#and halloween is my favorite holiday

[green-cinnamon-stick]

I know I complain about it in the tags a lot, but I can't believe this season of Riverdale might actually be my favorite. I care about the plots, the acting this season is top notch, and the writing (while frustrating and still very riverdale) is actually REALLY good this season. It feels as cohesive as season 1. Riverdale has seemed so scattered lately. In terms of plot, in terms of character arcs, in terms of timeline. And don't get me started on reality vs fantasy and our suspension of disbelief on a LOT. (We're not gonna talk about last season's ridiculous comet superpowers nonsense.)

But this season has been consistent (as far as fiction goes) with the timeline and the character arcs. The drama finally has some depth, due in large to the time period, and they've tackled some pretty big issues. The most I've seen in a *single season. I think if this wasn't the last season, I wouldn't bitch as much. I was kind of hoping they'd let us off easy in the final season and so far I've had to deal with every one of my favorite ships not being together, mostly because of the era and all of the many biases the 1950s had.

[vampiricstoryteller]

I keep rereading the Moonlight series any plans to do more horror themed stuff with Richette?

Yes definitely! Thank you for rereading it! 😭🙏🏾

I have plans for scary stories in October and for Halloween for sure but I also wanna do another scary “demons are after Annette and Richter’s gonna punch them all in the face for it” kind of story. Maybe I’ll do like a modern one where they still have their powers

Evie 🤟🏾

[thursdaythen]

Three Cowboys

[kittblush]

Jack-O-Jevil :)

[heilos]

Almost forgot to make a video of my house this year. I really REALLY like decorating for Halloween 🎃

[crismakesstuff]

they definitely went as morticia and gomez one year

🔮🦇happy halloween! 🪦🎃

[pink-glitter]

⌇ 31 DAYS OF AGERE STIMBOARDS! <3

⌇ DAY 4: your favorite holiday! ♥︎

⌇ 🎃 • 🧪 • 🔮 // 🎃 • 🧪 • 🔮 // 🎃 • 🧪 • 🔮

[macfrog]

if patrick bateman were a woman

cowboy like me [bonus chapter]

surprise!! happy halloween!!!! may your day be spooky and your sex be filthy. here's a bonus chapter of clm to celebrate. love y'all !!! despite being cowboy joel and his reader, this is not canon. does not happen in the cowboy like me series. i wish. it's just a little bit of spooky szn fun with my two favorite star-crossed lovers. !!!

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: sarah throws a halloween party. you and joel have a little too much fun.

warnings: as pwp as a macfrog fic can get, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), lil bit titty appreciation, a singular daddy mention, a single slice of degradation, but also praise kink, unprotected piv sex, creampie, it's set on halloween, alcohol consumption, cursing

word count: 4k

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Ice, pretzels, lime juice. Ice, pretzels, lime juice.

I’m giving you one job. Ice, pretzels, lime juice. That’s it.

That sounds like three jobs, you’d said.

Sarah ignored you. Be here at seven, alright? Ice – pretzels – lime juice!

It’s seven thirty. You’re finally on her front porch. The tiny section of bare skin between your stockings and black skirt is pimpled with goosebumps. With each inhale you suck in the sickly-sweet scent of fake blood, splattered across your face. You have a bag of ice slung over one arm, a bag of pretzels balanced on top, a bottle of juice hanging from your fingers and an axe under your elbow.

Only – it’s not lime juice. And the axe is plastic.

Sarah opens the door and spots your blunder instantly. “That’s lemon.”

“I know. They didn’t have any lime.”

“They didn’t have any lime? Where the hell did you go?”

“It’s Halloween, Sarah. Everybody and their fucking grandma is drinking tonight. Lemon tastes the exact –”

“Ah!” She holds a finger up. Her red cape flutters in the breeze. “It does not taste the same. Otherwise, why would it be two separate things?”

“Hey, Wonder Woman,” you drone, “mind letting me in? I’m fucking freezing.”

She scoffs, and steps aside. Mutters, “’s not the same thing,” as you pass.

You click down the hall, head rolling to check out her decorating. The living room and kitchen are lit by constellations of tiny tealights, flickering and blinking and casting tall, warped shadows across the walls. There’s a purple neon sign sat against the wall that reads Spooky. By the fireplace sit the two pumpkins she and her boyfriend carved last night; she’d sent you photos and asked you to pick a winner. When you chose the Iron Man head over the silhouette of Tinkerbell, she sent back a middle finger emoji.

Y: It’s cleaner cut. What do you expect? Shoddy work, Miller.

S: asshole.

Sarah’s slotting the ice into the freezer. Struggling, by the sound of it. You swing back into the kitchen to find Wonder Woman on her ass, hammering her fist against the frozen pack to fit it in.

You’re about to offer help, when someone else does it for you. Someone lower, gravellier. A voice like thunder in the distance, a storm approaching.

“You need a hand?” he asks, and when you turn, you almost drop your fucking axe.

He glances to you as he emerges from the dark hallway, the warm glow licking at his graying flicks of hair, nestling in the deep-set lines on his face. His eyes dart down to where your fingers now clutch the plastic handle, holding it against the hem of your skirt like it’ll do anything to cover your modesty.

Your modesty, meaning – the line of sexy black lace curling around your thighs, snug against the supple skin.

What the fuck are you doing here? you mouth, as Joel paces across the kitchen towards his daughter.

He shrugs, palms outstretched. It’s my house?

You roll your eyes, run your tongue like lightning across your scarlet lips. Sarah straightens up, huffs hair from her face and stares blankly at Joel.

He bends, takes the entire bag in one huge palm, and reorganizes the drawer with the other. Your eye drifts to his bicep, flexing under the tight seam of a dark tee. The bag of ice cradled in his arm leaves weak little droplets, running down the tan skin to the crook of his elbow. You want to fucking lick them up, gather the frozen beads on your tongue, hike up up up to the curve of his shoulder, the crook of his neck, the –

“Hey.” Sarah clicks her fingers in front of your face. “You hearin’ me?”

“Huh? No, yeah. No. I wasn’t lis– What did you say?”

She sighs again. Joel groans as he pushes off his knee and stands tall behind her. Wipes the water from his arm with one swipe of his palm.

“Would you put these in a bowl?” his daughter asks, shoving the bag of pretzels into your suited chest. She shuffles off, announcing she’s going to pick a playlist for the night.

Suited is perhaps giving you too much credit. You’re in a mini skirt and waistcoat, a red tie slung loose around your neck. You’ve a clear poncho draped over your shoulders, but with the heat from the million and one fucking candles – and the flush that the forty-something-year-old with his wide frame and fitted sweatpants and toned chest and his big fucking hands has cast over you – it’ll soon be discarded to the newel post.

But when you reach up for the bowl on the top shelf of the cabinet, pushing forward with a palm on the countertop, the marble digging into your pelvis and forcing your ass to jut out – you think yourself pretty fucking smug to be in a skirt that hugs your cheeks and not much else.

You turn, the lip of the bowl in your fingers, and smile sweetly at Joel, whose gaze returns north as you approach him.

“You got nothin’ better to do with your night than babysit a bunch of twenty-five-year-olds?” you murmur, spilling the bag into the blue bowl. You place a pretzel on your tongue, humming at the taste.

Joel smiles, popping the cap off his beer. He spills the amber liquid into his mouth. “I’ll be in my room.”

Your eyebrows lift. “That so? You need any company in there?”

“Nope. Rangers game is on. I’ll be busy.”

The words ghost across your lips. You’ll be busy, you breathe. Joel nods. Then looks you up and down.

“American Psycho?”

“What?”

He flicks his wrist up and down your figure. “What’s his name, again? Pat–”

“Patrick Bateman,” you say together. You nod.

“That’s the one.” Then he turns, leans his jaw nearer until his lips line with your ear. Your eyes shoot across to the empty doorway. Sarah’s skipping song after song in the living room.

Joel’s finger slips beneath the lace trim of your stockings, tugging gently. “I don’t remember ‘im in these, though,” he says, voice low.

You gulp. Swallow to push your heart back into place. “Well,” you glance down, lifting your thigh closer to him, “if he were a woman, he woulda dressed like this.”

“That’s somethin’ I’d like to see,” Joel murmurs, eyes locked on the place where lace separates from skin.

“Yeah?”

He nods. Growls, “Yeah.”

And then he’s walking away.

Within an hour, the house is jumping. Literally. Almost.

You sit at the kitchen island, sipping on a beer, staring down the hall at the sea of bodies – of nylon and polyester, of purples and oranges, of headbands and props and cloaks and hats. There are a lot more than forty people here – a lot more than Sarah intended to turn up.

A lot more than you know, too. She’s barely even four years younger than you, but most of these kids look like they just walked out of middle school. Of the handful of faces you recognize, one is sat opposite you, his arm draped over Sarah’s shoulder, her hand locked in his. She and Ty have been dating for a year now, surviving long-distance when she jets back off to school every few months.

The other you know, unfortunately for you, is swaying by your side. Leaning a little too heavily into you. Asking you questions about college, and then talking over your answers to tell you stories about his college. Asking you questions about films you like, and then interrupting to gawk at the titles you reel off. The only times he doesn’t jump in over your answer, are the times he’s asking who you think might win in a fight between prime Mike Tyson and prime Muhammad Ali. And that’s only because you don’t have an answer to give him.

Jace. Ty’s best friend. Fucking – loser.

“And who the fuck are you s’posed to be, anyways?” he asks, slinging a heavy arm over your shoulder. He reeks of beer, warm and stale. His jaw’s swinging, cheeks popping and suckling on a shriveled piece of gum.

You scowl, shrugging the uncomfortable weight from the nape of your neck. “Patrick Bateman,” you mutter.

“Who?”

“Christian Bale. You know, when he –” Sarah mimes lifting an axe over her shoulder, takes a swing through the air, across the island to Jace.

“No fucking idea,” he says, shaking his head. You’re not surprised.

“Where’s your axe?” Ty asks, as Sarah nuzzles back into his side.

You shrug. “Saw someone using it to stir the punch earlier. ‘s probably in the toilet or something.”

He laughs, flashing his dimpled cheeks. He’s got glistening eyes beneath long, black eyelashes. He’s handsome. Sharp jaw, full lips. Sarah links her fingers at his side, plants her cheek against his shoulder. She’s comfortable. She’s safe. Your chest warms at the sight.

He squeezes her arm, and they share a meaningful glance before there’s a yell from across the kitchen, and their attention is diverted.

When they turn to watch two of Sarah’s high school friends sword-fighting, wielding a plastic lightsaber and your axe, you slink off, swiping two beers from the fridge. Swift and silent, you scale the stairs and fade into the darkened hallway at the top, in pursuit of your own dark-eyed, sharp-jawed comfort.

The sliver of light at the end of the hall draws you in, footsteps silent along the soft carpet. Up here, tucked away in the corner of the house, far from the rattling music and rumble of boisterous chatter – you can hear the soft roar of a crowd, the crack of ball against bat.

Your hip nudges the door open, trickle of condensation running over your knuckles. Joel’s eyes are already on you. He’s laying on his bed, legs outstretched, knee cocked. One arm lies idly on his thigh. You get the feeling he shifted it quickly when he saw the door move.

He balances his chin on the end of the remote, purses his lips and lifts his head. “Now,” he mumbles, “you’re s’posed to be downstairs.”

You shrug, holding the bottles up. “Thought you might need a top-up.”

His eyes thin. He sits up straight, swings his legs over the edge of the bed. You come to a stop between his knees, holding the beer down to him. He hums, taking it with his eyes locked on yours.

“Thanks, darlin’,” he says, and his eyes begin to drift down.

You tilt your head back at the same time he does, lifting the lip of your own bottle. The cold drink washes over your tongue, bitter and blunt in its taste, leaving a furry feeling on your gums. When your chin lowers again, Joel’s hand is on the back of your thigh.

He’s staring at the two knolls between you – your breasts round, nipples peaking under the tight waistcoat.

“Welcome,” you reply, swirling the liquid around in the curved glass. Your voice is barely there. But he hears you, and he must hear the want laced deep through that one quiet word, because he instantly slides his beer onto his nightstand.

He curves both hands around your thighs, fingers lifting higher and higher between your legs until they’re crossing over lace and onto bare skin.

You shuffle forward, leaning your arms on his shoulders and propping your knees on the bed either side of his body. Your skirt rides up, exposing the shard of shocking red lace beneath the pinstripe material.

Joel sees it. Like it’s a rag and he’s a bull. It charges something deep inside him. Something that awakens beneath the thin line of fabric between your legs.

You can feel your pulse in your clit. Fluttering, fucking – hammering. Your cunt feels painfully empty, clenching around nothing. Joel’s palms surf across the tops of your thighs until his fingers are teetering along the hem of your skirt.

“Off,” he instructs, swatting the poncho away.

You shake it from your shoulders the same way you shook the blond downstairs off. Joel nods as the material crumples to the floor. He hooks a hand under your knee and yanks your body closer to his. You almost throw the beer bottle across his bed.

“J– fucking hell, my –”

“Shut up,” he clips, and grabs the beer from your grasp to deposit it alongside his own.

His hands find the tiny buttons of your waistcoat, fingers slip through the gaps between them where your skin peeks through. You can feel his hot breath on your chest. A wave of need washes over you, a desire from deep within your marrow to feel him everywhere. His breath, his tongue, his hands. All of him.

Your entire body weight rests on his shoulders, your fingers locking his shirt in two tight fists. Joel doesn’t seem to mind. Barely seems to notice. He pulls apart the first button, watches with a dark gaze as your breasts spill over. The second button pops open easily, and they bounce lower. When he unhooks the third, they drop into place, nipples pointed, welcoming him in between them.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl,” he whispers as he leans in, mouth flattening against the smooth skin between them. “No bra or nothin’.”

“Knew you’d be here,” you reply, head rolling back as he licks a trail across to the darker flesh of your nipple. His lips close around it and he suckles gently. Your nails dig into his scalp.

He pushes the waistcoat over your shoulders and it drops to the carpet, pooled inside the shell of poncho. As soon as it falls, his hands begin the climb up the seam of your thigh, resting on the brush of red – where he feels the quickly dampening mark on the fabric.

“Thought as much,” he says, head cocking to watch your expression warp as he rubs slow circles into your clit. His voice is as soft as his touch, innocent almost, when he asks, “She like that?”

“Ye-ah,” you choke, leaning back.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and uses his other hand to fish beneath his sweatpants. He rubs himself under the gray cotton, watches as your fingers clutch at the waistband to tug it down, releasing him.

His heavy cock springs up between your bodies, dabs precome on the pointed tail of your tie. You giggle, loosening the knot and pulling the thin silk over your head. Your hands wrap around him, twisting and pumping and dragging the milky arousal from his slit down the smooth, warm skin. Joel’s breath catches when your thumbs swipe across his head.

His fingers slip behind your knees and pull them apart, pull them wider on the mattress. You lean forward, chest brushing against his parted lips, taking your panties in one hand and guiding him along your slit with the other.

You cover him in your arousal, the veined skin soon slick and pearlescent. His wide head slips between your opening, notching against your entrance and forcing the breath from your lungs.

His hands sit firmly on your waist, pushing down on your hips, pushing and pushing until he sinks snug into your cunt. When he pauses, his mouth agape and eyes stuck on the sight of his body connecting to yours, you whine.

“More,” you mewl, voice dripping with need, drizzling all over him.

“We gotta –”

“More.”

“Baby,” Joel says, voice flat but crumbling. “We gotta go slow. I’m gonna – You’re gonna make me come, dressed like that, if we go too quick.”

But fuck, you want to feel him. Want him to buck his hips and fill you in one go – fuck the pain. Fuck the discomfort, fuck the way your walls would clamp in a vice grip around him. You want him to fuck you. Want to be fucked so good that you have to time your moaning with the bassline of the music downstairs, unable to contain the sounds in your throat. Fucked so good that you waddle out of the room, that you fling yourself back onto the couch and wince in pain, a sharp memory of the breadth of him shooting between your legs.

Your hips circle, the heat of your cunt swirling around and around on his tip. He groans, hands tightening on your waist to hold you still.

“Stop it, darlin’,” he growls, the words clawing from between his teeth.

“F-fuck me, then,” you moan, curling your back to slowly edge down on him.

“Ask nicer.”

You smile, heavy lids falling closed. “Please?”

His hands roam around the curve of your ass. He starts to push again. “Nicer.”

Your mouth opens wider the further he slides into you. The more he claims of your body, the further you open for him, the warmer your welcome. Your head tips back, eyes tighten until you see stars. When you feel a weight around your neck, you flutter your lashes open, blink the cyan-colored sparkles from your vision.

Joel pulls your jaw back down to face him. Squeezes on your pulse, holding you between his middle finger and thumb.

“Nicer,” he demands.

You lean in, small hands linking around his thick wrist. “Fuck me, please, daddy,” you whisper.

And he smiles like a fucking devil. Eyes drawn black like ink. He pulls you in until your chin brushes against the rough bristle of his own, lines his bottom lip with yours.

Into your mouth, he asks, “You think you can take it, babygirl? Think it’ll fit?”

You nod desperately, anchoring yourself on his wrist. “Know it will.”

He’s only halfway in. Your heartbeat is thudding around your body, focusing hardest on your clit. Your hips move again, and Joel allows it, sitting back to watch as you sink down further.

“Go on,” he says, watching your body slowly attach to his, “’f you think you can do it. Be a big girl ‘n take it. Slow.”

Something caught between a laugh and a whimper drags between your painted lips – something dripping in desire, built from a need to prove yourself to him, to take all of him inside your body, to feel him in the deepest parts of yourself. You push on him, loosen his grip around your neck and flatten your palms on his chest. And you curve your back, pushing him deeper.

“’s my girl,” Joel says, quietly, as if to himself. “This what you wanted? Comin’ up here, dressed like that?”

Your teeth hold onto your bottom lip. “Like what?” you purr, leaning forward until your noses brush.

Joel tips his chin up, lips flush against yours. “Like a little fuckin’ slut.”

You laugh weakly, feeling him finally in his entirety. “Fuck.”

Joel’s hands take your waist, pushing you down until the pain sends bolts of lightning across your vision. The bruising feeling of his head against your cervix. The sweet stretch of your skin opening around his.

“Beggin’ for it, weren’t ya? ‘n now look, you can’t hardly take it.”

“I can take it,” you hiss back, bracing yourself on the mattress. Your hips lift, holding onto him, bouncing up and down steadily. “I can take it,” you repeat, like a mantra, like the only thing keeping you in the room still. The only thing reminding your body to keep moving.

Joel holds a palm steady against the bottom of your stomach, rubs his thumb delicately against your skin. “So deep, baby. ‘m so fuckin’ deep inside you. That feel nice?”

The meat of your ass slaps against the tops of his thighs. You’re quickening, eyes screwing shut. He feels so good. Fills you up so fucking good. Your legs start to loosen, knees weakening the more you fuck yourself on him. Your head drops between your shoulders when his thumb lowers, circles gently at your clit.

“Keep – keep doing that. Fuck, Joel – touch me. Keep touching me.”

“’boutta come, ain’t you?”

“Sh-shut up.”

“Yeah,” he says, “she’s about to come.”

“Shut up,” you hiss, hips rolling now, losing rhythm between the split of his cock inside you and the lull of his thumb on your clit. Your back arches, vision begins to blur. Your lungs close in on themselves as you give one final gasp to the ceiling, and let go.

Your walls clamp hard around him, and in one swift movement, your bodies are flipped. When you open your eyes again, you’re on your back, Joel’s figure towering over you.

“’attagirl,” he mutters, palms flat against the underside of your thighs. He pushes them flat, folding you in two, your knees resting by your shoulders. “So close, darlin’. Ain’t gonna last.”

You’re shaking your head, holding onto his neck, thighs trembling. “I – can’t, Joel.”

“Yeah, you can. You can,” he assures, dipping his head to place his lips on yours. Your mouth opens up for him, tongue falls against his own. It’s barely a kiss – you’re licking at one another, sure, but there’s nothing tender or gentle about it. Joel pulls away only to glance down and guide himself back inside you. “Gonna be my good girl, aren’t you? Gonna make me come.”

With one seamless thrust, he’s back inside you, pressing your legs harder against your torso. You whine, a blur of pain and pleasure mixing where he fucks you.

“Good girl,” he says, tongue skimming along his top lip. “Nice ‘n wide, that’s it.”

Your back arches into him, arms tighten around his neck, lips settle curved around his own. You’re moaning, his name releasing itself from your mouth in shots of breath. Joel takes your knee and hooks it over his shoulder, letting the other fall to his hip. The angle forces him deeper. Deeper and harder.

But he’s starting to jump. Bucking randomly. He’s panting your name, teeth grazing against your neck in attempt to hold on just a little longer, feel you squeeze him a little more.

“You’re close,” you slur.

“’m close,” he says.

“Gonna come in me –?”

“Baby –”

“– ’n send me – ah – back downstairs full of you? Runnin’ outta me?”

Joel’s head shakes. His eyes tighten. “Fuck, darlin’. Dirty fuckin’ mouth.”

“C’mon,” you beg, “give it to – m-me.”

His hips hammer against yours, punching against the edge of your cunt harshly. You sob out, nails digging into his shoulders, until he halts, and you feel the warmth of him spurting deep inside your body. Feel the way he tenses, empties, and stills.

Your head falls back against the mattress. Joel’s still nuzzled against your neck, breathing labored, lips soaking wet against your skin. You sift your fingers through his hair, combing through it as he comes to.

His chest rocks against yours. Feeling starts to sharpen again, the orgasmic haze starting to bleed into the past. The walls of the house thud with the music from downstairs. You feel the weight of his body on top of yours again.

“Up,” you groan, pushing on his shoulders.

Joel scoffs, pushing against the mattress and rolling over beside you. He slips out, his spend seeping out and spilling onto your thigh.

Your fingers intertwine with his by your side, your nails scrawling into his knuckles.

“I miss you, when you ain’t around,” Joel whispers, glossy eyes blinking at the ceiling. “I’m bored up here.”

You roll onto your side, run your fingers over the halo of sweat around the collar of his shirt. “Good think I ain’t far, then. ‘m only downstairs.”

He smiles. “Downstairs is too far.”

You lean over him and place a soft kiss on his rough cheek. “Just have to keep you at my hip then, don’t I?”

His head turns and his lips find yours. He cups the globe of your head, pulls you harder against his jaw, runs his tongue along your teeth. When you pull away, you shift the damp hair from his glistening forehead.

“You ruined my tie, by the way,” you tell him. “The hell am I supposed to say that is?”

Joel shrugs. “If Patrick Bateman were a woman, ‘n all that.”

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Me giving out candy tonight in my grumpy mood.

[k4pp4-8]

I love my lil' special limited edition Darrell collection

[birrdies]

dead; by birrdie 14.9k, 1 chapter (complete*)

[bluejey]

happyyy halloweeeennn!!3!!2 🎃🎃👻👻👻

[artist-issues]

Hello, yes, it’s Halloween Week and I’d like to say one more time, here, because nobody wants to hear it elsewhere:

The death and darkness is part of the Story the Year Tells, and ignoring it is bad, but so is treating it like a good thing.

The only thing good about monsters, evil, death, and darkness, is that it all ends. But if we skip to “it’s gone,” then we miss the use we have in remembering it.

If you take the shark out of Jaws there’s no emotional climax when the main character says “I used to be afraid of the water.” If Scar doesn’t rule the Pridelands for a while, nobody cares that Simba’s coming back. If Sauron’s blanket of darkness hadn’t spread so far over Middle-Earth— if Gollum as a nasty grotesque character hadn’t existed because he’s “too scary” and “too dark”—or even if we’d seen less of him—then it wouldn’t mean as much when the good guys win. You wouldn’t care as much when Frodo is tempted by the Ring, because you’ve never seen how bad that can get, because you never got to see and dwell on Gollum, for a minute.

Halloween is the Gollum of The Story the Year Tells.

The spirit of it, the part where we remind ourselves darkness and monsters exist, but we don’t live in an UNHEALTHY obsession with them, has always been that.

The World goes “let’s make evil and monsters celebratory and awesome.” If the church goes “no we shouldn’t celebrate evil and monsters, we should totally ignore them instead!” then who is putting monsters and evil in their proper place?

Who is saying, “evil exists, monsters are real, we were once dead, we were once walking in darkness, we were once monsters, that’s why it’s SO AWESOME that we’re a new creation in Christ?”

Nobody. The world gets to go “there’s no such thing as evil, evil is actually a cooler version of good! Witches are neat, werewolves are awesome, and vampires are sexy!” And Christians get to go, “no there’s no such thing as evil, Christians don’t think about evil, the just think about pumpkins and hay bales.” But actually all you’re united in is ignoring evil.

God uses death as His do-boy. He uses dead imagery to describe parts of the salvation story. He allows decay and rot and skeletons and warping to happen, on some level, because He fixes it. And in the fixing, it shows off His character. If you pretend the darkness isn’t real or isn’t relevant, then the darkness doesn’t go away. It just gets to decide how it’s perceived. If there’s a werewolf in the room with you and you go, “I don’t do werewolves,” and turn your back guess what, it’s just going to eat you from behind.

Do what the ancient people did. Tell stories about the monsters as a cautionary tale, and describe how to get rid of them, because as dangerous as they are, ha ha, they don’t get to win.

We’re supposed to take the way the world has warped good instincts and un-warp them, not pretend they don’t exist.

So what I’m saying is, carve jack-o-lantern faces with your kids and talk about how the light shines through the dead thing. Dress them up as goblins and werewolves and then don’t let them have any candy until after they’ve taken the costumes off, and go, “see, you were once dead in your trespasses and sins, but now, in Christ, you are a new creation!” And then give em the candy. Write stories about monsters that get cured when they don’t deserve it, or monsters that are unstoppable by anything except pure sacrifice.

But don’t write out the monsters, that’s not your job.

Happy Halloween.

[the-plushie-friendships]

Roleplay Starter: Halloween Wonders

*It’s the time of the spooks, scares, horror movies and games, costumes and more! It is the month of October, also known as Spooky Month! Which mean, people are putting spooky decorations outside their houses, scary movies are popping up everywhere and tricks made to scare are more common then ever.*

*To say Ames wasn’t a fan of this month would be an understatement, this was one of her least favorite months. Everything was so scary and all the decorations looked so real and like they could just come to life at any moment and get her, she didn’t understand what was so fun about an entire month where all everyone did was scare each other and be big meanie heads. Though, she did like that she could wear big, comfy sweaters, and being able to get spooky new plushies, those were two, if not, the only two positive thing about this month she had.*

*Perhaps Ames needs to see just what makes October so special, maybe show her all the new treats that she could get, or maybe tell her about Halloween and how fun that is! There’s so many things you can tell me! And maybe, just maybe. Her thoughts on this month will change*

@ask-the-kitty-crew @ask-paradox-and-friends @ariaacrossthemultiverse @mikado-sannoji @boba-bae-cafe-su-au @hoshi-neko-hikari @ravensroleplays @julieisasimp @craftyjellyfishcatrplog @sun-and-moon-sb @floxy-offical @minusgangtime @the-arcade-doctor @enlightened-darkened-flames @mrcookiesir @rxnowned-vxmpire-hxnter @thecloudsofficalreborn @polygonsblog @anyone else

[penumbra-mayhem]

Fuck it, Sam Collins loves Christmas

• He had a shitty childhood, therefore shitty Christmases, but after moving to Dahlia (or however you spell it) for school, he decides he’s going to give himself what he didn’t get as a kid.

• Sam becomes very passionate about Christmas

• He has strong opinions on when decorations should go up and come down (as well as when to start and stop listening to Christmas music)

• He will take Darlin on late night car rides through various neighborhoods and rate each house on their decorations. His ratings are quite detailed—he has a whole system.

• He decorates his cabin every year, inside and out. It’s always very classy. His lights are all a warm vintage yellowish white, and no bulb is unlit or out of place. His wreaths are always fresh. His stockings are certainly hung with care.

• He grows his own pines on his land and every year he chops down the best one for his Christmas tree.

• He makes all his own decorations. Dried orange slice garlands. Popcorn and cranberry garlands. Paper chains. Handmade ornaments and wreaths.

• He even tried making his own candles one year but that went terribly so he just buys locally made ones at winter markets

• He loves doing Christmas traditions with Darlin. Making decorations, baking cookies, wrapping presents. He’ll play old Christmas music on his record player and dance with Darlin in their living room or curl up with them on their couch, fireplace crackling in front of them.

• He’s not very materialistic or sentimental, but if there’s ever a time for him to care about any of that, it’s going to be Christmas. He’s a very serious gift giver.

• He and Darlin set rules for their gift giving to each other. They have to, otherwise they’ll both go overboard.

• So they decided they each give one gift to the other and it has to be handmade. They open them on Christmas Eve

• They spend Christmas Day with the pack every year. It’s the joyous, familial, chaotic Christmas that Sam dreamed of as a child, and it heals something in him bit by bit each year.

[nu-carniviva]

Happy Halloween everyone! I'm staying home this year giving out candy to kids, so here's what I think the clan would do if they had to give out candy too :>

Also inspired by a tiktok I saw with the same concept but with Saiki K characters

Eiden: Eiden would do what you'd pretty much expect for someone in his position. He waits for kids to knock on his door before greeting them with a smile and complimenting their costumes while handing out candy. He starts to get bored after a while though. The kids are cute and all, but sometimes Eiden thinks back to his partying days and how he'd spend Halloween nights partying all night in a slutty costume. Oh well. At least he has Aster and Morvay and whoever else might be in the mansion to keep him company. It gives him an opportunity to talk about Halloween back in his world too.

Aster: Aster might take Eiden's place from time to time to hand out candy. But of course, in true Aster The Moneymaking Machine fashion, he found a way to make some money on the side. Sure, you can have one of the big fancy candy bars… For a small fee >:3 Though he knows not many people go out trick-or-treating with money, so he'll settle for a trade. A bunch of the other person's small candy in exchange for one big candy. I like to think Aster has a bit of a sweet tooth.

Morvay: I've always headcanoned that Morvay has a thing for candy. I wouldn't say he has a sweet tooth, but he does definitely have an oral fixation if that wasn't obvious already. He'd probably snatch up some pieces of the candy he's supposed to be giving out (either by request of Eiden or order of Aster) but they're usually things like lollipops. If a kid with a really hot dad showed up, Morvay can and will try to invite him inside for a… special Halloween treat. Freaky ass.

Yakumo: If you want the good stuff, Yakumo will be your very best bet. Halloween gives Yakumo the excuse to bake, and how could he pass up an opportunity like that? The word will eventually spread around the children of the Light Territory (maybe even the Water Territory if they're close enough) that there's a tall, kind man handing out yummy homemade treats and candies, they'll come flocking to him. Yakumo gets a little overwhelmed by the swarm of children at his door, but he's beyond happy that so many people are enjoying his baking. He might have gone a little overboard though, because despite all the treats he gave away, he has leftovers for everyone in the clan.

Edmond: Realistically, Edmond would probably be too busy with his knightly duties to hand out candy, as I'd imagine holidays are always pretty hectic for the knights. If he does get the chance, however, Edmond would be the type to stay outside the whole time passing out candy so he can keep watch in case any suspicious activity starts going on. Whatever amount of candy Edmond has for trick-or-treaters, he has double that amount at home for himself. How this man's teeth haven't rotted out of his head is beyond me.

Olivine: Naturally, the temple is the most popular place in the Water Territory for trick-or-treaters to visit. People of all ages swarm the temple for a chance to interact with Olivine. He's used to all the attention, but he'd be very grateful if someone else from the clan were able to help him pass out candy. He makes sure to compliment every person's costume with his signature gentle smile, and I'd like to bet that some people get so excited that they faint. It's a certainly eventful night at the temple, to say the least.

Quincy: Sigh. How troublesome. Quincy would much rather be celebrating the holiday with a nice, long slumber — or at the very least carving more pampos (Eiden got him into it. It's actually pretty calming) — but if he must pass out candy, he can't bring himself to say no. Fortunately, if he's in his own home, not many people are in the Wood Territory in the first place, and usually the ones who do visit are yokai interested in this strange human holiday. But if he's at the mansion, he'll be dealing with many more visitors. At least Topper is enjoying himself... And stealing some candy.

Kuya: Kuya is all trick, no treat. I'm not sure if anyone would actually be stupid enough to visit his home to trick or treat, but Kuya still gets his fun in by toying with anyone passing by. His little tricks range from something as simple as changing the layout of the forest to get people lost, to casting illusions so insane that people swear they're going to die that night. Maybe he'll cast an illusion of rabid beasts chasing people down and attacking. Maybe he'll cast an illusion of people's costumes coming to life and trapping the people inside to slowly absorb them. He miiiight be on better behavior if Eiden was around, but not significantly. There's certainly never a dull moment with Kuya around.

Garu & Karu: Costumes? Candy? Decorations? Candy? Spooky attractions? CANDY? Needless to say, Garu and Karu are interested. Garu loves seeing everyone's fun costumes and gives everyone lots of enthusiastic, tail-wagging praise. Karu, on the other hand, uses the opportunity to spread the word of his world domination to these tiny humans so they will have no choice but to cower in fear or offer to be one of his human slaves… Or so he wishes. Each time, the children are like "Haha okay mister. Do you have any candy?" Garu and Karu have one thing and common though: scarfing down candy. They aren't very subtle about eyeing the candy in every trick-or-treater's bag, and someone else in the mansion always needs to monitor them in case they start stealing too much of the candy they're supposed to be giving out.

Blade: First of all, Blade played a big role in decorating the mansion and you can clearly tell that from like a mile away. He made his own costume too… But nobody can ever figure out what he's supposed to be (unless he dresses up as Eiden, then Eiden will stare at him in horror.) All the costumes are suuuper cute to him, which will totally confuse kids wearing costumes that are supposed to be scary. Every time he gives someone their candy, he sings a little "candy for yooou~!" per person. I wouldn't be surprised if he spent the week prior making a bunch of little Eiden dolls to put into everyone's bags too. Everyone Needs A Little Darling !

Dante: Sun Lord Dante giving candy out to the children of the Fire Territory? Such a thing would originally be unheard of… Before Eiden came along. Now, for reasons Dante would never admit out loud, he feels compelled to hand out candy, or at least have one of his servants do it. Though if he is the one doing it, he's a little scary about it. Try as he might, Dante just does not have a friendly face or voice (but he swears he's trying.) Overall, Dante isn't a fan of feeding his people such sweet treats, buuuuut just doing it one night every 365 days wouldn't hurt. As long as everyone works it off the next day.

Rei: Like Quincy, Rei has no interest in handing out candy, as he believes there are better ways to be spending his time. Difference is, though, is that Rei does what he wants and truly does not give out candy. If he's home, he'll keep the lights off and work on the ground with a single little lamp on. If he's at the mansion, he simply won't answer the door. There's other people in the mansion, after all. If they want to give out candy so badly, they can do it themselves. But, for the sake of this post, let's say he decides to give out candy. Rei would just toss a candy bar vaguely in the direction of whoever is at the house and shut the door. The kid got their candy, so no complaints allowed.