#what I think of the film I watched as a kid now

[withahappyrefrain]

for bradley and birdie! but i feel like he’s the one who doesn’t like scary movies 🤭

purposely suggesting a horror movie (even though they know they themselves hate horror movies) just so they have an excuse to cuddle up for the night

A chance to combine my love of horror movies with Bradley & Birdie? Don't have to tell me twice!

"Whatcha wanna watch?" Bradley's mustache tickles your cheek, then your nose when his lips move to kiss you there.

"Is it my pick tonight?" You giggled, fingers gripping the cable knit sweater that currently adorned his body.

"Sure is, got full reign Birdie." His words give you pause. Full reign? Did that mean-

"What's that horror movie you always go on about?" Bradley confirms, as if he could read your mind. He couldn't lie, your raised eyebrows kinda gave it away.

"You mean Hereditary? You would be okay watching that?"

Bradley nuzzles against your body, his head laying against your chest, your fingers toying with his sun kissed hair as he nodded.

"If it means I get to lay like this, absolutely," Bradley's words are genuine, so you grab the remote to find the chosen movie.

"This movie isn't that scary. It's creepy, but it's not scary." Bradley has now put all his body weight on you, like a mustached weighted blanket. Your fingers were idly scratching his scalp with your nails. If Bradley was a cat, he would absolutely be purring.

You could only chuckle, having seen the film over a dozen times, "Famous last words Roo."

"Like the kid is creepy and clearly grandma is haunting Toni Collete." so he had been paying attention.

"It's a slow burn, that's all I'll say," was your final warning. If it weren't for Bradley loving wrapping his arms around you, you would have been able to adopt a more serious tone. But how could you when he kept trying to get as close to you as physically possible?

Bradley shrugged. He was active duty in the Navy. Horror movies weren't his thing, mainly because he always thought he had seen enough in his lifetime.

"Birdie, what the absolute fuck?" You simply giggle, a stark juxtaposition to the image of a decaying head on the screen.

"It only gets worse," your tone was bright and happy, not matching the words at all.

"This is your favorite? You're sick, you know that? Might have to send you away," he rests his chin on your chest, looking directly at you with a lovesick expression.

"Oh, I one hundred percent would have been sent to the sea side for hysteria in the early nineteen hundreds," you grab a piece of popcorn, popping it into your mouth, "I think we should bring that treatment back. Going to the beach would probably calm me down, especially if you're playing football there."

Bradley scoffs, mocked objection lacing his words, "You really can't stop sexualizing your old man, can you?"

"It's better than making grandpa jokes. I still can't believe you were too old during the Naked Brothers Band era," you roll your eyes, although a smittened smile remains on your face.

"And I still can't believe a prime television network named a show that. So like, how freaky does this get?" There's thinly veiled concern in his question.

"Oh, we haven't even reached the tip of the iceberg," you pause, "Just let me know if it gets too much. We can watch something else, like Airplane or-"

Bradley shooks his head, "No, this is an important movie to you, I wanna watch."

It's then you realize that Bradley isn't in it for the spooks, or those Pillsbury ghost cookies (though they are a treat). No, he was sitting through this movie to be with you, to hold you.

It almost made you want to stop the movie before it got to the fucked up part.

Almost.

[creepswrites]

MASK OF HATE (CH 3) | Michael x Reader

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

MICHAEL MYERS x FTM!READER (he/him)

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

PREV || NEXT

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

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

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

You tried not to think about it.

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

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

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

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

It became the new normal. Domestic and quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

It was nice. Everything felt perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

Psychology has always interested you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you didn't panic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wanted to make it easier for him.

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

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

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

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

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

Michael blinked slowly, which you took as a yes.

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

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

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

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

He gave your hip a squeeze in confirmation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I didn't-!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, you thought to yourself. Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was New Years when things really changed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

50 seconds…

It couldn't hurt to ask, right?

45…

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

40…

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

30…

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

25…

“Want to do it?”

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

20…

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

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

15…

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

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

10…

"This okay?

9…

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

8…

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

7…

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

6…

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

5…

"Still okay?"

4…

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

3…

2…

1…

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

It felt like the cheering was for you two.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey, Chrissy. Uh, you okay?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like a Barbie doll with mascara tears.

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

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

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

But you’d never get the chance. 

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

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

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

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

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

Dr. Samuel Loomis considered himself a brilliant man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Dr. Loomis knew Michael Myers all too well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wish you’d stayed home.

[joethetoonfanandoutcast]

Thoughts on Scamp's Adventure

I wanted to do a script of characters watch and react to this film, but I couldn't decide which characters to use and roast this film properly, so I'll just criticize it right here.

This film might have been fun when I was a kid but as I got older and rewatched it, it became one of the direct-to-video Disney sequels I disliked.

The animation: one of the only redeeming qualities.

The songs:

* "Welcome Home" - just a standard "good morning to the whole town" song that doesn't seem to match a Lady and the Tramp setting and all to show their life in their hometown is great, that they wouldn't change it for anything and that they're getting ready for the 4th of July picnics. Not really inspiring there.

* "A World Without Fences" - I like the 'wanting to be free' theme, but it'd be better from a different character and a different perspective, and not Scamp, as...well, you'll see why, if you haven't already.

* "Junkyard Society Rag" - hardly catchy at all, and though I like Jess Harnell, he's not the best singing voice for a Chazz Palmenterri character, and it was hard to take any of the dogs serious in this number.

* "I Didn't Know That I Could Feel This Way" - I actually thought this song was touching but should have been done with different characters in a different franchise, as I'm not really into Scamp/Angel like I thought I was as a kid. Though, it's also great to hear Herc's singing voice (Roger Bart) and Meg's voice (Susan Egan) having a duet.

* "Always There" - standard sad times montage song just put in there to add length to the film under the "film must be 90 minutes or at least longer than 60" rule

And I liked the pop title ballad version of "Bella Notte" (the song from the original) though it had nothing to do with this film's plot and this film isn't really worth sitting through just to get to that as we see the names of the people involved in this film roll.

The characters:

* Scamp - he's supposed to be a role model to rebellious kids everywhere and we're supposed to find him cute, but honestly, he's rather a spoiled, annoying, cocky, deluded jerkass who's disrespectful to his own father. He may have learned a lesson at the end, but that doesn't save him from winning a "Butthole Protagonist" award, and he doesn't seem to be deserving of a girlfriend either for his actions. Also, it's weird having a grown man, Scott Wolf, voice a pup when he didn't sound young at all.

* Angel - she's supposed to be this perfect girl designed to be the main character's love interest, and while I don't hate her, I find few faults with her. For example, she looks like she could be Scamp's sister and she does end up being his sister in the end (not biologically, but through adoption from the Dears, yet people still want them to be a thing), and she has this bad girl attitude which is supposed to be charming, but it doesn't come off as charming when they're both pint-sized pups. Maybe it'd come off as charming if they were anthros, but not their canon forms.

* Tramp - sadly been struck with the "Simba Sequel Syndrome"

* Lady - The writers sadly did her dirty. She was the main character of the first one and now she's demoted to the wife/mother of main character who gets less lines in favor of the spouse and offspring, just like Nala. And what's worse, is there are no interactions between her and Scamp, to view if THEY would have any connection whatsoever. It's just Scamp and connection with his dad and his selfish dreams of running off to be a wild dog.

Her role is pretty much summed up in this scene:

"Tramp: Like it or not, you are a part of this family, and until you start acting like it, you can just get used to being out here every night!

Tramp left and went inside in anger, while Lady watched Scamp jump on the roof of the dog house. She gave a hopeless sigh, and went inside as well, leaving Scamp alone to calm down."

Honestly, it shouldn't even be called "Lady and the Tramp II", just have it called "Scamp's Adventure" or "Scamp" and regard it as a spin-off since it's his film.

* Annette, Danielle and Collette - it's kind of dumb having them just being carbon copies of each other with no individual personality or characteristics other than "we like baths" or "we're the perfect children and Scamp's a selfish brat" without even remote compassion for him. And two of them are voiced by Kath Soucie. Nothing against her, but it seemed repetitive to have Kath voice all female children in late 90's-early 2000's Disney cartoons, and I don't like her voicing unlikable girls in cartoons with that kind of voice (such as Jenna from Clifford the Big Red Dog, one of the stepsisters from Happily N'Ever After, and others).

* The Junkyard Dogs - they just come off as pale knock-offs of Dodger and the Downtown Dogs from Oliver & Company. They've got a street-smart leader (Buster to Dodger), a tall, sly, attractive female added in there for furbait though contributes little to the plot and hardly anyone talks to (Ruby to Rita), a diminutive dog with an accent (Francois to Tito), a big doofus (Mooch to Einstein), and the remaining member (Sparky to Francis). And like Fagin called his dogs "boys", ignoring Rita's gender, Buster called them all boys, as if no one cared about Ruby's gender

Disney could have tried to make them more likable and unique but this had to be all about Scamp, and we've already got Jock, Trusty, the Dears and Scamp's family having to return as supporting characters.

Of course, out of all of them, Buster is by far the one that is truly loathsome. He's like a mixture of Dodger, Roscoe and/or Desoto with the smug "I'm better than you" attitude and the jock the new kid at high school foolishly looks up to and wants to be like, even if it means getting himself killed in an initiation. And another sickening quality about him is that he constantly flirts with the lead female, Angel, calling her his girl. I just can't stand those characters who are the alpha male who thinks they're entitled to the most intelligent female among the group.

The dog cronies themselves aren't really terrible, and they have subtle sympathy towards Scamp and Angel, but they're still not charming enough. They even laughed like cronies. They seem like nice dogs, but the writers could have done better with them. And remember how I mentioned that Buster referred to them all as "boys", ignoring Ruby and Angel being girls like Fagin ignored Rita's gender? Well, someone at the studio, SOMEONE could have the decency to correct that mistake and have them correct Buster.

Speaking of Ruby, she didn't have much lines at all, as she suffers the same problem with all cartoon Salukis and Afghan Hounds: sentenced to strictly being background furbait with appealing design yet no focus or qualities to make them more likable, and one thing that bothers me is that she and Angel seem to share no positive feels toward each other or negative towards each other, because back in the 2000's, there didn't seem to be a lot of positive female relationships written in cartoons. I really want someone to write a story with them being friends.

As a kid, I oddly enough hardly noticed her myself and didn't even know she was a girl, and it doesn't help that Buster said "boys". Seriously, why do animators and writers not pay enough attention to background characters?

* The Dogcatcher - weak antagonist with an annoying Don Knotts impression given by Jeff Bennett (who did better with the impression as Jonathan the Seagull on Puppy Dog Pals). I didn't even like this character as a kid.

* Otis - a psychotic annoying Rob Paulsen-voiced character no one ever asked for and was not necessary but someone at the Disney animation studio decided to throw in just to keep Rob employed (what, Rob wasn't already voicing plenty of other characters at the time?).

The story itself: boring, lazy, tiresome, predictable, and doesn't really do the first Lady and the Tramp any justice. That's why I decided that doing a word-for-word fanmake of it isn't worth spending time over. JusSonic would be willing to do something like it, but I'm not. I gave him a transcript and summed up the sequel to his version for 2009, so that's enough.

However, it is not the worst Disney sequel ever made. It's fine to watch at least once (and maybe only once). In honesty, I prefer watching the original or the live-action remake of the original over this. And honestly, I feel this should have been remade, not for the sake of nostalgia, but to make it better.

[anna-scribbles]

h-how do you ever finish any of your work? genuine question because you seem to be productive despite your agreste syndrome and I need to learn your ways. but also how do you ever finish any of your work

unclear. last night i stayed up and finished a report worth 25% of my grade at about 5am, arrived on time for my 9am lecture, and spent about half of it zoned out while thinking about seventeen year old emilie agreste. and i was one of the most active participants in the class discussion

[antiparticular]

I hate when I can recognise that something is bait and yet still fall hook line and sinker for it. like yeah I know there really wasn't much plot in deadpool and wolverine and it was generally just a bunch of b list superheroes (and villains shoutout toad) showing up saying some stuff then fighting someone. yeah I really enjoyed it and got excited about all of the cameos and when chris evans lit on fire i was grinning like nobody's business.

[dizzyrobinsims]

Just watched Nimona

The fact this movie never got a theater release because of Blue Sky's closure and Disney deciding to nix it once acquired will forever break my heart holy shit.

Like up front it is BEAUTIFULLY animated, the writing is tight as hell, the story is genuinely moving and amazing. By that alone it deserved to be in theaters.

*deep breath*

But BOY HOWDY am I SALTY AS FUCK that a animated movie that is accessible to kids, especially queer kids, got knocked out of the process to reach theaters when

IT JUST CASUALLY HAS A INTERRACIAL GAY COUPLE WITH A (metaphorically) ADOPTED (literally) TRANS CHILD AS THE 3 MAIN CHARACTERS IN THE MOVIE THE FUCKING HELL WE COULD'VE HAD ALL THIS PERFECTLY DONE QUEER MEDIA ON THE BIG SCREEN AS A COHERENT AMAZING STORY FUC-

[theinfinitedivides]

SRK!Don girlies pack it up and take it home we're all f*cked after 84 years we finally get official news about Don 3 coming in 2025 or so and there's uh. i can't believe i'm saying this this is actually coming out of my mouth but there's no Shah Rukh

[wasabikitcat]

community college is so funny because half of the teachers are like "For this class you need to use lockdown browser for all quizzes and tests. You need to buy this 70 dollar textbook, and all papers turned in must be in APA format with a title page even if they're only 500 words long. I will not accept late assignments. Also you have a minimum of 4 assignments a week." and the other half are like "you don't need proctoring for the final exam I trust you. here's a download link to a pirated copy of the textbook. as long as your writing is coherent and demonstrates an understanding of the material I literally could not care less what format you use. I can't figure out how canvas works so I'm not giving you due dates, just make sure it's turned in before the grading period ends. your only weekly assignment is a forum post with a minimum of 100 words."

[aj-lenoire]

apparently the reason may december is being snubbed during awards season is because a lot of actors REALLY didn’t like what it had to say about actors who take on the roles of real people, and the idea that a bunch of former theatre kids might be sensitive about criticism of the industry they work in is, to me, just so shocking

[chibishortdeath]

Hmmm I kinda want to make a side blog for RPG Maker game development related things to be able to talk to more experienced people in that community, but at the same time I both don’t really think I’d get much attention and don’t want to accidentally spoil my own game (^^ ; ).

I have a rough story, concept doodles, a tileset, some character sprites, an enemy that walks around but can’t initiate battle yet (if I even decide to have a battle system), a couple rooms with some events, and a functioning run button, but I’m still lost on how to do much else at the moment. Especially since this program has the ability for scripting, meaning I’ll probably have to learn and actually retain another coding language.

So, I’m not very far at all lol. Idk how well that’d go over on the established fandom website, but eh.

[luminousnotmatter]

This Close

a little j.h.s. something

pairing: My favorite Texan Naval aviator, Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Female...Reader? OC? She’s kind of both? I’ll explain more in the Author’s Note. 😜 warnings: Mutual pining. Yearny. Friends with feelings they’re not acknowledging. PG-level swears. Takes place in a bar that’s not The Hard Deck. There’s a Dean Martin song used.😜  word count: a little over 1k. author’s note: This is my first bit of writing shared in a good long while, and also my first bit of writing for Top Gun Maverick since that movie happened to me this year. Be gentle please I’m nervous???? 😨😱 This story is actually part of a moment I have in mind for a whole, longer, multi-parted story that’s currently simmering on the stovetop of my brain until I can figure it out more/work up the nerve to plot it out and start writing and sharing it involving Jake and a Lady OC who I’m also still developing. Hence she, ‘Birdy’ a nickname she’s referred to as once here ☺, is sort of straddling the Reader/OC line at the moment. I honestly prefer writing this way than in the second person; it’s easier for me and I find I like the way things flow and feel better, so hopefully y’all don’t mind it. Okay. I’ve officially rambled w a y too much so I’m shutting my cakehole now. 🤐 I sincerely hope it pleases you! 💕❤ bonus material: This is the song that’s playing in the bar in case you want to listen in on Jake and Birdy’s dance.  It’s not a love song really, but I love it and find there is a certain sweet, romance to it. But then again, I’m a known Sap, so form your own opinion. 😉 tagging: My Sweet B.💗 ‘cause she’s a dear, inspiring, and encouraging gem of a lady, whom I love. @bradshawsbaby​

"The sun is sinking in the west the cattle go down to the stream the redwing settles in her nest it's time for a cowboy to dream..."

With the first few lines of the song and Dean Martin's signature croon, the energy and volume in the crowded bar immediately shifts, lowering from it's previous loud, buzzing intensity to a quieter, pleasant hum. A few of the dancing couples rearrange themselves into new pairs, but most stay with their current partners.

  Jake's green eyes glow warm. His lips are still upturned in a gentler, one-sided version of his familiar wide and sunshiney smile, as his gaze sweeps around the space casually, before meeting hers.

"Shall we?" he quirks an eyebrow up. Speaks only loudly enough for her to hear. His left hand remains loosely entwined with her right, leftover from the previous, faster dance, but he's inviting her to join him for this one, not assuming she wants to. A gentleman's gesture.

And some might argue against it: but she knows, believes, has seen, that Jacob Seresin is a gentleman, in the truest sense of the word. He just....buries that part of himself, walls it up, far too often.

She tightens her grip on his hand. Let's herself notice, secretly relish, the roughness of his calloused fingers and palm. And the skipping jolt it sends to her heart. "Let's." and a smiling nod is her only response.

“Purple lights in the canyons That's where I long to be With my three good companions Just my rifle, my pony, and me...”

They step in close to one another once more, less than a foot of space between them. It's not really different than what they had been doing a minute or so ago, albiet slower, but the feeling, the energy between them has changed, just as it has for the place as a whole.

  It's not necessarily an unpleasant change.

Jake's right hand holds her waist with a sort of tentative firmness, the heat of his palm bleeds through the material of her dress to her skin. His left hand has raised her right while they sway and take small steps in time with the music.

At first she looks everywhere but at her partner's face. Gaze sweeping around the room at the other couples, the lights above the bar, patrons' abandoned drinks....

She's exposed, raw, hyper-aware of the pounding of her heart against her ribs, of how hot her cheeks are, of the inherent intimacy there is in this slow closeness, and somehow it seems that if she looks in Jake's eyes it will be a tacit acknowledgement of the Truth she's currently refusing to actively acknowledge: that she likes this. Likes him. This man is her friend (becoming one of her favorite, best ones), so of course she likes him, and she is comfortable with him, as a woman and as his friend, but that Truth? What it actually means deep down? It's a damn frightening thing to look at head-on.

All these sensations and thoughts scramble through her heart and brain in milliseconds.

“Gonna hang my sombrero, On the limb of a tree Comin' home, sweetheart darlin' Just my rifle, my pony, and me...”

The sound of the Naval Lieutenant humming the tune of the song near her ear draws her eyes back to him, almost against her will, but not actually. He's looking around too at first, but quickly meets her eyeline with a gentle widening of his smile.

  "You know this song?" she asks with a smile of her own; she knows this tune well but wouldn't have guessed he did. It brings an ache of fondness to her chest that he does.

"Mm-hm." he nods and grins fully with his mouth closed. His nose scrunches up once, barely perceptible but she catches it. The skin around his eyes crinkles and her chest is hurting again.

  She drops her gaze for just a moment, trying to think of something to say. The silence isn't uncomfortable, it's just that she likes the sound of his voice. Likes the way he talks to her. But when her eyes catch the sheen of sweat on his skin over the hollow of his throat, they fly back up. Immediately.

  Jake is still looking at her. His look is so very unguarded (her heart whispers the word: tender) it sends any thought of words out of her mind. His pink mouth is still smiling, but it too is a smaller, softer, a more intentional, meaningful thing.

“Whippoorwill in the willow Sings a sweet melody Ridin' to Amarillo Just my rifle, my pony, and me...”

He breathes out the quietest, whispered, "Hey, Birdy."

Her throat is tight with some unexpressed, still-ignored emotion but she's able to whisper back, "Hey, Jay."

Jake gives her hand two squeezes in quick succession.

“No more cows to be ropin’ No more strays will I see Round the bend, she'll be waitin' For my rifle, my pony, and me My rifle, my pony, and me...”

Someone in the crowd calls for the song to please be played again, just once more. Their request is granted.

She swallows hard. Jake's lashes are long and his eyes are so green and the unguarded, tender look in them is still there. He is no longer smiling, just looking; his expression still soft, open.  He's not only looking at her but seeing her. The rosy, ruddy glow to his cheeks and the firmness of him beneath her hand that cups his back, all shout of the health, vitality, alive-ness of him.

It's a fight to think of other things besides her desire to lean all the way into his chest.

I wanna give up that fight.  For right now: I can give up. I give up. she thinks to herself. With a finality and resolve to which she grasps tightly.

Before anxiety and self-doubt and outright fear can question and crumble that resolve she does it.

She takes the half-step in, tucking her left hand between their two bodies up by her face and rests her cheek to his t-shirt covered chest, right below his left clavicle. She allows any tension to bleed from her shoulders, her neck, her arms, and lets him hold her.

Just for the rest of the song, she tells herself.

As he curls his right arm all the way round her back, Jake holds his next inhale at its peak for a quick extra second or two, then lets it out evenly, once she relaxes fully against him. She can't see his face of course, but he feels like even his blinking is slow, and careful. She's never been quite this close to him before now.  And he's never....he's not sure he has ever allowed himself to consider that he's wanted her to be...but his deep-down self is realizing: he has. Damn.

He shakes that realization and its implications off for the moment. It doesn't have to be dealt with right now.

  Just enjoy the rest of the song, Seresin, he tells himself. Rests his cheek gently against her head. Holds her.

They sway and take small steps, to and fro, to and fro, until the song does...eventually...unfortunately....end.

[kindred-spirit-93]

and now for a post this blog was made for (take this as free trial of what to expect down the line. fair warning; not to scale)

If I had a nickel for every time a protagonist had to choose between a sword and a guitar, I'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.

the first (and tbf only) two that come to mind are Manolo from the book of life and Kubo from Kubo and the two strings

quick background: manolo had to fight a giant toro (all the bulls his bullfighter family killed ever, and kubo had to defeat his grandfather the moon king in his final form. also he uses a shamisen not a guitar. but it fits the category so theres that)

and its such a beautiful and strange concept; to be presented with the choice of peace via music, or violence (so to speak) by the sword, and it works. the apology song moved me to tears the first time i heard it and kubo's words are truly beautiful and ones i wont forget.

i think its what the music relays rather than the instrument that brings about a change of heart or leads the hero to victory; their empathy and humanity. family is a prominent theme too, one of love and guidance and ocassionally a source of greivance lol.

i havent watched either films in quite a while (BoL 10 years ago oof) but both songs/ pieces speak so much truth they are able to do what the sword could never achieve. and now for a segment i like to call from where i stand, where i get to link fiction with my life and experiences to provide insight from, say it with me now, where i stand: as an aspiring psychiatrist in a part of the world where mental health is still finding its footing in the public eye and sadly among other healthcare students, its hurts to see how little we listen to each other, compounded by how simple and effective just basic human connection is in somehwat alleviating (albeit temporarily) whatever it is someone is going through. empathy my dudes. it goes a long way.

manolo appologises for the centuries of grief his family profession has inflicted on the bulls, and extends a warm hand of understanding and sincerity, while kubo uses the power of memories and love to prove to his grandfather that so long as he has his eye, an eye capable of seeing (and by extension a heart capable of loving and a soul capable of feeling), he will live and prosper. their humanity prevails and brings peace.

final word: to quote Jonathan Decker from a CT episode i cant remember lol: "Kindness won't always change someone, but it shows them you won't be changed." and i think its an important gap to mind, in the sense that the magic of music or whatever wont fix our real life probelms, like a failing relationship, but kindness and empathy and humanity are all necessary for healing and growth. and that, i believe is the message behind the trope. a good day to you all.

me, an intellectual:

[pynkhues]

Hey!! This is for the film ask ,animation addition!! Because I love cartoons and these films, I feel are a bit underrated so I’m wondering if you seen them and what your thoughts were

Coraline

Hotel Transylvania

Monster House

Wendell & Wild

Monsters inc

9

Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs

Robots

Sry this is a lot 😭 but I absolutely love hearing your thoughts on movies

Hey! Don't apologise, anon, I love getting asked about movies, haha, so thank you, and thank you for your lovely words! 😊

Coraline

never seen | want to see | the worst | bad | whatever | not my thing | good | great | favorite | masterpiece

Definitely an iconic work in both stop motion and in children's horror. I've been thinking quite a lot recently about how so many fairytales and folklore stories that were historically aimed at children shared tropes and tones with horror. That link is explored amazingly well in the documentary Woodlands Dark and Days Bewitched, which I highly recommend, but I do love that there are these genre staples still in children's storytelling that brings that back to the fore. Coraline (along with a few of the other movies you've asked about) is definitely one of them, and I think is one of the ones that does it the best. Just a really great film.

Hotel Transylvania

never seen | want to see | the worst | bad | whatever | not my thing | good | great | favorite | masterpiece

I haven't seen this one, but I grew up with a lot of the director's other work (particularly The Powerpuff GIrls and Samurai Jack), so it's been on my list for a while. Now that my nephews are in the target demographic for it too, I should definitely try and watch it with them!

Monster House

never seen | want to see | the worst | bad | whatever | not my thing | good | great | favorite | masterpiece

I've heard a lot of good things about this one, but for some reason, I've just never gotten around to it.

Wendell & Wild

never seen | want to see | the worst | bad | whatever | not my thing | good | great | favorite | masterpiece

You've picked so many movies I've never seen, anon! That's truly a feat these days, haha. I've been really keen to see this one since it came out though. It's such a good cast, and Henry Selick is a giant among men when it comes to animation directors. Coraline and Nightmare Before Christmas are obviously iconic, but I'm very partial to James and the Giant Peach too!

Monsters Inc

never seen | want to see | the worst | bad | whatever | not my thing | good | great | favorite | masterpiece

Easily one of Pixar's best. A lot of this works due to the worldbuilding and voicework chemistry between John Goodman and Billy Crystal, but the script is really strong too and that sequence with the doors is so original and innovative.

9

never seen | want to see | the worst | bad | whatever | not my thing | good | great | favorite | masterpiece

Oh man, I remember seeing this when it came out, but I don't think I remember much about it beyond having watched it, so I don't really want to rate it, haha. Mmm, I'm pretty sure I liked it? Might be one to rewatch though.

Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs

never seen | want to see | the worst | bad | whatever | not my thing | good | great | favorite | masterpiece

I'm going to say never seen, because I haven't watched it in full, but I worked in a kids clothing store for three years when I was at university, and we had a little nook in the back of the store where kids could sit and watch movies. Head office would get us one (1) new movie a year, and this was the third one we got, so there are certain scenes I could probably recite, despite having never watched it, haha.

Robots

never seen | want to see | the worst | bad | whatever | not my thing | good | great | favorite | masterpiece

Imperfect, but underrated! It's a shame that Blue Sky Studios went so downhill so fast, because their first few releases - particularly Ice Age, Robots and Dr. Seuss' Horton Hears a Who! - all suggested real promise and an interesting change in tone / pace compared to other animation houses at the time. Alas - they were reduced too quickly to sequels even before Disney shuttered them.

Ask me about movies

[hauntingblue]

Can't believe I spent so much time thinking kiku and kinemon were dead... they really got me there...

[wolves-etc]

there's a moment in the second hobbit film, a flashback, where thorin's sitting down in the prancing pony inn and going straight for the food and watching as a human dude just picks up a hobbit and sets him on a barstool, right?

it's a moment that looks habitual. familiar. the human says "master saddle," the hobbit seems comfortable with it. thorin doesn't even visibly react much. but I love the thought of him quietly in the back of his mind thinking "if anyone tries that with me, by my grandfather's blood they will get stabbed," and also "I will never find it in me to respect a hobbit."

[luxrayz64]

reading thru the notes of that post abt video game movie adaptations and wow some of you guys are really fucking stupid 😭 do you on god want an undertale movie?? the fucking POINT of undertale is it being a narrative that YOU change with YOUR choices. it's not a narrative that can WORK otherwise. sure, you could just make the movie follow the pacifist route, but it takes out the effort and meaning that goes into getting that ending. it takes out the choice that YOU MADE to spare everyone. it also completely BREEZES PAST iconic elements of the game: omega flowey, killing toriel feeling bad about it and saving her and the game knowing what you did, the neutral endings, everything to do with the genocide route, WHY WOULD YOU WANT THAT