she’ll treat you to some delicious tea sweetened with honey and send you on your way with a basket of homemade treats.

Herb Cookie (Family): My cute little grandson certainly inherited the family green thumb.

Spinach Cookie (Trust): Oh, how sweet of you to bring me a basket of vegetables, dearie!

Fairy Cookie (Friendly): Ah, you’re so small I mistook you for another bee.

Matcha Cookie (Friendly): A bit of a strange one, but it’s nice to have some laughter over tea.

Not sure what her skill would be, but I think her pet would be a queen Jelly Bee that grows from a baby to an adult as you collect more jellies.

Souffle Cookie: A chef famous for turning simple Jellies into extravagant and delicious meals. Though he can come off as strict and a bit intimidating, he truly does care about creating good food for every Cookie who comes to his restaurant. Souffle Cookie is quite the perfectionist, so if a recipe doesn’t come out as planned, he tends to sulk so badly that even his fluffy chef’s hat deflates! But it never lasts long before he throws himself back into his work with renewed passion.

Sparkling Cookie (Trust): My cooking and your juice is the ultimate combination!

Sandwich Cookie (Admiration): To create such simple but delicious meals...C’est magnifique!

Mala Sauce Cookie (Friendly): Just watch, I’ll create a meal more than spicy enough to satisfy you!

Dr. Wasabi Cookie (Tension): I am NEVER using your syrup as a ‘secret ingredient’ EVER again!

Again, not sure what his skill would be, but maybe his pet could be a spoon. Sous-chef Spoon?

Rainbow Sugar Cookie: Sugar Cookie was always painfully shy and never considered herself all that important. However, everything changed when she met Rainbow Puff, a creature who begged for her help in protecting the happiness of Cookies everywhere from the wicked Dark Puffs. Bestowed with a magical wand, she becomes Rainbow Sugar Cookie, chasing away darkness with prisms of joyous light! RAINBOW...BEAM!

Pink Choco Cookie (Trust): The two of us would make a perfect team!

Wind Archer Cookie (Admiration): Wow...what an amazing warrior...

Sandwich Cookie (Friendly): She makes the best toast as a snack on the way to school!

Dark Enchantress Cookie (Rival): I won’t let a villain like you make other Cookies suffer!

Pomegranate Cookie (Tension): Why are you helping the Darkness?

Originally her name was Glitter Cookie, but then Shining Glitter Cookie got announced. In any case, she’d pretty much be an epic version of Wind Archer Cookie, fighting a big ‘boss’ monster once enough little ones were defeated with her magic.

Jack-o-Lantern Cookie: Trick or treat! Wait, is it Halloween already? The answer doesn’t really matter to this young Cookie, who loves trick-or-treating so much that they never take their costume off! If you don’t have Jellies to give, then get ready for a mischievous trick! But if there’s one thing they love more than getting treats, it’s sharing them with friends, so don’t be shy and join in the fun!

Candy Corn Cookie (Trust): My bestest trick-or-treating buddy!

Devil Cookie (Admiration): WOW! What a great costume!

Apple Cookie (Friendly): Here, candy apples!

Onion Cookie (Friendly): Trick o- um, please don’t cry...

Vampire Cookie (Tension): Hey, don’t fall asleep when I’m trying to trick you!

I thought I was in the clear with this OC when we got Truffle Cookie for Halloween...but then Pumpkin Cookie was an NPC later, lol. At least the name was an easy change. Their skill would basically be like a slower version of Chestnut’s, where you go up to houses and trick-or-treat.

Candy Corn Cookie: This Cookie used to be a scarecrow who stood in the middle of a big field of candy corn. However, they wanted to travel the world, so one night they wished upon a star...and miraculously, their wish was granted! Bursting with curiosity, Candy Corn Cookie is full of questions about everything they see. They still have a habit of chasing birds wherever they go, though.

Jack-o-Lantern Cookie (Trust): This ‘trick-or-treat’ thing is really fun!

Alchemist Cookie (Admiration): Wow, this Cookie knows lots of things!

Blueberry Pie Cookie (Friendly): Ooh, what’s in all these ‘book’ things?

Mocha Ray Cookie (Friendly): Cookies can really live under the sea? WOW!

Carrot Cookie (Tension): Aw, I don’t wanna go back to the farm yet!

Candy corn apparently used to be called ‘chicken feed’, so their pet would probably be a chicken. Again, not sure about the skill.

[darkesttimelinestuff]

7,713 words

Mature

Men make houses. Women build homes. –Proverb.  

Come come, come out tonight. Come come, come out tonight. –Sherry, The Four Seasons  

***

Oh, Halloween. How it coaxes all from their shells, a come-hither seduction of ghouls and their admirers. Whether one chooses to be a witch or a princess, a criminal or a cowboy – to paint their face and knock on doors, to drink until they are but pumpkins, mouths filled with their pumpkin guts – it is all done under the otherworldly spell of the undead, the souls that ascend from their place in the basement to play marionette games with the dolls who inhabit the first floor.

Fox Mulder has, over the years, made an exceptional doll. Spock, then Captain Kirk, then Spock again. Several years of him doing nothing but sitting alone and staring out the window, ignoring the pull of a fairy costume resting in a trunk in the attic. Even then he had been a prime target; Halloween souls feed on elation, but will take misery in a pinch. His misery tasted sweet like a tootsie pop. The saints love tootsie pops, all the waiting and the work. The sinners prefer Reeses.

There were others when the memories began to fade. Han Solo. Han Solo. Paul Stanley from KISS, though his first girlfriend ended up wearing most of the makeup. Han Solo. Doctor John Watson, although years later he would grit his teeth and mutter I should have been Holmes. Serpico at a Hoover party, the last one he went to. No one got it. Then Han Solo every year he chose to celebrate after, and by then he finally had Princess Leia at his side.

The halloween of 2016, he slips into his finest costume yet.

Fox Mulder. Hopeless romantic.

On one arm, he carries a bag that is filled with good wine, cheap wine glasses, and assorted fruits, cheeses, and fancy chocolate. He has convinced his partner that the actual contents are a P.K.E. meter (a psychokinetic energy meter, for those who have not seen the documentary Ghostbusters), a thermographic camera, an audio recorder, sage, a lighter, his gun.

On the other arm, or underneath it, is his partner. Who is unsure about such open gestures of affection while they are technically on the clock, even after all the years of steaming up their steakouts, but is not stopping him, and is possibly even snuggling back as the October chill descends.

“This is not a love story, Scully,” he warns, pulling her closer as they follow the long, winding pathway up their destination. Her body heat is his favorite temperature, even when it’s ice cold. “It is a story of lies, obsession, betrayal, and murder.”

“I think I’ve heard this one.” She bumps his arm with her shoulder and smiles up at him, her lips wine deep under the bright moon.

Their shoes are silent on the stone and disappear under the layers of fog that curl and cozy around them like amorous smoke. He tugs her closer still, filling his nose with the woodsy scent of her shampoo.

“The early 1960s, Scully. Free love was just a storm a’brewin in the air, and sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll were waiting on the doorsteps  of American counterculture, waiting to be invited in. Doo-wop was still a prominent feature on family radio stations. The Beatles had yet to write their own songs, and Paul McCartney wouldn’t smoke his first joint until 1964. It was a wholesome time, Scully. You would’ve loved it.”

“I loved Rubber Soul,” she argues.

He rubs her shoulder. “But it wasn’t all sock hops and sweet Jackie Kennedy. We were fighting a war with Russia, a war of discovery, and losing to the success of Sputnik. The U.S. invaded Cuba, got their asses kicked, and were the laughing stock of the world. In the veins of America, in the buses and lunch counters, the streets and in the schools, thrummed the blood of a movement. The Civil Rights movement. The early 1960s was a time of immense change.”

They were getting closer and closer to the scene where it all took place: a sprawling, overly-windowed ranch style home, its angular roof sloping into flatlands. In the quiet darkness, the cars and the rest of the world all celebrating miles behind them, the house appears white, almost bleached. But when the sun comes out it will reveal its truth: baby pink painted wood.

“And situated in all of this madness, this time between tumult and revolution, hatred and love, was a woman named Sherry Battersea.” She hmm’s. That means Mulder, I love your stories. Keep going.

He does.

They arrive at the front door – solid mahogany, undistressed. The steps leading up to the porch are made from brick, unhassled by the years of disuse. With the moon hanging overhead, vines creeping onto the roof, and the glare of (assumed) white bathed in midnight blue and the shadows of trees rustling above, it looks absolutely– “Isn’t she beautiful?” Mulder whispers, moving his hand to Scully’s waist.

Precisely.

***

It’s all a bunch of phooey, if you ask him.

Didn’t expect that, did you?

He spent weeks finding the right place. The runner ups were all either too far away, too haunted, or not haunted enough. He wanted something with history, something still alive in the hearts of believers – but nothing verifiable, and nothing with a real reputation.

He wanted a pretty lie. Most ghost stories, he will begrudgingly admit, are indeed pretty lies.

He found the Battersea house on a subreddit dedicated to paranormal encounters, and this one hadn’t even managed to get twenty upvotes. He was number twenty. The Battersea home is in Virginia, which heavily swayed his opinion in its favor, and from the pictures posted the years of abandonment had not left it dangerous, which put it above two other options off his list. Making love to Scully while the roof collapses over their heads is a fantasy he put to rest many moons ago, about the time he realized they could just do it on a bed.

They roam the house with their flashlights, Mulder’s low voice playing in her ear as he finishes his story. “Sherry’s husband returned from war, but he never returned to her. She made this home for him and he wouldn’t even grant her the decency of staying the night.”

The biggest draw of the place had been its pristine condition. No graffiti stains the wood-paneled walls; the rooms were all intact. The interior design is a certified blast from the past, from the richly carpeted floors and textured rugs to the lucite furniture, pops of neon that splash under their flashlights. It is colorfully but rather tastefully decorated. It reminds him a bit of a movie set, which is another place he has been thoroughly laid by this woman.

As they move through the house, however, he realizes with mild disappointment the utter lack of haunting thrill. Nothing shifts in the night to give them pause. No dirt or dust to brush away, no holes in the walls or rot in the furniture. It doesn’t even smell old. It all feels more like a vacation home, some sort of themed romantic getaway, and they’re wading behind the scenes with the power turned off.

It’s not what he planned, but he’ll take it.

“Miss Battersea was a fashionable lady, keeping up with the times faster than they could come to her. She had a leopard skin pill-box hat before Jackie O had a leopard skin pill-box hat, and was dead by the time Bob Dylan could think to write a song about it.” Oh, that long, mid-century sectional couch. It might be white or a gawdy turquoise color. Whatever it is, he’s going to have her there. “She was a smart woman, too. The head of all of her many bookclubs. All of the books you see in here are hers.” His runs his beam over behind the couch, where the entire back wall is lined with books, and they move along. “And there are more in the den.

“She did everything she could to make her husband love her. She danced to his favorite records. She cooked for him and did his laundry. She cut her skirt an inch shorter with each passing trend.” They stand side by side, halted in the kitchen doorway. He turns his head and lets his eyes dip into her blouse. “I’ve been very appreciative of your new work wardrobe, by the the way.”

“Mulder,” she chastises, pulling her shirt down for better access. He laughs loudly at that, places his hand on the small of her back and leads her through the kitchen.

“She was driving herself crazy, trying to make him love her the way she loved him. And oh, did she love him, her sweet Maximus Battersea.” More wood paneling, and modular, pastel appliances that appear as if they haven’t aged a day since their prime. In the middle is a solid island with a geometric vase of dead flowers. This is where he’ll lay out all the food. Should’ve gotten flowers, he mopes to himself, but remembers that Scully doesn’t have a lot of patience for them. “They were high school sweethearts, and when he was 18 he was drafted off in the Korean War.

“Something was wrong when he came back. He got a job at some juicing plant working the machines, but showed a savvy for bossing people around that made itself known to the owners. He moved up quickly to supervisor and then warden. He and his little wife then bought this house, and Sherry made it her life’s work to take good care of it. Not a speck of dirt to be found.” Even to this day. They both marvel at the cleanliness.  “Dishes were done as soon as they were used. Food was on the table for when he got home, still hot enough to serve. But he never got home to her at night. He would spend his nights at the bar, and then he became a favored customer at the Grand Major Hotel.”

“Oooooh. I would’ve killed the bastard,” Scully whistles, opening up a cabinet and standing on her tiptoes to peer in. He steps in behind her and lifts her up, chuckling when she screams and elbows him in the chest.

“Hmm, I know you would,” he mumbles in her ear, smacking a little kiss underneath it. All the glassware in the cabinet, chipless and clean as a whistle, clinks and jingles while she moves her hand through it. “You’re a jealous monster. So was Sherry Battersea.”

He’s making some of this shit up. He doesn’t know if she liked to read or if she was all that beautiful a woman, but the details make the story. “I’m not jealous,” Scully snorts, and he bites her neck as punishment for her blatant lie while dropping her back on her feet.

He wonders, as he pins her against the counter, if she’s caught on to his plans. He sets the flashlight down in front of her and snakes his arms around her from behind. “One night, he did come back to this big old house. But he was with someone else.”

“Oh, I would’ve killed him,” she repeats, tilting her head to get his lips on her neck. His nose brushes her cheek and he grins; she definitely knows. “I would’ve killed her.”

“And that’s what she did,” he says, kneading her hips. “They were on the couch, still mostly in their clothes. She snuck up from behind, and with all the power of her rage, she pushed one of her many bookcases right on top of them, crushing them to death.”

“I would’ve waited until they were naked. More humiliating.”

“Jealous. Monster.” Mulder says fondly, breaking away to grab her arm. “Now they say that Sherry Battersea remains in this house, long after she was convicted and put to death. She gave her life to building a home. It’s fitting that she give it her death as well.”

“And that’s what we’re here to investigate?” She says, narrowing her eyes.

“We’re here to say hi to old Sherry,” Mulder lies, urging her along. Neither of them are scared, despite of their previous history with ghosts. He’s not sure if Scully even remembers. That house had not been a pretty lie. It had only been filled with ugly truths.

On their way up the stairs, pausing at each creak even though the foundation is craftful and sturdy, a tune plays in his head. “Sherry… Sherry baby…” he sings, letting his voice go comically high. It’s too loud in the quiet house surrounded by nothing, and Scully turns around to slap a palm over his mouth.

“That’s a bad Frankie Valli impression,” she says, arching her eyebrow. “Want me to make it better?”

He kisses her palm. She takes it away and continues her charge up the stairs. When she’s far away enough, he finishes the line in his ghastly falsetto, voice cracking.

“Sherry, won’t you come out tonight?”

Come come, come out tonight. Come come. Come out tonight.

***

In the den on the other side of the house, a lightbulb flickers. The glow it casts under the lampshade is a soft, pinky red, the color of a deep blush. The winds caress the house with the sigh of a new lover. There is a soft scritching noise, a click of a record sliding into place. Static, and then…

Sherry, Sherry baby! Sherry, Sherry baby!

***

“I was listening to particle physicist Brian Cox on the radio the other day, talking with Neil deGrasse Tyson,” Scully says, sipping coffee from her thermos. She shivers a little in her suede jacket and Mulder regrets not finding somewhere a little warmer. Temperatures are at an all time high this fall in Virginia, but it’s still uncomfortable. He plans on warming her up anyway. “He’s a Professor at the University of Manchester and works on the Large Hadron Collider at CERN. You’ve probably listened to him before on a podcast. He tackles a lot of different concepts in science fiction. Frankenstein, for instance.”

“Corpse reanimation is my favorite,” Mulder says. “I know a lot about it.” She pets his hair and hands him her mug. He drinks from it gratefully. Another thing to regret. He hadn’t brought his own mug.

“Specifically, he was saying that ghosts could not exist because of what the collider tells us. You know what it does. It essentially uses a network of very complex, high-powered magnets – the largest, most expensive machine in the world – that are continuously switched on and off to send particles flying at almost the speed of light. The purpose of it is to find out what everything is made if. The particles collide and emit smaller particles, which we can observe, along with their interactions with other particles.”

“We used it to discover the Higgs Boson particle, which tells us how particles get their mass. The God Particle. It was a discovery over half a century in the making.”

“Mostly, yes. The argument was that if ghosts were real, they would emit particles that should be detectable in the Large Hadron Collider, and those particles would be able interact with the particles that make us up.”

Mulder’s silent for a moment, thinking. “What if the LHC isn’t powerful enough to detect those particles?”

“Mulder.” She licks her lips and angles her body towards him on the couch, looking into his eyes. Incredulity is still her best look. “This machine has been able to reconstruct temperatures and states of matter that only existed a microsecond after the birth of the universe, before it changed states. It is a very powerful machine.”

“But it still hasn’t answered everything,” he points out, shrugging his shoulders. “I mean, we still know nothing about dark matter. And dark matter is called dark matter because we know nothing about dark matter, only that it could explain why galaxies might contain less mass than what we’ve calculated.” He nods at her, taking another sip. “Maybe all that extra mass is a bunch of ghosts. Bet you never thought of that.”

“Mmm. Your souls in the starlight.” He scoots closer to her, slowly sliding his arm behind her on the back of the couch. When he leans forward, she says, “Mulder, maybe we should split up.”

“What?” He says, not pulling back. There’s enough light coming in from the windows that he can see her clearly, her noble profile shadowed and unshadowed as he moves towards her. He smells her perfume… and pine sol. “Now why would we do that? Last time we split up during a case like this you shot me.”

“I didn’t shoot you. You shot me.” So she does remember. She’s still talking when his lips are close enough to brush hers. “But how are we gonna catch this ghost sitting down?”

“Well, we don’t have to be sitting down.” He kisses her, a chaste, sweet little thing. He pulls back an inch and kisses her again. And again. And again. “We can.” Kiss. “Stop sitting.” Kiss. “Anytime you want.”

“Mulder.” Kiss. “Where’s the ghost?” Kiss. “Where’s Sherry?” Kiss. She’s folding under his body weight, falling back into the remarkably undusty cushions. She cups his jaw in her small hands and kisses him for real, chasing the flicker of his tongue with her own. She stretches one leg behind him, lets the other fall off the couch.

He groans and shifts so that he’s nestled between her thighs. There is – so much he loves about kissing Scully. In a lot of ways he’s learning her all over again after the time they’ve spent apart. Her face is thinner, he can trace her bones with his fingers, but not that sickly thin it had been the day she walked out. Her hair got its shine back. She tastes like a day at the office, her coffee and Cliff bars and the Burt’s Bees lipstick she wears during the cold weather.

But. Kiss. Her hands are bunched up in his shirt, very much like she’s prepared to rip it off of him. But this is is going too fast. Kiss. He forces himself to break away, taking his hand out from under her blouse.

Trying to control her breathing, pupils dilated, she lifts her chin and licks his lips. “So you want me to shoot you this time around?”

He laughs and moves off of her, giving her space her to sit back up and fix her wrinkled clothing. He winces and struggles to rearrange his wayward dick. Men’s pants are so tight now. He misses the freedom of the 90s.

“I uh. So here’s,” he pauses, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Here’s the thing. There is no ghost.”

She blinks slowly. He wants to move a lock of silky red hair out of her eye, but keeps his hands to himself as she thinks things through. “You brought me to an abandoned house to… what? Make out with me?”

“Well, no. I mean yes. But I have…” All these years and this stuff still makes him tongue tied. “Libations. And… mood music.”

She raises her eyebrows, but her eyes are softer. “The Monster Mash?”

“The Prince version, yeah.” He leers at her. “It was a graveyard smash.”

“Oh my god,” she groans, letting her head fall back on the cushions.

“Think about it. The way I see it, Halloween is our holiday, right? Mr. and Mrs. Spooky.”

“No one ever called me Mrs. Spooky.”

“I did. All the time.”

She smiles. “I guess it beats the time you set me on fire for Valentine’s Day.”

“I don’t want to kill the adrenaline here,” he says, partially damning himself for ruining it so early. He lost a good amount of blood to that kiss. “There could absolutely be a ghost here. I’m just saying this isn’t my most reliably sourced case.”

“Are any of them?” She sighs, but she reaches out to pat his shoulder. “Go grab us some libations and make me forget this conversation.”

He ducks down to kiss her cheek. “Yes ma’am.”

Taking his bag of goodies to the kitchen, he pulls out the wooden cutting board he brought along to serve everything  and all of the bags of pre-cut cheese, crackers, fruit and meat. He hums while he works. Hm. Hm hm. Hm hm. Hm hm. Hm. And it starts over, the notes twanging loudly in his mind. It is almost as if he could hear it being played through the walls – he feels it from the outside, rather than in his head. He blames it on his massive erection. He takes out the wine glasses and fills them up high enough to placate Scully and make his mother roll in her grave. Vineyard folk are serious about their wine.

He gets a good look at the kitchen as he works, transported back into a time he doesn’t know very well. The cottages on the Vineyard never kept up with any particular trend, opting instead for the timelessness of colonial whitewash and brown trim. They changed out maids and nannies like they’d change the air filters, and neither Teena nor Bill put effort into upkeep. Neither cared much for fidelity either he grimaces, and immediately feels bad for doing so.

If there is any truth to the tale, he aches for people like Sherry who gave their all and never knew when to take it back. He gets it. Sometimes you fixate on people. He had been a victim of it more than once, and now he’s the one waiting for the one he loves most to come back home.

He grabs the cutting board and the wine glasses, balancing them carefully, anchoring the stopped bottle in his armpit. The second bottle of wine and the dessert he’ll save for later are left on the counter. He hums his way back to the living room, his woman still sprawled out on the couch, waiting for him, and he forgets about Sherry.

Behind him, in the kitchen, there’s a flutter in the cabinets, sounds of gently moving ceramic. A pleasant, almost feminine noise, like tinkering laughter. Then there’s the pop of a cork.

The bottle moves, sliding to the end of the island. Then it rises into the air, bobbing up and down as if being carried by invisible hands.

Over the sink, the bottle upends. The glug-glug-glug of sweet red flows into the pipes. Just one glass’s worth.

The air is warmer, somehow.

Like a full body flush.

***

He sweeps her over the creaking floorboards, her cheek pressed to his chest. The cold has left them. His phone sits on the sleek, white coffee table, and his Elvis tunes play, his Dylan, some acoustic hits. She nuzzles in closer and hums along to Roberta Flack, Sinatra, that Cher song they both like so much.

“Why don’t you believe in the ghost, Mulder?” She murmurs, a little sad.

“I don’t know that I’m against the idea of her existing,” he says into her hair, closing his eyes. They turn. Sometimes he dips her, sometimes he spins her, but they spend most of the time just like this: as close as possible, eyes closed, careful not to bump into any of the furniture. “I just need more proof these days.”

“Well,” she says. “I’ll believe for the both of us then.”

He lifts his chin from her head, surprised. He pushes her away to search her face. “You believe in Sherry?”

“You had me with that dark matter point,” she shrugs. “If souls… did exist, they would most likely exist as a form of matter we haven’t discovered yet.”

“Dana Scully, but you are tipsy,” he chuckles, pulling her back to him. “If you believe, I believe. Sherry Battersea is alive and with us.”

“Why’d you bring us here if you didn’t think it was haunted?”

He thinks about this, rubbing his hands up and down her back. “We’ve got a long way to go, don’t we Scully?” She looks up at him, cocking her head. “You haven’t…. Moved back yet.” His thumbs caress her waist. “Into our home.”

Her face falls. “Mulder–” she tries to step away, but he holds onto her, shaking his head.

“It’s okay, Scully. Scully, I’m not mad. I’m not asking you to do anything before you’re ready.” He presses a kiss to the center of her forehead, smoothing his hand down the length of her hair. She closes her eyes. “But I thought maybe… if I could recreate… not an exact replica of the good old days, because we were always getting our asses kicked, but something tonally similar, it might help. Show you that I appreciate you and that… I miss you, and that I’m so fucking grateful that…”

She saves him by wrapping her arms around his neck and bringing him in for a slow, mind-melting kiss.

There are none of the cobwebs that decorated all those places in their youth, not like he’d been hoping. The shadows that float across the room are all accounted for. There is no fear. It is not quite like the old days, but he remembers this: holding her hips as they move above him in the dark, the rise and fall of her upturned breasts, the underside of her chin when she tosses her head back and gasps. She rides him into the couch, the sweltering sheath of her body spreading warmth from his cock to the tips of his fingers and toes. He watches her face in the shadows again, how her expressions undulate in the moonlight. She still keeps her apartment, but she’s come back to him in every way that matters.

In the kitchen, a bottle breaks. A tray of dark chocolates hits the wall at full speed.

“Did you hear that?” Scully breathes, furrowing her brow but not stopping, refusing to stop their decades-old rhythm. His hands slip around to grip her rear and he shakes his head. Wind rattles the windows, a howling, devastated screech that neither Mulder nor Scully can relate to.

***

“…Mulder,” Scully frowns, her nude form wrapped up in a fleece blanket he’d brought in from the car. She sits on the floor in front of the middle bookcase, running her fingers over the titles. “You said this place was abandoned, right?”

He’s dozing on the couch, KO’d from sex and the little bit of wine they’d had. “Mmm,” he rubs his cheek and yawns. “Yep. No one lives here.”

“I just find it odd that a place that’s been abandoned for so long shows so few signs of disrepair. In fact…” she runs her hand over the books again. “This place is cleaner than my own. You’re absolutely sure no one lives here?”

“It’s condemned,” he says. “Government says it’s no longer fit to live in.”

“That’s… weird.” She pulls out an old pulp romance novel and flips through the pages. “It seems perfectly habitable.”

“It might have something to do with the plumbing. There are all sorts of strange, outdated Virginia laws that classify a place as livable –” he’s cut off by a sharp yelp and a thud. He sits straight up and peers over the couch. “Scully?”

“I’m okay,” she groans, massaging the back of her head. “A book fell and hit me from the top shelf. But it hit me hard. Jesus, it feels like I got pelted with it.”

He climbs over the back of the couch to join her on the floor, and she laughs when he pecks and pats the top of her head.

“I have just the thing to make it better,” he says, standing back up.

“Again? So fast?” She sounds impressed. Excited. He shoots her a look.

“I was offering more wine, Scully. But ouch.” Her cackling follows him into the kitchen.

The sight that greets him freezes him cold. That extra wine bottle rests in a million shiny pieces, and what was once a glaringly yellow wall bleeds dark red with the wine streaking down to the sideboards. “Scully?” he calls out hoarsely, approaching the scene with caution.

“Shit!” she screams. His stomach drops with fear and he darts back out into the living room to find her huddled under hundreds of fallen books. “What the hell?”

“Scully!” He drops to his knees beside her, throwing book after book off to the side and clutching her face in his hands. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Not bad, but I’m beginning to see why this place might be condemned. The bookshelf just rattled and all the books fell off. Maybe there’s something wrong with the foundation.” He helps her out of the pile and they both move away, far back from the shelf.

“Rattled?” he asks, alarmed. “Like it was being shaken?”

“I thought it might be coming from the walls,” she posits, but that doesn’t sit right with him. Anxiety begins to gnaw his stomach into pits.

“You don’t think,” he starts and stops, biting his lip. He wants to put his clothes back on. The chill is coming back. “You don’t think that…”

“Think what, Mulder?”

“That… something was trying to push the bookshelf? On purpose?”

She looks at him, startled. “What? Like a ghost?” He nods his head, shrugging, and she angrily clutches the blanket around herself, turning her back to him to pick up her clothes. “You just told me you didn’t believe there were any ghosts here.”

“You just told me you did,” he argues, following his own garment trail.

“Mulder,” she whines, pulling on her bra. “I don’t actually – I was just…”

“You were lying?” He asks, pausing with his shirt over his head. The hurt catches him off guard.

“I wasn’t lying, I just… I’m so…” she sighs, doing up her fly and buttoning up her shirt. “I never know how you’re feeling these days, and…” she doesn’t finish. He nods slowly, a hot wave of dejection flooding his cheeks. There are traces of ancient anger he wants to pull from, that’s the easier path, but he can’t bring himself to do it.

“I never needed you to lie to me, Scully, and I certainly never asked you to,” he says roughly. He turns away from her to pull on his underwear, jeans, and jacket. He ignores her attempts at  apologies and walks in long strides to the kitchen. “Come look at this,” he calls to her flatly.

Just when he thinks he’s pushed past the resentment of her leaving and the guilt at having made her leave, all of the other feelings are brought to the forefront. The shame. The fragility. He’s spent the last several months trying to prove to her that he can make it on his own – that his need for her doesn’t stem from an inability to function without her, but the irrefutable fact that they work so much better together – and the whole time she’s been… what?

Seeing him as a fucking child? Wearing kid-gloves in all of her interactions with him, holding back her opinions in fear of setting him off? Oh, Jesus. Is this why she won’t move back? She thinks he’s not ready?

“Here.” Side by side, they stand in front of the stain on the wall, mindful of the smushed chocolates and shards of glass.

“Maybe they fell?” Scully guesses weakly, at least having the decency to look contrite.

“They fell? At fifty miles an hour?” Maybe there is some anger he can pull from. “Unlikely. Didn’t you tell me you felt like that book had been pelted at you?”

“Yes but Mulder that could be anything. You said yourself the house was condemned.”

“Yeah, but–” he bends down to inspect the chocolate on the floor,  picking one crushed morsel up to show her. “This looks… this looks like it’s been stepped on, crushed by something. What kind of foundational issue would cause that?”

She looks at it and sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Let’s split up,” Mulder says. “Take the top floor. I’ll take the bottom. It’s what we came here for anyway, right?” And he leaves her alone in the kitchen.

***

The den drastically departs from the design ideal of the rest of the house. Under his flashlight he spots leather rock chairs, worn and overstuffed, plain walnut bookshelves and orange shag carpets. He looks through the books and the desk drawers, searching for anything personal. Photos, journals, receipts kept, anything that might give him any insight into Sherry Battersea and the lonely, lonely house she kept. No luck.

There is a large stack of records sitting next to a hefty Champion record player, dressed in supple red leatherette. He flips through them. The Big Bopper. Fats Domino.  The Lennon Sisters. More and more of the same ilk – an Elvis Christmas LP he’s pretty sure is the real deal, and which he shamefully considers sliding under his coat. He then inspects the player itself, lifts the arm to see the stack of singles underneath it. He lets the arm fall back into place.

It begins to play.

He yelps, stumbling backwards and collapsing onto the rock chair as the music plays loudly enough to fill the house.

Sherry! Sherry baby! Sherry! Sherry baby!

Mulder clutches for the back of the chair and watches in terrified fascination as the entire den comes to life. The lamp flicks on and casts the room in its soft pink light, turning brown into different shades of red. Warmth trickles in from the air vent and all in his body he feels the electric hum of a machine coming to life. He knows instantly that means every other room in the house must be waking up in the same way. Scully he thinks, attempting to jump to his feet.

He’s knocked back on his ass. “What the–” he tries again, and the shag rug slithers out from underneath the desk, coming at him like a cautious snake.

Sherry! Sherry baby! Sheeeeeeeeeeeeerry bay-ay-by! Sherry, can you come out tonight?

“Scullllllaaaay!” He shouts, but he’s no match against The Four Seasons bleating from the – not from the record machine, but from  – everywhere, what –

Why - don’t - you - come out? Come out! To my twist party! Where the bright moon shines!

The rug does just that, rises up, twists back and forth like wringing water out from a cloth. Still moving slowly it comes up to his feet, and he brings his legs up and hugs his knees close to his body, expelling an embarrassing squeak that would give Frankie Valli a run for his money. The rug continues its ascent, sliding up his legs, like – like a caress - gentle – warm – not like a rug, but like –

Like a human.

Mulder kicks his legs out with as much force as he can muster and the rug drops to the floor with a muffled poof. Then he’s leaping out of the chair and throwing open the door, giggling crazily when – he swears he feels it – something invisible tugs at his shirt, at his pant legs and hands.

He runs out out of the den into the open hallway like a scene straight out A Hard Day’s Night, and it’s just as he suspected. All the lights are on, and the Battersea house is thrown into full technicolor, much more vivid than he could have imagined. The lucite chairs are the brightest reds and blues he’s ever seen on furniture in his life, the sofa and the tables and the cleanest, starkest white. The light from the bulbous chandelier sparkles and spins. That pine sol scent – and then something else – Shalimar? – the alien-looking Philco television set on its tall thin stand, some old Gunsmoke episode. Then the channels flip and flip and it’s the Twilight Zone, and he’s being shoved by the air over to the couch. “Scully!” He yells again, laughing, merrily going along with the phantom guide. How is this for proof of a spirit world? This has got to be the single strongest case for the existence of poltergeists ever experienced. “Scully! Come here!”

“Mulder!” Scully screeches, straight from the gut.

Three gunshots go off.

His laughter corks in his throat, his heart drops to his stomach. Mulder races into the kitchen, faster than the grip that vies for him. The wine has been scrubbed from the walls, the glass swept from the floor. Something delicious simmers on the stove, and as he darts past the island he notices a bottle of vodka and a carton of orange juice pouring into a metal mixer. No body performs the action. They float in the air and the liquid comes out in steady, even streams.

That’s his drink. He shudders and hops up the stairs, taking two at a time. Scully’s voice has died out but he can still hear it pounding in his head, along with the never ceasing with your red dress on! Mmm you look so fine! and his ragged breath. “Scully!” He yells again, throwing open every door as he comes to it. The towels in the bathroom, the shower curtain, all rip themselves from their places and slither and slide after him, licking at his ankles and tripping him up. Gold and copper tubes of lipstick chase behind him, leaving behind perfect lip imprints on the walls.

When he gets to the bedroom, he finds Scully bound and gagged to the four poster bed, screaming into the pillowcase stuffed in mouth. “Scully,” he hisses, falling to his knees in front of her, pulling out the gag and deftly untying the knots around her ankles and wrists.

“That crazy–” she coughs and struggles underneath him, making it impossible to get her unbound. “That crazy bitch –” “Stop moving–” but she won’t, she’s writhing and wrestling until he has to cover her with his weight, yelling at her all the way. “Crazy fucking bitch!” She screams. When she’s free from her ties she shoves Mulder off of her and hops to her feet, tearing through the bedroom like a hurricane. “Where the fuck did she put my gun–”

“She took your gun?” Mulder panics, ripping through the room with her. “Scully, did you–” he sees it, three bullet holes in the corner of the ceiling. “Did you shoot the house, Scully?”

“You bet I fucking shot the house!” She screams. “Aha!” She pulls out the gun from the nightstand, cocks it, and tries to run out of the room.

“Scully,” Mulder grabs her by the shoulders and pulls her to him, ignoring her struggling. “Scully, I’m thinking this is an extremely malevolent, extremely powerful poltergeist. You cannot shootpoltergeists–”

She whips around, turning on him and backing him into the wall. “Malevolent? Did she drag you by your hair into the bedroom and tie you to a bed, Mulder? You look suspiciously unharassed.”

He licks his lips and stutters. “Uh, no. That has not been – that has not been my experience.” She raises both eyebrows and crosses her arm, waiting for him to continue. He rushes on. “I think Sherry’s still here, trying to take care of her husband.”

Scully steps back, eyes widening in shock. Her mouth opens and closes. Slowly, quietly, she asks, “Are you saying… the… poltergeist… is trying to seduce you?”

“And kill my mistress? Yeah,” he huffs a laugh and wraps his arms around her stunned and silent frame, letting his body relax against hers for just a minute. He’s getting too old for this kind of exertion. “Oh, god. You scared the shit out of me, Scully.”

“Sorry to cause so much stress, Mr. Battersea,” she grumbles, burying her nose in his neck. He nuzzles her hair and she lifts her head, slotting their lips together in a sweet, relief-filled kiss. If she’ll forgive him his affair with the carpet, he’ll forgive her everything. She pulls back, shaking her hair out of her face and straightening out her shoulders. “Now how do we get rid of this thing? What’s all in that bag you brought?”

He freezes. Shit.

“Mulder, no,” she says, horrified.

***

They slink down the stairs, Scully first, gun first, just in case. The breath of the house is soft, deceivingly calm. The music has been shut off. No objects float in the kitchen, the stove is turned off. Nothing tries to pull Mulder out of his clothes, or Scully into a closet.

“I think our little display back there pissed her off,” Mulder says grimly, staying close behind Scully.

“You’re my husband,” she bites out, straightening her shooter’s stance. “I kiss you whenever I want.”

They pause before entering the living room, looking at each other.

“That’s where it all happened,” Mulder whispers, nodding his head at the door. “If we go out there…”

“Should we just make a run for it then?” Scully asks, biting her lip. He bites his lip, too, and they meet each other’s eyes. He nods slowly.

They take off, pounding their feet against the hardwood and running as fast as they can, Mulder’s hands barely grazing Scully’s shoulders, but they never stood a chance. Floorboards are snatched almost from under their feet; chairs and tables go hurtling through the air. They drop down, Mulder curling his body over hers and shielding his head when bronze ornaments chuck themselves off of their stands, decorative mirrors drop to the floor, sending their shards flying.

From every molecule of the house, Frankie Valli’s falsetto warps into a deep, unsettling baritone.

Come come. Come out tonight. Come come. Come out tonight. Come come. Come out tonight.

“Say a prayer, Scully,” Mulder groans, wincing when a piece of glass whizzes past his head and scrapes up the back of his hands. She begins to frantically mutter one under her breath, but it’s useless. The storm doesn’t stop.

“Sherry,” Mulder tries. “Sherry!” He says louder. The music ends, but the the violence doesn’t. “Sherry, I know you were hurt!”

A woosh of a sigh is expelled from all the air vents. Objectiles drop straight to the floor. Mulder takes a deep breath and rolls off of Scully, who chokes and coughs into her arm.

He keeps going, not exactly sure what he’s saying. “Your husband was a selfish man who didn’t treat you the way you deserved. You loved him. You gave him everything. You cleaned up every mess, you paid every bill, you did everything he asked of you and it still wasn’t enough.” He swallows, pressing his bleeding hand to his stomach. “He still wouldn’t come home to you.

“It wasn’t your fault, Sherry. People who love you don’t do that to you. People who love you know that you aren’t perfect and come home to you anyway.”

The house is so quiet it is almost as if his soft, soothing voice has lulled it to sleep, and for a moment he thinks it has. Water drips from the air vents, from the windows, single, silent tears of condensation.

Crumpled next to him, Scully is sniffing. He glances at her, worried, but she’s smiling through her tears, sliding her hand through debri and dust to wrap around his. He smiles back, surprised to discover that he’s crying, too.

But she’s suddenly yanked away, screaming as those invisible hands drag her by her ankles and toss her onto the couch. “Scully!” Mulder yells, getting up to run toward her.

He’s tripped by an orange shag carpet.

“It’s not you, Sherry, it’s me,” he whimpers, frantically wriggling as the carpet begins to roll up with him inside of it. He groans and drags himself across the floor with his hands, carpet and all. The Philco set buzzes past him in the air and he shouts. “Watch out, Scully!”

He doesn’t see where it lands, but it the sound it make is a sickening smack, a bludgeoning soundtrack. “Scully?” No response. “Scully?”

He groans, dragging himself with agonizing slowness until he’s at the couch. Propping himself up his arms, his legs still wrapped in the rug, his mouth waters in fear and his stomach tightens at the sight of her, pale and silent, with one patch of bloody red hair staining her temple.

He checks her pulse, is relieved to find it faint, but still there. He kicks and pounds inside his trap until it’s beaten slack and stupid, and lifts himself onto the couch.

“Scully?” He lightly touches the spot where she’s hurt and she jerks her head and groans. “Oh, thank god.”

“Take me to dinner next time,” she winces, feeling the wound for herself and hissing out when she brushes the most tender part. She sits up, he pulls her hair away to give her better access. “I probably need to go to the hospital for this.”

“Well let’s try and get you there, partner.” One hand on her back, the other on her shoulder, he tries to help her up, but is interrupted with the sound of… “Scully. Scully, shit.”

“What?”

“Scully, the bookca–” SLAM.

***

She hauls him out of the dead and empty house, panting with the exertion and the throbbing pain in her head.

“I think–I think she went back to sleep,” Mulder yaps manically. “I think that put her to sleep. Reenacting the – the crime.” “We’re not dead, Mulder,” she grunts. Another foot down the driveway. “I just wish we were dead.”

“I think we better call an ambulance, Scully,” he says, resigned. “I don’t think either of us can drive.”

They call the ambulance and wait. Scully plops down beside him, wincing as the morning sun reflects off the ugly pink wood and cuts into her blurry vision. “This sucks, Mulder,” she sighs, squeezing her fists into her eyes.

“God, I know. This was a terrible idea. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“How are you going to help me move with two broken ankles?” She sighs again, shaking her head. “I’ll have to hire somebody now.”

He beams at her.

***

All the spirits rejoice and return to their graves for their year long sleep.

***

Girl, you make me lose my mind!

[nomattertheoceans]

Feysand + “You’re too old to be asking for candy but also you’re horrifically and hilariously drunk so I guess you can have a kitkat” AU (bc you reblogged it and said feysand!!!)

Giiiiiirl I’m sorry it’s not very Halloween-ny but I hope you’ll like it anyway!!!!  😘 😘 🎃 🎃

Feyre was coming back to her couch after having given out candies when she heard another knock on her door. Pausing the movie she’d been watching, she went to the front door again.

A group of girls were waiting for her outside, maybe twelve or thirteen years old, and all dressed in Ghostbusters outfits.

“Trick or treat!!” They all yelled in unison, and Feyre laughed before giving out candies to each of them, congratulating them on their costumes. She looked up from them, and her eyes fell on the man who was accompanying them.

“Rhysand?”

His name escaped her lips without her wanting to, but she was too surprised to care. Because there, behind the girls, was the guy who was always seating behind her in her introduction to modern art class. The absolutely gorgeous, amazingly funny, and impossibly obnoxious guy she’d been trying to avoid as much as possible since the beginning of terms. And here he was, wearing an equally tacky ghostbuster costume, trick or treating with a bunch of twelve years old girls.

“Hey Darling,” he greeted her with a wink, and the girls all giggled.

“Aren’t you a little old for this?”

He laughed and ruffled the hair of the girl in front of him. “I’m not trick or treating, I’m babysitting. This is my sister.”

The girl indeed looked like a smaller version of him, with the same dark hair and striking blue eyes. She smiled and went back to counting her candies. Feyre didn’t know what to say to him, she felt extremely awkward having opened the door in her lame pajama, expecting to be giving out candies and close it again, and now she was having a conversation with a guy she had been avoiding, in front of a very interested audience.

Rhys seemed to sense her unease, because he rubbed his free hand - the one that wasn’t holding a fake proton pack - against his neck and said: “girls, can you wait for me over there?”

They all grunted but went on their way a few feet away, waiting for him and laughing loudly. Feyre stayed silent, eager to close the door on him, and he didn’t seem to know what to say either, until -

“There’s a party tonight, at Tarquin’s place. I’m going after I’m dropping off the girls. Do you… Are you going?”

She was taken aback by his question, and quickly answered. “I wasn’t invited.”

“I’m inviting you know?” His answer sounded almost like a question. Was he asking her out? She didn’t want to dwell on the idea.

“I’m busy tonight, sorry. Maybe some other time.”

And she closed the door before he could say anything more.

***

It was almost one in the morning, and Feyre was still making her way through her usual movie marathon. She wasn’t really watching though, more focused on reliving her disastrous interaction with Rhys.

God, why was she like that? She’d had a crush on him for more than a year, since maybe the first month of uni, when they had spent an entire frat party debating about a tv show instead of getting drunk. But he was always flirting with everyone he came in contact with, so at the beginning of this term, she’d finally resigned herself to the fact that he wasn’t interested, and decided to move on. And now here he was, inviting her to go to a party with him? What did it mean?

Well, it didn’t matter now, she’d saif no.

A knock on her door made her jump in her couch.

Cautiously, she went to her door and half-opened it to look outside. She sighed and opened it more when she saw who it was.

“What are you doing here, Rhysand?”

He was indeed leaning against her door frame, still wearing his costume, and smiling at her.

“Trick or treat?” he asked in a pleading voice, and she couldn’t stop her laugh.

“Oh, so now you’re trick or treating?”

“Well, my previous attempt didn’t work so I’m trying again. This is your last chance before I move on to the tricks, Darling!”

He was so clearly very drunk, but he was smiling in that adorable way that always made her melt, so she let out a chuckle and grabbed a candy from behind her.

“Here, have a kitkat.”

He took it, but didn’t look away from her. Instead, he moved a little bit closer, and soon he was towering over her and said in a soft voice: “I was hoping for a different sort of treat, Darling. Maybe a kiss?”

She felt heat raise in her cheeks, and decided to change the subject. “Weren’t you supposed to be at a party?”

“I was, but it was too boring without you.”

She rolled her eyes, but opened the door a little more. “Come in, I don’t want to let my door open too long, the cold’ll get in.”

He entered without a word and she led him to the couch.

“You’re watching ‘Home Alone’?”

Oh no.

“It’s a classic,” she retorted in a defensive tone.

“It’s a Christmas classic! You do know it’s Halloween, right?”

Oh, that was bad. He was going to make fun of her.

“I can watch whatever I want.”

But he didn’t answer, instead he lifted the other boxes on her coffee table. “Those are all Christmas movies. Were you having yourself an early Christmas Marathon, Archeron?”

She blushed, but there was no way to deny it now.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes. I do it every year.”

“You don’t like Halloween?”

“I don’t like watching scary movies alone.”

His small, adorable smile turned almost feral when he looked at her. “Well, maybe you don’t have to watch it alone. What do you say?”

He was clearly drunk. That was the only plausible reason as to why he would show up at her house in the middle of the night and ask to watch scary movies with her instead of being at a party and most likely bring someone home with him.

He was drunk, and she’d promised herself that she would move on from him. But he was also very cute in his ghostbuster costume, looking at her with pleading eyes. So she sighed.

“Alright, you can stay and watch the movie. But we’re watching ‘Home Alone’.”

He sighed and threw his arms up, but a second later, his arm was looped around her shoulder and he was pressing play on her remote.

Startled, Feyre let herself relax against him, and said in a whisper:

“You must be really drunk to want to spend the evening with me, watching Christmas movies on Halloween.”

He looked at her at that, and she realized that their faces were much closer than she’d expected. “I don’t need to be drunk to want to spend time with you, Darling. I just need to be to have the courage to actually do it.”

And with that, he gently grabbed her chin and lowered his lips to hers.

Tagging the people from “If you hold me close” under the cut

@summernightskyy​ @illyrian-bookworm​ @amren-courtofdreams​ @vanilla28​ @rory050​ @philosophorumaurum02​ @illyrianbeauty​ @kybaeza​ @sincerely-unidentified​ @highladyofthesith​ @the-regal-warrior​ @inrealliampain​ @kiss-my-maas​ @thestarwhowhishes @highlady-of-dusk​ @amusedowl​ @highladyofelfhame​ @fucking-winchester-trash​ @sleeping-and-books​ @l0sts0uls1128​ @booksnmore​ @ladyblackstairs​ @secret-lil-rendez-vous​ @everything-that-i-love​ @kingdomofbrokenhearts​ @fourshizzle149​ @musicmaam​ @voiceoftheroses​ @avenrebekah​ @queenofdorkville​ @bambamdallas @outofstyles13​ @bow-dawn​ @iliveforfandoms226​ @city-of-fae​ @welcometothespeaknowworldtour​ @notyourclassicshadowhunter​ @ellenoftroy​ @tonystarksbish​ @propagandaprincess​ @thelaughingzeebra​ @ame233​ @hopelesslyinlovewithbooks​ @shadowstar2313​ @eve-of-the-night-court​ @quakeriders​ @fireheart-of-your-dreams​ @feeoly​ @yikesitsmaddie​ @buffykitten​ @alifletcher2012​ @faefromthenorth

[venus-says]

Healin’ Good Precure Episodes 31-35

The anti-vax go crazy at the sight of the new Healin' Good power-up weapon.

I honestly don't know how to start this post, I think I never actually knew how to do these ever since I began this thing, but anyway back for more Precure! It only took me five weeks to get back this time, hooray!

You know, I wish I was more happy and excited to be back, but being frank, I'm not really? Part of it is because I feel like I lost the touch for writing, but the biggest reason is that I will be kinda negative about the things I have to say and I've been trying to stay away from negativity, especially now that my cat is sick, and I didn't want to be a source for negativity. But it's already December, I've neglected this blog a lot already and I feel bad for it so I decided to do something about it.

But to be honest, those weren't the only reasons why it took me a month to be back... I've actually been avoiding watching Precure. Well, I've been avoiding watching most of the things I write about because I've overdone it at the beginning of the year, and burn out hit me seriously, but from everything Healin' Good is what I've been avoiding the most. I know it doesn't seem like it, considering the last 3 posts I've made in the past 4 months (wow) were of Precure, but I've been watching the other shows here and there, I've just been sitting on a huge pile of drafts in my Evernote because I can't put my thoughts on those shows in a cohesive way for some reason, but when it comes to Precure, while it's easier for me to write about, I didn't feel compelled to get back and watch this show.

Every time I would sit down to watch a Precure episode at the same time I would open YouTube and Twitch in the hopes of something else I was more interested in would be there in my subscription box so I could avoid watching Healin' Good. And it's not like I think the show is utterly bad or isn't even like I don't have a good time when I actually sit down to watch the show, I just... lost interest. I think ever since Earth's debut my interest in the show has been decreasing more and more, and I don't know how to pinpoint if it's actually a problem with the show or if it's just me and the headspace I've been in ever since the pandemic hit Brazil. Yes, the story had plot points that I didn't like and the flaws of the show have been more apparent in my eyes with each time I watch it, but at the same time sitting down to watch one episode isn't an excruciating experience (especially when i'm not live-tweeting, istg i don't know why I ever thought that would be a good idea), I just don't feel attached to these characters as much as I did before and I'm not engaged in seeing what their story will become in the future.

With that being said, I think you all are already prepared for a post that won't be very positive so I guess it's time to put my personal rambling aside and talk about what y'all came here for, episodes 31 to 35 of Healin' Good Precure.

When I left in the last post I know I've said the cliffhanger of Episode 30 was a good one, and well... Episode 31 used its boots to step on my fingers and made me fell from that cliff. I forgot that since we were ending in that action the next episode would begin with the Cures being defeated, the major portion of the episode would be for dealing with the tension, and the new power-up would come at the climax. And that was exactly what happened, except that there was no tension at all and the power-up didn't feel like a cathartic experience just a Deus Ex Machina. The episode was very anticlimactic and just very uninteresting as a whole and once again, I know I'm going to be very repetitive here, it all comes down to the villains.

Everything that is depending on the villains' side to make me feel something 9 times out of 10 won't make me feel anything because of how boring they are. They made such a big deal about the villains evolving after using the Mega Parts, but it feels like anything changed. Shindoine is still just "the girl", Guwaiaru is still just the dumb strong guy, and the so-called power we're supposed to see from these new forms don't really make much of a difference since these two never get into actual fights with the cures, only the MOTW do. Daruizen is the only one they make stuff with, but it's more because they're really desperate to make him and Nodoka to be deeply connected and so they'll mold his character and personality to forcefully match him with whatever Nodoka's problem will be in that episode, if they need him to be the bored one he'll be, if they need him to be the curious type running experiments he'll be that, if they want him to be a selfish lone wolf they'll make him be. And that's just boring, at this point this villainous team and a cardboard cut-out are basically the same thing.

While also speaking about this "evolution" from the villains, you would think the new human-powered Giga Byogen would bring something new to the table, but no. It's just the exact same thing as before just with a bigger range for creating infections and a slightly higher defense stat. They aren't used in creative ways neither proposes a different treat that the other Mega Byogens did, proof of that is that in Episode 35 instead of a Giga they bring back a Mega just to show how irrelevant they are. They're also different from other monsters who draw their power from humans like a Nottrigger, or a Desertrian, or a Zetsuborg, where in most of the cases the summoning of the monster would be relevant for "solving the problem" afflicting either the victim of the week or the people around them. The teacher being affected didn't make his son appreciate the father more than he did before because that wasn't his conflict, Nodoka's doctor didn't have a revelation about his talents for medicine and Nodoka also didn't get anything new that she hadn't already learned before in the episode, neither did Chiyuu and her rival, you could completely delete the fight and that episode would've reached the same conclusion. Heck, the victim of episode 32 had only TWO appearances before he was turned into a monster, I doubt he was on screen for more than a minute, and they didn't need Touji to be there protecting the dog in the middle of the fight BECAUSE CHIYUU WAS ALREADY AWARE THAT HE'S A BRAVE HARD-WORKING KID BEFORE. These monsters are completely irrelevant and they don't add anything else to the show, and that's just really sad.

Back to Episode 31, let's talk about this power-up, shall we? Being straight to the point, I don't like it, both in the visual and narrative aspects. I visually like them even less now that we already know how the movie power-up looks and how much those forms are way more interesting than just a bigger hair and bigger skirts with a set of wings in the back that you could find in a Halloween costume sale. But who cares about how they look when this power, that is the manifestation of the the four cures combined powers together with their respective healing animals, comes out of nowhere without anything specific happening for them to trigger the appearance of the Healin' Good Arrow and the Special Healin' Good Bottle. Guess is needless to say that the Special Healin' Good Style doesn't feel special at all, it's like it only exists just to sell toys. Well, it's not like everything in this franchise is just to sell toys, but they usually know how to merge this with the story of the show and this didn't happen here. Also, for Christ's sake, this is the second year in a row where the name for the group powered-up attack is just the name of the series being used in the more boring way possible, where has their creativity gone to? The only good thing I have to say about this is that it gave us the healing animals doing some sort of rhythmic gymnastics and Pegitan twirling in that is prime content.

Overall complaints done, let's move one. (these will be quicker)

Episode 32, at first I thought I wouldn't like this one because they brought back this weird rivalry Pegitan has with Chiyuu's brother that doesn't have much of a reason for existing, but it was actually pretty sweet and heartwarming seeing Pegitan leave behind that and showing that he actually cares a lot about Touji, this silly rivalry is just his silly way of showing it (Showing it to who? I don't know, since no one but Pegitan and the audience seems to be aware of this, but shhh). This episode also made me like Touji, before he was just a background character to me and I didn't care much for him, but now I see him as more of a character of his own and not just Chiyuu's brother.

Episode 33 was my least favorite of the bunch because it connects to what to me is the worst plot point of the show: Nodoka's illness being a magic thing. If this had never been a thing, I'd be completely here for this episode. Nodoka's Doctor leaving his job because he felt powerless regarding Nodoka's disease and that being what drives him to go overseas to start doing medical research?? That seems great, and Nodoka feeling guilty for him leaving, while in actuality she's his inspiration is actually pretty emotional. But to me, it all just loses a lot of its importance because Nodoka was never sick after all, and unless this dude discovers on his own about the Byogens he pretty much went through all of this emotional trauma because and for nothing, it all becomes sad when you remember this aspect of it.

Episode 34 was going very well to me up until it's last moments where instead of sticking with a somewhat unique perspective on how to do a story like this they just throw it all through the window and instead of making Chiyuu and Tsubasa friendly rivalry exist outside the world of competitive sports they make Chiyuu change her mind and decide to pursue the World Tournament because you obviously can't have other interests and want to pursue different things when you're out of school, you gotta do that all your life, no other option allowed. This got me so disappointed, y'all have no idea.

Last but not least, Episode 35 which was my favorite, probably because it felt completely disconnected from the rest of the show and I could freely enjoy it in a separate pocket dimension without thinking about the rest. But regardless this was just a very fun and over-the-top episode that wasn't concerned about anything else other than just being fun, and that was exactly what I've been needing. Also, volleyball and beach volley is just cool as heck and seeing that incorporated in the fight of the episode was just fun as hell and a good change of pace. Akane sure is proud.

And that does it for now. Much like at the beginning, I also don't know how to close this one, especially after writing all those bad things and the fact that I'm not that excited for what's to come next. Well, let me know how you feel about all this, I don't know when I'll be back with another post but I promise I'll at least reply to any comment I receive. Without much else to say I'll leave you all with my usual sign-off. Stay healthy, stay safe, never stop resisting, thank you so much for reading, and until the next time. Healin' Goodbye~