#I'm not some evil boogeyman

[vanhxllsing]

Putting this out here for when Wisteria inevitably tries to rewrite the narrative as me abandoning them.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Day 2: Woods + Day 23: Witch for @steddie-spooktober

"Did you come to burn the witch?"

Steve just blinked at the weird man. He was probably a bit taller than him, with wild curls of hair and a mischievous smile. "Why should I?" he quipped back. "It's fucking hot, I came to the woods to cool down. The last thing I want is to get even warmer. Fire's warm."

The man just snorted. "Oh, I got a smart one today. Good for me." He hopped down from the tree he was sitting in and landed in front of Steve. "Such a pretty one too. They never send someone pretty to burn me."

"Once again, I'm not here to burn you."

The witch clutched his chest. "Ouch. And here I thought we had a spark."

Steve didn't dignify that with a response.

And the witch didn't let that deter him. "You know, a spark? As in...a spark that would start a fire? With, I don't know, a nice stake in the middle?"

Steve groaned and rubbed his temples. "If I agree to burn you, will you let me sweat in peace? I hear a spring nearby and I really need to cool down before I pass out from the heat."

The man shook his head. "You people. You cut down the trees for your villages and then wonder why you get a sunstroke." He glanced at Steve's red face, his sweaty hair, and for a second longer, his damp shirt. "Well, I'm a mean, evil witch, but I'm not that cruel. The spring's this way, come with me."

It only took a while for Steve to take of his shoes and dip his feet into the nearby spring, groaning in relief. The witch was crouched next to him, studying his face. "So really. How did you get here? I thought I was a cautionary tale for all the good children in the village, so they never let you go this way unless you need something."

Steve muttered something unintelligible.

"Huh? What's that?"

"...got lost."

The witch's face broke out in a wide grin. "Did you now? Such a big boy, not seeing the warning signs on the trees?"

Steve just grunted and leaned down to splash his face with water, then drink some. "I don't know, man. Must have been the heat. I was working in a field and fell asleep. Stupid, I know. When I woke up, I was so dizzy I thought it was a great idea to go to the woods. I could barely remember my name - that's Steve, by the way, if you need it for a hex or something. I was walking around for what seemed like ages. Then you asked me to burn you. And here I am."

"And here you are," repeated the witch. "Well, you obviously don't have any matches on you, so we're cool, I guess. Name's Eddie, although I rarely use it."

"Because you're a big bad witch?" snorted Steve.

Eddie shrugged. "Well, yeah. Because when others talk about me, they don't think I'm a person. I'm a boogeyman to them. Someone who kills their crops, trades remedies for firstborn children for dinner...the usual stuff."

"Do they taste good?"

That gave Eddie a pause. "What does?"

"The firstborn children."

Eddie stared at Steve. Steve stared back. Then they both burst into laughter at the same time. "Suppose I should invite you for dinner so you can answer that?" said Eddie after they had finally quieted down.

Steve smiled at him, and Eddie could swear he winked at him. "Suppose you should."

...

Steve stayed for dinner - no children were served, but lots of vegetables and delicious herbs - and Eddie made sure he was fully okay before letting him go. "Sunstroke's no joke, Steve, no sleeping in the field or I'll curse you! Stop giggling, I'll do it! I'll send my cat to eat your ears or something!"

With Steve's footsteps sounding more and more distant, Eddie's cottage grew quiet again. For the fist time in years, he hated it.

The quiet lasted until the next evening, when there was a knock on his door, and behind it, Steve. He was carrying some grapes and apples, a fresh loaf of bread, and it seemed he'd even combed his hair and wore a clean shirt. 

Eddie just stared at him. "You got lost again?" he asked incredulously. Because no one came back to him. Not unless they needed something.

Steve just shushed him and headed directly to the table, setting the plates as if it had been his home too. "You know what's great about all the warning signs on the trees? They will always lead me back to you."

Eddie's face was starting to hurt from all the smiling. "So you can burn me?" he asked with a snort, well, maybe a tiny sob too.

"Burning you would be a shame," said Steve as he lit a small candle on the table, "since I have much better ideas how to spend our evening."

Eddie popped a grape in his mouth. "Funny," he mumbled around it, "so do I."

[maluustrawberry]

I saw that you are accepting fic requests. Do you write about some DreamWork's characters too? I wanted to request a Pitch Black from the rise of the guardians.

And I wanted to say that I love your work, your fanfiction are very good and I love the way you manage to write the characters so well!!!😭❤️❤️❤️

“My Dear Cupid.”

(Pitch Black X Fem!Reader)

Synopsis: Pitch, better known as the boogeyman, ended up developing a new feeling that he had never felt in all his years, feeling for the new guardian who was your total opposite, for you the guardian of love, the cupid.

A/N: By great coincidence I was watching this film recently. Of course I'm going to write about Dreamworks characters too!! You can ask me, but it will take me a while to make some fanfiction because there are already a lot of requests in front. The next one will be Clopin Trouillefou and Hades from Hercules.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

He hadn't imagined that this could happen, no one had, least of all her, who he thought had deliberately made the enchantment so powerful that it affected the king of nightmares.

That flame and that heat disturbed him. Pitch had never felt that burning in all his millennia of life, but everything changed after his first encounter with the guardian of love, Cupid.

After a meeting of the guardians at the North Pole on the subject of the new guardian, The Man in the Moon determined that the new guardian should destroy Pitch and protect the children, along with the duty of bringing joy to them.

Knowing this information for himself, Pitch decided to face the chosen one personally, after all, a simple cupid couldn't do anything against him; or so he thought.

The blizzard and the intense cold dominated the place, but that didn't bother the bogeyman at all, because everyone knows that cold and fear combine perfectly with each other; leaving only agony and suffering. When he saw a silhouette in the middle of all that snow, he deduced that it might be you and sneaked up from behind to destroy you with just one blow from his scythe, and you wouldn't even know who hit you.

That's when he saw your face. The moment you sensed that you were being pursued, you quickly turned around and aimed your bow and arrow, surprising him and leaving him static in that position holding his scythe.

The two of you stood in silence, staring deeply into each other's eyes. Pitch seemed awestruck by your appearance, not imagining that you looked so angelic and delicate. Seeing you pointing your arrow and looking deeply at him, while the snow from the blizzard stuck to your hair, was a sight worthy of a painting.

It was hard to say what kind of look he was looking at and where the flame that was coming from him was coming from. Pitch wasn't as expressive, but his gaze showed that he had never been as perplexed as he was at that moment; it was one of admiration, and therefore full of disturbance and turmoil.

And you looked at him confused, but also wary. "Why doesn't he just attack me?" You asked yourself, and you couldn't attack him either, you were overcome with trembling and the cause of this was the intense cold. Before you could shoot your arrow, he quickly disappeared, using your shadow, to his advantage, which was close to him. That was so fast that a small gasp of fright escaped his lips. You lost sight of him, but looked around, still holding your arrow and bow tightly in case he appeared by surprise, but no, he was really gone.

That was your little encounter. After that day, his thoughts were dominated by you, appearing in such strong colors that this unknown feeling and the desire to tear you apart grew more and more. Your wings were so delicate, your neck so fragile and graceful that he wanted to squeeze and twist it using just one of his hands.

He removed all the hatred and evil from his heart and recognized that this hatred and evil was only love, which had become terrible things in the heart of the bogeyman, a poisonous, hateful and vicious love that seemed more like an obsession. In all these years it never occurred to him that the guardian of the nightmare, the terror of every child, could fall in love with such a fragile, angelic creature, the complete opposite of him, and therefore one of his enemies, but unfortunately it did.

That's when a thought came to him: you were a cupid, the guardian of love, and you made people fall in love with each other. Could that be? It had to be, there was a great possibility that you had put a spell on him. The fixed idea kept coming back and torturing him, he had to get rid of this doubt in his mind by going to you and putting an end to this agony once and for all.

*****

You were flying to your temple after several hours of work. Of course bringing couples together was your specialty, but you also worked on preserving the sympathy, innocence and gentleness of children, because love was related to all that too, and your work only worked with the power contained in the substances you put in your arrows.

On the way there, you sensed that something was wrong, and unfortunately your intuition was right. Your temple was being invaded by Pitch's "horses", but they quickly left as a figure, and when you looked a little further, you noticed that they were stealing your arrows and the vials containing the substances. This made you extremely worried because your arrows and those vials were your most important things, they were what made you the cupid and guardian.

When the last creature left your temple as fast as a shadow, you followed it trying to catch up with it as it flew, it was hard to keep up as the nightmare was fast, but you didn't give up for anything, you weren't so focused on catching up with the nightmare that you didn't even remember to call the other guardians to help you.

With that chase, the nightmare took you into a forest and disappeared among the trees, you landed and looked around. The place was totally dark and gray with a certain evil malice, as if there was no life, only melancholy, which made you immediately become defensive and walk among those trees and hold your bow and arrow.

You looked around for that smoky black creature as you entered the forest, until your ears caught the sound of a neigh and you knew it wasn't just any horse. The cupid ran quickly to where the sound was coming from and stopped at the sight of a broken, old bed in a deep hole, getting closer cautiously, a bad energy taking you over more and more and you were slightly startled to hear the neighing again, but this time inside that hole. You had no choice, had to get back what had been stolen from you. So you entered that deep, dark hole, using your wings to land gently without hurting yourself.

As you stepped into the room, you looked around. It was a poorly lit cave, the lights were just a few rays of sunlight that invaded the deep cavern, who knows how many meters you were underground, the cold dominated the place, but it was bearable. You managed to discover Pitch's hideout, but you also wondered whether you would make it out alive or sane. You gathered your courage and decided to explore the place while your guard was still up, but even so, your fear was palpable, and he loved it, little did you know that he savored your fear.

You stood out in that dark, gray place, with your angelic appearance, lively and so delicate, it was obvious that you shouldn't be there, that environment didn't suit you. The negative energy in that place was so strong that it gave you the creeps, and you also felt the sensation of being watched. You just wanted to take what was yours and leave.

As you walked around the place, you could see the large globe with the little lights on, and you came closer to look at it. You knew that each light was a child who believed in you, but how could he have that in his cave? Your thoughts were interrupted by a voice:

“Looking for something?”

When you looked back, you saw only his shadow on the wall and wasted no time in shooting your arrow, but the shadow quickly disappeared, slipping into one of the corridors of that cave and you followed him, but lost sight of him when you reached that dimly lit corridor:

“Put the arrow down, dear. Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you.” His voice echoed around, in that calm tone of his that could put a child to sleep.

“Afraid? I'm not afraid of you.” You said, still holding your bow and arrow, looking around and turning quickly to look for any sign of him.

“Don't lie cupid, my specialty is understanding people's fears...” Then he stepped out of the shadows, standing in front of you with that smile on his face as he looked you up and down. “...just as you can understand love, but don't seem to understand when it comes from a certain person...”

The bogeyman walked quietly around you, and you couldn't take your eyes off him as aimed the arrow. Both of your hearts were beating fast at the presence of the other, but for different reasons, yours being of fear, but his being of love and eagerness to put his hands on you, if only for the slightest touch.

“Give me back what you stole from me.” You said commandingly. “You don't need my things.”

“Don't you see that I did this just to bring you to me?” He asked seriously and stopped walking.

“And what do you want from me?”

As you asked this, a small smile formed on his lips and he disappeared back into the darkness behind him. You quickly followed him and as you passed through the darkness you felt like you had been teleported to another corner of the cave. He was toying with you, you were desperate, feeling lost and wondering how you got there. You dropped your guard and felt the bow being quickly taken from your hands, one of his horses had picked it up and carried it away, now leaving you unarmed:

“I just need some answers on a specific matter that's been bothering me for days.” You heard his voice echoing again and his shadow walked around the corners of the wall as he explained. “I've never felt a feeling like this in all these years, I feel weak and anxious when it comes to you, but at the same time it's such a pleasant warmth and delicious anxiety when you're around.... Oh! My cupid... What have you done?”

He asked with a sigh. You were confused and stunned by this information, you knew exactly what he was describing and what that feeling was. He was in love with you? But how?...

“My spell doesn't work on myself, I can't make someone fall in love with me. I didn't even know you could fall in love...”

You said as you took slow steps backwards, suddenly you felt a presence at your back and a shiver ran through your body as you felt two icy hands on your shoulders and a whisper close to your ear:

“We seem to have discovered something together. So why would I, the bogeyman, be in love with you, such a delicate cupid who is the complete opposite of me?”

The sensation of the king of nightmares' icy touch on your warm skin brought a small thermal shock to both of them, his presence so close exuded a very strong negative energy, but at the same time transformed it into a pleasurable adrenaline and fear. His question made you quiet and also thoughtful:

“Did that leave you speechless, love?” he asked, speaking close to your ear while his hands rubbed your shoulders and squeezed them lightly, making him inhale deeply as he felt satisfied and relaxed at finally being able to feel you and satisfy his curiosity about what it was like to touch your soft skin.

“I don't know what to say... I can only say that we don't decide who we fall in love with, it's impossible to control the desires of the heart. And I can't undo that since it wasn't my spell, it was natural.”

“I confess I wanted you to undo that...” He explained as one of his hands left your shoulder and went to your waist, bringing you closer to him until your back and wings brushed against his chest. “It made me so weak, but I changed my mind when I realized how good this feeling was, but also how torturous... It's an almost addictive sensation, and so new.”

As he spoke close to your neck with the sensation of his lips almost touching your sensitive skin, your attention went to his hand, which was on your shoulder and slowly descending, tracing its way down your skin, to your elbow and arriving at your small and delicate hand. His long, slender fingers intertwined with yours, and the energy of that touch gave you a different sensation, of course there was no good energy coming from Pitch, but somehow you felt a warm, protective feeling, therefore of great danger and you felt the same anxiety.

Your gaze shifted from your entwined hands to his face, your heart softening as you saw the way he looked at you, revealing the deep burning desire in his eyes. For the first time you discovered that there was love in the eyes of the king of nightmares. But you were uncertain, he was your enemy, you couldn't trust the man who was as treacherous as a snake, and besides, what would your friends think of that? You snapped out of your thoughts when you heard a small laugh from him:

“I don't understand love, but there's something that leads me to believe that we were meant for each other. It's evident from the mere contact of our hands.” He spoke in a calm, enveloping voice as he lightly squeezed your waist and caressed your hand. That's when you pulled away and faced him, and he felt an emptiness at that.

“I can't.” You said thoughtfully and with a hint of sadness, this couldn't happen, you were a guardian and you were supposed to protect the children from the bogeyman. Unfortunately he was right, however wrong it was, it seemed certain that you were soul mates. That smile wouldn't leave his face.

“You're afraid of giving yourself to me, afraid of finding out what the other guardians will think, afraid of disappointing them.” The taller man approached you and grabbed your chin, lifting your face, forcing you to face him once more. “Am I right, my cupid?”

“But my goal is to destroy you.”

Holding your chin firmly, he moved even closer, and you stared into the deep golden eyes that were fixed on your lips. That man's ability to bewitch you and influence you to give in was remarkable, and it was practically impossible to resist after so many looks, touches and closeness... He was bewitching you like a snake that grabs its prey so cautiously to strike next:

“You already destroy me completely just by your presence... Don't you see that I'm totally at your mercy, darling? You have me in the palm of your hand.”

Cupid, which was you, felt almost as if you were being seduced into opening Pandora's box, about to unlock the doors to dangerous territory with no turning back. It was slowly turning into a game of pride and hesitation. Their faces were so close that you could feel them both breathing, a chill went through his stomach and he felt his cheeks start to heat up. Before you could say anything, you were surprised by his kiss on your red lips, breaking the distance and forcing you to give in to your hidden desires. Your eyes widened in surprise at the bogeyman's audacity, but you returned the kiss after closing your eyes.

While you were kissing with such fervor, Pitch slid his hand around your waist, drawing you close to him, joining your bodies, while his other hand went up to the back of your neck, gently pulling your hair. This made you moan involuntarily during the kiss, at which point he took the opportunity to explore your mouth with his tongue. Pitch held you so close to his body that he seemed to have waited years for this moment, he was desperate to feel you, your body, your lips and hear your sweet moans. You had never experienced a kiss like this, it was so needy, possessive and deep, you felt as if you were the only creature that mattered to him and his most valuable possession, and indeed, you were.

He interrupted the kiss, both of you panting, trying to catch your breath, you realized you were wrong that it was over when he started kissing your neck, distributing light bites and sucking on the sensitive, soft skin of the cupid, marking it like an animal marking territory. Your wings fluttered softly as you felt his cool fingers caressing them and his knee sliding between your legs, teasing you. Knowing he wanted to push the limits, you pushed him away from your neck, and your hands rested on his chest as your eyes met:

“That can't happen again...” He laughed when you said this and gradually let go of your arms and pulled away, feeling the flaming trail of your palm on his chest.

“Deny it all you want, I know you'll come back again and we'll have lots of dates like this, love.” The taller man removed the small lock of hair from your face. “You know where my hideout is, just visit me.”

That man knew very well how to manipulate someone, especially a creature as sentimental and romantic as you. He magically took your little bow and arrow from his back and handed it to you, and as soon as you took it you looked at him doubtfully:

“Until another day, my cupid.”

As he said this he snapped his fingers and suddenly you no longer felt the ground around your feet and you fell into that darkness, desperately trying to find a position to fly to, but as soon as you did you were teleported back to your temple, specifically into your bedroom and fell onto your bed. You were breathing heavily from the adrenaline and the unexpected fright, so you sat on the bed thinking about what had happened and running your hand through your hair.

Your enemy had just declared his feelings to you, given himself to you completely, and then kissed you and you gave in to that temptation. Taking a deep breath, you wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling empty for having stopped such bold caresses.

When you got out of bed, confused by your feelings, you wondered what your next meeting would be like, if it would be the same and if you should give in next time, or if there would be a next time. And as you looked in the mirror you also wondered how you were going to hide those marks on your neck from your guardian friends...

End...

[thydungeongal]

I genuinely don't understand what y'all mean by "ok to kill enemies." Everytime it comes up I feel less and less confident I am following the conversation.

D&D kind of has, as part of its DNA, the idea that combat will eventually happen in the game. To that end, throughout the history of the game there have been many different types of guy that in the text of the game have been presented as like almost self-evidently okay to kill simply because. While different editions of the game have tried to move away from some of the more overtly problematic portrayals of this (basically saying that certain types of humanoids are okay to kill because they look funny and live in caves is kinda fucked up), the truth is that pretty much every attempt to look for a suitable Boogeyman that player characters can kill without any iffy ethics about it is going to end up really weird.

Anyway this is why people will often look for types of guy to present as enemies where characters can engage in no-thoughts-head-empty lethal sports with them without anyone needing to have a "wait a minute, are we the baddies?" moment. Demons and the undead are pretty easy to go for here.

My personal favorite approach is to just accept the fact that D&D kinda sucks with black-and-white morality and instead of making the conflict in the world about clear good and evil teams make it about different groups of people with different goals. Orcs can be present but they're no longer "the evil guys it's always morally okay to kill because of biotruths" but instead just some guys who might sometimes have violent disagreements with other people.

Anyway a lot of this stuff doesn't mean anything and as said not engaging with games as texts on this level isn't really necessary to enjoy them. But for me at least it can often elevate gameplay. When bandits aren't just some guys who decided to become evil criminals some day but actual people whose banditry is a response to something going on in the world and their lives, it suddenly makes the conflicts in the world a lot more real and grounded (and sometimes killing those bandits can be the right thing to do, but sometimes negotiating with them or even cooperating them can be the right thing to do. Basically, once you start thinking about all the different types of Guy that inhabit the worlds of D&D not just as game tokens that player characters can hit to make XP come out [although that is also fine and dandy as a playstyle] but as living thinking creatures with actual goals, the types of narratives the game starts to produce also expands a hundredfold.)

Anyway I'm not sure if that answers your question because I went on like a bunch of tangents. But it was also kind of a vague question.

[oldtvandcomics]

OK, one post about the US elections:

You are not the first ones that this is happening to.

I get that you are still under the first shock, but once you get out of it, I need you to remember that whatever is going to be happening in the next four years, it has happened in other countries. Then I need you to go and read up on those other countries, and try and learn from our mistakes.

I unfortunately don't have any resources, but I have been there when Orbán got elected in 2010, and have seen most of the things he did since. I have seen him rewrite the Constitution from the ground up and pass laws in ways that the opposition physically couldn't resist, I have seen him sell out every scrap of the commonwealth that he could get his hands on (schools, hospitals, EU money, you name it), kill independent media, turn the EU into a super evil boogeyman, and drag a different minority into the spotlight before every election to serve as the country's enemy. I have seen the way that people reacted, by looking only after their own interest and getting complicit in the system because it's the only way to survive and thrive. I have seen him getting elected and re-elected time after time.

So. Don't make Hungary's mistakes. I'm sure that some very clever person somewhere has made a comprehensive guide about what TF is going on in the Orbán regime. Read up on it. Read up on Russia, Nazi Germany, whatever you find.

And then, learn from those countries and the mistakes they made. You have a guide there that will help you deal with whatever Trump throws at you next.

[milkytheholy1]

Name Calling

Shadow The Hedgehog x Female Reader

A/N: I've been eating up all the Shadow content lately and it all came together into this fic. I know I try to stay in the GN category but something within me just wanted to write Female, so I am sorry to those who will be put off by that, but tbh, it doesn't really have anything to do with the fic it's just the pronouns I used, they can be inalterably changed for those who prefer.

_______________________________________________

Shadow The Hedgehog had been called a lot of things in his life, monster, villain, thug, traitor, the list goes on and on. But he supposed he deserved it, after all, he was a freak of nature; a piece of science moulded by alien goo and crazed mathematics. He was made with pure intentions but was messed with, he deviated from his chosen path whether it was his choice or not.

On some particularly bad days he was known as the hedgehog that would end the world, who would bring destruction and chaos to everything he set his hands on, a single breath of his was thought to level a city. Shadow felt forever alone. He had no family to turn to, no friend to comfort him like Maria once did, to him no one compared; they were all beneath him.

Maria was the only person who could ever understand what was going on in his confused mind, she often sought to help him, she gave him a purpose:

"W-why was I made? Why was I created into this world if I was only meant to cause destruction?"

"That's not why you're here, Shadow. You are here to help people, to help me and the other humans who live down there! You were born to protect mankind from evil."

"But, Maria, I was created with this evil inside of me. The humans would only fear me-"

"You were born from love, Shadow! My grandfather made you for me, he made me a best friend and he made someone who would spread love and kindness wherever he went. Humans only fear what they don't know, or so I've been told, but they will love you, Shadow, they have to!"

Painful images now plagued those pleasant thoughts, tainting her memory like mould on a rotting fruit. After Maria's death, Shadow became a machine, too hard to produce emotion, too cold to think about the actions he took. All he knew was humanity was to blame for Maria's death, humanity took the only person who understood him; they had to pay.

Bases were burnt down, G.U.N soldiers were hunted, and civilians became hostages. Nothing was too much for him at this stage, all he needed was to quell the anger that burned inside of him, the vengeance that fueled his very being. That's where the names started coming from, parents warning their children about the boogeyman that lurks around the corner at night, the feral beast that kills in the darkness and leaves no witnesses.

Through his rage, he forgot what Maria told him, he forgot what his purpose was: to protect, to spread kindness and to love. He only came to this realisation one night after a particularly gruesome fight. It was in a small village, somewhat far from the big towns and cities, cobbled streets and large green fields. It was here where Shadow had tracked down a retired G.U.N agent, he was there on that night and therefore he had to pay.

The struggle had led from the agent's house to the cobbled streets, a single gunshot ringing out into the silence of the night, the moonlight tracing over the man's lifeless body. As Shadow pulled back, his ears flicked, a small sound: a gasp. Quickly turning around his eyes caught another human, deep blue eyes and long blonde hair. Shadow flinched, shaking away the similarities he tried to focus.

The young woman slowly shuffled back into the alley they were hiding in, the moonlight dancing over her clothes as she moved. Shadow gripped his gun tighter, the sound of his gloves creasing was as loud as the gunshot from before.

"I'm sorry I have to do this," he mumbled, pulling the gun up and aiming it at the woman. She cowered slightly, eyes dancing between the unconscious man on the floor and the ebony hedgehog in front of her, "Then don't."

Shadow perked a brow, amused by how forward she was, "Do you know who I am?" he wasn't cockey, it was a genuine question. The lady shook her head, "You're the boogeyman."

"Then you know why I have to do this."

"Then before I die, may I ask you a question?"

Shadow thought it through, although he didn't want this to drag on any longer and daylight was soon approaching, what harm could one question do from a dying woman?

"Why do you do this? Why do you go around killing people and burning houses? I've seen newspapers talking about you, calling you a monster-"

"Because I am a monster!" He struck back, cocking the gun. "A real monster would have pulled the trigger by now, a real monster wouldn't even entertain a stare with me."

Now that was good. Shadow felt like he had been pushed away into another reality, one where all of a sudden he didn't have to kill people anymore. A reality where he didn't have to skip town and live in trees or under benches, one where we didn't have to hide and feel so angry all the time.

Snapping back into reality, Shadow adjusted his hand holding the gun, foolishly he had dropped his arm just a little, "Enough, you don't know me."

"No, I don't. I don't know you, the papers sure seem to think they do, but no one just goes around doing what you do for fun. I'm not trying to help you, but don't you think you should step back a little and think about what you're doing? Is this really what you want?"

"Of course it is! This is all I've ever known and it's all I'll ever be!" he cursed out, anger swelling deep within his mind; this was just meant to be a simple job and now you'd gone and made it confusing.

"Is that really what you want?" The one simple question had broken Shadow, he dropped the gun to the floor, staring hopelessly into the ground. He had failed Maria, looking at you had reminded him of her, the promise he made to her, the purpose he was supposed to have.

He was meant to protect mankind, to help them and instead, he led them to an earlier grave. Another sound rang out, snapping the pair's attention from each other onto a random doorway. An elderly man emerged from the house, looking up and down the street until his eyes landed on you both and then on the body.

"The boogeyman! The boogeyman's here! And he's got an accomplish!" he screamed out, suddenly more and more lights started flashing on, the whole village was nearly illuminated in bright yellow light. Shadow saw the panic on the young girl's face, he recognised that look all too well: Fear.

Her life as she knew it was crashing down all because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and it was all his fault. Taking what Maria said to heart, Shadow saw this as his second chance at life, his second chance to protect humanity and it all started with her. Swooping the lady into his arms, Shadow ran as fast as he could, he had to go somewhere where they'd both be safe.

The past few years after that had been a blur, things have changed since the old days, Shadow gets called friend, bud, hero and most importantly, he gets to be called the love of your life. Perhaps it was one of his best ideas to save you on that day, even if it was his fault. After that night, Shadow never left your side, perhaps it's because he felt guilty or that you reminded him of Maria; who knows?

But what you do know is that he's free now, free from all the negative thoughts, free from the names, and free from his past life.

[darkofthemuse]

━━━━ ❛ 𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖓 (1978 original script) sentence prompts

* some lines have been edited & combined for easy rp use !

just try to understand what we're dealing with here. don't underestimate it.

ever done anything like this before?

you don't have to make this any harder than it already is.

you can calm down. the evil's gone.

you're not supposed to go up there.

i notified everybody. nobody listened.

the idea is that destiny is a very real, concrete thing that every person has to deal with.

the boogeyman is coming.

it's your own fault and i don't feel sorry for you.

what's wrong? you're not smiling.

i hate a guy with a car and no sense of humor.

it's tragic. you never go out.

he came home…

i saw someone standing in the backyard.

what's the pumpkin for?

i plan on making popcorn and watching doctor dementia.

the only things missing were some halloween masks, rope, a set of knives. what does that sound like to you?

i realized what was living in behind that boy's eyes was purely, simply evil.

tell your men to shut their mouths and open their eyes.

having fun? never mind, i'm sure you are.

you didn't. tell me you didn't.

i saw the boogeyman. i saw him outside.

i'm here tonight and i won't let him get you.

is this one of your cheap tricks?

open the door! i'm locked in the laundry room!

why are you sitting here with the lights off?

nobody believes me.

i believe you.

you're not coming up with much to prove me wrong.

death has arrived in your little town.

you can ignore it, or you can help me stop it.

let's make more popcorn.

why don't we just sit down and watch the rest of the movie.

go get me a beer.

i'll be right back. don't get dressed.

i'll kill you if this is a joke.

please, open the door!

do what i say! now!

you can't kill the boogeyman.

[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.

[genericpuff]

hi, i know the episode came out weeks ago, but i wanted to talk about ep 277 and your essay on it. i thought it was very well thought out and had brought up lots of concerns abt apollo's other victims and the harm persephone caused to others that i just. hadn't really thought about myself because honestly this webcomic is a BLUR to me LOL. thank you for writing these insights and putting them online for others to read ! i think you manage to keep a respectful distance to rachel [1/]

Yeah, regarding how the SA was handled...

I think Rachel did exactly as well as anyone might have expected someone like her to write a plotline like that.

Honestly if Rachel really did want to do the arrow thing, I think it would have worked WAY better if she had used the arrow of hate. First of all, because it had already been established back in S2 when it was shot at him by Psyche, but ALSO because making it an arrow of love confirmed that Eros literally did what Apollo asked despite the fact that he's Persephone's best friend and should have been more suspicious of what he was going to use it for. Why not just do a bait & switch where Apollo is under the impression that it's an arrow of love but Persephone trusts in her friend and pieces it together that it's probably an arrow of hate? It would also payoff the whole "news crew being nearby" thing (as well as all the other gods that just randomly showed up) because uh oh now they all see his true nature and he can't hide behind his lies anymore!

After all, as I mentioned in my previous post about this (the one I believe you're referring to) it's not like there wasn't already foreshadowing that Apollo was going to fall on his own sword the way of Mr Waternoose from Monster's Inc, he was already showing signs of cracking under the guilt that he was feeling towards how he treated Persephone/Eris/Hermes/etc. so why did it have to be Persephone taking a massive risk by sticking him with an arrow of love that still doesn't fully explain why he would even suddenly be a changed man? Loads of people like Apollo think they're in love / define their infatuation as love so I don't see how an arrow of love would suddenly make him empathetic to her pain. Especially when, again, he still begs her not to make him confess, so the guilt he's feeling is still completely empty and unmotivated.

I will leave this with one final thing that I saw the other day that very much reminded me of the Apollo SA plotline and I think it rings very true for the misdirected conclusion of the plot itself:

One of the biggest issues of the Apollo SA plotline, at least in my opinion, is that it never really gets to the root of why people like Apollo exist. There absolutely were strong foundations for this - he's the son of a guy who's known for being a serial cheater, he's popular and egotistical and is used to women wanting him, etc. - but all of those foundations kind of fell to the wayside in favor of turning Apollo into just another boogeyman, especially to lift Hades up as a "good man" by comparison (when Hades himself also falls on this spectrum). But many people like Apollo aren't just random guys in an alleyway or conspiring with some "higher power" that's manipulating them, they're men who fundamentally do not understand consent and assault on the varying spectrums in which it exists from "SA just exists, oh well" passiveness to "I'm an actual monster who gets pleasure out of victimizing women" aggressiveness. I think there's a lot to discuss about how people like Apollo exist WITHOUT sympathizing with them, but LO manages to do neither - not only does it give us uncomfortable and unnecessary looks into the rapist's POV more than we get the victims, but it does it in a way that doesn't actually address the issue of how people like Apollo come to be, it's just "Apollo is the big evil boogeyman who raped Persephone". Not only does it not actually put enough focus on the victims, but it reduces the societal and cultural complexities of where Apollo's brand of egotistical entitlement comes from to just "some guys just be evil like that". Guys like Apollo don't just come out of the womb like that, they're often shaped into what they are by a society that both excuses them for awful behavior towards girls ("Boys will be boys!") and enables - if not outright encourages - them to objectify women as trophies that they're entitled to. Even the seemingly innocent and sentimental practice of "giving away a bride" at a wedding is rooted in these patriarchal systems, with the belief that a woman first "belongs" to her father before being "given to" her husband.

It's the part of feminism that often gets overlooked - it's not just about uplifting female voices and helping survivors speak up about and heal from SA, it's also about deconstructing and challenging the patriarchal systems that lead to SA victims being created in the first place. Sure, Apollo got sentenced to building temples in the Mortal Realm, but what is that actually doing to address the bigger topic of how men like him come to exist in the first place? Especially when it was also treated as a good thing for TGOEM to be disbanded, instead of, idk... reworking it into a women's support group for survivors like Persephone?

IDK, it's a very complicated subject that you can approach from a million different angles, I don't think that my criticizing it should outweigh the opinions of those who were satisfied with the punishment that was given to Apollo (my saying the SA plotline sucked doesn't mean you're not allowed to find your own validation in it) but I do think that, at best, Rachel ended the SA plotline the only way she could because she herself is just not equipped to tackle such broad subjects that require a lot more education, experience, and nuance than what she's capable of writing. There are definitely 1298423108 better ways that plotline could have been resolved, but not with Rachel Smythe at the helm.

And that's my many cents on that.

[jaytalking]

Okay okay.

NAOOOO—

*inhaaalE*

So your Plasmius design.

*claps hands together multiple times*

Where do I even BEGIN to appreciate it OML I would fail at doing so-

Okay so.

Numero uno *cough*

The whole thing about him looking younger to embrace the vampire part. Yes. Yes I love that. That is now canon in my heart because it just WORKS. SO MUCH.

Because I feel like it could also tie into the fact that Vlad in the show is so obsessed with having lost everything and wanting all of it back, his youth included-

So he'd look younger as Plasmius EEEEEEEE

Also I LOVE how his eye shape changes as Plasmius and he looks more. Hostile and dangerous if you will—*explodes* eyes are the windows to one's soul I love eyes sm-

THE FANGS. THE FANGSSSSS—*taps the microphone* HE'S A VAMPIREEEE—

The way you turned the top of his cape into flames??? That is literally so so SO cool and amazing

Makes me wonder if he can maybe. Change the shape of it/make it appear and disappear whenever he wants?

Also his hands constantly looking like they have blood on them??? AND IT CAN SPREAD ONTO THE SURFACES HE TOUCHES??? TEN OUT OF TEN ISTG THAT IS JUST SOMETHING ELSEEEE/POS

Your young Vlad looks so huggable idk why

(Sorry kinda unrelated but I feel like younger Vlad was SUCH a timid person. And he'd get shy fast but he'd also be quite confident whenever he wanted.)

THE LOWER PART OF HIS HAIR BEING WHITE. I WILL—*holds head* "yes officer it's this design right here—"/silly

AND THE SCAR

Gosh my favorite part EVER

THEM GLOWING

OH MY DAYS THAT IS AWESOME

He looks like a fiery demon from the pits of hell I love it

I'm here for it

I'll put him in a freezer so he can cool down—/silly

I think we should give him pomegranate sorbet I think he'll like it

Cuz like

It's sour, but also has a sliiiight sweetness to it, and it has a bitterness in its core because of the pomegranate seeds. Idk I feel like that is just. So Vlad. Shfjfkvkvkv—/silly

Also very randomly: Vlad be like:

"Oh look, a sophisticated business man!"

"Oh, he’s a little bit messed up, actually..."

BUT YEAH I JUST ABSOLUTELY LOVE YOUR DESIGN FOR HIM I'LL HOLD HIM IN MY HANDS LIKE A LITTLE CREATURE/POS

Jophofhchvv thank you I never know how to respond to but know that we're screaming together!

Here's some fun facts about EctoScience Vlad:

-I really wanted to give him a dangerous vibe, ghosts can eat other ghosts to grow stronger extremely quickly in this AU and that's partly why he's as strong as he is, the other part being... halfas are just very powerful. Simply. Anyways everyone in the Zone knows and fears him; at the start of the series he's almost a boogeyman of sorts there until Danny starts beating him.

- Vlad didn't have a ghost form at first! His becoming a Halfa actually took a long time due to how it happened, and that's technically how it'll go for Danny too, he's just further along due to his own death being wayyy more violent than Vlad's. The progression into full ghost has slowed down a lot in Vlad's case, but for the reason I just mentioned, Danny's progression is fast.

- The "I hate you!" "You're like me!" Exchange is something I've had in mind since the start. In this AU specifically the circumstances of their "deaths" are extremely similar, but above all Danny fears turning fully into a ghost will make him lose his humanity and turn him evil due to, you know, actually listening to the "all ghosts are evil" bogus his parents believe. Vlad can sense that insecurity and in this AU he latches onto it like a vice to make Danny think him joining Vlad's side is inevitable in the end.

- Yes, he CAN make his cape disappear if it starts getting in his way in a fight, but I would also like to highlight his fire core making him very warm. Cats love him.

- His general behaviour as a ghost has been changed a little, he acts and fights fairly normally at first, but if the fight drags on for too long or his opponent runs away he's going FULL HORROR MOVIE VILLAIN. That first fight in the mansion was a lot longer and made Danny genuinely fear for his life. Let Vlad be MORE unhinged when he's pissed off I say.

[combustiblegarbage]

you know i was thinking of how remarkable it is that fma03 really dives deep into this idea of like. avoiding "respectability politics" with scar. scar is an ishbalan, and everyone is afraid of ishbalans and thinks of them as criminals, and scar kills people. he does the thing that people are afraid he will do! i'm thinking about how france here and how as a country they have made it a uniquely national crusade to be insanely islamophobic in all walks of life; and how over the past 10 years there have been several very public attacks and/or incidents which claim to be associated with ISIS or some other extremist group (i am thinking of the paris nightclub shooting and specifically charlie hebdo too because hoo boy was that an example of french white folks going "see we TOLD YOU you should be scared of muslims!")

and like. this idea is present in fma03 too, that an ishbalan person committing crimes and killing people is like a self-fulfilling prophecy, is something that can and should be used to politically justify more policies against them (the ishbalans we see are constantly being shuffled around and "resettled" to different areas by the state!). but what's extraordinary for a tv show like this, esp in 2003, is that instead of turning around and saying "so this is why you have to be careful/cautious around ishbalans/this is why these policies are justified" etc the show explicitly and quite clearly says, "these policies are what CREATED scar."

HE IS CALLED, SCAR! he is a physical representation of the painful bodily gash left in the corpus of his people, he is the embodiment of their trauma. AND HE'S COMING TO GET YOU, BARBARA! he's the boogeyman! the state is terrified of him! he is their own nightmare made real - not just an ishbalan that fights back, which would be one thing - which could easily be crushed in war - but a walking dead man, a zombie, the corpse of his own people who is not permitted to die until he has exacted his revenge. his RIGHTEOUS revenge! his revenge he DESERVES! the revenge the narrative paints, at the end of the day, as something noble and triumphant. scar! who in any other world would be called a terrorist! every time i think about it too much i really am shocked at how explicitly the show places itself on his side.

it's just crazy to me that this media from 2003 (TWO THOUSAND THREE!) refuses to engage in "look at this evil scary brown man; this is why we need to oppress the evil scary brown people, because one of them will attack us" and rather says, "oppression has CREATED this creature, and now he's fighting back." he's frankenstein's monster, created by the state! and that is exactly what imperialist policy in the global south does; it creates its own justification for violence. scar interrupts that cycle. he starts off as a dead man walking, and then slowly the audience begins to understand him as a person - as a priest, as a brother, as an injured human being in pain. as an angel of vengeance!

anyway fma03 did it better!

[picaroroboto]

I am struck by the sudden and intense urge to do a full analysis on the elements of anti-facism in FF14, but I don't really want to sit down and write a big ol' essay right now. But you do understand what I mean when I say it's not anti-facist just because the Garlean Empire, inspired by real-life facism, is a major antagonist you fight against - in fact, the story gains a lot when the Empire is not treated like an evil boogeyman. Showing depth and variety in Garlean characters, from the likes of Gaius, who wholeheartedly believes that Garlemald has to conquer the world to save it from itself, to people like Valens and arguably Zenos who use their power to satisfy their own desires, to ordinary people like Jullus who just go along with the ideas they were born into; giving them depth makes them more interesting to engage with as players and readers while also reminding us that facism isn't like, some sort of evil curse, it's a belief system (albeit a dangerous, cruel, illogical one) that is held by people - by humans who treat other humans as inhuman.

But FF14's biggest strength as an anti-facist story comes from the conflict with the Ancients - it's not a coincidence that Emet-Selch, leader of the Ascians, is also the founder of the facist Garlean Empire. This idea of returning to an idealized past (when not only is this process impossible, the past was never as good as anyone remembers it, or was only good for a minority of people) comes up a lot in facist ideology. Endwalker tears this down by not only hammering in Shadowbringers' thesis that you can never return to the past, it also shows us how the Ancient world was never really as perfect as Emet remembered it, thus strengthening our resolve to embrace the present.

Also, I'm no political scholar, but it seems to me that a lot of right-wing beliefs stem from a deep distrust of other people - for example, they might oppose police or justice reform because they genuinely think that fear of punishment is the only thing that keeps others from harming them. The importance of trusting others is a strong theme in FF14: the problems with the Beast Tribes and their Primals only begins to be solved when they turn from over-relying on their gods to trusting their fellow sentient beings instead. And, in the post-patches of every expac, the WoL helps the nations they've saved get back on their feet in a way that makes certain they'll stay stable when the WoL leaves for their next adventure - this is a system of trust too, showing that they trust the people they protect to solve their own problems from time to time.

I just think the way that FF14 doesn't just portray facists as stock enemies, but attacks the ideas that serve as the core of their beliefs, is really well done. *Note: while I discuss the resemblance between the Garlean Empire and real-life facism, I also understand that FF14 is fiction. I am not criticizing the writers for allowing Garlean characters to be sympathetic, nor am I attacking anyone for liking those characters.

[ketersilly]

The plural community really needs to start treating fusion as simply a natural function of some people's experiences with plurality, instead of painting it as always bad and triggering and "headmate death".

You don't want to fuse? It's simply not part of how your system works? The idea of it happening in your system is scary or even triggering? You genuinely view it as death in the context of your plurality? That's okay! Everyone's views on any function is different!

BUT, and this is a big but, you need to stop demonizing it. You need to stop pushing how YOU view it onto everyone else. For some systems, it's a normal and HEALTHY part of how they function. By stating that it's bad, it's "headmate death", by insisting that discussion of it needs hiding or outright banning it, you're shaming those who do experience it, especially if it's frequent or it's a deliberate part of their path to recovery (no matter if that's functional multiplicity, final fusion, or anything else!)

The treatment of fusion as the boogeyman of the plurality community has caused us to feel a lot of shame and guilt over a common and natural part of our plurality, which we need to occur to function properly. It's not "murder" or whatever, it's us becoming closer, dropping barriers, and gaining the ability to function properly. Please respect that and treat fusion properly instead of like it's evil, I'm so tired at this point

[kirkwallguy]

Demonizing a paganistic religion of people inspired by real life indigenous groups costed them nuanced, complex, high quality writing and storytelling. Dalish, elves and eluvian doesn't exist IRL, but we can read meanings beyond texts, which is why the term media literacy exist... Fantasy isn't real but people who write them is. And topics to write doesn't fall from the sky.

Everything I've seen post-da2 writing feels very pro-christian; i see someone once pointed out how believing in andraste was written a neutral trait while for non-human characters letting go of their beliefs (like, qun) is requirement for them to learn and grow :) Humans' racial and religious domination (colonialism parallels) is pretty much slept on, but qunari (eastern boogeymen) invasions are a threat.

You can excel a story by telling how people on powerful positions can hurt (which something da2 did) without pushing it onto the audience's throat by making them a boogeyman of sort. Meredith is a good example of corruption. DA2's storytelling is based on the corruptions of institutions and the way they hurt people; in Origins you can still feel that.

I still have similar problems with DA2's party banters if I'm being honest, those i said above (they're not necessarily a post-da2 thing...) but at least in a bigger picture it tells a story of domination and oppression and the way it effects people.

Yes, it is a fantasy. But the people who write them and decide the write things the way they did are not. Meanings are coming from beyond the monitor.

oh yeah i pretty much completely agree - dao and da2 have problems in the sense that they're mostly written by white usamericans (and canadians? i think.) but it at least seems to be using the chantry as a way to criticise christianity, even if their perspective on religion is kind of narrow. but dai it just feels like they almost couldn't bring themself to make it evil? even when they try to inflict some issues in there it's immediately smoother over or chalked up to independent bad actors. we literally play the leader of an INQUISITION. i know it's a fantasy inquisition unaffiliated with any real-life inquisitions but did they not think that there might potentially be some baggage there.

scififantasy always has a distinction between "this is an actual religion with a capital g God whose identity we will never confirm" and "this is a mystical fantasy thing where the gods are basically marvel villains who were evil btw and everyone who worship(s/ed) them is an idiot" and they never make the christian-coded religion the latter one!

[humanpurposes]

Just to chime in to what that anon asked you, unfortunately that Twitter account is extremely reliable (even though she does make some jokes from time to time). She knew about nettles being cut and Rhaena getting sheepstealer before filming started and only chose to hint at it an entire year later. She has a connection in production which gives her access to the scripts so I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s seen something already. It’s disappointing because if I could choose a “ship” to happen it would be Alys and Aemond. But I think it’s safe to say they are going to double down of Aemond being the big villain for the rest of the show and there isn’t a chance they are going to let his character have a romance. Ewan already seems disappointed with the direction Aemond is going in, saying that season 3 will be “interesting”. Alys was a great opportunity to give Aemond depth as a character but they will throw it all away to make Aemond the one dimensional boogeyman they want him to be.

Oh interesting, thanks for chipping in! I don't go near twitter so I have no context about the post or the account.

I find it really frustrating with how badly the writers fumbled Aemond. He had a great foundation as being cruel but understandable in season 1 (in my opinion at least), and I was really interested to see how they would play the aftermath of Storm's End. I think Aemond's emotional state should have been explored through his connections with his family. Show us that Alicent is horrified at the man her son is becoming. Show us that Aemond feels guilty about Luke's death or how he struggles to express that because he doesn't want to look weak. Show him trying to comfort Helaena after her son dies when it was his actions that led to his murder.

I said this in a few posts while the show was airing but a lot of characters weren't given room to breathe or develop in a way that felt natural. Aemond is being set up as the main obstacle to Rhaenyra's cause and it makes no sense because he still feels like a secondary character. Like why is Daemon warning Alys about how evil Aemond is when the worst thing Daemon's seen Aemond do is call his step kids "Strong boys" and shove Jace to the floor lmao??? Aemond is the "big baddie" because it's what the plot asks for, which makes for really unengaging TV.

Sorry I'm rambling but I agree, I was excited to see what we'd get with Alysmond in terms of what their relationship would be like, the power dynamics, how it might humanise both of them, but my expectations are kinda in the gutter after season 2. Still, it all comes down to speculation. We won't know what will happen for sure until the season airs.

[whiteladyofithilien]

Legolas' Cave Trauma

So it occurred to me that it seemed a bit weird that Legolas, who arguably has spent hundreds of years in a freaking cave palace, would be as anti-cave as he is in the books when Gimli goes off about the wonder of the Glittering Caves in Helm's Deep. So I had to reconcile these two facts. I consulted with the council of Elrond (aka my Tolkien friends) and one of them was like "just cause he lived in the caves doesn't mean he liked it. Thranduil had made the cave palace as a stronghold against the evils of the world outside his realm" while my thoughts was just "Legolas has cave trauma after Moria".

Because as we all know Legolas absolutely loses his shit when he sees the Balrog, like full on screaming Elvish meltdown.

So I combined the two theories to run along this line... Legolas was never a fan of caves, growing up on stories of the evil things that dwelt under the mountains he probably was not a huge fan when that's where his dad decided to repair to as the world grew more perilous. I picture little Leggy being especially scared of the Balrogs in stories told to him as a child. We gotta remember Balrogs are an extremely ancient and distant myth for even a lot of the elves, especially the "less wise" elves of Thranduil's folk. Most peoples are convinced that the last of the Balrogs perished in the War of Wrath, heck even people like Elrond may think this. So for Legolas this is his childhood monster under the bed, the Elvish Boogeyman. Balrogs shouldn't exist. They're just a scary story you tell kids to make them behave or to exemplify the valor of the elves of old who slew them. Some legends may say that some survived in deep places of the world but no one believes them any more, except maybe for little elven princelings but they grow up and grow out of it and after hundreds of years living in their dad's cave palace they're just an embarrassing memory of childhood fears.

But then Moria happens and it's his nightmares coming and standing before him more terrifying than he even imagined as a child and then striking down the most powerful being he's ever known. And it's just terrorizing and traumatizing and while the time in Lorien helps to settle his nerves he's none too eager to ever step foot underground again.

Especially to unknown caves.

Especially to a place underground that Gimli is a excited about.

The last time this happened he saw the terror of tales of long ago come to living reality in front of his eyes.

This may even be part of the reason why Legolas won't repeat the laments for Gandalf. "The grief is too near" and so is the terror. He doesn't wanna think about his living nightmare again, especially so soon. Of course he heals somewhat from his Cave Trauma and his friendship with Gimli helps I'm sure, after all they probably talked about it while they were hanging in Lorien becoming besties. And in turn seeing Legolas willingly go underground to take the Paths of the Dead encourages him to follow. He's just seen his bestie face his fears and now he must do the same.