#happy halloween what is more frightening than company? nothing actually

[aaronstveit]

[delimeful]

breathing cleaner air (1)

winner of fic poll, a new BTHB fic for halloween month! the prompt for this one was "Painful Transformation"!

warnings: body horror, painful transformation, fighting/violence, dehumanizing language, antagonist (but not unsympth) virgil, religious terms borrowed to name original monsters (no actual religious connections), miscommunication/language barrier, mortal peril, thinking youre going to die

extra note: this is a multichapter fic, but this first chapter ends on a very concerning note. there is an eventual happy ending in later chapters, promise!

-

Roman wasn’t sure exactly when he’d been separated from the rest of his entourage.

One moment, Logan was at his shoulder, his firm hand keeping Roman from stumbling over gnarled tree roots, and the next, he was alone, with only faint echoes of his own voice to keep him company.

Their quarry was certainly powerful, to be able to warp so much of the woods around them with thick fog and unnatural darkness. He should have expected as much.

After all, this was the same monster that had been infiltrating the Dimiour kingdom at night and stealing away children from their families. It would have to be strong in order to pull that off.

His right-hand knight would surely recommend retreating and regrouping in more neutral territory, but this was the first time they’d actually caught the fiend in the act. Seraphs were notoriously agile, with the maneuverability of the three sets of razor-sharp wings that had earned them their moniker. Once one was out of sight, it wasn’t likely to be seen again.

This time, though, the tracer spell on Roman’s compass was still active and locked on to the target.

There was no way he could return to his court empty-handed. He was the crown prince. He couldn’t be a failure. Not when there was so much at stake.

Firming his shoulders, he pushed onwards, his sword drawn.

The forest was eerily quiet around him, making the scuff of his shoes against the ground seem harsh enough to lead any enemy right to him. He shook off the thought; he was the one pursuing here. Let them come and face him.

Roman glanced up from his compass, and paused at the sight of a familiar-looking rotting tree trunk. He’d noticed one just like it about thirty paces back because it had a rare strain of fungus that Remus would have liked. What were the odds that the same rare fungus dotted the same side of a different identical rotting log?

Sure enough, another thirty paces and the log popped up again. Despite following the needle of his compass devotedly, he was being led in circles. A mind-altering ability, along with the manipulation of light and water they’d already seen? Roman shuddered, imagining what the monster could be planning with so much power at its disposal.

Luckily, Roman had more than enough faith in Logan’s spellcasting.

He closed his eyes, letting the clink of the needle guide his steps closer and closer to his target. His mind rebelled, senses muffling as though he was walking through thick honey instead of air, and then, with a pop, he was though.

When he opened his eyes, there was a small house in a clearing in front of him.

It was less ramshackle than he would have expected, the candlelight in the windows looking almost cozy compared to the dark forest surrounding it.

Assured that the kidnapping culprit lay just ahead, he tucked the compass into his pocket, strode forward, and kicked the door down.

Immediately, his eyes were drawn to the figure in the middle of the room, who had spun around at his arrival.

It looked startlingly human, wide eyed and messy haired, but the single set of dark wings taking up half the room were a dead giveaway to the seraph’s true nature. Those fragile core wings could be hidden, protected, even glamored away, but they never vanished entirely. They were the most reliable way to expose a seraph hidden in a human guise.

The seraph swore lowly, flaring the feathery appendages out to make itself look bigger.

Roman could just barely make out the small figures crowded against the back corner of the room, anxious eyes peering out at him. He felt something in him loosen in relief at the sight of the children still alive, if undoubtedly terrified. He’d half-expected the horrific alternative.

“I’ll tell you this once, you feathery fiend,” he said, pointing his sword at the monster directly. “Release the innocents you’ve kidnapped, and I won’t make your end painful.”

Its pupils narrowed to slits, and it spread its wings wider, hiding the children from view. When it spoke, there was a high, grating discordant note under the words. “Not. A. Chance.”

“Then face the consequences!” Roman shouted, and lunged.

The seraph was surprisingly adept at defending, flexing its hands and using long, sharp claws to block his blows and get in some of its own. Even in battle, it always remained between Roman and the children it held hostage, and the poor things were too frightened to respond to his calls for them to run.

Frustrating, but nothing he couldn’t overcome. In the end, Roman had been trained with the sword since he could stand, and no child-abducting angel impersonator could best him in battle.

When the inevitable opening came, he seized it, pushing forward until the seraph’s back was to the wall. Cornered, it hissed lowly at him before catching his next strike on its claws. It strained against his sword, its shaking arms the only thing keeping his blade from reaching its throat. Only a little further, and--

“Stop it!” A small voice shouted, on the edge of tears. “Don’t hurt him!”

Roman’s head jerked up, his attention caught by the distressed call.

The children were still huddled together, but one at the front of the group had stepped forward, fists clenched and gaze angry.

“Leave him alone!” she demanded, glaring directly at Roman.

Something fluttered at her back, and Roman’s eyes widened.

“You’re--,” he started, and then the seraph twisted in his grip, and he only barely caught the motion of its hand toward his head before glass shattered against his skull.

He staggered back as thick liquid spilled over his head, too cool to be blood.

Rather than pursue the opening, the seraph stepped back, wings finally settling back against its back. The lack of aggression was strange, after it had so fiercely responded to his challenge. Seraphim weren’t known for mercy.

Roman stepped forwards, his mouth shaping the first syllable of a question, and then abruptly understood as his body began to burn coldly, like he’d pressed ice directly to every inch of his skin. His sword dropped from numb fingers, clattering to the floor.

He’d been poisoned.

“New plan, we’re moving tonight,” the seraph began to speak, addressing the children, but Roman’s heartbeat was too loud in his ears to make out the rest of its words.

He fell to hands and knees, a line of burning pain along his spine. Some of the children sent him looks, nervous or pitying or angry, but most were busy scurrying around and gathering everything that wasn’t nailed down. He could see now, the small sets of wings on each and every one’s back, marking them as his kingdom’s enemies.

Why had he been told they were human? A leak in the court? Who had lied?

The seraph crouched in front of him, gaze unreadable. Its eyes were mismatched, Roman noticed nonsensically as another wave of pain shuddered through him.

“Well, that didn’t go to plan.” It brushed the remains of a glass vial from its hand, and Roman stared at the dark liquid left on the pieces.

“Wh--at did you do. To me,” he grit out between pants, struggling to keep himself upright.

“Congrats. You get to see how it feels to be us. To be hunted,” the seraph told him with an unfriendly smile. “Maybe it’ll change your perspective a little. Or maybe you’ll just bite it.”

It shrugged and flipped up its hood, rising to its feet, and kicked Roman’s sword up into its grip. Roman protested the theft on principle, but his voice came out strained and feeble like he’d never heard it before.

Before it followed the last kid out the door, it paused, glancing at him one last time.

“Once the bones are done, it gets easier,” it told him. “Good luck.”

Roman didn’t realize just what that meant until he heard the first resounding crack.

He finally lost his battle with gravity, collapsing to the ground with an agonized cry. That noise-- from inside him--?

There was another crack, and a series of pops like dislocating joints, and then his skin was melting and he was fading in and out of consciousness, roused and put under by the same overwhelming, all-consuming agony. Each time he woke, he could hear grinding and shifting inside of him, as though his insides were rebelling against their natural placement.

The seraph hadn’t been lying: the bones were the most painful part, and once the last one had clicked back into place, there was a palpable difference in pain levels. He still hurt, ached beyond measure, but it was no longer so much that he couldn’t even think past the pain. It almost felt like relief.

Roman focused on breathing, slow and deep, until he felt a little less like he was going to shake apart. He didn’t know of any poison that could do something like this. It was magic-- strong, cursed magic, and unlike Logan’s, there was no softness in it.

It took what felt like hours for him to gain the resolve to push himself up, and even longer to maintain the motion even as every nerve ending in his body protested. His vision was blurry, and his balance felt entirely off, even more so than that time Remus had dared him to jump off the roof and he’d gotten a concussion.

When he finally properly looked down at himself, he found feathers and bone lining his hands, transforming them into sharp claws and rigid armor. Familiar, but only because he’d seen them on his enemies time and time again.

The shock of adrenaline at the sight was helpful in pushing his aching muscles to the back of his mind as he rose to his knees and twisted to look at himself, staring at the three sets of bright wings draped down from his back.

Golden and white feathers lined them, lined his ears and throat and chest, framing the white exoskeleton pieces inset in his skin.

He sat back on his haunches, and took a few deep, whistling breaths before trying to speak, to say anything in his own voice. To prove he was still himself.

The sound that emerged from his throat was hollow and resonant, like woodwind instruments in harmony. It sent chills of anticipation down his spine, for he’d only ever heard the uncanny call before battle.

There was no denying it, however much he might want to. His body had been warped, transformed into the worst enemy of his kingdom, the beasts that plagued their people day and night. He was a seraph.

He had to get help.

Surely, there was someone among the court who knew about this curse, who could procure a solution, some kind of cure. He couldn’t be stuck as a monster, he was Dimiour’s crown prince!

He pushed himself up to his feet and found he was taller than before, limbs thin and spindly. All six of the wings lifted and curled around him automatically, creating the shell of bright feathery limbs that marked a seraph on defense. They were lighter than he would have expected, seeing as he knew the true form feathers were as sharp as any knife.

He stumbled through the door into the open forest air, taking a significant chunk out of the door frame as he went. His limbs were unsteady with inexperience, the gait distinctly different, almost hunched over to counterbalance the weight of his-- the wings.

In the distance, Roman heard voices calling his name.

He loped towards the sounds with barely a thought, attempting not to overthink every staggering movement. The underbrush scraped and rattled around him, announcing his presence well before he cleared the treeline and found himself faced with the weapons of his own squadron.

He tried to speak automatically, to show them that he wasn’t what they thought, but all that left him were those discordant, eerie notes, like overlapping birds of prey. He sounded like a nightmare come to life, and he noticed with abrupt horror that some of the newer trainees were faltering, clapping hands over their ears.

A blade flashed in the corner of his vision, and he raised an arm automatically. With a clang, the attacking knight’s glaive rebounded off his arm so sharply that the man wielding it nearly toppled. Another knight quickly moved between them, weapon raised defensively as their fellow recovered.

Roman stared at his arm, now covered in an extra layer, a hardened shell of bone. The armor had appeared-- had ossified into place, quicker than he could think.

“Hold!” A familiar voice called, and Roman turned to it like it was an oasis in a drought. Logan. Logan was here, he was the smartest person he knew, if anyone would have a solution, it would be him.

An odd crooning note bubbled up from his chest, but it cut off sharply at the sight of his right-hand man.

Logan stood sturdy with his scythe staff held up in one hand, and not a glint of recognition in his eyes.

“Move on, continue searching for our liege,” he directed, voice firm. “I will handle this opponent.”

Roman screeched, wings flaring in upset, trying over and over to manage anything recognizable as human speech. Anything at all that would let his closest friend identify him.

Logan didn’t even flinch at the sound, well-practiced in filtering out the skull-splitting calls of seraphim. He’d been in more battles than Roman ever had, out on the field while Roman was stuck learning courtly etiquette.

He’d earned himself the mantle of ‘Executioner’, and the thought had never sent a chill down Roman’s spine the way it did now.

But then, Roman had never been the one on this end of Logan’s casting, had he?

The others continued forward on their commanding officer’s orders, searching for someone who stood right before them, and abandoning him to a fight he couldn’t win.

Logan knew seraphim better than anyone else, how they functioned on every level.

Roman barely knew how to operate this new body, and more than that, he was terrified of it, of the damage he could unknowingly deal his best friend. It could hardly be called an equal match.

Still, it was almost a surprise to feel the impact of Logan’s first cast, a draining spell designed to weaken the enemy. He didn’t want to believe this situation was real, any of it, but the burning pins and needles racing through him were undeniable.

His wings wrapped around him more securely, he intended to turn, to flee the way no prince should. Perhaps it was this cowardice that resulted in the way he only made it two steps before exhaustion made him stumble.

Or maybe it was the way the most painful transformation of his life had turned his body inside-out what felt like mere moments ago.

Either way, he was in no position to dodge the next spell, or resist the darkness blooming in his vision as he tipped over that precarious line into unconsciousness.

His last glimpse of the world around him was Logan, weapon in hand, striding closer with his face set determinedly. Roman’s foolishness had never managed to outlast or outwit that expression before, and he had no doubt that this instance would be much the same.

At least, with any luck, his friend would never know what he’d done.

[voidofwords]

the monster in my closet

happy halloween! i wrote this story about a queer kid befriending the monster in their closet. i really enjoyed writing it and i hope someone will enjoy reading it too <3

 There is a monster in my closet. 

I don’t know how long it has been there. Perhaps it snuck in one day, while I was sleeping. Or perhaps, it’s as much a part of my room as the closet itself.

I don’t bother the monster. I don’t think it even knows that I know it’s here. 

You can only hear it at night. I used to lie awake, terrified, but now it almost feels, strangely, like the monster is keeping me company. When I’m crying myself to sleep, the horrible monster sounds seem a little gentler. A little kinder. 

I’m lying awake one lonely night, listening to the unearthly sounds coming from my closet, when I decide there is no point in pretending to ignore the monster. There is something we have in common, after all. 

“I know you’re in there,” I say into the night. It’s barely more than a whisper, but the monster stops making noise for a second. I sit up in bed and turn on the dim light by my bed. “I know you’re inside my closet.” 

I wasn’t expecting the monster to speak in return. Perhaps because it never has before. But it does. “You speak of me, human child?” Its voice, if you can call it that, feels strange and unknowable. Yet here I am, knowing it. 

I nod, but I don’t think the monster can see me, though I can’t be sure. “You’re the monster in my closet. You’re always there, so I don’t see why I should keep pretending I don’t know that you exist. Sorry, but you’re not exactly subtle.”

“Oh.” Even that one syllable sounds monstrous coming from the creature. But also… a little sad. “I am supposed to stay hidden, human child. You are not supposed to know me.”

“I know. I get what that’s like.”

The monster sounds perplexed. Befuddled, even. “How could a human child such as yourself possibly understand?”

That is when I get out of bed and go to stand in front of the closet door. “I understand because… I’m in the closet too.” 

“You?” The monster growls. “You are not the one inside of this closet, human child. You are outside of it.”

“I’m…” I shift on my feet, grasping for the words to explain. “In a different kind of closet.” 

There is a long stretch of silence, before the monster speaks again. “Human child, you are in your room. A room is not a closet. What closet is it you speak of?”

“Well, it’s different from your closet. But in a way, it’s not. I’m… hiding something. A big part of who I am. Just like you’re hiding in there.” 

“Oh,” the monster says, in that voice people use when they want to sound like they understand, but they don’t really. “What do you have to hide?”

I take a deep breath. I have never said this out loud to anyone before, and the thought of actually saying it is more terrifying than any horrors that hide in childrens’ closets. “I’m a boy.”

I said it, and the world didn’t end, but I am met with more confused silence from the closet. “There are many human children that are boys. Why would you need to hide that?” the monster asks. 

“Well…” I sigh. “In everyone’s eyes, I’m supposed to be a girl. And I can’t tell them the truth, because I’m terrified they will reject me, or even hurt me.” 

This time, the silence that follows is pondering, charged with a near understanding. “Listen, human boy. I have inhabited many human childrens’ closets. They never come near me. I frighten them, you see. But you… You are not afraid, are you? You are speaking to me, as though you know me.” 

I nod, sitting down on the carpeted floor with my back against the closet. “I don’t really… have any friends. And the ones I have don’t know the real me. They would hate me if they did.” 

There is a low rumble from inside the closet. It sounds like nothing I have ever heard before, like if the word ghastly was a sound. “Friends?”

“Yeah. You know, people you… hang out with. And talk to.” I shrug. I’m not sure I’m the best person to explain what friendship is. 

“Friends.” The monster seems to ponder that word for a long time. “Human boy, you are speaking to me, and I to you. Does that mean we are… friends?” 

I laugh, leaning my head against the closet wall. “If you want it to mean that, sure.”

The delighted noises coming from the closet almost sound like laughter, if unspeakable horrors could laugh. It’s infectious, and I feel myself grinning. “I have never been someone’s friend before,” the monster says. “I have never been anything but the horrible nightmare that lurks in human childrens’ closets.”

“Well,” I say. “There’s a first for everything. I’ve never told anyone I’m a boy before.” I wait hesitantly, unsure if I should ask the question I want to ask. “So… If we’re friends, can I know your name?”

“My… name?” 

“Mhmm. What are you called?”

The closet shakes a little. “I am called nothing in a tongue within your comprehension.” 

“Oh,” I say. “Then… what does it sound like in your own… tongue?”

“Human boy,” the monster responds. “My title is not knowable for someone of your world.”

I nod. “Right. Okay, well… How about something I can call you then? A nickname?” 

The monster shifts the conversation rather than answering: “Do you have one of these… names?”

I sigh and close my eyes. “Well. It’s complicated. The name I was given is a girls name, so it obviously doesn’t fit. But… I haven’t decided on a new one.” I open my eyes again and turn my head towards the closet. “Maybe you can help me pick one.” 

“Oh. Yes, I shall help give you a name. And perhaps,” the monster says, “you can help find one for me in return.” 

I smile. “Yeah! Okay, so… I have a few ideas for names. I think I like the names Sebastian and Miles the best. They just.. both feel like they would suit me, you know?” 

The monster is quiet, except for a deep, low hum. “Miles. Sebastian.” It says both names slowly, and I get the sense it’s… tasting them. If monsters can taste, that is. “These names both feel as though they hold indescribable power.” 

I laugh. “They’re both fairly common names for a boy. But… well, I guess names do have power.” I suddenly have an idea. “Hey, is there either of these names you like? If you do, you can have the one I don’t end up using.”

The closet shakes beside me again, but this time, it seems like a joyful kind of shaking. “That would be the greatest honor I have ever been bestowed.” The monster repeats the two names in a low whisper again and again, before addressing me at its normal volume: “Human boy, will you bestow me the honorific title of Miles?” 

I lean against the closet again with a grin. Weirdly, the name Miles suits this strange creature. And I had been leaning more towards Sebastian for myself. “Alright,” I say. “Consider yourself bestowed… Miles.” 

“Ah. Yes.” This time, there is definitely no mistaking the sounds coming from the monster - Miles - as pure delight. “And in turn, I shall call you Sebastian.”

Wow. I’ve never felt this… seen before. I have never had anyone see me for who I really am, and call me a name that actually feels like mine.

Perhaps, befriending the monster in the closet wasn’t such a bad idea.

[another-snape-story]

Always On My Mind

Chapter XII

Snape thought about you more than he should, more than he considered to be appropriate, but there was nothing he could do to resist that uncontrollable attraction he's grown to feel towards you. Being a loner his whole life, probably for the first time in many years, he found comfort in someone's company – your company. Afraid to admit the fact, Snape gave absurd excuses to explain the feeling that expanded his chest every time he saw you, realizing perfectly well, however, how pointless it was to deny the obvious. His typical mistrust in people, which escalated now, on the eve of return of Him-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and initial desire to find out if there was any kind of threat for school or its students in your intentions when you applied for the position of Hogwarts Professor a few months ago, played a cruel trick on the man, drawing his interest – and later his heart – to a woman, who started meaning for him more than a colleague should. It wasn't right, Snape thought, and this thought made him sad. His obligations in current circumstances – that's what he had to focus on. Moreover, who on earth would want to have him close? Nobody would accept him, he knew it; and his skeletons would always drag him back into the dusty cupboard, where no room was left for joy or even hope – only darkness and emptiness. Pulled himself together, he carried on, still remaining kind to you but trying to keep a certain distance. 

Nothing has changed in his appearance – he's always looked brooding actually. Neither did you notice any change in his attitude. You shared smiles seeing each other in school corridors, had long conversations in the staff room, which led you deep into the night and brought slight headache in the morning due to the lack of sleep. Sometimes you invited him to your office for a cup of tea, but that black armchair in cold Potions classroom seemed more appealing anyway, and Snape, being aware of this, prepared wool plaid blanket for you every time he expected you to pay him a visit, pretending it's always been there.  Although it didn't surprise you any longer, your heart grew a size – you knew he cared for you, and were eminently grateful for his attention. Nevertheless, you still were afraid to say or do something, that Snape might dislike or – what frightened you even more – something, that might push him away – his serious look always kept you alert. He never seemed fully relaxed, therefore you couldn't do it either. Sometimes though, you could notice his features soften in response to your random phrase or look, reflecting his true attitude towards your personality, which – despite all his feigned indifference – seemed like a promising sign of inevitable warming in your relationship.

“Professor Sprout's been too busy with pumpkins for Halloween recently, so today it's me delivering this,” you slumped a box of an impressive size on Snape's desk. You carried it through the whole castle and were happy to finally get rid of this heavy load.

“I thought it was Hagrid who took care of pumpkins,” Snape opened the lid, examining the box content. “It's always been his exclusive privilege.”

“He’s been struggling with gourd aphids for two weeks now,” you explained without showing much concern. “I added some extra item,” your eye excitedly dived in the depth of the box as your finger pointed into it.

“Snargaluff,” Snape spotted surplus jar with green pulsating pod enchanted to always stay fresh. It took him no effort to identify it at once. Perfect, almost twice bigger than prevalent, it glistened in the daylight.

“I just thought you wouldn’t mind having it in your storages,” you looked up at him to make sure he was pleased.

“Merlin, I hope its thorned vines didn’t hurt you,” he frowned worriedly, trying to get a better view of your hands – he wasn’t going to grab you, no matter how bad he itched to.

You pursed your lips to suppress a smile which threatened to give out your embarrassment which suddenly took over you, and drove your eyes away for a second. Not the kind of reaction you’ve expected, but seeing this fleeting transformation on his stone face, usually stingy for expressing any kind of emotion, felt so surprisingly flattering.

“Who do you think I am?” you grouched with discontent in a joky manner.

“If you only saw his pleading eyes – Hagrid’s – when he begged for help, poor thing!” you giggled kindheartedly, changing the topic. “It’s so weird seeing a man of his size almost crying over damaged pumpkins!”

“Never got why they can’t just conjure them,” Snape shook his head disapprovingly. “Minerva could’ve given those little dunderheads some additional practice in Transfiguration.”

“Let them do what they want,” you sighed, “unless you’re not involved, of course.”

“Instead of avoiding unwanted job, better create favorable circumstances that increase the chances of not doing it. Otherwise it’d be too late to keep away.”

“You’re a clever guy, Professor Snape,” you teased him, walking around his desk. “And how often do you make people think what is advantageous to you?”

“Some-times,” he responded stretching the word, as slowly as his glance followed you. “For instance, I let you think for a while I didn’t notice that bandage under your sleeve.” His eyes narrowed, while he stared at you with reproach. “As you’ve just mentioned,” his tone gained cold notes, “I’m a clever guy, indeed.”

“Not that clever to presume I would lie about a scratch from Snargaluff,” you approached him, smiling softly.

“What is it then?” ashamed of making quick – and therefore false – conclusion, Snape blinked confusedly.

“It has to do with the seed you’ve given me,” you clarified proudly, “but it’s a surprise!”

“How did you… What?”

“The seed defends itself, when… Well. I can’t tell you now. Will you be patient, until…”

“Until it kills you?” Snape grunted and you laughed.

“I hope it won’t go that far!”

“Let me have a look,” he stretched out his hand, expecting you’d give him yours. But you just squeezed his palm as a token of gratitude and let go.

“It’s fine, Poppy was so nice to provide me with everything I needed. It’s no more a matter of concern.”

Snape hated surprises. Never had he ever had one to his liking – all surprises he’s encountered happened to be of an unpleasant kind. Neither did this one promise to be enjoyable. What on Earth you had on your mind? And why you found it so exciting putting yourself in danger?

“I got to go now,” you announced not without regret. “Just dropped in for a minute…”

“…and stayed for half an hour,” Snape smiled warmly.

“As usual,” you chuckled. “Sorry for taking your time again.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you’d take some more,” he thought, and said in a more formal tone, “thank you for Snargaluff. It’s exceptionally good.”

“Just good?” you portrayed disappointment.

“I said exceptionally good! Okay, it’s outstanding,” he smirked.

“Outstanding,” you declaimed, savoring the word. “Outstanding sounds much better!”

You swiftly disappeared behind the door, leaving your fellow Professor smile pensively, unwilling to let lighthearted image of yours out of his mind.

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[bucky-s-girl-n-stuff]

Everything that could happen in a week part.1

summary: you’re invited to the Thrombey’s Halloween party, by your friend Meg. Between old man being too handsy while drunk and the others having heated political arguments borderline racist, you manage to survive for a week thanks to a new acquaintance you make. 

pairing: Ransom Drysdale x reader

warning: drugs, sexual innuendos, Ransom being Ransom.

I woke up on an early morning at the sound of a violent wind causing the rain to pour on my windows. I don’t know why but I loved this kind of weather. The noise it made was calming, soothing and made me want to stay home all day watching TV shows with a cup of tea warming my cold hands. I rolled over on my stomach and stared at my window, contemplating the raindrops racing down. I closed my eyes one last time, taking a deep breath before getting up. Fast enough, I got into my morning routine. I started by stretching exercises and then moved on to making myself breakfast which consisted of eggs, an avocado toast and of course coffee. I, then, proceeded to take a shower and brush my teeth.

Today was the 31st of October which meant Halloween party tonight. The theme of this year's Halloween was “Movies”. I already had my costume ready hanging on to my bedroom door. I chose to be Juliett from Romeo+Juliett with Leonardo Dicaprio and Claire Danes from 1996. 

I was invited by a friend, Meg, who came from a noble family: the Thrombeys. They had in their hands the holy trinity: power, money and good looks. I met her in college. I was studying social sciences at the time and during one of my anthropological investigation, I stumbled upon her. We grew to be pretty close and she ended up being my best and only friend.  I’ve always been the shy kid, the quiet teenager and the introvert grown-up. I always kept everything to myself and even kept my deepest feelings, my most personal memories and thoughts from Meg, only telling her what she needed to know. That’s why she was my only friend: never asked too much and always knew when to back off. 

Meg and I decided it would be easier if I came late in the afternoon to get ready for the party. I put my costume in the suitcase I packed the night before and decided it was time to go as it was a four hours drive from New York to Boston, not including the lunch break. I got into my car and took my appearance in, from the interior rear-view. I hadn’t put any makeup on since I was going to drive for hours and I was going to do it for the party once arrived. I chose to be comfy, wearing a big hoody with leggings and uggs for shoes. I plugged my phone to the car and programmed my GPS to the address Meg had sent me. 

The drive to the Manoir had taken more than five hours due to a traffic jam and I had finally arrived at 6 p.m.-ish, one hour before the guests were supposed to arrive. As I was closing my trunk, I saw Meg getting out of the house and running up to me. Preparing myself for what was coming I put down my suitcase. 

“y/n, I missed you!”, she breathed while collapsing on me for a hug. 

“Hey Meg, I missed you too”, I replied softly. 

I was happy to see her after being apart for a year. It was like I had been deprived of touch for so long, it felt good to feel her warmth against me. 

 She then proceeded to take my suitcase while telling me about what was going on in her life like we didn’t call each other once a week, and she guided me to my bedroom for the week.

“So, that’s where you’ll be staying. My room is at the end of the hallway and next to you is Ransom’s room, my cousin. Behind this door is the bathroom.” Meg informed me.

“Thanks. I guess I just have to settle in and get ready for the party then.” I replied with a smile.

I just had finished getting ready when I heard the firsts guests coming and invading the ground floor. Meg was already downstairs as she had to help shortly after I arrived to make sure everything was as planned. I hated those parties, too many people who had too much to drink. It was mostly rich people, never satisfied with what they already had. All greedy, and envious. Ugly inside and gathering around Harlan, Meg’s grandfather, like rats. As I opened the door to make my way downstairs, I came face to face with a man. He seemed as surprised as I was but quickly built back his composture. He rolled his eyes so hard I thought they might be stuck inside his head and muttered something about “Meg’s stupid friends”. After he entered the room next to mine, I was able to put a name on this man’s face: Ransom as Meg had informed me earlier.

We were one hour into the party and I already wanted to kill myself. As I had predicted, everyone was drunk and Meg was wasted. She had invited over other friends she knew from school but in my opinion, they were bad news for her. So, I was settled in the corner of the living room sipping on my drink and just looking at the complete mess that the guests were in front of me. I felt uncomfortable and needed air so I decided to walk in the garden a little. It was a little bit cold but the wind wasn’t as bad as in New York. It was nice out for the end of October. I decided to follow the path around the house and see if there was anything to discover. I was lucky that my character wore flats because I wouldn’t have been able to walk on the gravel with heels on. Behind the first corner, I saw a way to go up on a patio. Once arrived, I could contemplate the many trees before me and nothing else for miles. Suddenly, someone cleared their throat behind me, scaring me as I had not seen them. I turned around to see Ransom, smirking and seemingly happy to have frightened me. My hand was still resting on my heart, having trouble to calm down. 

“I didn’t know there was someone up there. Sorry, I’ll go.” I whispered. 

“No it’s fine, you can stay, just don’t tell my parents about this,” he said while showing me a joint. 

Of course, I thought to myself, rolling my eyes in my head. 

“I won’t, go ahead,” I replied raising my hand to accompany my words.

He lighted it up after my “go-ahead” even though he would have done it no matter what. I turned around facing the view as he took his first puff out.

“So, you’re Ransom right?” I asked, feeling awkward he wasn’t saying anything after five minutes. 

He hummed at my question and it felt dead silent again. I just abandoned the thought of socializing and decided to look at the landscape. After what felt an eternity, he broke the silence much to my despair.

“ I didn’t quite catch your name earlier" 

Very smooth I commented in my head. 

"I didn’t give it to you that’s why,” I replied, my back still to him. I hoped he would have left it at that but he was ready to start a conversation now he was drugged and nice. 

“ooh sassy, I like it” he laughed. “Come on, you know mine it’s only fair that I know who I’m telling my secrets to…" 

I debated if I should give him my name but realised I was here for a week and if he was close family I would probably run into him again. And hell, it was just a name.

"y/n, my name is y/n,” I answered facing him. 

I took a good look at him while I could and tried to understand him better and find out who he was throughout his posture and mimics. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, head cocked like a puppy and sported this smirk I wanted to wipe off his face so bad. 

“Cute name” is all he said. And then again silence fell between the two of us. The silence was broken when I heard Meg screaming my name from what seemed to be the porch. I started to make my way back when Ransom held my wrist gently tugging me toward the windows of the balcony hiding us from below. Meg was still calling me and approaching us. I questioned Ransom with my eyes as to why he was preventing me from telling Meg I was there but he just put a finger to his lips in a shush manner. Once Meg got discouraged or didn’t even remember what she was doing outside, we heard her go back inside and Ransom let me go.

“I just didn’t want her to know I smoked her joint from her reserve.” he shrugged. 

“Really? I told you I wasn’t going to tell anyone.” I said a little exasperated.

“I know, maybe I didn’t want to be all alone,” he replied sheepishly. 

“Sure, there is a party downstairs and there are a lot of people invited if you like the company,” I said sarcastically. He smiled at my answer and took my hand which caught me off guards. 

“Maybe we could go somewhere more private, like my room and we could talk, or…” as he was saying that he got closer to me invading the little private space I had left in the corner of the balcony, looking me up and down. As I realized what he meant I took my hand off his, pretty violently, and got as far away as I could, disgusted by the man. 

“You are the most pretentious and narcissistic person I’ve ever met to believe I would actually be interested in sleeping with you,” I said incredulously. I just frowned upon him and got back inside as quickly as I could utterly disgust by the man. 

“ouch” is the last word he said a hand over his heart trying to make the situation comical to what I only scoffed. This was going to be a long week. 

[lost-in-time-marie]

Into the Shadows: Chapter Six

           I stared at my reflection in the mirror attempting to recognize myself underneath the black bandit style mask (a replica of my shadowy hero’s) and knee length black dress. There was the familiar splash of brown hair, falling in loose careful waves to my shoulder. My hazel eyes could be seen, somehow more striking than before, thanks to the black mask surrounding them. My pale skin glowed in stark contrast to the plain dress. Perhaps it was just the fact that I was going to a haunted house that made my stomach curl or maybe the mask was giving me PTSD about the two times I’d been attacked and then rescued by some unknown hero, but I knew in my bones, without room for doubt, that tonight would not be fun as Natasha, James, and Aleks had promised.

           Halloween had finally arrived, a fact I would normally be overjoyed by, Halloween being my second favorite holiday, the only day all year you could be anyone but yourself and no one could judge you for it. The haunted house our school was putting on was making me uneasy, that’s what I kept telling myself anyways. I even forced Natasha, Sam, Aleks, and Katy to join the set-up committee with me, that way I would know all the surprises and plans so I couldn’t really get frightened when I actually went.

         “Pull yourself together, Kristin. You’re being ridiculous. Nothing is going to happen, it’s just a haunted house!” I muttered to myself, forcing myself to take three deep breaths. That helped, by the time Natasha honked her horn out front, I was marginally calmer and managed some excitement for tonight. This would be a great Halloween; I silenced any thought or feeling that disputed that fact.

         “You excited to see you lover?” Natasha teased, as I slid easily into the black, leather interior of her car. Natasha had been nearly incorrigible since I announced my impending date with James.

         I rolled my eyes, “You’re hilarious,” I muttered, in no mood for such cracks about James.

“So, are you crazy excited for tonight?” She grinned, her whole face lighting with excitement.

         “Woo!” I said, monotonous and unenthusiastic. Natasha scowled at me, but she didn’t have time for a lecture, as we pulled into the school then and hunted for a parking space. I groaned internally. This was going to be bad, I don’t know why and I don’t know how, but it’s going to be bad.

         “Hey, I’m going to hunt down Aleks. Wait right here,” said Natasha as we arrived at the now spooky main hall of the school, before snaking through the pack of awaiting students. I sighed and hugged myself in the cramped corner of the dim, cobweb covered entrance. This wasn’t the part of the school I had decorated, but I could see they really went all out for this. Spiders hung from the ceiling, eerie music played in the background, skeletons’ creepy grins poked around corners; even peoples’ costumes were done to the nines. There were vampires, witches, zombies; every horror movie flick imaginable met in this cramped hall waiting to be unleashed upon the rest of the school. The whole thing made my skin crawl. The brick building suddenly seemed even more imposing in the dark, it didn’t feel natural to be on campus at 8pm at night.

         “Hey, don’t you look comfortable,” Katy teased with a bright smile, coming to stand beside me.

         I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help smiling in return. “Well, you know how I’m so fond of cramped spaces and scary movies. It’s like my two favorite things collided,” I joked sarcastically, already feeling better with her there.

         Katy laughed, “Don’t be a baby. Have a little fun. So, what do you think of my costume?” she asked, giving a small twirl in the room allowed. I realized her black hair was pulled back by a simple black headband, and her round figure concealed by a conservative, white church dress, topped off with a leather-bound Bible in her arms.

         I busted out laughing. “I see you were feeling ironic this Halloween,” I said. Katy was a well-known atheist, constantly spouting religious arguments and disproving Bible passages. She played up the Bible-thumping, churchgoer to a T.

         Katy smiled pleasantly and curtseyed. “And what are you supposed to be?” she asked, eyeing my simple ensemble.

         I rolled my eyes, recognizing the I-should-have-dressed-you look. “A masked figure,” I beamed, enjoying my own private joke. Katy simply raised a brow and shook her head, accustomed to my odd tendencies.

         “So what’s been going on with you and James?” She asked, winking and giggling. I sighed. Katy and Natasha hated each other, but they were remarkably similar. I wasn’t ready for round two of this interrogation.

         “Why is everyone suddenly determined to get me a boyfriend? I don’t date, Katy, you know that,” I snapped at her unintentionally. It wasn’t her fault this was the second time I was hearing this, I reminded myself, trying to reign in my annoyance. She groaned.

         “Yeah, but you could. James sounds absolutely perfect for you. You couldn’t possibly be afraid of dating him; it’s all just too perfect! Practically what you wished for on a silver platter,” She argued with a deep scowl.

         “James is really great, but I don’t know…I just can’t,” I hedged, shrugging. Katy narrowed her eyes at me, clearly suspecting something was afoot, but thankfully Natasha was approaching us with Aleks- feigning mock annoyance to hide his delight- in tow. That was all the signal Katy needed, she jetted away with a quick goodbye.

         “Eww, were you talking to Katy?” Natasha asked, wrinkling her nose.

         I rolled my eyes and ignored her. “Aleks, are you seriously dressed as Vladimir Lenin?” I asked, laughing.

         “He was a great leader of Mother Russia,” Aleks replied with a grin, flashing all his pearly white teeth, and emphasizing his thick Russian accent. Sure enough, he stood before me in a fake beard and suit. I shook my head and laughed.

         “Hey, Natasha’s dressed like a hippy, so you can’t really make fun of me,” Aleks teased her, nudging her shoulder, and pulling the attention off himself. I took in Natasha’s costume for the first time. She wore a tie-dyed t-shirt and bell bottoms, had her unruly hair wrangled by a headband, and a peace sign necklace hung from her neck.

         “That is true,” I agreed. Natasha batted my arm playfully; we bantered like that for only a minute or so more before a teacher announced on the intercom several rules of conduct for the evening, and finally, the long awaited go ahead to explore our haunted campus.

         I had to admit, we did a pretty good job decorating the school, it was seriously sinister. Despite having helped set up, I still screamed a few times at different monsters jumping out and fake spiders touching me. It was a lot of fun, I enjoyed the company of my friends, I almost forgot the sense of impending doom I had started the night with. As the night went on, I noticed Natasha drawing nearer and nearer to Aleks and took that as my cue to leave.

“Why don’t you guys head to the cafeteria for food and whatnot while I see if I can find James?” I suggested. Natasha smiled and nodded gratefully while Aleks just shrugged, okay with anything. We said our goodbyes and promised to meet up soon. I headed in the opposite direction, not really looking for James, just wanting to give Natasha some space and alone time with Aleks. A tight sensation snaked around my chest, strangely suffocating, an unexpected, yet familiar, side effect of being around such sickly-sweet romance and purely innocent puppy love. I could tell she liked him dearly, and, to be honest, seeing people all lovey-dovey in relationships made me want to hurl these days.

While wandering aimlessly, lost in thought, through the dark halls and classrooms filled with costumed students, coffins, skeletons, ghosts, and other monstrous props, I ran smack into something. Something hard and sturdy, I fell right on my butt and what I ran into did not even budge. For half a second, I wondered if I’d gotten so lost in thought I’d actually run into a wall, but then I heard a familiar small, high voice.

         “Is she going to be okay?” The familiar voice asked.

         “Yes, she’ll be just fine. Believe it or not, this is actually the second time she’s run into me because she wasn’t paying attention,” Another deeper, even more familiar voice teased. My eyes snapped open.

         “It’s not my fault you don’t say anything, you just stand there and let me crash into you,” I fumed, staring up at the identical faces of Ryder and Robbie. I might have found it comical how they were looking down at me and making the same bemused facial expression, but I was too embarrassed to really appreciate it. Ryder rolled his eyes, but was unable to hide the smallest smile turning up the corner of his lips. He grabbed underneath my arms and easily hoisted me upright, before quickly letting go and stepping back.

         “Hello, Kristin, are you having fun?” Robbie asked unusually bright, grabbing my hand and then Ryder’s, tugging us along with him.

         “Robbie, Kristin might have somewhere else to go, don’t just drag her along,” Ryder chastised, halting Robbie and casting him a disapproving look.  “Aww, do you have somewhere to go?” Robbie asked glumly, his pink bottom lip puckering, sad, blue eyes devoid of the happiness I previously saw there.

         “No, it’s okay, Robbie, I’ll come along with you guys if you want,” I said, looking at Ryder with a raised brow. He shrugged nonchalantly and looked to Robbie to make the decision. Robbie grinned, instantly happy again.

         “Yay! Let’s go get candy!” exclaimed Robbie, releasing our hands and running ahead of us in the direction of the cafeteria, his one-track mind already fleeting to another subject.

         “You can have a little bit, but don’t run ahead too far, stay where I can see you!” Ryder called after Robbie, sounding, and looking, very much like a concerned father. There was something intriguing about the little flashes of the real Ryder I got see behind the mask he always wore. I could tell that this Ryder was truly him, that every day he walked around with a solid, emotionless mask on. For what reason I was still unsure, but I was certain the real Ryder was fun and beautiful, the kind of person that attracted other people, like a moth to flame. I wanted to know that person. I never could back down from a challenge. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Ryder and I were not friends, I still harbored a strong dislike for him, and he for me, but curiosity often got the best of me.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Ryder asked, amused. I realized I’d been staring at him and felt a blush creep up my face.

“Sorry, I was just thinking,” I said, sheepish, turning my gaze to the floor.

“About what?” Ryder asked, curious, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking ahead after Robbie, who was winding his way through the crowd.

“Lots of things, like always; this event, school, things like that,” I responded with a shrug. Ryder chuckled. My head snapped to him in shock, it was rare for him to show any emotion, even in private, but at a public function such as this? It had never happened as far as I knew. He pretended not to notice. A full smile warmed his sharp, pale face and melted his usually hard eyes into glowing green embers.

“You have this remarkable way of answering questions without actually sharing any information about yourself,” He commented, casting me a wry look. I laughed.

“You are more perceptive than most. I was thinking about how you act very much like a father to Robbie, more so than an older brother,” I answered more honestly this time. Ryder’s face darkened instantly, like a storm cloud covering the sun. Regret instantly panged my stomach. I had allowed myself to enjoy Ryder’s company for a brief moment, and I managed to ruin it just as quickly. I wondered after a minute of suffocating silence if he would respond.

“Our parents…died,” he said, voice thick and heavy with sorrow, “it wasn’t very long ago. We lived in Washington, D.C, before this. My father was a scientist in a military lab, there was an accident and he was just gone. My mother died of a broken heart; they were so in love; she just couldn’t deal. She became so sick. My uncle and father were very close, he lives here on Long Island; he took us in. He truly is a great man; I owe him so much. Robbie was very upset, we all were, but he was missing something in his life, he was missing a father, and my uncle tried his best, but he just isn’t the same as our dad. I’ve tried very hard ever since then to fill that hole for Robbie. He’s gotten better, especially lately,” Ryder finished, struggling to keep his voice even. I stared for a minute just trying to process this tragedy, the hurt and depression were evident in Ryder’s hollow voice, dark eyes, and pained face, even his stance grew more hunched, as if some unknown weight were beating upon him, and as I studied him, I realized I recognized that feeling. The feeling of a weight you cannot hope to bear on your own, so obvious to you, but invisible to the world, the kind of burden that seeped into your bones until you were made of cement just trudging along, fighting for every breath, every moving muscle. This overwhelming emotion nearly made me double over, suddenly sitting heavy on my chest.

I fought for composure before answering. “I can’t even begin to imagine having to bear all that for your brother, it sounds as though you were very close to your parents,” I attempted, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. We stared at each other for a moment, somehow kindred spirits in our unknown tragedies.

Suddenly Ryder smiled, a small, sad smile, just the slightest lifting of the corners of his pink lips. “Thank you,” he said in a soft voice, “For understanding and not saying sorry. I know people are sorry it happened, but sorry sounds too much like pity. I don’t want pity, and neither would my parents. I’m sure I sound crazy, but thank you.” He ranted, all in one breath. I returned his smile with one of equal sadness. He wasn’t crazy; I understood exactly what he meant. Everyone said sorry when someone died, but it didn’t make anything better and they didn’t really understand. Sorry was often just disguised pity, and I never, no matter what tragedies I endured, wanted pity. And if I didn’t want that pity, I didn’t really imagine too many other people were deserving of it either. I think Ryder could see that somewhere in my face.

I cleared my throat, attempting to change the subject. “So where’s your costume?” I asked, scrutinizing his casual jeans, grey t-shirt, and black converse.

“I’m a stone statue of course, this girl I know told me once that I always look like a statue, frozen and stoic,” Ryder teased, pausing in place and hardening his face and tensing his muscles, transforming before my eyes into the familiar cold Ryder I’d grown so used to. I laughed, and though he kept his composed face, his lighthearted air remained. I could tell our previous conversation was a very secret subject that would never come up again. I found myself glad. I was curious about Ryder’s past and I spent so many days seeking this kind of explanation for his cold mannerisms, but seeing Ryder in so much pain was almost disturbing. The urge to reach out, to help, was overpowering. Natasha always said I was a sucker for lost causes, the savior of sinners and the damned.

“Oh, well, that girl obviously knew what she was talking about,” I grinned and nudged his shoulder. He laughed. It was a musical sound, oddly comforting and relaxing; I hoped for some bizarre reason that I would hear it more often. I became aware then, that I was the most relaxed I had been all night walking through these halls with Ryder.

“Robbie! Not so much candy, you’ll make yourself sick,” Ryder scolded with a soft smile as we finally entered the cafeteria and found Robbie loading himself down by the fistful with sweets. It was brighter in here and tables all along the walls were covered with sodas, punches, candy, sweets, and other delicious treats. Robbie was quickly darting around and stuffing his face with a little of everything. I laughed as Ryder stole bits of food from Robbie, who would then scowl at him so seriously, as if Ryder were stealing prized jewels from his personal safe.

“Kristin! There you are, I’ve been searching everywhere for you,” Natasha called, pushing through a crowd of people, Aleks following quietly behind.

“Oh, sorry, I got caught up,” I replied, gesturing to Ryder and Robbie, who now ceased bickering and stood beside me in stiff silence. Robbie waved shyly and half hid behind Ryder’s leg, Ryder gave a curt nod, his face and attitude totally reverted to cold, “stone statue” mode.

“We found James by the way; he’s been in the cafeteria the whole time. Sorry you had to spend all that time searching,” Natasha apologized. James slid his way through the crowd then and came to stand with us. Ryder’s face hardened perceptibly, I wondered how his teeth didn’t turn to dust from how hard he was clenching them together. Jeez, if looks could kill.

“We have to be going. See you around, Kristin.” Ryder said harshly, his words like daggers.

“Bye,” I whispered, staring at Ryder’s retreating form. Robbie cast one heartbreaking look at me, almost as if I betrayed him, before fleeing with his brother. I liked to think I was growing accustomed to Ryder’s abrupt shifts in mood, but every time he shifted gears, I found myself whirling in his wake.

“What did he want?” James asked casually, but I detected the slightest edge to his voice.

“Nothing, I ran into him, literally, and we just talked and walked to the cafeteria together,” I responded with a shrug, confused by the sudden change in Ryder’s attitude and the overly harsh, rude way he responded to James. Even James, easygoing and carefree, seemed to aim a certain tense, harshness at Ryder. It was exactly like when the three of us worked together for the Psychology project. James hadn’t liked Ryder from the beginning, and Ryder didn’t like anyone, but their dislike seemed to intensify overnight to sheer hatred of one another. I wondered if perhaps my imagination was getting the better of me again. Surely that was just Ryder’s usual distaste for everyone, and if I could hate Ryder so quickly on the first day of school, James could too. That was it, I was imagining the personal edge to their slights, I tried comforting myself unsuccessfully.

James nodded casually before Natasha expertly steered the conversation to safer waters. I shoved these confusing thoughts from my mind and attempted to enjoy my time with my friends. We stayed in the cafeteria for a little longer, chatting easily and munching on snacks.

“Hey, we should go see the dungeon exhibit, I want to see what it looks like now that it’s all set up,” Aleks suggested after a while.

“I know! We did such a good job replicating those torture devices!” Natasha boasted excitedly, already dragging us to the exit of the cafeteria.

“Natasha, I’m not sure that’s something you should be proud of,” I joked. We bust into laughter and started down the hall to the classroom where that exhibit had been set up.

James casually shrugged his arm over my shoulder as we entered the dungeon exhibit, a gesture I would normally have been delighted by, but today felt somehow heavy and possessive. I distracted myself by watching Natasha and Aleks. A little ahead, I noticed Natasha grab Aleks’s hand when she squealed in surprise at a skeleton jumping out at her. I caught Aleks’ soft gaze directed toward their intwined hands and the small smile of pleasure that briefly flashed across his face. I would have to remember to report my findings to Natasha, lest she accuse me of being derelict in my best friend duties.

James noticed the direction of my gaze, “Would you stop worrying about everyone else for a change and just enjoy yourself?” He chastised with a smile. I gave a small laugh and leaned into him further as we followed the twisting path of the exhibit.

“I’m sorry I can’t help it, what would you have me focus my attention on?” I teased, staring up at him through my thick, black lashes, in a poor attempt at flirting. I still hadn’t made up my mind about James, it seemed I always had more questions for him than I ever did answers, but maybe everyone was right. I should relax and appreciate the attention of an honestly good guy, god knows those are hard to find.

He responded with a seductive smile, leaning over to whisper in my ear in a smooth, low voice, “I can think of a few things.” I smiled and a bright red blush crept up my skin. I let my wavy brown hair cascade around my face, hiding my embarrassment.

“Oh, Kristin, I left my wallet in the car, but I really want to buy a picture of all of us here tonight, can you run back and get it?” Natasha pleaded. I jumped untangling myself from James, not realizing she had turned back for us.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll be right back,” I answered, trying not to look so guilty.

“I can go with you,” James offered, looking a little too pleased with himself.

“Thank you, but I’ll be alright, keep enjoying the exhibits, I’ll meet back up with you guys in just a few minutes,” I quickly waved off his offer, before turning and weaving my way back out of the exhibit to the front of the school. I was thankful for the chance to get some air and organize my very confused and messy thoughts. It was easy to brush off my interactions with James to Natasha and Katy, but another thing entirely when he acted as he did tonight. I found myself unable to control my heart rate and my limbs felt shaky and unsteady. I reached the school’s entrance quickly, without even noticing it, as I was wrapped in my thoughts. James had something going on with his dad and was clearly hitting on me, but as of yet, I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Ryder had a sad past and was just starting to resemble a human being, but he still irritated me with his superior attitude and unwillingness to associate with anyone, not to mention the strange drama playing out between him and James. That was definitely something I had to get to the bottom of. I hadn’t seen my masked hero since my birthday, I was surprised to find I actually missed him and still burned with curiosity about who he was and what he was doing and how he was always saving me, yet another mystery that needed solving. Natasha and Aleks’s relationship also seemed to be heading in a good direction; I wonder how I can help shove that in the right direction for her? The whirlwind taking place inside my mind was quickly making me dizzy and setting me on the brink of panic. I was holding too may loose ends of ropes and didn’t have nearly enough to tie any firm knots.

With so many thoughts on my mind, it didn’t even occur to me to look for cars as I crossed the street to get to Natasha’s Prius, my goal was in sight and I charged after it, foolhardy. Headlights speeding around the corner of the dark, ill-lit road in front of the school blinded me then. I froze and tensed as the speeding car headed right for me. My eyes squeezed shut and braced for impact. A great force slammed into me suddenly, at first, I thought it was the car, but it came from behind me, not my side. All logical thought quickly fled after that. My head slammed into something hard and the breath was knocked from my lungs. I peeled my eyes open in time to see the car speed away down the road, burning rubber in its wake. I realized I was lying on the opposite side of the road in the wet grass, a heavy weight on top of me.

“Are you alright?” A figure asked, from above me. I understood now. Someone pushed me out of the way. And not just someone. I knew that voice, it was the familiar worried voice that always found me when I was in danger. The figure was pinning me to the ground, saving my life for a third time.

“Oh, never better,” I joked, not managing an effective sarcastic voice. My head was splitting, I could barely think through the pain. The figure flashed a bright smile. That was all I could see through the black spots dancing on my eyes.

“Yes, I can see, so I guess you have no need for my assistance then?” He teased lightly.

“Don’t be an ass,” I breathed, attempting to scowl. The blackness was converging on my vision; I couldn’t see even a glimpse of my hero anymore. I heard him chuckle softly. How disappointing, the first time he is close enough to look at and I can’t even get my eyes to work properly.

“You hit your head pretty hard,” The figure said, his musical voice colored with worry now. Cold fingers pressed lightly on my forehead and I gasped as the pain knocked me breathless. “Very hard,” he amended in a tight voice. His cold, muscular arms slid under me, hoisting me up as if I weighed nothing. I sighed and leaned my head against his shoulder.

“Thank you,” I muttered under my breath. Then, for the second time that year, my world faded away into a peaceful darkness…

[artdecielle]

it’s been *checks calendar* nearly a year since I did the first part of this...anyway. Late but in earnest, as they say.

Happy Halloween! 

Tags + Story below! (if you would like to be tagged in Part Three, let me know in the notes!)

Part II: Rust and Books

As the summer months roll into autumn, Scarecrow finds himself busier than ever. Well, not truly busier, because that would mean actually doing something. But more occupied.

His job is the same as it ever: sitting in the field and watching grass grow, theoretically guarding crops from corvids. The crows and blue jays are the main source of his so-called business. They’ve been particularly active as the mornings get frostier and the nights get longer, coming by to bargain and cajole him for more stories or lacking new stories—which is often the case—some of the harvest he is meant to prevent them from eating. 

Usually the crows win, one way or another. Scarecrow doesn’t like to argue; it reminds him of family he’d just as soon forget, and besides that scaring crows away from crops that will go to waste anyway feels unkindly to him. They are too clever to be frightened by most of the stories he knows, anway, and the ones they don’t know they seem to enjoy. He enjoys their company too, truth be told, but the corvid arrangements have the unfortunate quality of distracting him from what he’d rather be doing, namely watching the tin man.

The Ravens say he’s obsessed, the Magpies tell him he’s pitiful, and the Crows just laugh and pull on his loose pieces of straw.

The tin man’s schedule had only gotten more pressing as autumn sets in. It means he’s around more—which Scarecrow can’t complain about—but there is a heaviness to him that has grown as steadily as the days shorten.

Like he does every day, the tin man returned to the emerald forest to chop more wood. Scarecrow had often wondered what someone could do with so much lumber. Spring has turned to Summer has turned to Autumn and everyday the tin man comes to the Emerald Woods. Every day felling more trees each day with no clear end in sight to his task, whatever the true purpose of it is. Not that Scarecrow wants it to end, of course. Once the tin man has finished his business, he’ll never come back again — why would he? People avoid the Emerald Woods for a reason — and then what would Scarecrow spend his days wondering about? It upsets him to think about — not seeing the tin man anymore, that is — but Scarecrow has never been much for thinking. He is much more of a wonder-er. 

And so he wonders: Wonders why the tin man chops (for himself, or another?); Wonders why the tin man was turned into tin (Scarecrow still remembers when the tin man was still mostly not tin); Wonders why the tin man never looks happy, even when reading his books (is it because tin is not good for smiling?). 

The books are one thing Scarecrow doesn’t have to wonder about (not that it stops him). The tin man clearly cherishes his books: he turns each page with more care than tin fingers should be capable of. So he doesn’t tear them, Scarecrow thinks. No matter what else happens during the day, the tin man always takes a lunch break to read his books. He does not bring lunch anymore, and has not for some time. Scarecrow can only guess that the tin man doesn’t eat anymore, but being a straw-person Scarecrow had never understood the appeal of food, no matter what praises the corvids sing.

Does the tin man miss eating? Scarecrow has to wonder about that, too. Tin people do not have stomachs, Scarecrow figures, and the inside of the tin man’s chest is empty. Scarecrow feels guilty about knowing that. He hadn't meant to see it, but… well. When one observes as well and often as Scarecrows are wont to do…

Today, Scarecrow has plenty to wonder about. Specifically, what the tin man is doing. Scarecrow sits and watches as he usually does from the cover of trees too old and too magic to be felled and he tells himself this isn’t creepy. He tells himself that he is only observing and maybe--just maybe!--working up the nerve to say something, someday. Not today, probably.

But today is unusual, so maybe, just maybe…

Usually, the tin man does not stop cutting down tree until lunch, when he stops to read. Scarecrow has always imagined that, if he ever worked up the guts to say something, this would be the time he would do it.

Scarecrow — diligent observer that he is — has noticed that the tin man has been slowing down lately. A little more slowly every day, in fact. But today he is not slow at all. He is completely still, just like the trees he cuts down. 

At first, Scarecrow wonders if the tin man is merely staring off into space in quiet contemplation. He does that frequently enough. But this is different. He is slightly bent over, arms dangling in front of him, eyes and face cast to the ground.

Scarecrow watches the tin man do nothing for nearly an hour before it dawns on him that, perhaps, something is not merely different today. Perhaps something is wrong.

His wondering-if-something-is-wrong becomes certainty-that-something-is-wrong when the rain starts and still the tin man does not move. He does not move, not even to protect his precious books. Book which are not made to get rained on and even if they were, the tin man would not allow it — diligent as he is with their care — were something not wrong.

Scarecrow has never actually decided to speak to the tin man. Well, he plans to someday, but the tin man always seems so busy and interrupting a man at work is inconsiderate. But the tin man is not working now, and his books are getting rained on, and he’s been still for far longer than is normal for even a man made of tin. 

And so Scarecrow, despite having not yet worked up the courage or nerves or guts or any of the things needed to act, steps out from his hiding place, and speaks.

“Are you alright?” A simple question from a simple Scarecrow, and one he already knew the answer to, which makes it simple to ask.

The tin man does not respond, does not move. Except for his eyes. His gaze lifts, slightly, slowly, in Scarecrow’s direction. He blinks and says nothing. 

Scarecrow didn’t have expectations, but they have not been met, regardless. But, he’s already here, so he tries again. “I’m sorry to bother you, honest, but your books are getting wet… ”

The tin man blinks again, and there is something like unhappiness in those eyes. They glow a dim yellow, Scarecrow observes. He’s an excellent observer, but he’s never been close enough to notice glowing eyes before.

They're beautiful.

Stay focused.

Still, the tin man does not speak. But Scarecrow remembers something he’d overheard the munchkins say once about their farm gear. He'd been sitting out in the field, and part of observing means hearing.

Farm gear rusts when it gets wet, he heard the munchkins say. Never leave it out in the rain, lest it fail to work again.

Farm tools are made of metal. Tin is metal. Tin and water do not get along.

“Are you stuck?” Scarecrow asks, even though he already suspects the answer. But, of course, if the tin man is stuck, he can't speak, can he? But his eyes — beautiful, glowing, golden — his eyes can move, can't they? “Blink twice for yes. Thrice for no.”

The tin man blinks again. Twice.

Jumping into action, Scarecrow removes his outer shirt and makes a small tent with some branches. He covers the books as well as he can, given the givens. The shirt is waxed and waterproof, but it will not keep the books dry very long. But it will help, a little at least, and that’s not nothing.

Scarecrow looks up at the tin man, water running down his face. It looks like tears and Scarecrow’s heart aches for the man rusting in the rain while his books bleed ink. 

When I return, I’ll talk to him properly. No more watching. 

Oil. What he needs is oil. “I’ll be back, lickedy-split,” he promises and — lacking anything better to say that actions can’t say better — rushes off to Munchkinland. It isn’t too far as the Crow flies, and being a Scarecrow he knows a thing or two about crows and their paths. 

He has to hurry, both because the tin man is rusting and because Straw and Water are not friendly, either. There's a reason he wears a waxed shirt. If Scarecrow gets too soggy, he’ll have to wait until the sun comes out and dries him off. He doesn’t have time to wait around for that — there’s that saying about Autumn Skies and fickleness. He can’t remember it now, but it’s not important. Probably. 

He has to hurry.

----------------------------------------------------------------

@sugaredsundrop @jet-playin @whitewizardlover @melanias-bomb-kombussy-blouse​  I said I’d tag you when part two came out, and here it is! There will be a part three, hopefully before another 10 months goes by!

[romera-rp]

Come one, come all to the glorious days o’ pumpkins! To continue the joviality of the end of summer, the unofficial period of silliness and merrymaking across Hegaehend has been dubbed “The Pumpkin Days.” Throughout the country there will be Autumnal themed activities for you to participate in to your hearts desire. Do you like pumpkins? Fire colored nature? Long nights sitting by a campfire? Cinnamon? Alcoholic and non-alcoholic apple juice? How about woolen sweaters? If not, then this will be an aggravating time for you. 

IN CHARACTER DETAILS

This event will take place from 1st October to 12th October and your threads may take place anywhere and anytime during those dates. Like the Autumn Equinox festival, this is a time of calm and happiness when the war seems like a far-off dream and no danger could possibly be lurking around the corner. Below there are activities in which your character can participate in, witness, or completely scorn and ignore. 

ACTIVITIES

Pumpkin Boat Racing

Head over to Pineridge for their annual pumpkin boat racing. Join an existing armada (the Hegaehend archers, knights, and clerics all have their own teams) or form your own in an attempt to carve and decorate the best giant pumpkin boat the country has ever seen! Perhaps you just want to watch and cheer on your favourites in which case apple cider, honey mead, and pumpkin-themed foods will be served throughout the vicinity. Midday, many times throughout the month, when the sun is highest, all those who have entered in the race will row their pumpkin boat down the river just north of Pineridge to the finish line. The first there wins 25gp and a handknit sweater with a pumpkin on it. 

Zombie Kitten Curing

No kittens were harmed in the making of the zombie kittens. Instead there has been an overabundance in new kitten litters in Khaggon and in an effort to redistribute the population of felines, many shops owners, farmers, and citizens who do not want twelve cats have come together to offer this adoption event. You are put in a small arena near Tarjtier Farmer’s Market full of lively kittens who have been colored green. Some, like the white kittens and tabbies, are remarkably green while the black and grey kittens are more murky. If you manage to catch a kitten (three animal handling rolls above 18) you have the option to adopt the kitten. Please note, it not advisable for those without a permanent residence to adopt. 

Tommen Haus’ Haunted House

Someplace intriguing and odd in Khaggon there is an old house. It is a fancy house. It’s an agéd house. And for this month only, it’s a haunted house! Step right up, step right up to Tommen Haus’ Haunted House. Inside you will find aberrations (stuffed), ghouls (fake), nightmares beyond your very own nightmares (rented), and all manner of goo and gore and grit and also glitter (available for purchase at the gift shop at the end). So brave adventurer, will you step foot into Tommen Haus’ horror mansion? Entrance is 15cp and at the end of the month the house will be put up for purchase (decorations not included).

Ghost Hunting

Have you ever noticed bloodied movement out of the corner of your eye in Khaggon’s fight club? Movement too smooth or too stilted to truly be alive? Or perhaps deep in the archives of the Academy of the Arcane… sometimes the library stacks become oddly cold, don’t you think? No one can prove that ghosts aren’t voyeurs and the spooks of La Roche Moussue, the Runswick bathhouse, definitely are. Maybe they’re disgruntled patrons? Perhaps they slipped on the bubbles. The Blackmore Lady, an abandoned ship in Arx’s Whale Water port, creaks and shrieks and howls with the best of them! If there are ghosts to be found anywhere, it’d be that loud, obnoxious boat. Oh, and the entirety of Myrefall is just… well, you know. 

Lord Horcryn’s Autumnal Bonanza

If you luck out and receive an invitation, head over to join the spooky, saucy, severely salacious parties of Lord Horcryn at the Heartfire Quarter in Runswick. Parties will take place all night 5th October and 12th October. All the alcohol possible will be served alongside phenomenal and amazing delicacies. The company will be sparkling, the booze spilling, and anything that can be pumpkin shaped will be pumpkin shaped. Spare bedrooms are in abundance in the large manor for anyone with desire to get more private during the evening. Unfortunately, these private rooms are not pumpkin shaped. 

Lord Horcryn is also looking for a new host. His normal host, Mapel Simsees, hasn’t shown up for work in several days. He’s reported her missing, and prays she’ll return, but in the meantime needs help.

OOC DETAILS FOR ACTIVITIES

While this event will in canon take place between 1st October to 12th October, but you do not need to end your threads come 12th October. 

There will be a second event dropping on that day and that event will run until 9th November. 

You’re welcome to continue your Pumpkin Days threads until then as well. 

Feel free to continue your storylines throughout this event, however, if you plan on having event-independent threads taking place, but wish to participate in the second event, don’t have them take place after October 12th. This will become clear later, but any threads will be in conflict with the event if you take part. 

Make sure you tag your posts with romevent as well as “Pumpkin Days.” 

CONTESTS

Here’s a fun chance to win something from Periwinkleton’s Keep of Shops regardless of your accumulated points! Head on over to Isla’s favourite place anytime during the month of October for a chance to win something fantabulous, miraculous, funky, ridiculous, maybe helpful, and random! 

Isla Periwinkleton’s First Annual Pumpkin Carving Contest

Note: Carved squash are also permissible. Free candy to all that participate. Enter your carved pumpkin masterpiece for a chance to win a random item (except for real estate) from Periwinkleton’s Keep of Shops!

No need to get an actual pumpkin or squash unless you want to. This can be a doodle of a Jack o’ Lantern on a sticky note, a full blown portrait of a pumpkin, a pixel art rendition of a seasonal squash, or really anything squash-like and also “carved.” The goal is for the dash to be covered in mismatched pumpkin art. 

You may make as many as you like, but only the first submission will be counted towards the contest. 

To keep it totally mysterious, the item is not currently in stock.

Suri Schneider’s Costume Contest

Come garbed in your loveliest lace, your cookiest couture, and you’re most likeable lingerie—wait, no, don’t do that… Unless it’s halloween themed in which case by all means. Enter for a chance to win a breathtakingly constructed mystery item from Suri Schneider’s garment shop Fine Fineries & Great Garments. (Written by Felipe at the behest of Suri.)

Post what your character would wear for Halloween! This can be what they would be in Romera, meaning more fantasy and medieval based costumes, and/or can be a more modern rendition.

These posts are like the outfit posts we did for the Masyarakat Ball. 

To keep it totally mysterious, the item is not currently in stock.

Felipe’s Fantabulous Flambé Trick Bounty: Open to all.

Play a lovely little tricksy-wicksy on a friend, foe, or fiend and write-in to Felipe’s shop with the glorious and gloomy details for a chance to win a mystery item from Felipe’s joke shop.

This entry can be a drabble/self-para about your character playing a prank or trick on someone or a thread between two or more people playing a prank/pranking one another. 

Everyone involved in a thread will have a submission counted towards the contest.

To keep it totally mysterious, the item is not currently in stock.

Please note that nothing is flambed unless you make it so, Felipe just ran out of ‘F’ words for the title.

OOC DETAILS FOR CONTESTS

You can participate in each contest as many times as you like, but only your first submission will be counted. 

You may also enter in all of the contests, but cannot win more than one of them. 

You have until 31st October to enter and at the end of the month all of the entries will be counted and the winner shall be announced on the Keep of Shop’s page by the respective shop owner.

In order to enter, please submit to the Keep blog with a link to your submission post just like you would your weekly points. These don’t need to be in character, but feel free to do so in character.

Remember to tag your submissions with the appropriate contest name. As an example, if Efrain enters the costume contest, his entry post will be tagged with: “romevent,” and “Suri Schneider’s Costume Contest.”

EXTRA WAYS TO EARN POINTS THIS OCTOBER

10gp - Participate in any or all of the contests. Receive the reward for each one you enter.

20 gp - Write a self-para about your character getting frightened, either through true trauma or a from spider appearing next to them and giving them the willies. 

20gp -Write a self-para or do a thread involving the Missing Persons Warnings.

30 gp - Go ghost hunting! Or… get ghost hunted.

15gp - Participate in the kitten competition or the pumpkin boat races either in a self-para or in a thread with someone also participating. 

30gp - Attend one of Lord Horcryn’s parties either as a guest or an employee. (Runswick)

20gp - Take a wander through Tommen Haus’ Haunted House with a friend or several. (Khaggon)

[gwil-lee]

roses are red, violets are blue, I may bleed out, but I still love you

Pairing: Joe Mazzello x Reader

Words: 3.2k

AN: Look, this was supposed to be just a little sweet, funny drabble for Valentine’s Day, but yeah, apparently it’s a one-shot now. I regret nothing. Comments are appreciated <3

Warnings: swearing, slightly implied smut

Joe was acting… well, weird. Or rather weirder than usual. You were not sure what was happening. He made you your favourite breakfast, he even had managed to get fresh raspberries and blueberries to go with the pancakes, and he brewed your favourite tea. And this time he even had left the bag in for as long as the instructions on the box required, which was the first time, since he usually got distracted when making tea and the drink turned bitter. The whole morning, Joe was fussing about everything you did. He asked you several times how well you had slept, and whether you had had a nice dream or not. He asked you about your plans for the day, when you were going to come back from work and whether you were going to do anything specific tonight. Your answers were wary, still not sure where he was going with the inquiries. You had slept well, and you were pretty sure that you had dreamed of something but couldn’t for the love of God remember what it had been about. You should be back around five p.m., and no, there were no plans for tonight. He just nodded his head, muttered a quick, “good, good,” and asked another question. You were usually enjoying his attention but the sudden preoccupation with your person seemed too much.

He also kept touching you, but the touches were very innocent – a little caress on your hand, a gentle brush of his fingers on your hip, a little pat on your shoulder – although that one was a bit awkward. It happened when you reached to the top shelf in your kitchen to grab a lunchbox just as Joe pulled out two cups, and he bumped into you. He pulled you to his side to stop your movement, since he’d thrown you off balance. He looked down at your lips but let go of you immediately. You stared at him for a moment, a bit dumbfounded by his odd behaviour, but he just smiled and patted your shoulder. Patted your shoulder? What the hell! Why? You gaped at him some more and he left you standing there with your mouth open, moving to the kitchen bar with his tea. Eventually, you sat down next to him. Why was he like this? Even when your napkin fell down on the floor, he rushed to pick it up for you as if you were not perfectly capable of doing that yourself.

When you finished the meal, packed your things up and said your goodbyes, you went to kiss him on the lips, but he turned his head at the last moment, and your lips pecked his cheek instead. “See you in the afternoon,” he said, ushering you out, and the door closed behind you. You started walking but soon stopped in your tracks to gather your thoughts. He had been sending you mixed signals the whole time, and it had left you utterly confused. One the one hand, he had been very attentive, with the breakfast and the seemingly accidental touches, but on the other hand, he had not kissed you. Why, though? Had you done or said something wrong? Had he done or said something wrong?

You turned back on your heel, wanting to stride right back in and ask him what the hell was happening, but then decided against it. It was Joe. Sometimes, his actions just lacked any reasonable explanation. Who knew what was happening in the head of his. But to be honest, that was one of the reasons why you had fallen in love with him in the first place. He kept surprising you, sometimes doing the craziest things that no one would have thought of. But usually, it brought you amusement and not confusion as it had that morning. You were running late to work anyway, no need to infuriate your boss some more. You raced down the stairs of the apartment block, outside into the morning winter cold. Wrapping yourself up in your coat, you resolved to talk with Joe in the afternoon. Puffs of air leaving your lips, you burrowed further into your scarf and caught a taxi.

With your nose in your phone, trying to deal with work emails, you entered the office. As soon as you opened the door, you noticed that the chatter of your co-workers was much louder than usual, and you raised your eyes from the screen of your phone. You were surprised by the avalanche of pink and red paper hearts and balloons, your colleagues milling around the office as if there was no work to be done, and you thought it might be “Love Is All Around Me” coming from the radio.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” your friend and colleague Tina rushed to you and gave you a hug and a peck on your cheek.

“Hi,” you said and absentmindedly rose on your tiptoes to return the embrace, not paying much attention to her words. “What’s going on?” you asked a bit stupidly, considering the decoration.

“Halloween, can’t you tell?” she mocked you and burst into laughter. “Are you deaf? It’s Valentine’s Day!”

Wait, what? When had that happened? Wasn’t Christmas just a few weeks ago? You had never paid way too much attention to this pseudo-holiday, anyway. Just an ordinary day in the calendar that only reminded single people that they were alone. No, thank you. And you shared this attitude with Joe, since a few women had broken his heart already and he loathed this day just as much as you did. When you had started dating you agreed that you both were not the kind of people who celebrate Valentine’s Day. No gifts, no special acts of affection, only an evening and night spent in each other’s company just like any other day. Wait, had he been acting so weirdly because of Valentine’s Day? The breakfast would suggest so, but why hadn’t he said something? And anyway, you were not supposed to celebrate anything, you had agreed on it! Had something changed? Not that you would complain about the breakfast, not at all, it was delicious and sweet from Joe. Just right now, you were not sure whether you were supposed to do something as well.

The morning in the office was quite uneventful, since nobody seemed to do their work, although your boss strode into the open-plan office a few times, glared at all the workers sharply and returned to her personal office. After that, the chatter turned into a murmur of hushed voices, but a few minutes later, everyone forgot about that silent reprimand and kept talking about the dates and the presents they had bought for their loved ones. People chatted, your friend called your name a few times to show you a funny picture that she had found online, since she sensed your pensive mood and tried to cheer you up. You returned the favour every time the work became extremely dull and you needed a break. But today, you were not enjoying these little moments with your best friend as much as usual. You kept thinking about Joe and his plans for the evening. Maybe you could pop into Forbidden Planet and buy him a sweatshirt (and probably one for yourself as well while you were at it).

When it was time for a lunch break you dived into your bag and scrabbled around, but no lunchbox was there. Shoot. You must have left it at home, probably when the weird incident at the kitchen counter happened. God, why had he patted your shoulder? And you were looking forward to the pasta that you had made the day before. Crap, now your mood was even worse. Although… maybe you could dash back home, your flat was not that far, eat the lunch and talk to Joe. There was no need to fret over everything till five, when you could deal with it now. It was not as if something big would happen here anyway.

You gathered your things and knocked on Tina’s desk. “If someone was looking for me, just tell them I have something I need to take care of and will be back any moment. And call me, so I can rush back here, okay?” you said and blew an air kiss in her direction. “See you, sweetie!” You ran to the door, quickly called “Happy Valentine’s Day” over your shoulder and disappeared in the lift.

On your way home, you pondered the things you wanted to say to Joe. The last year and a half had been the happiest time of your life and you were immensely grateful that you could spend it with him by your side. You shared all the ups and downs, always supporting each other and providing a shoulder to cry on if needed. And if he had decided that it was not a bad idea to celebrate your love on this very arbitrary day, you would actually have nothing against it. You wanted to make clear that you were not prepared for any grand gestures though, maybe a nice dinner out, or you could go to the cinema, but nothing posh and expensive. You also intended to pester him for behaving so oddly in the morning and playing Mr. Mysterious Guy when he could come clean and just tell you what was happening.

Rummaging in your bag for keys, you let out a tiny squeal of victory when your fingers touched the cold metal. You opened the door and immediately gasped and stopped in your tracks, not believing your eyes.

The floor of the hallway was covered in dark red rose petals. They were everywhere, just gently lying there, a few of them rising above the floor due to a little whiff of air caused by your opening the door. The petal trail disappeared behind the corner where the hallway turned left to your bedroom. You followed the trail, your eyes filling with tears. You were touched and couldn’t help yourself. But when you turned the corner, the trail stopped in the middle of the hallway, and at its very end there was a bouquet of roses unceremoniously dumped on the floor. That was when you heard the string of profanities coming from the bathroom. “Shit, fuck, fuck, oh, for God’s sake, fuck,” with the last vowel much longer than the preceding ones.

You dashed to the bathroom and flung the door open, frightened that something awful had happened. Joe, still in his pyjamas, was sitting at the edge of the bath, his legs slung over and one of his foot held in his hands as he inspected it closely, curse words leaving his lips. “Joe?” you breathed out, “Are you alright?” You crossed the room in an instant and kneeled right next to him, attempting to get a glimpse of what he was intently looking at.

“No, I’m not. I’m an idiot and now I’m going to die,” he deadpanned and shook his head. “Why such things happen to the best of us?”

“What is it, what happened?” Your voice was getting higher and more urgent, as you were still freaking out a bit.

“I dropped one of the roses and I fucking stepped on it and now I’m bleeding!” he exclaimed and tossed his arms around himself as if asking the world for another blow.

You could finally see his foot and started laughing. There was a small wound on the sole of his foot with a few droplets of blood around it, but that was all.      

“This is not funny, I’ve lost great amounts of blood and now I may die!!” he screamed dramatically which only resulted in another burst of laughter on your side. You could tell he wasn’t serious as the corners of his lips betrayed him, slowly turning up. “Stop it!” he said, the smile in his voice evident now as he watched you clutch your stomach, still shaking with laughter. “You know, as my girlfriend, you could show a bit of sympathy for your old man.”

“Ohhh,” you cooed and raised your hand to play with his hair. “Sorry, babe. Should I take care of you and treat your deadly wound?”

Joe paid no attention to your mocking and answered with a smile, “Yes, please, that would be lovely.”

You just chuckled and shook your head and moved to the mirror cabinet, opening it in a search of a plaster. You moved a few bottles of pills, but eventually found what you were looking for. What captured your eyes though was something different and you smiled mischievously. You grabbed the can and returned to Joe.

“I must clean it first,” you said with all the seriousness you could gather when a flash of horror crossed Joe’s eyes.

“It’s not that bad,” he said and instinctively moved farther away from the disinfectant in your hand.

Although it was fun to ‘torture’ him like that, you knew that it actually should be done, all jokes aside. “Come on, Joe, we don’t know what kind of chemicals the roses could have been sprayed with.”

He nodded his head in defeat, straightened his back, allowing you to get to his foot, and scrunched up his face in preparation of what was to come. You gently grasped his foot and pointed the spray can in the right direction. Joe screamed and you jumped, almost dropping the disinfectant down on his foot. “Damn it, Joe, I haven’t started yet!”

“Sorry, sorry! Just a reflex. I’ll be good, I promise,” he said sincerely and squeezed his eyes shut.

You gave him one last look, which was a mixture of disbelief and amusement, and pressed down the pump. You could see him jerk a bit while biting down on his bottom lip.

“All good,” you announced after a little while as you cleaned the wound, put a plaster on it and gently ran your fingers over it to get rid of some unwanted wrinkles, making sure that the plaster would not come unstuck and fall down.

“Will you kiss it better?” He made puppy eyes and hopefully looked at you.

“I’m not kissing your foot, Mazzello!” you exclaimed, and he pouted. Instead, you pulled his head to you and placed a small kiss on the tip of his nose. “Better?”

“In a minute,” he answered and pressed his lips to yours, kissing you until you were both breathless. He then rested his forehead against yours and took a deep breath. “Happy Valentine’s Day?”

“About that,” you warily started. “Are you going to tell me what had gotten into you? I mean, I appreciate it – the breakfast and flowers, but I thought we didn’t celebrate Valentine’s Day.”

He clicked his tongue and put his legs over the bath to stand up. “Yeah, I thought so, too. But I don’t know, I was thinking about it all the time, and well, I just wanted to make you happy, I guess, ‘cause celebrating Valentine’s Day? With you, it just feels right, you know?”

You were silent for a while, taking it all in. “But why keeping it a secret and not telling me something? And you were being so weird in the morning.” You remembered the awkwardness and had to ask. “Love, you patted my shoulder. Why did you pat my shoulder?”

“You noticed, huh?” Joe sheepishly smiled at you and headed to your bedroom. As he put his whole weight on the injured foot, he let out a quiet “fuck.” You followed him, watching him hobble cautiously around the flowers that were still lying on the hallway floor. “You know, I had this plan,” he finally said and sat down on the bed while you leaned against the doorframe. “A lovely meal, good company – that would be me,” he pointed at himself with his thumbs, “then letting you go to work and prepare everything. Flowers, rom-coms for the evening, your favourite food – which reminds I still haven’t called the restaurant, remind me to do it, please – romantic music, I even bought you Funko Pop Princess Leia! And yeah, I also bought Han for me, but that’s not important.” You let him ramble on, a small smile gradually spreading across your face. “I wanted to be attentive, but also a gentleman. But all I could think of was you and how I would like to show you how much I love you right there, probably on that kitchen counter, even though I still didn’t know where to buy all the things and not much time was left. If I kissed you, I would totally lose it. So yeah, I patted your shoulder. Trust me, even I was surprised,” he huffed and tried to carefully lie down. “I couldn’t concentrate! And you weren’t helping either, you know,” he added matter-of-factly.

“Oh, I wasn’t?” You raised your eyebrow and smirked.

“Nope, you little minx,” he gave you a cheeky smile. “Parading around in that bathrobe of yours. Do you realise that it’s sinfully short? How am I supposed to concentrate on anything?!” You pulled yourself up from the doorframe and moved to close the distance between you. The bed dipped a bit as you sat down right next to him and pushed his hair from his face. He smiled at you, but suddenly gave you a look of confusion.

“Wait, aren’t you supposed to be at work? What are you even doing here, young lady?”

You laughed at his attempt to mimic your mother and explained the whole situation happening in work and the fact that you had forgotten your lunch. “And don’t try to change the subject, I can see right through you!” you grinned at him. You tried to lighten up the mood, but you knew there was something you needed to say.

“Thank you, Joe, for all of this. I know it probably didn’t go the way you had planned, but I appreciate it, I truly do. And,” you took a deep breath and closed your eyes, “I can’t imagine my life without you.” You waited for his answer, but he was silent. You opened your eyes and saw that his eyes were a bit glossier than usual. He raised your hand to his lips and placed a most delicate kiss on the back of your hand.

You cleared your throat. “I still have some time before I need to head back to work. If they need me, they’ll give me a call. You hungry?” you asked, already standing up, when Joe grabbed your wrist.

“Yes, I am. Very,” he said and pulled you to him. His kisses were gentle at first, full of love and affection that he held for you. Soon enough though, he deepened them and dragged you down to fully lie on the bed next to him. He moved on top of you but the moment he did so, he hissed and loudly exclaimed, “Fuck, my foot, damn it.”

He screwed up his face in pain, rolled back on his side and clutched his foot, almost throwing you down of the bed in the process.

“Stop, stop, honey,” you said and made him let go of his foot, calming him down by placing your hand on his chest, feeling his heart beating. “Let me take care of you,” you whispered and gently pushed him to lie on his back as you leaned over him.

“God, I love you so much.” He caressed your cheeks and kissed you slowly.

“I love you, too, Joe,” you said when you stopped to take a breath and you wholeheartedly smiled. "Happy Valentine’s Day.”

[rainbows-fanfics]

Two Dearest Friends (Chapter 13)

Summary:

Jack Skellington, the Pumpkin King of Halloween Town, meets Sally, a ragdoll created by Dr. Finklestein. A friendship blossoms between them as he introduces her to the world outside of her tower. Sally is falling for him as their relationship grows into something more, and Jack finds the same is happening to him.

A story where the Christmas incident never happens, and Jack and Sally find their happiness on their own.

Pairings: Jack Skellington/Sally

"HALLOWEEN CELEBRATION IN ONLY AN HOUR! HEAD TO THE TOWNSQUARE TO ACQUIRE YOUR POSITIONS FOR THIS EVENING!" The Mayor's booming voice comes through the kitchen window. Sally peeks her head out and finds his hearse traveling down the hills. Halloween was here already? She's been trying to get on the Doctor's good side for so long that she completely forgot about it! He's been much easier on her now that she's been kind, so her job was nearly done. All that was left was to test her limits. She glances out of the kitchen momentarily and finds him passing by her direction. "Doctor!" She calls. She rushes out of the room. The Doctor stops what he has been doing and turns to face her. Nothing looks different about his features. It's hard to tell whether he is in a good or bad mood. While she observes his face, Finklestein taps his finger on his cheek. "I hope this isn't going to be about that announcement outside?" Her lips press into a thin line. She's been caught already. "Well, actually-" "-Then I don't want to hear it." He waves his hand in the air. "Get me my dinner, Sally. I'm rather famished tonight." He doesn't even wait for her response before leaving back to the lab. She stands there and watches him in shock. Here she was actually thinking he'd understand! If he was going to be like this, then there is no other choice. She turns to walk back into the kitchen, opening her cabinet and reluctantly pulling out the bottle filled with deadly nightshade. She takes one last glance out of the door before dumping its contents into the soup. ------------------------------------- Halloween Town is a lot darker than she remembers. After she spikes the Doctor's dinner and covers him with a blanket, she is wandering aimlessly into the streets. For some reason, everything appears to be nearly pitch-black, even the smallest of the noises sounding deafening. The wind brushing along her clothed skin sends unpleasant goosebumps up her arms. Growing a little uneasy, she steps to the side and places a tired hand on the wall. It feels as if she's been wandering for hours. She doesn't recognize the area at all. She tries to backtrack and recollect the way she went. This really is awful...being lost in the town she ever so deeply wanted to be apart of... She hears some whispering behind her, the words incomprehensible. She turns around but finds no one there. The whispers come again and she frantically turns in their direction. There is still no one in sight. A cold feeling climbs the back of her dress, as if a gust of wind was going through her. "Who's there!?" She demands. When she is met with silence, Sally continues on her way, her pace much faster with an occasional glance behind her shoulder. She can't tell what are shadows and what are walls. Every sewer gate she passes makes a gargling noise. There is an unsteady beating in her chest as her eyes dart back and forth. Her hair suddenly lifts from the back of her dress, the cold draft reaching her skin and causing her to squeak in surprise. Before she can turn around, a hand grips her hair steadily. She attempts to fight back but feels the grip loosen as the presence leaves. When she turns around, she hears an eerie voice whisper into her ear.

"I am the wind blowing through your hair.." She screams. Then she scrambles to her feet, running as fast and far as she can. She turns her head to see if anyone is following her, but then she comes into contact with something hard. She's sent to the ground as her back lands harshly on the floor. She looks up hazily and finds a blurry sight of red above her. "Dolly?" She blinks once or twice, steadying her vision. A grotesque face looks down at her in surprise. She lets out a yelp and crawls backwards. The figure offers her a hand but she smacks it before it can touch her. James, the one who offered her his hand, steps back in caution. The rest of his band members, John and Jimmy, lean from beside him to peer at the ragdoll. She is still on the ground shaking, her eyes watering. Her dress is ruffled and her hair is tangled in knots. James turns to shrug, motioning to her weakly. "She came right at me!" He defends. In Sally's ears, all she can hear are mumbles. She shuts her eyes and tries to protect herself by holding her arms in front of her. She can't recognize the voices or the figures. All she can hear is the pounding in her chest and the numb feeling in her leaves. John studies her intently. After awhile, he comments, "I think she's scared." His assumption is confirmed when she jumps at his voice. James rubs his chin excitedly. "Hey, 's great! Who scared ya', Dolly? Was it Jack? I hear he's on a roll tonight, an' it ain't even celebratin' time yet!" She scrambles backwards again. The three exchange confused looks, watching her in silence until things click together in their minds. "Oh! 'S her first Halloween, boys." James announces to them. "She wasn't here last year, remember?" "Ohhh." They reply in unison, nodding at their leader. They glance back at their friend and find that she still hasn't moved, but is starting to peek out from her arms. She blinks a few times before smiling, opening her mouth to apologize. She feels another breeze climb her shoulders and rushes behind them, hiding in the small space between their figures and the wall. James looks behind them and blinks. "Uh...what 'r ya' doin', Doll?" "It's so frightening out there! I just want to feel safe..." "But Hallowen Town's th' safest place around!" He replies. "Nothin's gonna' kill ya'. At least...not here." His consolation doesn't help. She makes a surprised noise and conceals herself again. When Jimmy smacks James' arm, the leader shrugs and mouths: 'It's true!' "You can stay like that as long as you'd like." John assures her, gently strumming his bass. "We ain't going anywhere." She sighs in relief, staying behind them. They really are such great friends to let her hide like this. She doesn't understand why she was so scared. It felt as if her life was at stake and being out in the open meant something horrible. It was...scary. But after calming down, she emerges from the spot. She stands in front of them and tugs at a strand of her hair, wondering just what to say. She finds them smiling at her and flinches. Their faces are scary, too, but they belong to her friends. She can't be scared of them like she was with...whoever was back there. "I'm sorry," She apologizes. "I wasn't expecting things to feel so...different tonight." "Bone Daddy says tonight 'll be th' scariest ever. Guess he's right 'bout that." James chuckles. "Don't know what he has planned. Doesn't let us know 'bout it 'til it happens." Sally unconsciously smiles at the mention of Jack. She almost forgot asking them about him. They are his friends as well, and they seem really familiar with him since no one else used such a nickname. She clears her throat and avoids eye contact with the three, shyly approaching the topic. "I was wondering if you three can tell me more about Jack?" She asks. All of their jaws open wide. James nudges Jimmy's arm while John gives him a smug look. The accordion player looks away from them and scoffs. The other two erupt into laughter, James slapping his knee repeatedly. "Doesn't mean anything." Jimmy mutters. "What doesn't?" The ragdoll asks. "Oh, nothin', nothin'." James waves it off. "What do ya' wanna' know 'bout 'im, Dolly?" "Everything." She blurts out. Their eyes widen again before the three think of what to say. John and Jimmy eventually look at James, waiting for his response. He catches their looks and clears his throat. "-Well, Bone Daddy likes ta' take walks, fer' one. He usually goes 'round th' Outskirts late at night. Don't know what he does exactly, but sometimes he'll be out there fer' hours. We find that he usually ends up at th' Graveyard." "Oh, yes. I've met him there." "Not many ghouls know this, but..." James looks around before leaning forward. "Bone Daddy doesn't like th' fawnin' n' attention. I'm guessin' he gets overwhelmed. Every year th' ghouls n creatures praise him, n' it's all fun n' games...but we always see him leave fer' th' Graveyard after. Ain't a good sign." She gawks in surprise. "But all I ever see are the citizens praising him..." "Trust me, I'm guessin' at one point he enjoyed it. But...let's say ya' get called horrible everyday. After awhile, it really loses its touch, ya' know?" She furrows her eyebrows in thought. She had no idea that it overwhelmed him...it looked like he coped with it just fine. He didn't mention it with her at the Graveyard. Oh, she hopes she hasn't added onto that for him... Jimmy slowly starts to play his accordion, passing a look in her direction. "I'm a little surprised." "Surprised about what?" "He likes to stay alone," He explains. "Keeps himself at home and only goes to the graveyard to be by himself. Whenever anyone offers him some company, he always says no. I'm surprised he invited you with him." James looks over at the tall member and shoves his arm. Jimmy quiets down. Sally is still taking this new information in. Jack didn't like company, but he...enjoyed hers? Was she the exception? She wasn't used to being special for anything. The thought makes her feel warm. "....Really?..." The smile keeps growing on her face. James nods. "Yeah, 's right. But, 'stead of askin' us...ya' should go n' ask him yerself." She grins and nods. He's right. She has a whole evening with him coming up at the Graveyard, and she certainly won't go and waste the time when it comes. The four of them hear a round of chatter come in the direction of the Town Square. Sally decides to take her leave and waves to her friends as she goes. They play a tune for her as she walks away. ------------------ She's relieved to find the gates open and monsters about. She doesn't feel scared in the lighter atmosphere here. The monsters are either pumping themselves with preparation or were chatting with one another as she passes by. She finds a crowd near the fountain surrounding the Mayor's hearse. He's standing atop of it with a long paper in his hands, directing monsters to their proper places. She isn't familiar with many of the people here. They all look terribly scary. But seeing them being so enthusiastic only makes her view them in a better light. All these people truly are friendly. Jack was right about them! Wait, where IS Jack? She wonders. She looks around in the crowds but can't find him until she hears a familiar voice call for her. "Hey, Sally! Over here!" When she looks, she finds the Hanging Tree waiting for her. He and the Hanging Men are waving her over. She nods slightly as she pushes her way through the crowds. Once she gets to him, he pats an empty spot, to which she sits down and flattens down her dress. "Hello, Hanging Tree." She greets. "Hello, Sally! I was surprised to see you here!" He responds. "And on Halloween Night, no less." "What's going on? Why is everyone here?" The Hanging Tree looks down at her in surprise, taken aback at such a question. One of the Hanging Men realizes their tree is stunned and takes the obligation of telling her. "-Well, Miss, Halloween is the most important night of the year! We sing our song about it! Right now, we're all waiting for our roles." "I see." That explains why there's so many huddling around the Mayor's hearse. "-And where is Jack?" "Our Pumpkin King!" Another Hanging Man cheers. "Tonight, we worship him, as he's the King of Halloween! He comes at the end of the celebration to deliver his performance. The most exciting moment of the night!" "But I thought he doesn't like worship?" She inquires. The Hanging Tree finally snaps back into reality and hums lowly in response. "We're only allowed to do it tonight. He accepts praises every other day, but Halloween is the exception for everything, you know! Such a humble yet terrifying man, if I'd say so myself." She lets out a soft 'oh' in response. She continues to observe the scene until a thought suddenly comes to her. Jack said she was a citizen now, and the Doctor couldn't prove otherwise, so...does that mean she had a role in Halloween? "Do you know where I go in the song?" She asks the tree. He places a hand to his face in thought. "I don't believe I heard your name. But it'd be best to check with the Mayor, just to make sure and all." He points over to the crowd with a sharp finger. She nods and carefully removes herself from her seat. She attempts to find some sort of line. Apparently, there is none. Everyone seems to be standing around, hoping to get called on and directed somewhere. She decides to stick to the back and patiently waits for something to happen. The Mayor is currently waving his hand in front of a crowd. He doesn't look stressed, rather, happy, as he is checking names left-and-right off of his list. It takes awhile until everyone is assigned and there's only Sally left. When the Mayor's finger lands on her, his face changes. "Oh, dear. It doesn't say your name anywhere here, Mrs. Finklestein..." He climbs through the papers. Still finding nothing, he let them go limp on the floor. "Then where do I go?" His face shifts to his happier side. "You can sit to sit to the side and watch! It's such a horrible experience either way." He climbs down the ladder and lands on the floor loudly. He grabs his megaphone and that's when she decides to take her leave, making her way to the side and resting against a wall. She happens to do so just in time, for the Mayor's voice begins to echo through the town. "Remember, everyone, wait for your signal so you may all get into position! Please take timing into consideration. I'd like for this Halloween to be as orderly as the last! With that said, I'll be rewarding the prizes after the celebration! Have fun, everybody!" Everyone waits a bit before something comes through the gates. A black figure quickly goes around and rids the flames of nearby candles. Whenever it passes by a lamppost, the light goes off. The only thing illuminating the area right now is the bright, green water from the fountain. She hears startled screams and laughter emerge from the darkness. Figures rush past her. She lays completely flat against the wall as to not be taken with them. Soon the screams, laughs, and voices fall. She's left standing in silence. A moment passes before the lamps slowly light up again. The town square is nearly empty, save for monsters like Sally scrambling to the sides and watching. She is too scared to break the silence. Suddenly, ghosts fly around and peek through the fences, dancing on the walls.   "Boys and girls of every age Wouldn't you like to see something strange? Come with us and you will see This, our town of Halloween This is Halloween, this is Halloween Pumpkins scream in the dead of night" This is Halloween, everybody make a scene Trick or treat till the neighbors gonna die of fright It's our town, everybody scream In this town of Halloween I am the one hiding under your bed Teeth ground sharp and eyes glowing red I am the one hiding under your stairs Fingers like snakes and spiders in my hair This is Halloween, this is Halloween Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! Halloween!"</i> The Vampire Brothers from afar emerge from their house. It sounds like the song is growing closer to her. They turn around and extend their wings, singing: "In this town we call home Everyone hail to the pumpkin song" The Mayor, proudly standing on top of his hears, begins to sing. She gawks at his voice - having not imagined him being so good, even better than her! He spins around while performing his lines: "In this town, don't we love it now? Everybody's waiting for the next surprise" Other citizens start jumping out from different spots. They continue to sing: "'Round that corner, man hiding in the trash can Something's waiting no to pounce, and how you'll Scream! This is Halloween Red 'n' black, and slimy green Aren't you scared? Well, that's just fine Say it once, say it twice Take a chance and roll the dice Ride with the moon in the dead of night Everybody scream, everybody scream In our town of Halloween! I am the clown with the tear-away face Here in a flash and gone without a trace I am the "who" when you call, "Who's there?" I am the wind blowing through your hair" Every part of her gets chills hearing those last lines. A voice comes above her, urging her to look into the night sky. She finds a familiar figure singing from...the moon? "I am the shadow on the moon at night Filling your dreams to the brim with fright This is Halloween, this is Halloween Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! Halloween!" The children gather around their toys. She smiles as they sing their parts, joined by their parents soon after. "Tender lumplings everywhere Life's no fun without a good scare That's our job, but we're not mean In our town of Halloween In this town Don't we love it now? Everybody's waiting for the next surprise" The Behemoth comes out through the gates. He is lugging the straw horse behind him, the same one the Doctor has been working on for weeks. Some sort of scarecrow is sitting on top of it, with the welcoming sign of Halloween Town attached to its back. It has a pumpkin for a head and seems to be completely inanimate. She obverses it from a distance. A small, purple scattered-up vest is buttoned on its body. The rest is completely straw save for the stick-like arms, its limbs encircled with rope. All of the citizens rush to gather around it and sing while it passes by. One of them is carrying a torch, which is suddenly taken by the scarecrow. "Skeleton Jack might catch you in the back And scream like a banshee Make you jump out of your skin This is Halloween, everybody scream Won't ya please make way for a very special guy Our man Jack is King of the Pumpkin patch Everyone hail to the Pumpkin King, now!" The scarecrow swallows the torch hole, engulfing its body into flames. It jumps off of the horse and becomes completely animate, dancing around the square and shooting some fire out from its mouth. Sally jumps when flames find their way in her direction. The scarecrow turns and leaps into the fountain, performing a few flips expertly before landing into the water successfully. She watches it in awe, waiting for the moment it will rise out of the water. Her eyes focus and tries to find the orange peek out from the green liquid. But instead, a white skull emerges out slowly, two eye sockets opening slowly as the rest of its body follows suit. The citizens around her cheer as Jack steps onto the statue of the fountain, spreading out in arms to receive their praise. She is completely dumbfounded that nothing leaves her mouth. "What a horrible Halloween, everybody!" The Mayor exclaims from his hearse. Everyone's heads turn to watch him as he joins Jack. The skeleton steps down from the fountain and chuckles in response. "Yes, certainly one of our best to come!" The Pumpkin King agrees. "Everyone did horribly!" "But nothing compared to YOU, Jack!" The Mayor points at him. "Your leadership is what MAKES Halloween!" He opens his mouth to thank him, but is interrupted by someone screaming from the crowd. "You make sparks fly, Jack!" Someone else joins in. "You make oil boil!" More voices sound out in the crowd. She loses track hearing all of them at once. "You're a witch's scream!" "You make flesh crawl!" "-And wounds suppurate!" "You're such a scream!" Everyone is cheering and agreeing with the compliments being yelled out. The ragdoll keeps smiling and nodding as she hears them. They are all right - Jack is all of those things. She places two hands to her chest in excitement, unable to stop herself from blurting out a compliment of her own. "You're an inspiration!" She realizes what she said a second too late and slaps a hand over her mouth. The others clap to agree, though many are looking around in search for the new voice. Even he is a bit startled, judging by the way he's looking with them. She feels embarrassed and lowers her head, standing behind the largest person nearby so she wouldn't be seen. "An inspiration?" Jack Skellington echoes. "I loved that. Who said it?" She feels tingly and grins brightly. He loves it? She slowly rises from the crowds to claim it, but someone else blurts out an agreement before she can. "Yes! You're an inspiration to everybody!" Another round of applause ensues. She reluctantly joins in, a little jealous of being overshadowed. He finally holds up a skeletal hand, making everyone goes quiet. He turns to the Mayor and motions for him to begin calling out to the people. "Oh, yes!" Her grabs his list. "And now, the prizes!" She listens as the Mayor rewards people, giving them things she thought a little odd to praise. One monster gets a trophy for how many bats they made scream and another gets an honorable mention for the most 'claw marks in town'. She's confused, but she enjoys it. As soon as everything is handed out, the Mayor shoves his list to the side. Jack takes a step onto his hearse and sits himself on the top, towering over everyone. They all flock to him, surrounding the area and craning their necks up just to see him. Some even reach for any of his limbs that happen to be hanging loose. A witch manages to cling onto his arm, to which he politely nudges her off. "Well, everyone, I think this Halloween went horribly! But it is time to discuss what we can improve on." He passes the Mayor a smile. "If you'll do the honors, Mr. Mayor?" The Mayor nods his head and joins Jack from below, getting a paper out as well as a feathered pen. Sally stands firmly where she is, unsure of what to do. The monsters shove themselves forward to get as close to Jack while others talk to the Mayor. Many of the ghouls and witches are fluttering their eyes and attempting to touch him, some even succeeding. The ragdoll frowns and drops her arms to her side in defeat. Before she can leave, she feels someone's stare on the back of her head. She turns around and find Jack's eye sockets locked with her black pupils. He begins to wave at her, to which she blushes and returns. She sees him open his mouth to say something, but is interrupted by the sea gal launching herself onto his arm and nearly tipping the skeleton over the hearse. He gets pulled into the crowd, and that's the last Sally sees of him. She thinks now is the best time to take her leave. -------------------- The band is playing a melody that she now realizes was used for the song. She briefly talks to them, telling her that her first Hallwoeen as "horrible" and things alike before continuing on her way. She doesn't want to return to the tower, but she'd rather be there than staying around and watching Jack be pampered by women. When she reaches the front door, she pulls on the handle in expectation it'll open. But it doesn't. The result is the same when she tries again. She climbs down the stairs and attempts the back entrance, which she also finds locked. She looks up and finds the lights of the tower turned off, the Outskirts completely silent. She recalls the last time Finklestein locked the door. The time when she was with Jack, who went with her to bring her back in. She takes a deep breath and knocks on the surface heartily a few times. She waits a few minutes before realizing that no one is coming. "Oh, no..." She says to herself. "What am I going to do?" When she looks around, she finds the paths getting darker and the lights getting dimmer. She goes in the only direction she knows by heart - to the Graveyard. She sighs in relief when the gates come into view and goes right through them. Both the graveyard and the spiral hill are empty. She slowly walks around and tries to comfort herself in the silence of the crickets. She passes by Zero's grave and momentarily decides whether or not to wake him up. She decides not to bother him and climbs over to a few empty graves. One spot in particular is steep enough for her to lay down in. She bites her lip as she slowly lays down in it, attempting her best to get comfortable. She ends up having to go into a fetal position to stay warm. She tries not to think too badly of sleeping on the ground. Instead, she closes her eyes and thinks of Halloween instead. She thinks of the singing, the wonderful cheers, and especially Jack....Once her thoughts come to him, they never leave. Thinking about him makes her warm enough to fall asleep, dreaming of a better world. ----------------- The rest of the night goes by with little noise. In the midst of her sleep, she feels something warm encircle her. The ground beneath her feels smoother, and a breeze passes through her hair. She's too comfortable to move and decides to relish in this new warmth. A few more noises come but she can't remember them. They aren't loud enough to stir her from her dream. She is placed into her bed and wrapped comfortably in her blankets. She spends the last few hours of the night nestled into the bed, only to awake once she hears the sound of a rooster crowing.        

[yellingmetatron]

A Spooky Story for Halloween

‘Tis the season for spookiness, so I thought I’d share a little story.  Is it related to my muse?  No.  Will it entertain you regardless?  Might do.  And hey, there’s gonna be a ghost lady.  Bitches (by which I mean everyone on tumblr including myself) dig ghost ladies.

Now, I have seen a common complaint about the archetypal Beauty and the Beast story, which is that in most its iterations, the story is about a male monster being redeemed by a woman. “Why can’t a man see past a woman’s outer monstrosity and into the goodness within?”  I hear you cry.  “Must it always be a woman who bears a man’s darkness?  Cannot a man love a monster for who she truly is?”

Well good news, kids: There is in fact a folktale that reverses the dynamic.  As with most fairy tales, there are several different tellings, all valid.  But I intend to share with you my favorite version, known popularly as “King Henry”, but re-imagined by myself as “King Doormat”.  Why King Doormat?  Oh, you’ll see.

Once upon a time in Ye Goode Olde Dayes, there lived a monarch called King Doormat.  He was a paragon of chivalry in the Dark Ages and something of a moron, which is no doubt why he was so beloved by his subjects. When he wasn’t busy being chivalrous and a moron, he liked to go out into the forest with his entourage and hunt, because you’re not expected to be chivalrous to deer, something that his courtiers probably spent quite a while getting King Doormat to understand.

The king and his followers were having a jolly good day in the royal forest not being chivalrous to deer, when suddenly a storm blew in.

“Hey, said King Doormat, “This looks like it’s a real wicked pissah.” He was the King of Massachusetts, apparently.  “Why don’t we take shelter in that hunting lodge?”  The king gestured to nearby Doomdeath Hall, which had stood abandoned for half a century after the last Lord Doomdeath, Gerard Squiggleby, had been eaten alive by ghost monsters.  The king’s retinue, who were less chivalrous than their liege but not much smarter, agreed.

They’d barely managed to break into the wine cellar when suddenly the storm outside got even worse. There was a flash of lightening, a sudden darkness, which is the opposite of lightening, and then a hideous screech that combined all the charm of nails on a chalkboard with the understated dignity of a cat stuck up a chimney.  And then who should come stamping into the hall but a ghost monster?  A lady ghost monster, even.  Let’s let Steeleye Span describe her, because heaven knows I can’t be bothered to invest much energy in this story given I know how it comes out:

Her head hit the roof-tree of the house Her middle you could not span Each frightened huntsman fled the hall And left the king alone Her teeth were like the tether stakes Her nose like club or mell And nothing less she seemed to be Than a fiend that comes from hell

King Doormat, being so exceptionally chivalrous, did not run away, but instead offered her some food.

“I hope venison is OK,” said King Doormat fretfully, “Only my advisors tell me if you let peasants eat venison they turn to stone, so I hope you’re at least, like, a baroness—"

“I wanna eat your horse,” said the lady ghost monster.

“…My what?”

“Your horse.  Kill your horse so I can eat it.”

“Oh, said King Doormat,” realization dawning, “You’re a French ghost.  Well, no judgement here, my father always said it takes all kinds to—”

“Less talking more killing,” growled the lady ghost monster, her teeth lengthening and her hair catching fire.

So off Doormat went to kill his horse, and presented its carcass to the lady ghost monster.  She turned to mist, crawled in one of its nostrils, and ate the whole thing from the inside-out, leaving only its skin.

“Well, that’s literally the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen,” said Doormat, “But at least it’s sort of overwhelmed the feeling of guilt I had for killing my favorite horse—”

“I wanna eat your dogs now,” said the lady ghost monster.

“…Wat.”

“Did I fudging stutter?”

“…But there’s still deer though.”  Doormat gestured helplessly to the three deer carcasses lying in the corner.  “I mean you could probably eat some organ meat without turning to stone, I hear most peasants—”

The lady ghost monster unhinged her jaw like a snake, bent all her joints backward, and made a sound like a foghorn being murdered by an ambulance siren in the king’s face.

“…OK, you can eat my dogs,” squeaked the king.

The lady ghost monster helpfully supervised the king in slaughtering the four dear hunting dogs he’d raised from puppies.  Then she ate them.

“So,” said King Doormat, weeping uncontrollably, “I don’t want to be rude, but—”

“Gonna eat your hunting hawks now.”

“…OK.”

And so the lady ghost monster ate his hunting hawks.  Of course she had him kill them himself, because she didn’t want to break a ghost nail or something.  Then she made him sew up his horse’s hide into a giant wineskin and fill it with wine. The king was thankful for that home economics course he took once, especially that one class where they practiced sewing up horse hides into giant wineskins.

After she finished her drink the king fully expected her leave, because in these backward times ladies and gentlemen usually parted company after dinner, but she just hung around, staring at him with her great big scary lady ghost monster eyes.

“Nice… weather,” the king hazarded, “I mean, I usually prefer sunshine, but I imagine being a ghost monster storms are a bit more your jam, and I can kind of appreciate—”

“That’s racist,” the lady ghost monster said, “No go out and gather heather to make me a bed.”

So he did.  Because of course he did.  He wouldn’t be King Doormat if he didn’t.  He picked all the heather he could outside, in the rain, by himself.  He dried it by the fire, and offered her ermine mantle as a blanket.

“Now get naked and lie next to me,” said the lady ghost monster.

“Yes, lady ghost monster,” said the king, unlacing his tunic.

“And promise me you’ll marry me tomorrow.”

“I promise, lady ghost monster,” said the king, finishing taking off his clothes.

“I’m your fiancée now so you can call me Janet.  And don’t hog all the mantle, I get cold easy.”

“Yes, Janet.  No, Janet,” said the king lying next to her and thinking of England.  Which was a bit weird considering we’d established that he’s the king of Massachusetts, but that’s hardly the strangest thing about this story.  I’d like to remind you that this lady passed up eating three deer, just in case you forgot.  They’re still there, the dead deer.  Uneaten.

The next morning, the sun was shining and the birds were singing.  The air smelled like pine, and lavender, and cotton candy, and honestly it was hell to someone with chronic rhinitis but King Doormat didn’t have that problem. He woke up pretty early but pretended to be asleep for a while in order to postpone acknowledging the terrible reality of his life, and in that moment truly appreciated what it was like to be the 99%.

“Open your eyes,” lilted a beautiful voice next to him.  King Doormat did so, and what should he behold but the fairest lady in all the land.

“Oh goodly king,” said the lady, her voice like sweet music and kittens, “Thou hast broken the curse that ‘twas ‘pon me.  Truly thou art chivalrous, giving me all I asked.   I shall be thine own true love for all thy days, such love that only the bards sing.  What say thee, good king Doormat?  Am I not the most perfect woman for which a heterosexual man could ask?”

And King Doormat replied, “Bitch, you ate my pets.”

No, actually, of course he married her, but frankly I like my ending better.  I mean, everyone gives the miller’s daughter in Rumpelstiltskin a lot of grief for marrying a guy who had repeatedly threatened to kill her, but at least she had the excuse of having basically no choice.  I mean, would you turn down a marriage proposal from a guy who was both the reigning monarch and perfectly happy to kill people for incredibly petty reasons?  Maybe she got to poison him and rule as Queen Regent after the business with Rumpelstiltskin was settled. That would have been a happy ending.

…what was I talking about? Oh, right.  This story was Motif D732 in Stith Thompson's motif index, “The Loathly Lady”.  Gender-inverted Beauty and the Beast.  Not all versions of the story have a protagonist this spineless—I mean, “chivalrous”.  I hope it tickled your spooky bone, and remember: If this night of All Hallows Eve you find yourself in the company of any lady (or gentleman) ghost monsters, be smart and don’t feed them your pets and then agree to marry them.  Odds are they’ll actually get where you’re coming from and leave you alone, because life isn’t like fairy tales.  And frankly some people would prefer to date ghost monsters instead of fair ladies, so no need to break any “curse”.

Happy Halloween!

[timclymer]

Halloween – Samhain Teach Us To Overcome Fear

At its core, Samhain is about the night when the old God dies and the crone Goddess mourns him deeply for the next six weeks. The popular image of her as the old Halloween hag stirring her cauldron comes from the Celtic belief that all dead souls return to her cauldron of life, death and rebirth to await reincarnation.

After the Christian church to recast the sabbat, or seasonal season, by turning it into a day of fasting and prayer for saints (All Hallow Eve, preceding all Saints Day, is still one of the holiest days in Catholicism), Samhain lore and practice remained popular and the church was forced to diabolize it as a night “boiling with evil spirits.”

Masters of cultural blending, the church declared that the evil spirits were dispelled only the ringing of church bells on All Saints Day. Although terrorism has nothing to do with this pagan holiday, the idea of ​​Samhain being a night of unleashed evil took hold in the collective mind.

The effect of this unfortunate misinterpretation is that a great opportunity to reflect on life and death, on the endless cycle of seasons, and extremely, on confronting and overcoming that which frigtens us, has become lost. Halloween has become an extremely commercial holiday, second only to Christmas in decorating and candy sales, or a celebration of the macabre, leading to fearful rejection by religiously conservative groups, or wanton abandon by those happy to unleash their versions of the hounds of hell.

Very few people however, seem to take the opportunity Halloween presents to face our fears, which is interesting – or maybe understandable — America appears to be one of the most frightened places on earth. According to a NY Times poll in 2006, nearly half of Americans feel “something uneasy or in danger.” Compared with five years previous, 39% of Americans said they feel less safe now, while only 14% said they feel safer.

While there does not seem to be any exact figures, turn on the television at almost any given time, and it’s clear that there’s been an increase, in recent years, in the number of crime dramas and crime related news coverage. We’ve got show like the venerable America’s Most Wanted reminding us that violent predators are loose in every city; CSI solving dramatic counters in at least three states; 20/20, PrimeTime and 48 Hours, with their companionable reporters warning us, with great concern for our well-being, about scams, crooks and thugs of every variety; and horrific slasher films, available on cable, right in our own homes and enhanced with the best blood-letting computer graphics to bring it all home.

In the early 1990s, there was a dramatic increase in the public perception of crime as the most important problem facing the country – 52% of Americans, in 1994, felt that crime was of utmost concern. Based upon data from 1978 through 1998, results suggest that this “big scare” was more a network TV news scare than a scare based on the real world of crime. The television news alone accounted for almost four times more variance in public perceptions of crime as our most important problem, than did actual crime rates, which – believe it or not – have actually gone down in the last fifteen years.

Yes – down: For the 10-year trend, from 1996 to 2005, the FBI reports that violent crime declined nearly 18%. Murder decreased 15% in 2005 compared to 1996. In this same time period, robbery offenses decreased 22%. Even motor vehicle theft decreased, down more than 11% in 2005 compared with 1996.

So just what are we so afraid of? If you’ve managed to avoid the crime scare, modern media has some other concerns for you: How about dying in an airplane accident? Getting cancer from … well, anything at all? Virulent breeds of superbugs resistant to every known antibiotic? Food safety? Organ trafficking? Killer bees? Having your child kidnapped? Hooked on drugs? Or finding a razor blade in their Halloween candy? Lead in toys?

For what it’s worth, the Halloween razor blade thing never happened, and most of those other concerns are overblown as well. Barry Glassner, author of The Culture of Fear (Basic Books, 2000), calls these “pseudodangers”, and says the media, advertisers, politicians and various companies and organizations thrive on them and the money (or votes, which extremely translates to money ) that your fears bring them. Pseudodangers, suggests Glassner, represent an opportunity for us to avoid facing problems head-on. Rather than address – or sometimes, better said, because of our inability to address – poverty, we fear the criminals that poverty can create. Our inability to address foreign policy issues renders us terrified of terrorism.

“In just about every contemporary American scare,” says Glassner, “rather than confront disturbing shortcomings in society, the public discussion centers on disturbed individuals.”

Our fears, however, are often far worse than our realities.

According to John Meuller, the Woody Hayes Chair of national security policy and professor of political science at Ohio State University, we’re suffering from a national false sense of insecurity.

“Until 2001,” he writes, “far fewer Americans were killed in any grouping of years by all forms of international terrorism than were killed by lightning, and almost none of those terrorist deaths occurred within the United States itself. 11 attacks included in the count, the number of Americans killed by international terrorism since the late 1960s (which is when the State Department began counts) is about the same as the number of Americans killed over the same period by lightning, accident-causing deer , or some severe allergic reaction to peanuts. ”

Further, Meuller noted that transportation researchers at the University of Michigan calculated than “an American’s chance of being killed in one nonstop airline flight is about one in 13 million (even taking the Sept. 11 crashes into account). risk when driving on America’s safest roads – rural interstate highways – one would have to travel a mere 11.2 miles. ”

Driving is, in fact, one of the most dangerous things we do, and yet most of us are quite willing to accept that risk. Author Bruce Schneier, in Beyond Fear (Springer, 2nd edition 2006), observes that, “In America, automobiles cause 40,000 deaths every year; that’s the equivalent of a full 727 crashing every day and a half – 225 total in a year. As a society, we effectively say that the risk of dying in a car crash is worth the benefits of driving around town. But if those same 40,000 people died each year in fiery 727 crashes instead of automobile accidents, you could be sure there would be Similarly, studies have shown that both drivers and passengers in SUVs are more likely to die in accidents than those in compact cars, yet one of the major selling points of SUVs is that the owner feels safer in one . ”

Many of our fears, of late, involve children – everything from being afraid for them to being afraid * of * them. Surveys have found that kidnapping tops parents’ list of concerns for their children. Yet the largest safety issue for kids is basic simple safety measures in homes and public places. The risk of kidnapping by strangers remains incredibly small – under 1% of the nation’s more than 64 million children are located by non-family members and actually returned. A far smaller number die.

And those killer Columbine type kids? They’re statistically almost non-existent. 80% of our nation’s counties never experience a juvenile homicide.

But are things getting worse? “There is nothing new in the world except the history you do not know,” said Harry Truman.

“A new army of 6 million men are being mobilized against us, an army of delinquents.” Juvenile delinquency has increased at an alarming rate and is eating at the heart of America, “declared a Juvenile Court Judge – in 1946.

There are "predatory beasts” on the streets, hordes of teens and preteens running wild in city streets, “gnawing away at the foundations of society,” said a commentator – in the 19th century. In 1850 in New York alone, there were more than 200 gang wars mostly by teenage boys.

The youngest American ever executed for murder was 12 years old. She killed the baby in her care – in 1786.

So how did we get so scared? Our fears, suggests Glassner, are carefully and repeatedly fed by anyone who desires to create fear, often by manipulating words, facts, news, sources or data, in order to indict certain personal behaviors, justify governmental actions or policies (at home or abroad ), keep people consuming, elect certain politicians, or distract the public’s attention from allegedly more urgent social issues like poverty, social security, unemployment, crime or pollution. The most common techniques for social haunting include:

Careful selection and omission of news (some relevant facts are shown and some are not); (reporting that the number one problem teachers faced in 1940 was talking and gum chewing, and in 1990, pregnancy, suicide and drug abuse; , teachers today site problems parent apathy and lack of text books as their biggest problems)

Distortion of statistics or numbers (declaring 800,000 children missing each year, but failing to break those statistics down meaningfully)

Transformation of single events into social epidemics ; (going “postal” is not a postal service epidemic – that remains one of the safest occupations)

Corruption and distortion of words or terminology according to specific goals ;

Stigmatization of minorities , especially when associated with criminal acts or degeneration behavior;

Generalization of complex and multifaceted situations ;

Causal inversion (turning a cause into an effect or vice-versa).

None of this is to suggest we should not be cautious or aware or concerned, that we should not be proactive in caring for ourselves or our children, and taking normal precautions for health and safety. But simple things like wearing seatbelts and washing hands will do more to protect you than refusing to talk to strangers or carrying a gun.

“To fear is one thing,” says author Katherine Paterson, who wrote Jacob Have I Loved (HarperTrophy, 1990). “To let fear grab you by the tail and swing you around is another.”

Nobel Prize Laureate Bertrand Russell, a British philosopher, logician, essayist and social critic, suggested, in 1950 when we were dealing with all sorts of still familiar concerns, there are two ways of coping with fear:

“… one is to diminish the external danger, and the other is to cultivate Stoic endurance. The latter can be reinforced, except where immediate action is necessary, by turning our thoughts away from the cause of fear. of very great importance. Fear is in itself degrading; it easily becomes an obsession; it produces hate of that which is feared, and it leads headlong to excesses of cruelty. ”

In “ We are Not Afraid, ” Homer Hickam, author Rocket Boys (Delta, 2000) (which was made into the film, October Sky ), drew on his experiences growing up in the brave and resilient community of Coalwood, West Virginia, a town were the threat of death was constant, but fear was not. He said Coalwood residents take a four pronged approach to fearlessness that he sums up in something like a set of mantras:

We are proud of who are

We stand up for what we believe

We keep our families together

We trust in God but rely on ourselves

Hickam also says something substantially Buddhist early in his book. He says that despite the ills of our society, we large live among compassionate, kind and optimistic people who are striving to do good. “As an American,” he says, in a line that would make the Dali Lama proud, “you have a duty to be happy. pursuit of happiness. So do your duty. Learn how to be happy and keep this in mind: You can not be happy unless you stop being afraid. ”

Senator. John McCain (R-Ariz.) Puts it less poetically: “Get on the damn elevator! Fly on the damn plane! wave. Suck it up, for crying out loud. You’re almost certainly going to be OK. a life worth living, is it? ”

Fear, Hickam says, is mostly a habit.

“The habit of fear and dread,” he writes, “can be compared to having a chronic disease. that we walk around with slumped shoulders and drag one heavy foot after another. We dread getting out of bed in the morning, certain that only awful things are going to happen when we do. We include ourselves. We do not like the way we look. We feel victimized. We’re envious of others and assume the world is filled with meanness. We always lose our views and we do not even know why. Worse, the disease we have is infectious. Innocent people we encounter are susceptible to catching fear and dread from us, including our children. wrong, but we do not know how to be cured. ’

One way to rid yourself of this infection, says Hickam, is to "stand up straight and …. be proud of who you are.” To do that, he says, it’s necessary to know who you are, and how you’re connected to your family and your community. That involves talking to family members, to community members – and passing their stories on to your children and other family members. To be unafraid, you have to be connected to something larger than yourself, says Hickam.

The habit of fear and dread also causes timidity, says Hickam, a tendency to avoid confrontation, especially in defending our opinion. That one’s probably not quite as big an issue here for us – we have lots of opinions and fling them around easily here. But how about “out there”? “If you act as if what you think is not important, it’s the same as believing * you * are not important,” wrists Hickam. “An attitude like that can squeeze the life right out of anyone.”

One of the best ways to overcome that aspect of fear and dread, he says, is “to take up for those who can not take up for themselves.”

“There’s always someone who needs you help. How can you be afraid if you’re the protector of someone else in a dangerous world?

But there’s more to it than just faking it till you make it. Hickam says you should also teach that person to stand up for himself, too, so that he can keep his dignity. Hickam cautions that standing up for what you believe "does not mean that every time you feel you’re slighted, you should erupt with loud, hateful behavior. of some perceived oppression. This attitude ahs to do with a quiet determination to have your opinion explained and heard. To be effective, it also has to be respectful and fair. The most effective way of standing up is always going to be the nonviolent way, quiet but determined. ”

Keeping our families together can actually be one of the harder tools for fearlessness, observes Hickam, but it’s a vital one. “An intact, functioning family works to not only provide a loving refugee, but also fills in the cracks of our own personalities. Smart he is, or how many muscles he ahs or anything else. The family can be a shield against the world, and also the springboard to a better life. ”

And finally, Hickam says trusting God but relying on yourself is a sure way to rise above fear. “The people of Coalwood were against calling on God any time they needed help,” he recalled. “For one thing, it was considered impolite. God had a lot of things to worry about after all, without including everything that got in the way of one particular human being. with most of what they needed to get past a scrape, including their own good common sense. ” Mostly, he said, they reserved their prayers for thanks.

While others often ponder why bad things happen to good people, Hickam ponders something he says as more amazing: “Why, in a universe and a world where everything must work hard to simply survive, did that which we think of as decent and fine get we are crave goodness, seek out honesty and strive to be honorable, even when evil is so much easier? our species and our world and our universe? Some great goodness is out there, and it’s here, too. It is everywhere. ”

We’re two parts, says Hickam, “one spiritual and the other physical. Both are important. us. But we also must use our hands and minds to keep our families safe and build a better world. ”

A world in which we are not afraid.

“We are not afraid.”

Say it slowly, and savor it, says Hickam, like we should savor the world and each moment. This sacred time of year honors the timeless changes of our lives, and offers us a rare opportunity to look death in the eye and give it a wink and a nod.

“There is no reason to fear life or dread what might be coming your way,” wrists Hickam. “Every hour of every day, recall all the people who came before you, all those who make up who you are, and stand tall and be proud. No matter how perilous the times, they will always be with you …”

Bertrand Russell would agree. “We want to stand up our own feet and look fair and square at the world,” he said. “- its good facts, its bad facts, its beauties, and its ugliness; see the world as it is and be not afraid of it. Conquer the world by intelligence and not merely by being slavishly subdued by the terror that comes from it … We bought to stand up and look the world frankly in the face. We bought to make the best we can of the world, and if it is not so good as we wish, after all it will still be better than what these others have made it in all these ages. A good world needs knowledge, kindness, and courage; it does not need a regretful hankering after the past or a fettering of the free intelligence by the words uttered long ago by ignorant men. needs a fearless outlook and a free intelligence. It needs hope for the future, not looking back all the time toward a past that is dead, which we trust will be surpassed by the future that our intelligence can create. ”

As Samhain reminds us, death is not an end, but a transition, a time to look forward to new beginnings, when we will be born anew as the wheel of the year turns on and on.

And there is nothing to be afraid of.

Source by Theresa Willingham

from Home Solutions Forev https://homesolutionsforev.com/halloween-samhain-teach-us-to-overcome-fear/ via Home Solutions on WordPress from Home Solutions FOREV https://homesolutionsforev.tumblr.com/post/184650014775 via Tim Clymer on Wordpress

[homesolutionsforev]

Halloween – Samhain Teach Us To Overcome Fear

At its core, Samhain is about the night when the old God dies and the crone Goddess mourns him deeply for the next six weeks. The popular image of her as the old Halloween hag stirring her cauldron comes from the Celtic belief that all dead souls return to her cauldron of life, death and rebirth to await reincarnation.

After the Christian church to recast the sabbat, or seasonal season, by turning it into a day of fasting and prayer for saints (All Hallow Eve, preceding all Saints Day, is still one of the holiest days in Catholicism), Samhain lore and practice remained popular and the church was forced to diabolize it as a night "boiling with evil spirits."

Masters of cultural blending, the church declared that the evil spirits were dispelled only the ringing of church bells on All Saints Day. Although terrorism has nothing to do with this pagan holiday, the idea of ​​Samhain being a night of unleashed evil took hold in the collective mind.

The effect of this unfortunate misinterpretation is that a great opportunity to reflect on life and death, on the endless cycle of seasons, and extremely, on confronting and overcoming that which frigtens us, has become lost. Halloween has become an extremely commercial holiday, second only to Christmas in decorating and candy sales, or a celebration of the macabre, leading to fearful rejection by religiously conservative groups, or wanton abandon by those happy to unleash their versions of the hounds of hell.

Very few people however, seem to take the opportunity Halloween presents to face our fears, which is interesting – or maybe understandable — America appears to be one of the most frightened places on earth. According to a NY Times poll in 2006, nearly half of Americans feel "something uneasy or in danger." Compared with five years previous, 39% of Americans said they feel less safe now, while only 14% said they feel safer.

While there does not seem to be any exact figures, turn on the television at almost any given time, and it's clear that there's been an increase, in recent years, in the number of crime dramas and crime related news coverage. We've got show like the venerable America's Most Wanted reminding us that violent predators are loose in every city; CSI solving dramatic counters in at least three states; 20/20, PrimeTime and 48 Hours, with their companionable reporters warning us, with great concern for our well-being, about scams, crooks and thugs of every variety; and horrific slasher films, available on cable, right in our own homes and enhanced with the best blood-letting computer graphics to bring it all home.

In the early 1990s, there was a dramatic increase in the public perception of crime as the most important problem facing the country – 52% of Americans, in 1994, felt that crime was of utmost concern. Based upon data from 1978 through 1998, results suggest that this "big scare" was more a network TV news scare than a scare based on the real world of crime. The television news alone accounted for almost four times more variance in public perceptions of crime as our most important problem, than did actual crime rates, which – believe it or not – have actually gone down in the last fifteen years.

Yes – down: For the 10-year trend, from 1996 to 2005, the FBI reports that violent crime declined nearly 18%. Murder decreased 15% in 2005 compared to 1996. In this same time period, robbery offenses decreased 22%. Even motor vehicle theft decreased, down more than 11% in 2005 compared with 1996.

So just what are we so afraid of? If you've managed to avoid the crime scare, modern media has some other concerns for you: How about dying in an airplane accident? Getting cancer from … well, anything at all? Virulent breeds of superbugs resistant to every known antibiotic? Food safety? Organ trafficking? Killer bees? Having your child kidnapped? Hooked on drugs? Or finding a razor blade in their Halloween candy? Lead in toys?

For what it's worth, the Halloween razor blade thing never happened, and most of those other concerns are overblown as well. Barry Glassner, author of The Culture of Fear (Basic Books, 2000), calls these "pseudodangers", and says the media, advertisers, politicians and various companies and organizations thrive on them and the money (or votes, which extremely translates to money ) that your fears bring them. Pseudodangers, suggests Glassner, represent an opportunity for us to avoid facing problems head-on. Rather than address – or sometimes, better said, because of our inability to address – poverty, we fear the criminals that poverty can create. Our inability to address foreign policy issues renders us terrified of terrorism.

"In just about every contemporary American scare," says Glassner, "rather than confront disturbing shortcomings in society, the public discussion centers on disturbed individuals."

Our fears, however, are often far worse than our realities.

According to John Meuller, the Woody Hayes Chair of national security policy and professor of political science at Ohio State University, we're suffering from a national false sense of insecurity.

"Until 2001," he writes, "far fewer Americans were killed in any grouping of years by all forms of international terrorism than were killed by lightning, and almost none of those terrorist deaths occurred within the United States itself. 11 attacks included in the count, the number of Americans killed by international terrorism since the late 1960s (which is when the State Department began counts) is about the same as the number of Americans killed over the same period by lightning, accident-causing deer , or some severe allergic reaction to peanuts. "

Further, Meuller noted that transportation researchers at the University of Michigan calculated than "an American's chance of being killed in one nonstop airline flight is about one in 13 million (even taking the Sept. 11 crashes into account). risk when driving on America's safest roads – rural interstate highways – one would have to travel a mere 11.2 miles. "

Driving is, in fact, one of the most dangerous things we do, and yet most of us are quite willing to accept that risk. Author Bruce Schneier, in Beyond Fear (Springer, 2nd edition 2006), observes that, "In America, automobiles cause 40,000 deaths every year; that's the equivalent of a full 727 crashing every day and a half – 225 total in a year. As a society, we effectively say that the risk of dying in a car crash is worth the benefits of driving around town. But if those same 40,000 people died each year in fiery 727 crashes instead of automobile accidents, you could be sure there would be Similarly, studies have shown that both drivers and passengers in SUVs are more likely to die in accidents than those in compact cars, yet one of the major selling points of SUVs is that the owner feels safer in one . "

Many of our fears, of late, involve children – everything from being afraid for them to being afraid * of * them. Surveys have found that kidnapping tops parents' list of concerns for their children. Yet the largest safety issue for kids is basic simple safety measures in homes and public places. The risk of kidnapping by strangers remains incredibly small – under 1% of the nation's more than 64 million children are located by non-family members and actually returned. A far smaller number die.

And those killer Columbine type kids? They're statistically almost non-existent. 80% of our nation's counties never experience a juvenile homicide.

But are things getting worse? "There is nothing new in the world except the history you do not know," said Harry Truman.

"A new army of 6 million men are being mobilized against us, an army of delinquents." Juvenile delinquency has increased at an alarming rate and is eating at the heart of America, "declared a Juvenile Court Judge – in 1946.

There are "predatory beasts" on the streets, hordes of teens and preteens running wild in city streets, "gnawing away at the foundations of society," said a commentator – in the 19th century. In 1850 in New York alone, there were more than 200 gang wars mostly by teenage boys.

The youngest American ever executed for murder was 12 years old. She killed the baby in her care – in 1786.

So how did we get so scared? Our fears, suggests Glassner, are carefully and repeatedly fed by anyone who desires to create fear, often by manipulating words, facts, news, sources or data, in order to indict certain personal behaviors, justify governmental actions or policies (at home or abroad ), keep people consuming, elect certain politicians, or distract the public's attention from allegedly more urgent social issues like poverty, social security, unemployment, crime or pollution. The most common techniques for social haunting include:

Careful selection and omission of news (some relevant facts are shown and some are not); (reporting that the number one problem teachers faced in 1940 was talking and gum chewing, and in 1990, pregnancy, suicide and drug abuse; , teachers today site problems parent apathy and lack of text books as their biggest problems)

Distortion of statistics or numbers (declaring 800,000 children missing each year, but failing to break those statistics down meaningfully)

Transformation of single events into social epidemics ; (going "postal" is not a postal service epidemic – that remains one of the safest occupations)

Corruption and distortion of words or terminology according to specific goals ;

Stigmatization of minorities , especially when associated with criminal acts or degeneration behavior;

Generalization of complex and multifaceted situations ;

Causal inversion (turning a cause into an effect or vice-versa).

None of this is to suggest we should not be cautious or aware or concerned, that we should not be proactive in caring for ourselves or our children, and taking normal precautions for health and safety. But simple things like wearing seatbelts and washing hands will do more to protect you than refusing to talk to strangers or carrying a gun.

"To fear is one thing," says author Katherine Paterson, who wrote Jacob Have I Loved (HarperTrophy, 1990). "To let fear grab you by the tail and swing you around is another."

Nobel Prize Laureate Bertrand Russell, a British philosopher, logician, essayist and social critic, suggested, in 1950 when we were dealing with all sorts of still familiar concerns, there are two ways of coping with fear:

"… one is to diminish the external danger, and the other is to cultivate Stoic endurance. The latter can be reinforced, except where immediate action is necessary, by turning our thoughts away from the cause of fear. of very great importance. Fear is in itself degrading; it easily becomes an obsession; it produces hate of that which is feared, and it leads headlong to excesses of cruelty. "

In " We are Not Afraid, " Homer Hickam, author Rocket Boys (Delta, 2000) (which was made into the film, October Sky ), drew on his experiences growing up in the brave and resilient community of Coalwood, West Virginia, a town were the threat of death was constant, but fear was not. He said Coalwood residents take a four pronged approach to fearlessness that he sums up in something like a set of mantras:

We are proud of who are

We stand up for what we believe

We keep our families together

We trust in God but rely on ourselves

Hickam also says something substantially Buddhist early in his book. He says that despite the ills of our society, we large live among compassionate, kind and optimistic people who are striving to do good. "As an American," he says, in a line that would make the Dali Lama proud, "you have a duty to be happy. pursuit of happiness. So do your duty. Learn how to be happy and keep this in mind: You can not be happy unless you stop being afraid. "

Senator. John McCain (R-Ariz.) Puts it less poetically: "Get on the damn elevator! Fly on the damn plane! wave. Suck it up, for crying out loud. You're almost certainly going to be OK. a life worth living, is it? "

Fear, Hickam says, is mostly a habit.

"The habit of fear and dread," he writes, "can be compared to having a chronic disease. that we walk around with slumped shoulders and drag one heavy foot after another. We dread getting out of bed in the morning, certain that only awful things are going to happen when we do. We include ourselves. We do not like the way we look. We feel victimized. We're envious of others and assume the world is filled with meanness. We always lose our views and we do not even know why. Worse, the disease we have is infectious. Innocent people we encounter are susceptible to catching fear and dread from us, including our children. wrong, but we do not know how to be cured. '

One way to rid yourself of this infection, says Hickam, is to "stand up straight and …. be proud of who you are." To do that, he says, it's necessary to know who you are, and how you're connected to your family and your community. That involves talking to family members, to community members – and passing their stories on to your children and other family members. To be unafraid, you have to be connected to something larger than yourself, says Hickam.

The habit of fear and dread also causes timidity, says Hickam, a tendency to avoid confrontation, especially in defending our opinion. That one's probably not quite as big an issue here for us – we have lots of opinions and fling them around easily here. But how about "out there"? "If you act as if what you think is not important, it's the same as believing * you * are not important," wrists Hickam. "An attitude like that can squeeze the life right out of anyone."

One of the best ways to overcome that aspect of fear and dread, he says, is "to take up for those who can not take up for themselves."

"There's always someone who needs you help. How can you be afraid if you're the protector of someone else in a dangerous world?

But there's more to it than just faking it till you make it. Hickam says you should also teach that person to stand up for himself, too, so that he can keep his dignity. Hickam cautions that standing up for what you believe "does not mean that every time you feel you're slighted, you should erupt with loud, hateful behavior. of some perceived oppression. This attitude ahs to do with a quiet determination to have your opinion explained and heard. To be effective, it also has to be respectful and fair. The most effective way of standing up is always going to be the nonviolent way, quiet but determined. "

Keeping our families together can actually be one of the harder tools for fearlessness, observes Hickam, but it's a vital one. "An intact, functioning family works to not only provide a loving refugee, but also fills in the cracks of our own personalities. Smart he is, or how many muscles he ahs or anything else. The family can be a shield against the world, and also the springboard to a better life. "

And finally, Hickam says trusting God but relying on yourself is a sure way to rise above fear. "The people of Coalwood were against calling on God any time they needed help," he recalled. "For one thing, it was considered impolite. God had a lot of things to worry about after all, without including everything that got in the way of one particular human being. with most of what they needed to get past a scrape, including their own good common sense. " Mostly, he said, they reserved their prayers for thanks.

While others often ponder why bad things happen to good people, Hickam ponders something he says as more amazing: "Why, in a universe and a world where everything must work hard to simply survive, did that which we think of as decent and fine get we are crave goodness, seek out honesty and strive to be honorable, even when evil is so much easier? our species and our world and our universe? Some great goodness is out there, and it's here, too. It is everywhere. "

We're two parts, says Hickam, "one spiritual and the other physical. Both are important. us. But we also must use our hands and minds to keep our families safe and build a better world. "

A world in which we are not afraid.

"We are not afraid."

Say it slowly, and savor it, says Hickam, like we should savor the world and each moment. This sacred time of year honors the timeless changes of our lives, and offers us a rare opportunity to look death in the eye and give it a wink and a nod.

"There is no reason to fear life or dread what might be coming your way," wrists Hickam. "Every hour of every day, recall all the people who came before you, all those who make up who you are, and stand tall and be proud. No matter how perilous the times, they will always be with you …"

Bertrand Russell would agree. "We want to stand up our own feet and look fair and square at the world," he said. "- its good facts, its bad facts, its beauties, and its ugliness; see the world as it is and be not afraid of it. Conquer the world by intelligence and not merely by being slavishly subdued by the terror that comes from it … We bought to stand up and look the world frankly in the face. We bought to make the best we can of the world, and if it is not so good as we wish, after all it will still be better than what these others have made it in all these ages. A good world needs knowledge, kindness, and courage; it does not need a regretful hankering after the past or a fettering of the free intelligence by the words uttered long ago by ignorant men. needs a fearless outlook and a free intelligence. It needs hope for the future, not looking back all the time toward a past that is dead, which we trust will be surpassed by the future that our intelligence can create. "

As Samhain reminds us, death is not an end, but a transition, a time to look forward to new beginnings, when we will be born anew as the wheel of the year turns on and on.

And there is nothing to be afraid of.

Source by Theresa Willingham

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