#poltergeist duo

[ultimat3-lif3form]

Forgot to post this here- as a direct parallel to this post.

@ghostintheprism

[dcxdpdabbles]

Danny: WHERE AM I!?

Tim: My room.

Danny: HOW DID I GET HERE!?

Tim: I will admit that I may have kidnapped you, but it was for a really good reason

Danny: YOU WHAT?! YOU'RE LIKE SEVEN!

Tim: I'm actually nine, but I am small for my age, so I'll let that slide. I took you because I want to make a deal. You need a place to hide until you're eighteen, and I need someone who can protect Robin until he's eighteen. We can help each other out. I provide lodging, meals, and education should you like it, by day and you become my hero's bodyguard by night

Danny: WHAT?!

Tim: Do you always yell when talking or that your normal voice?

Danny: I...look kid I just need time to process. I mean the last thing I remember I was eating a free burrito that somone....handed to me....*gasp* You tampered my free food!?

Tim: Yes. It was quite easy, actually. I normally wouldn't have done it, but I need someone to protect Robin. Last night, he got hurt in the field, and Batman yelled at him. I'm worried they'll break apart soon if it happens again. I will not survive the Dynamic Duo falling out.

Danny: I wont survive being thier protector either! Do you know what will happen to me once word gets around that Danny Fenton resurfaced to fight crime?

Tim: I suspect the parents you're running from will find you but not to fear. You'll be in disguise by night and by day. I can make you my Dad's illegitimate son with fake papertrail. Daniel Drake will have no connection to Danny Fenton or Poltergeist, the friendly ghost protector.

Danny: Oh, and your folks will be okay with that, I'm so sure. Every couple wants to find out the husband has an illegitimate son.

Tim: Yes, they are totally fine with it! I asked for permission from them last night. Mom is excited to dramatically welcome you into the house after she publicly confronts Dad about it. He wants to say he had you with a maid who he proposed to only to find out she had been stealing from the company and used him for his body and money. He said he always wanted to have a romantic scandal.

Danny: ......

Danny: You're an odd family

Tim: Thank you! So will you do it?

Danny: What the hell, why not. I'm tired of the streets anyway. People handed out drugged burritos there. It ain't safe.

Tim: *Squeal* Thank you, big brother! You're the bestest brother in the whole world.

Danny: Don't do that. It's creepy.

[fics-by-noworriesifnot]

Welcome to the very first chapter of my fic "Hermione Granger and the Petulant Poltergeist." If you found the 1995 movie 'Casper' to be the height of romance as a child, then this is the fic for you. There will be ups and downs for our favourite duo, but you're in safe hands <3 I really hope you'll join me on this adventure. Slide description:

"Dear Miss Granger,On behalf of the Ministry of Magic, we would like to offer the Malfoy Manor Estate as not only reparations for the personal toll the war had on you and your family, but as a thank you for your efforts saving the wizarding world from certain ruin. Please find attached a copy of the deed and title. Yours Sincerely, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Hermione looked nervously up from the paper in her hand and mouthed "Oh my," as her eyes travelled up the stone path, to the foreboding manor before her.

The gates of Malfoy Manor creaked open in recognition of their new owner. Hermione swallowed and made her way down the stone path, her suitcase and Crookshanks trailing behind her.

Standing in the foyer, she stared in awe at the magnificent crystal chandelier directly above her. The portraits looked down at her and Crookshanks with distain, though they didn't utter a word.

Treading quietly across the marble tile, she made her way up a spiral staircase, all the while looking around in awe at the lavish manor. Crookshanks followed a few paces behind.

She alighted at the first landing and wandered down the wide hall, the eyes of portraits followed her in silent disapproval.

As she passed an archway, a flash of something silver caught her eye, she turned and gasped when she saw what- who, rather, it was.

The spectral form of Draco Malfoy glowered at her from across the room, his elbow resting on the mantle of a fireplace. "Granger." He said. "What do you think you're doing here?"

In complete shock she uttered "Malfoy, you're a-a ghost."

He pushed off from the mantle, his steps made no sound as he crossed the carpet to stand over her. "Way to point out the obvious, Granger." He said icily. "You have no business being here. This is my father's residence."

His eyes lingered on hers, before he twisted away. "Leave." He demanded, his back to her. "Please Malfoy." Hermione said, the smallness of her voice magnified by the vast empty room. "I have nowhere else to go."

Malfoy spun to face her. "That's hardly my concern." He sneered.

Finding her courage she met his combative glare with a severe one of her own. "Well you can't make me leave." She said simply, realising he was in fact a ghost and therefor couldn't lay a finger on her. Malfoy grit is teeth and said. "we'll see about that."

[merakiui]

HALLOWEENIE. [3]

skully j. graves x (female) reader cw: nsfw, retail au, smoking, modern au (no magic), cheesy workplace romance, may be ooc (some creative liberties were taken for various aspects of skully's character and may not align with characteristics shown in tnbc event), characters written as 18+ note - skully returns for another season of work at fellow honest's halloween store. is this the year he finally musters the courage to confess to his cherished coworker, or is it going to be another year spent with his nose buried in his poetry journal? // split into three parts due to size. read part one and part two.

Fellow saves everyone from the nail-biting tension by not scheduling you and Skully together, which takes the duo out of his prized Dynamic Duo. Now you’re just a disaster. Skully doesn’t fade into obscurity, though. Rather, he’s ever-present in your thoughts. You think about him when you drag yourself down the halls at school, occasionally sticking your head into the drama club or the music room in hopes of spotting him. You’re not sure why. You’ve never had anything to do with either of those spaces, but now you’re haunting them like a pesky poltergeist in search of something just out of your grasp.

That’s what it feels like to have this cavern open up between you and him. As if you’re confined to separate worlds. You dwell in the realm of the dead and Skully exists in flesh. It’s impossible to cross paths like this.

No one seems to know of him either, which makes him seem more cryptid than he actually is. When you interrupt a drama club meeting with, “Which one of you nerds knows Skully J. Graves?” they blink owlishly at you.

You’re beginning to think he really is the ghost and you’re actually the living person.

You’ve considered visiting him during one of his shifts, but then you’d be no better than Salad Fingers.

This is so lame. Why do I care so much? I shouldn’t, you think, scrolling on your phone while Rollo does inventory for Fellow. You search for Skully’s number before remembering you never exchanged contact information.

“Your moping is bringing sales down.” Fellow raps his cane against the linoleum to get your attention.

“I’d argue it’s bringing in more business. Not often the customers get to see me without my usual swag.”

“That’s what she’s calling it?” Rollo mutters from behind his clipboard.

“Miss (Name), it pains me to see you in such a tizzy. Skully hasn’t been any better, I assure you.”

You perk up at the mention of him. “What does he say? Does he talk about me? Does he hate me? Should I disappear forever and never return to this town?”

“Whoa, whoa! Where is this coming from? Honestly, the youth are so complicated nowadays.” It’s a whack from Gidel’s hammer that sets Fellow straight. “Ahem! Right. What I meant to say was that it’s obvious this situation is causing a fair bit of trouble for both of you. These conditions limit your ability to work as you normally would. As your boss, I should only intervene when it’s truly detrimental, but as someone with a brain I think we’d all benefit from a quick solution to this mess.”

“Believe me—if I could wave my magic wand and fix this, I would. But we can’t just kiss and make up. I hurt his feelings.” You run your finger over your phone and catch your shattered expression in the cracked screen. “No amount of apologizing can undo that.”

“You ought to know he asks after you.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“It’s true,” Rollo adds. “Incessantly.”

“Why?” When all three of them look at you like it couldn’t be more obvious, you throw your arms up. “No one answer that. I’ll take you out back and curb you if you do.”

“I won’t speak on Skully’s behalf, but I believe it’s rational to assume he would never want you to disappear.”

“And he certainly wouldn’t hate you. Goodness, I don’t think that boy has the heart to harbor hate.”

“No, he does. He definitely does,” comes your and Rollo’s swift correction.

Gidel opens to a page in his notebook, where he’s doodled you and Skully holding hands in a heart. It reminds you of the flower wreath, which still resides on your desk even though the flowers are beginning to curl up and wilt.

You groan and slump in your chair, arms hanging limply at your sides. “Halloween’s in two weeks! If I can’t find some way to make it up to him, he’s gonna spend his favorite holiday sad and miserable.”

“Heartbreak isn’t something you can simply mend with goodwill. It’s a process. You heal over time.” Melancholy descends on Rollo’s face. You get the feeling he’s weathered the woes of a broken heart before. If anyone understands loss, it’s Rollo Flamme.

He loves me and I crushed him.

“You don’t think I gave him false hope, do you?”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“Even though it was as clear as glass to anyone looking in,” Fellow murmurs, and you choose to ignore that. “Well, what’s done is done. Cliché as it sounds, you can only move forward from here.”

You lift yourself off the chair and stretch. “I’ll grab the broom and get to sweeping.”

“Don’t bother. We won’t do all of that tonight.”

“Ooh, looks like someone was bitten by the bug of benevolence. How sweet.”

Fellow chuckles and collects the completed inventory from Rollo. “You’re free to go. I’ll see you tomorrow. And, Miss (Name), try to get some sleep.”

Immediately, you open the camera on your phone to check for any noticeable signs of sleep deprivation. Finding none, you scowl at Fellow.

“Not funny. I actually thought you were being serious.”

“But you checked.”

“That she did,” Rollo notes with a small grin.

“Because you—ugh. You could’ve just said my shoes are untied.” You click past the both of them in your Mary Jane pumps. “What does it matter if I’m losing sleep?”

“Are you?” 

“I’m not. Shut up.”

You’ll bury yourself alongside the worms and maggots before you confide in them about your recent sleepless nights, each one punctuated with a replay of your fight with Skully and all the ways it could’ve gone differently had you just been honest.

There are two sides to your honesty: the lies that can pass as the truth and the actual truth—the truth you were keen to shelve ever since it cropped up.

The truth that feels a little like the onset of…

You won’t dwell on it or the profound consequence it has on tonight’s dreams.

You’d praise the convenience that is small town logic if it applied to Skully. In this foothill town enshrouded in trees and mountain peaks, everyone knows everyone. Students only have one choice for university, and it’s a dinosaur-aged institution that’s probably seen every era and more with countless graduating classes having been fostered in its brick walls. If you’re searching for someone, you shouldn’t have to look very far. Inevitably, you’ll stumble upon someone who knows someone who knows someone who can get you into contact with that person. Everyone’s stapled into the paper chain here.

Everyone except Skully, apparently. 

It continues to baffle you that no one—not even any of the students in his classes or club—knows of his existence.

“Skully J. Graves,” you stress to the head of the drama club, who stares absently in reply. “He’s literally in your club. White hair, glasses, tall, kinda nerdy but overall really sweet. Does any of that ring a bell?”

When you’re met with silence from him and the rest of the club, you smack your hand against your face and groan. “Jack Skellington.”

A murmur of collective consideration sweeps through the group.

“You mean that weird guy who keeps to himself?” a girl pipes up.

You give her a censorious look. “You’re gonna hafta be more specific, girlfriend. You’re naming, like, a decent chunk of the school’s population.” 

“Always has his face in his books,” another offers. “Not really friendly, that one. Definitely on the quiet side.”

“And he’s usually scribbling stuff in a journal during club meetings, right?” a third student asks.

“Yes!” You clap. “That’s my guy!”

“Ohh, you’re talking about Halloweenie,” the head of the drama club says, snapping his  fingers once the descriptions finally click.

Halloweenie?

You’ve known Skully to go by all kinds of nicknames at the shop: Skulls, Skeleton, my boy, and (from snotty Salad Fingers), Prince of Darkness. This one, however, is brand-new. You don’t need a thesaurus to get the general gist of the meaning behind that self-explanatory name.

“What do you want with him?”

Apple-red lips curl up into an impish grin, and you lift your finger in shush. “It’s a secret.”

“Well, good luck finding him,” he says with a snort. “Halloweenie’s practically a ghost when he isn’t working on props for the shows. He could be anywhere on campus.”

The rest of the club confirm this with mechanical nods. It’s so synced it’s almost like they’re a group of mind-controlled marionettes.

I can’t believe none of these losers know where Skulls is.

You remember browsing the drama club’s website with Rollo. Skully was noted as an ordinary stagehand there. Once more, it seems like fate is having a grand time keeping the two of you apart. Maybe it’s better that way. Maybe you don’t deserve a friend like Skully.

Before you can sink into self-deprecation, you whirl towards the door. 

“You come by looking for Halloweenie a lot, y’know,” a member accuses, arms folded like some hard-boiled detective. “You into him?”

What the fuck? Why is everyone assuming that?

“Nooo—oh, hey! What’s this?” You point to the poster pasted on the door. The words Drama Club Presents: A Thrilling Tale of Treacherous Love and Music! are printed in fancy font above an infamous mask. “Is this what you’re putting on for this year?”

“For Christmas, yes. It was either that or an actual Christmas play. Like ‘A Christmas Carol’ or something equally festive. Majority wanted the charming and dangerous Opera Ghost.”

“Good taste. So where can I audition?”

“Can you sing?”

“In the shower.”

“Can you act?”

“What is life if not the stage we play on?” you counter, stealing a philosophical page from your boss’s book of esoteric wisdom.

The head of the drama club isn’t impressed. To be honest, you’re not either. An actor’s life is not for you.

“Why? No offense, (Name), but you’ve never been interested in us or the work we do. You’ve gotta have passion and soul to put yourself on that stage—something you so clearly lack. If you’re only doing it for Halloweenie—”

“That stings, Prez. And here I was ready to dazzle my way to stardom.”

“Sure.” He rolls his eyes. “If you have no other business with us, have a good day.”

Are all the presidents in this school hard-asses?

Sensing your presence is no longer welcome, you wink and take your leave.

Now left to aimlessly wander the halls, you think back on Skully’s lamentations from before: I was all alone before you moved here—nothing more than a quiet, transparent existence.

You know what that’s like because that’s exactly how you lived when you were growing up. There is no trick to surviving the devils of childhood. You just have to hope that if you’re silent enough they’ll leave you alone. Because hiding beneath the covers only works when they’re figments of your imagination. When they’re very real and oh-so-tangible, they can dismantle the seemingly impenetrable blanket fortress you put so much faith in.

If you lived as a ghost back there, then this dreary town was your resurrection.

Perhaps she, sitting solitary on her throne, is lonely just like me.

Skully was right. As it happens there is no truth in being accessible to everyone in your infamously obnoxious, effervescent way. You’ve built yourself up on flowery lies—a faux Spider Queen who isn’t so venomous as she’d like everything to believe. The (Name) who smiles and flirts, who holds every bed partner at arm’s length because she’s too scared to let them into her embrace, is a phony.

The Spider Queen is scared of loving and being loved.

That’s why she strings everyone up in her web, never letting them know what hides beyond gossamer strands woven so meticulously thick.

Because once they start to disassemble her messy masterpiece they’ll see its flaws and insecurities woven into unmistakable patterns.

Get it together, (Name). No way were you about to throw yourself into a school play all for some guy! Be more swag and less dramatic.

But just as you admonish yourself with that, a discordant note rings out. You failed to realize you were traversing random halls until now, where you find yourself in a desolate corner of the building, just outside the music room. Shaken from your self-doubt, you peek into the room out of plain curiosity…and immediately come to regret it when you spot a familiar head of white hair.

His back is turned to you, head bowed, and he plays according to the sheet music propped in front of him. You linger in the doorway to listen and it hits you then—what he’s playing.

A piano rendition of “The Music of The Night.”

Transfixed, you allow yourself to creep in closer. The soft, soulful melody lulls you into a state of serenity. Watching him and his fingers waltz along the keys, you can’t help but feel like you’ve missed your chance. What that chance might’ve been, you don’t have the guts to name.

Just when he’s about to reach the chorus, he misses a chord and the entire piece falls apart.

“Consarn it!” He slams his hands down on the keys.

You wince at the strident smash that echoes through the room, but nothing is more jarring than his language. You’ve never heard Skully, the quintessence of chivalry, curse so openly, even if it’s very 1800s. But after your argument with him, you’ve acquainted yourself with his temper and all that boils within it.

“It needs to sound just like the song.” The sound of shuffling sheet music follows. “If I can’t get past this chord…” He sighs and taps a few keys in random succession. “My dear will never be impressed with my lousy performance.”

Your heart flips over in your chest, knots itself like Ouroboros, and then collapses into your stomach. Any confidence you had in approaching Skully vanishes in a blip. Of course he’s still into you. Why wouldn’t he be? Rejection and a few weeks of separation aren’t going to undo years of infatuation. Silently cursing the world, you press the heels of your palms into your eyes, realize you’ve just ruined your eyeliner, and drag them away with an aggravated breath.

“Is someone there?”

Skully turns on the bench right as you stumble out of sight. Your sneakers squeak on the tiles as you make your escape, darting around a corridor just in time to avoid the confrontation. That’s all you’re good at. Salad Fingers’s criticisms play in loops. You hasten your steps. Running away.

Rollo’s slender fingers work deftly to lace up your corset. In the background, faintly pouring in from the kitchenette, Halloween music plays. 

“Tighter,” you hiss at him, bracing yourself on the edge of your vanity desk, hips jutted out and ass raised high. “Make it so I can’t breathe—like I’m getting disrespectfully choked by the latex. None of that ‘Love Me Tender’ shit. I need to be fighting for my life in this fit.”

“This is foolish. You should prioritize your comfort over…whatever this is.”

“Aww. You really are an angel, looking out for me and my lungs.”

In retaliation he yanks on the ribbons and the corset cinches around your ribs, effectively stealing your breath. You crumple against the desk with a wheeze.

“Is that tight enough for Her Majesty?” he asks, smirking at you in the mirror. 

“P-Perfect…” You raise a weak thumbs-up. “Thanks, Uriel.”

Rollo rolls his eyes. He looks every bit the modest angel in pure-white robes with accompanying gold accents. The look is finished off with feathery wings, a halo headband, and a pair of open-toed sandals. He adjusts one of the aureate cuffs around his wrist and scrutinizes his reflection in the cheap material. Conversely, you’re dressed as a sexy succubus, all red, tight-fitting, skimpy latex and matching thigh-high stockings. The costume came with horn hair clips, an attachable tail, and a pitchfork. It was your creative idea to accessorize with a black choker, sheer, lacy gloves, and suede knee-high heeled boots. You even got your nails done for the occasion, and they drip in grisly patterns of blood splatter.

“It’s missing something.” You pull Rollo against your hip so he can see what you’re attempting to visualize.

“Your makeup looks fine, (Name).”

“Not that.” Your blunt-toothed, smiling reflection peers back at you. “Oh, I know!” 

You rifle through your makeup box to find them: the packaged fangs you swiped from Fellow’s store just the other day. Your boss graciously gave you and Rollo the day off after it became clear he wasn’t very willing to shell out holiday pay. Knowing your erudite roommate, he would’ve debated Fellow into his grave until he budged. Day off or holiday pay? It would’ve been his losing battle no matter which side of the argument he fell on. 

Gleefully, like a cannibal ripping into a corpse, you tear open the plastic and fit the fangs on over your teeth. 

“What do you think?” you ask, flashing a wicked grin at Rollo. 

“Appropriately hellish. Anymore and the Devil might come up here to give you his regards.”

“Aren’t I just the luckiest girl?” You giggle and nudge him. “You’re not half bad yourself, Bible Study.”

“High praise coming from Satan’s Sweetheart.”

“The Devil wears imitation Prada.”

“‘By all means,’” he quotes, draping a fuzzy jacket over your shoulders, “‘move at a glacial pace. You know how that thrills me.’”

With a snicker you follow him out the door, playfully poking at his back with the pronged pitchfork to hurry him along. He swipes the car keys on his way.

Paper lanterns and strands of amber-hued lights are strung up on low-hanging branches. In the very center, hollowed out into the ground and circled with sizable stones, is a bonfire pit. The flames lick towards the stars, wavering in time with the bass thumping through the trees. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think the swaying silhouettes were monstrous fiends gathered for Halloween night.

Having left your jacket in the car, you’re quick to pull Rollo towards the refreshments. You’re desperate to warm yourself with a few drinks before you make your way towards the fire and the throng of bodies. Rollo, while not the partying type, is very particular with his preferences, so you don’t expect him to jump at the sight of beer. It does, however, startle you when he slides the cloth covering away from the basket draped on his arm to reveal a bottle of sacramental altar wine.

Sometimes you forget your roommate can be cool.

“You’re the best.” You pull him against your side in another hug. He doesn’t fight it. The yellow-orange glow casts shadows on his face, obscuring his pleased smirk. “I cherish you, you know that?”

“Yes, well, I can’t allow you to indulge in this party slop.”

“Amen!”

You squeeze him once before releasing him from your constriction to grab two cheap chalices. After checking to make sure they’re clean and haven’t been tampered with, you stride over to Rollo. You notice he’s eyeing the pit warily, his haunted expression looking much more cadaverous in the firelight. Gently, you shake his shoulder and step in front to intersect his view of the fire.

“Hey, you okay?”

Rollo shakes himself out of his head and loosens his grip on the bottle. “Yes… Yes, I’m fine.”

You want to trust him, so you hold out the cups. “Wanna say our prayers and indulge in the Body of Christ?”

He taps your head with his fist, features drawn in a humorless lour. “Bread is the body. Wine is the blood.”

“My bad, Father.” You pout at him. “Forgive me for my sins and transgressions and everything else. I’m just sooo unholy.”

He spends a quiet moment staring at you—long enough that it has a smile spreading on his lips. He breathes a soft laugh. “What a peculiar choice of words for a demon.”

“Even more peculiar for an angel to be drinking on the job.”

“I suppose that makes us even.” He unscrews the cap and pours a generous amount in both cups. You watch the scarlet liquid slosh within. Capping the bottle, he tucks it away in the basket and takes the cup from you. “Merci.”

“A happy Halloween to us.” You raise your cup and his bumps against yours in toast. “Are you ready to be dead on your feet for tomorrow’s shift?”

“Only undead,” he replies, following you to a fallen tree. “I’m driving, so I mustn’t become too much of a zombie.”

“Who cares about coherency? Live it up tonight! We can sleep in the car. I’ve got pillows and blankets in there.”

“Mhm,” he hums around the plastic rim.

You plop down on the tree trunk and take a gulp, smacking your lips in approval. “If it’s cold, we can just cuddle.” You bump shoulders with him.

“I’ll pass. The last thing I need to earn is more of Skully’s frosty envy. I’d like for my plants to survive winter, if possible.”

“Ugh, right.” Your gaze drifts to your pitchfork propped against the tree. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I mean, I almost joined the school play for him. That’s bonkers even by my standards.”

“As if the club would allow that.”

“They hate me for my potential.” You click your tongue. “How can I make this…not worse? Because it feels like all I’ve been doing is making it significantly worse.”

“You should have a proper conversation. One that isn’t senseless screaming.”

“He was inside me, Rollo. How the hell am I going to have a ‘proper conversation’ when that’s our history?”

He peers into his chalice, contemplation burning behind his eyes. “Well, I wasn’t expecting you to lay with him. ‘Disprove his alleged crush,’ she said and then proceeded to do the exact opposite.”

“I mean, I don’t want him to think I hate him or that he has to avoid me. That’s not it. And I wasn’t trying to sound so cruel that day. Stuff just slipped out unchecked and he wasn’t listening. It’s not like we can go back to being friends with this whole cloud of unrequited romance hanging over our heads.” Sighing, you draw circles into the leaf-strewn ground with the tip of your boot. “I wish things weren’t so complicated. It’d be easier if he was terrible through and through, but he’s not.”

“What makes it so complicated?”

“His feelings.”

“Are you sure that’s all?”

You narrow your eyes at him, perplexed. “Why? Is there supposed to be something else?”

“What about yourself?”

You chug the rest of the wine in your cup. It burns the back of your throat and straightens out your thoughts. Not so much your heart, though. Rollo takes his time pouring to give you a moment. He even offers you half of a baguette from the depths of his basket, which draws a snort from you.

“What? You can’t drink on an empty stomach. Last time you did that, you sullied the car with your vomit. It took days to clean and freshen up the interior.”

“At least it was pink! That’s much prettier than non-pink barf.” You shake your head, unwilling to argue old news. “Thanks for your concern, Little Red Riding Rollo, but I’m not hungry.”

“I’ve brought an assortment of jams and cheese.”

“Oh, my gosh,” you say around a high cackle. Rollo doesn’t see the humor in any of this, but he still manages a pinched smile. “You’re amazing. The best roomie I’ve ever had.”

“I try.”

“Okay, Father, I yield. Break the bread and let’s give thanks.”

Between sips of altar wine, you and Rollo munch on pieces of baguette spread and topped with strawberry jam and nettle cheese. 

“Why me?” you ask around a mouthful of bread. “I know Skulls isn’t sociable at school—drama club told me all about the unlikable Halloweenie—but I’m sure there are better candidates for him to crush on. I’m a mess. I can’t garden or look after houseplants like you do. I can’t do any of that cute shit girls do on their socials—like live aesthetically or be effortlessly adorable. I don’t think I’m Skulls’s type.”

“Hmm.”

“He said I’m the only one who’s ever understood him, but isn’t that what friends do? You and I understand each other and we’re friends.”

“Somehow that’s different.”

“How? What makes it different?”

Rollo shrugs. He looks like a mouse as he nibbles at his bread and cheese. “Perhaps it’s because my relationship with you is nothing like the one you have with Skully.”

You scowl at the crowd of dancing, costumed partygoers. It’s only different because of love and sex.

“Putting that aside, what makes you think you’re not his type? Have you ever considered what his type might be?”

You hadn’t given it much thought. Skully has never mentioned love and its variations at work. That’s your job—to complain about and commend all of your flings and situationships whenever it’s necessary. To flirt with customers who look wealthy, attractive, or like they’d be good in bed. To aim for a phone number or an exchange of socials when they’re funny, sweet, or just annoying enough to seem charming. Your list of past lovers is as long as a photo spread in a wallet.

“If we consider his poetry,” Rollo says, as if pushing you towards a cliff you don’t want to jump from, “his preferences aren’t so elusive.”

Even though there’s no reason for it, you feel an unusual warmth climbing up to settle under your cheeks. You hurry to tilt your cup back, putting your mouth on the same lipstick stain from earlier.

“So what sort of type is the Spider Queen?”

“She’s meant to be you, is she not?”

But you’re not sure what he sees in you—in the Spider Queen. You annoyed him during the first real conversation you had, back when he was just fifteen and you were an angsty eighteen-year-old trying to look like she hadn’t just gotten disowned by her family. What changed in the four years since then? You remember he absolutely hated the Halloween party and spent the entire time scribbling in a journal. You wouldn’t be surprised if the entry about his first impression of you was written that very night. He has every right to despise you for your rowdy spirit. What he sees in you, you clearly can’t see in yourself. Maybe you’d feel less guilty about the situation if he hated your guts, but that’s not the case.

“I don’t know!” You groan. “Maybe he’s in love with the character he’s created and not me.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Do you have candy in there? I need something that’ll mess me up and make me forget all about this.”

I need to stop running away and face reality.

“I’m certain the alcohol will do the trick.”

And it is. You haven’t kept count of how many chalice-sized drinks you’ve had, and at some point you’ve even swiped the bottle from Rollo’s basket. 

“Shall we address the facts?” he tries again, and you’re tempted to listen because he’s logical enough to sort through the emotions. “Skully is in love with you, a truth too blinding for you to notice, but we were all wearing sunglasses.” You smack him for that and he clears his throat. “Right. The two of you went on a ‘date’ and it ended in bed. You’ve told him you don’t love him. Really, (Name), if your feelings don’t match his, I see no other reason to stump yourself.”

And isn’t that the truth?

But there’s a niggling sense of something more that you can’t confront. You push it down to make room for the wine.

“I need a cigarette.”

“From one vice to the next. Very clever.”

Your acrylics tap anxious pitter-patters against the glass bottle. A distraction would suffice—anything to take your mind off of Skully. If you could saunter into the crowd and fall into the arms of a temporary thrill, you would. It’s what you plan to do as your eyes survey the crowd, cherry-picking faces from the firelight. And then, just past the flickering flames and undulating ghouls, you see him.

“Erik!”

You stand up so quickly that you lurch forward. The bottle almost slips from your grasp. Rollo catches your arm before you can fall.

“What?” Rollo blinks up at you in bewilderment. “(Name), sit down. You’re drunk.”

“Piss off. I know what I saw. Someone’s come as the Phantom.” You throw your head back to suck down the rest of the wine. “And it takes more than that to get me tipsy.”

“Congratulations. How’s the liver?”

“Ha-ha-ha,” you snap, sarcastic. “Unlike you, I’m about to tongue it with the Phantom. Not many can say they did that on Halloween night. Be back soon!”

“No one else is trying to accomplish that!” he calls after you, but you only catch part of it as you beeline for the fray.

Pitchfork in hand, you weave around kissing couples and clusters of friends. You have your sights set on the mysterious Phantom, his back turned to you. You call out to him: “Hey, you!” but your voice is lost in the deafening beats and the ecstatic, tipsy whoops from the partygoers.

“Excuse me! Pardon,” you hiss, pushing past a witch and a knight. “Move.”

You’re nearly there. But then someone knocks into you, and you stumble into another person. He catches you with a whistle, his palms strangely slimy.

“Hey there, little lady. Looks like it’s my lucky night. You sure you’re not actually an angel in disguise?”

You scrunch your face, looking past him. The Phantom is gone. “Fuck!”

“At least introduce yourself.” He laughs and spit speckles your cheek. “Then we can get there, yeah?”

“You want an introduction?” You slam your heel on his foot and are quite pleased when he draws back with a curse. “How’s that for angelic? Happy Halloween, asshole.”

Equipped with a mission, you disappear into the darkness. Stapled to your feet, your shadow stretches into the trees behind you. In hopes of locating the familiar mask or cape, you whirl to and fro. It seems like you’ll never find them, and for a second you wonder if they’re a hallucination birthed from your tumultuous feelings. Of course you’d be imagining the Phantom after that day in the bookstore with Skully. It’s like he’s everyone you look. How could he not be? Halloween is his day.

You hope he’s happy, even if it’s only for tonight.

This is a waste of time. I’m going back.

You pivot on your heel…and there he is. The Phantom of the Opera, hunched over between the trees, his gloved fingers splayed against the rough bark. The exact opposite of dignified and mystifying. More of a mess than a graceful, gothic beauty. Your mouth drops open, and then you cringe when you hear a not-so-musical retch.

Oh.

He’s sick.

“Uh, hi…” You inch closer. “I recognized your costume. You’re supposed to be Erik, right? The Phantom. You know—that guy from the opera?”

He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and turns to look at you, woozy and mechanical. Your heart rushes into a gallop when those infamous orange eyes fall upon you. Even with the mask hiding half of his face, you know it’s him. You think he’s worked out your identity as well because he straightens to his full height on unsteady feet, as if he’s been slapped sober. The only indication he’s inebriated is the way he sways like a spinning top on the verge of falling over. 

“Skulls—”

“(Name)—”

“Ah, um. My apologies. You should go first.”

“No, it’s nothing.” You wring your hands around the length of the pitchfork. “Um. You… You came.”

“I was looking for you.” He gestures to the crumpled can at his feet, sheepish. “Found that instead.”

“Why?”

Skully twists the hem of his cloak in his fists. “I wanted to wish you a happy Halloween and show you my costume.”

His costume? You remember he told you and Rollo he was going to dress up as something scary, and while the Phantom is technically a fearsome villain… It’s not the first thing you’d think Skully would go for. Did he dress up for my sake? What if he had another costume planned but changed his mind after—stop that. Don’t go down that rabbit hole.

“But you hate parties.” You poke at the can with your pitchfork. “And you don’t drink.”

His eyes glaze over. You watch his lip tremble. “I’m sorry. I… I thought that if I… If I could just—” He inhales a rattling breath. “If I was more like you—like Mr. Rollo or any of your partners—you might… Y-You might want to—” He breaks off from that sentence with a choked cry and sinks to his knees.

“Skulls…” Lowering to his height, you reach out for him, hesitate for a strained breath, and then gingerly peel the mask away to reveal his teary, snotty face. 

“I’m so s-sorry,” he continues, his voice breaking more and more. “I yelled at you. I wouldn’t listen. I pushed you into a corner and provoked you, and that wasn’t right. I was no better than Salad Fingers.” He places his palms on the ground to steady himself. A sob shudders through his body. Salty globs pool along his lash line and slide down to his chin, landing in steady drops on the leaves below. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair, not fair, not fair! All of those undeserving people who get to behold you! Those… Those foolish, idiotic bastards—none of them are worthy of you. I don’t understand. They never see you. They’re so attached to flimsy, vapid pleasure that they don’t even cherish you properly. Why?”

You manage to find your voice then. “I don’t care about them. I mean, I did. I always care. Just not like…that.”

“So then why? Why do you let them—why won’t you let me—”

Love you?

“Skully, you’re drunk.” Hardening your heart, you stagger to your feet. “Now’s not the time for this.”

Running away again. Typical, Salad Fingers jeers. She’ll eat your heart if you aren’t careful. Save yourself while you can.

You swat his influence away.

A twig snaps behind you. You almost don’t hear it over Skully’s sniveling.

“Do you know how many fools have been pointing me to ‘Grandmother’s House’ whenever I ask after you?” comes Rollo’s voice, every accented syllable threaded through with annoyance. “I’m sick of this asinine nonsense. It’s not even funny. I’m very clearly an angel, and yet everyone thinks I’m on my way to see—oh, Skully’s here. Ahem. Pardon me.”

“It’s just not fair,” he’s mumbling to himself, over and over, like a broken record. He doesn’t even acknowledge Rollo’s arrival or greeting. “Not fair, not fair, not fair.”

“Is he…all right?”

“Does that look ‘all right’ to you, brainiac?” You knock Rollo upside the head with your plastic pitchfork, and he rounds on you with an indignant glare.

“You tell me! I only just found you.” Rollo can’t hide behind his handkerchief, so his frustration is on full display. It twists his features into something loathsome.

“He’s drunk.”

“Clearly.” Sighing, Rollo stoops over him. “Skully, can you hear me? How did you get here?”

He pans his bleary gaze over to him and sniffs. “What’re you supposed to be?”

“God’s little lamb.”

“That’s not terrifying at all.”

“It is if you carry the guilt.” He takes a harsh elbow to the ribs for that, one he begrudgingly accepts with a scoff. “You should go home, Skully.”

“Did someone bring you here?” you ask, peering into his face. It’s hard to imagine him willingly coming with a friend or classmate.

Actually, it’s hard to imagine he came here at all.

He lifts an unsteady arm and gestures in a general direction. “Bicycle,” he says.

A silent debate mushrooms between you Rollo, wedged in the space where your eyes meet.

“He’s a liability,” you whisper after pulling him aside.

“A liability to your love life, maybe, but we can’t just leave him here.”

“I wasn’t saying we should! I just don’t think it’s gonna help if he comes home with us. He’s not thinking straight. And last time he was there…”

“So we drop him off at home and his parents can handle it. I know the way.”

“They’ll kill us. Are you looking to be lectured tonight?”

“He’s nineteen.”

“Doesn’t matter. That’s their baby—all two-hundred-something centimeters of him—and he’s drunk off his ass on Halloween night.”

“He risked a scolding all for you, didn’t he?”

“He…” You groan, unsure of what to say. “I’ve never met a guy like him. He’s in another league of his own.”

“And I don’t suppose he’s ever met a girl quite like you.” Smiling, Rollo cocks his head playfully. “You’re meant to be.”

“I’m meant to punch you in the mouth if you keep talking stupid. Just—ugh, fine, whatever! You carry him back to the car. I’ll get his bike. He can crash with us tonight. A slumbie is safer than getting him and ourselves in trouble with his parents.”

“So the demon’s secretly a good girl.”

“All that altar wine’s going to your head and making you cheeky, ‘God’s little lamb’. I guess you do care for your friends after all.”

Index pressed to his lips, he hushes you. It takes a few minutes of coaxing and “Lift your head, Skully. How else are you going to look up to Jack Skellington?” before Rollo manages to get him to his feet. He’s all gangly limbs as he drapes himself over your roommate, clinging like mildew to a damp corner. Grunting with the effort, Rollo hoists his arm over his shoulders and Skully flops against him like a worm.

Before the two of them begin the hobble to the car, Rollo asks, “Will you be okay on your own?”

“I’m the Devil. There’s nothing I can’t do!” You wave your pitchfork around and flash a fanged smirk. “They don’t call me God’s strongest soldier for nothing.”

“Uh-huh. Well, be safe. If you’re not at the car in the next five minutes…”

“Yeah, yeah. You’ll exorcise me on the spot. I hear ya.”

Rollo turns away then. “Could you be any more boneless, Skully?”

“Why, of course I can! Does this help?”

“Wha—hey! Don’t go limp! Stand up straight!”

After locating his bike and wheeling it through the woods to the car, where you and Rollo work together to load it in the back, you both head for the driver’s side.

“I’m driving.”

“No, you’re not. I am.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Don’t think I didn’t see you merrily sipping your little God juice like a sailor.”

“You had more than me, and it’s not ‘God juice’. It’s sacramental altar wine, sourced from the finest—”

“Blah, blah, blah. My name is Rollo Flamme and I—”

“My wonderful, spectacular, amazing…deeeaaarss,” comes Skully’s slurred voice. He pokes his head out from the back, half-leaning out the open door. “I can drive.”

Rollo stares blankly at the very inebriated Skully.

“Yeah, go on, Rollo. Let the Phantom drive. I trust him with my life.” You stick your arm out and present him with a cheerful thumbs-up.

“Skully, sit back down. And don’t even think of getting sick in the car.”

“Yes, sir.” You hear the click of a buckle and then, miraculously, he passes out.

“Walk a straight line and I’ll let you drive.”

“I got this. Watch.”

You shove your pitchfork at his chest and, looking to make sure he’s observing, walk along the strip that divides the road from the forest. It doesn’t feel like you’re doing it right, your feet blurring and crossing over each other clumsily, but somehow you think it must look straight to Rollo. Once you’re thirty paces from the car, you whip around to hear the verdict.

“Well? Straighter than straight, yeah?”

“About as straight as a rainbow. Now get in.” He opens the passenger side for you and tosses the pitchfork in the back next to a snoring Skully.

Wordlessly, you perform your staggering walk of shame back to the car. The drive home is punctuated by the sophisticated notes of Indila’s Mini World album. The song’s instrumental—the one where you can only parse the lyrics love story—reminds you of a music box. You sink into the worn polyester seat and paint yourself as a princess in a grand, glittering palace. Waiting for you in the gardens, haunting your head like your very own gothic ghost, is the too-tall, dorky Phantom of the Opera.

Maybe it’s the alcohol—it’s definitely more than just the alcohol—but you feel warm thinking about him. So warm you forget you’re not wearing your jacket.

Fuck. This altar wine is really hitting. How are they not partying during every sermon? Oh, wait, they only drink a pinky’s worth. Laaaame.

“I think, if I were to murder someone, I’d get your help getting rid of the body.”

“Please don’t,” Rollo mutters, awkwardly lifting Skully out of the car with your aid.

“Don’t ask for help or…?”

“Don’t make me accomplice to a crime and don’t murder anyone.”

By the time you’ve carried Skully up the stairs to your door, you feel the mawkish beginnings of affection weighing on your shoulders. That, and Skully’s arm.

“Hey, Rollo?”

“Mhm?”

“Thanks.”

“What for?” He fiddles with the keys in the dimness, half-listening.

For being my friend. For never getting tired of me even when I’m nothing but trouble.

“For being my roomie.”

His hand stills. “Don’t be foolish,” he says, clicking his tongue in chastisement. The key twists in the lock. He pushes the door open with his foot, revealing an apartment cloaked in shadow. “You said it yourself. We’re a team. We need to stick together.”

“How else is rent going to be paid?”

He exhales a short, authentic laugh. “That’s the million madol question.”

Skully is deposited on the sofa, snoozing away like it’s the middle of winter and he’s hibernating. After locking the door and flicking on the lights, where you then proceed to hiss like vampires as said lights burn holes into your eyes, you and Rollo roll your stiff shoulders.

“We should stay indoors next Halloween.”

“Agreed. Maybe introverts know what they’re doing. This was exhausting.” Plopping down on a nearby stool, you work to remove your heels. It’s more challenging than it seems, what with alcohol muddling your motor skills. “My feet are killing me.”

Rollo pulls the fridge open and pokes his head inside for mindless inspection. “Hmm. Whose turn is it to buy groceries?” 

“Mine, probably.” You toss your boots across the room and flex your toes. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“We can survive a little longer. At least until the middle of the week.”

You snort. “So are we leaving Skully out here? Should we call his parents?”

“I doubt they’re worried. Not truly.” Rollo shuts the fridge and comes to stand on the other side of the kitchenette peninsula. “It’s a small town with a middling population, and the majority are harmless elders.”

“But what if they think he got murdered?”

“Because someone’s itching to put Halloweenie in his grave. Sure.”

“Okay, fair point.” You glance over your shoulder at Skully, his legs hanging over the end of the armrest. “He’d make for a difficult corpse.”

“If two of us struggled to drag him back here, imagine how much more burdensome he’d be undead.”

“Ooh, a zombie. Something tells me he’d rather be bones than rotting flesh. Just like Jack.”

“Somehow—“ Rollo drums his fingers along the countertop— “I feel it’s poor manners to talk so morbidly of our very alive and well coworker.”

“Mm, probably.” You swivel in your seat. “More importantly, where’s he gonna sleep?”

“I’m keen to leave him here. We’ll dim the lights.”

“Kinda rude to make him sleep on the most uncomfortable couch in the world.”

“It could be worse.” Rollo walks around to the wall opposite of you to lower the switch. The lights lessen in their intensity, from searing to merciful. “Besides, where else is he going to sleep? There isn’t room on my bed.”

“He can sleep in mine,” you say without thinking, and you really aren’t because he looks at you like he can’t believe he’s hearing you right now. “He deserves a comfy bed, at the very least… It’s not gonna mend heartbreak, but it won’t give him stiff joints in the morning.”

“Where will you sleep?”

“On the floor.”

Rollo raises a dark brow. “The (Name) I know would never sacrifice her comfort for someone else.”

“For flings, fuck no. But he’s a friend.”

“All right,” he concedes. “Let’s get him to your room. He’s staying there, though. I’m not going to move him anywhere else.”

“Roger that, roomie.”

Like before, the both of you lift him from the sofa and, taking care not to disturb his slumber, transport him to your room. He’s lowered onto your unmade bed. You move with absolute precision, undoing the clasp around his neck to pull his cape from his person so it won’t tangle around him in sleep. And then you drag a fluffy quilt over him. His fringe falls over his face in a way that reminds you of Sleeping Beauty…only if she had been pie-eyed and prone to vomiting in the hours before her eternal slumber. He looks less of a prince and more of a pale monster.

Sleeping Liability.

You wince. That sounds a lot like something Fellow would say. You’re too young to start thinking and speaking like your boss.

It’s then when you realize you’ve been staring at him like you’re about to lean in for true love’s kiss.

“Are you going to bed?”

“No, I’ll be up.” Rollo rubs his tired eyes and stifles a yawn.

���Try to get some sleep. I’d say let’s watch a movie, but I don’t think I can stay awake for another hour.”

“Don’t force yourself. We all need the sleep for tomorrow’s shift,” he says, but you suspect he’ll be up late into the night and he’ll wake just as early.

“Ugh. Don’t remind me. I guarantee Fellow’s gonna be just as sleep-deprived as we are. Gidel probably kept him out as late as he could for trick-or-treating.”

Shaking your head, you begin to pick off pieces of your costume. The detachable tail, the horns, the little fangs. You prop your pitchfork against the vanity desk.

“So we all have valid reasons to complain.”

“I’m always ready to be a hater. No fair we have to go into work after a fun night. Why couldn’t he be nice and give us tomorrow off as well?”

“One can hope.”

“And one does.” You open your closet and retrieve a few spare blankets from within. “Good night, Rollo.”

“Yes. Good night to you as well.”

His footsteps pad down the hall to his room and then you hear him ease the door shut. It’s not even a minute later when your thoughts begin to buzz in your ears. You busy yourself with spreading out the blankets and creating a comfortable place for yourself on the floor, listening to the low hum of a fan in place of soothing music. The fairy lights strung around your bed shine soft light on the snoozing Phantom, who’s curled into your bed like it’s to become the chrysalis that envelops the squishy, vulnerable pupa that is Skully.

You don’t want to think about it. About why he was here tonight and why he came dressed as one of your favorite characters. And the last time he was on your bed was when…

Blotting that memory out, you snuggle into the blankets and rest your head on a sizable plush you’ve swiped from the end of your bed. If you can sleep all of this mess off, you’ll have a better time making sense of it once morning dawns.

That was your plan, but now that you’re in the position for sleep, eyes closed and mind racing, you find yourself unable to settle down. You turn one way and spend the next few minutes in your own head, tossing around Skully’s motives and what everything means. Maybe you’d sink into slumber if you were contemplating brain-bruising philosophy, but when every route leads back to that complex, confounding feeling it leaves your body crackling with nerves.

Shifting over on your back, you gaze up at the ceiling. “I’m sorry, Skully,” you whisper before you can stop yourself. “Salad Fingers was right. I’m only good at running away. I’m the best at being the worst. I’m, like, super, pathetically, abysmally bad at romance. I don’t know how to do it or what it means to feel it. I… I’ve never given myself that chance.”

I’ve spent too long pushing everyone who’s ever tried to love me away. 

You feel around blindly for your goat plush and hug it to your chest. His name is Mini Rollo.

“The truth is that my worst fear isn’t even thunderstorms. I hate those, too, yeah, but it’s love that scares me the most. Which probably sounds really silly to you because you’re so…full of it. Full of love, I mean. And I was afraid. Afraid that you’d found something about me that’s worth loving. I mean, you kinda saw through me from the very beginning and not many people do that. It made me feel so itchy. Like, what the hell? Who does this guy think he is, solving me like I’m some lousy cube puzzle? How’d you do that?”

A weak laugh tumbles out of you then. You’re not sure where the humor is in any of this. Maybe you’re just laughing at yourself.

“What scared me most, though… I caught myself considering it. It’s all I’ve been able to think about, actually.” You bury your face in Mini Rollo to save yourself the embarrassment of addressing a dim room with an unconscious audience. “I really don’t know how you do it. You’re like an infection. Or, uh—hold on. That came out wrong. Ugh. Just as bad as the lice poem. What I meant to say is that you’re so good at making me feel happy. So I guess that means your energy is infectious?”

Sighing, you shut your eyes and place yourself in the memory of that day, swapping cruel cowardice for a real confession. Mini Rollo’s soft head is tucked beneath your chin. “No one’s ever danced in the rain with me before to chase away my anxiety. And they’ve never made me their muse or written pages and pages of poems about me. They’ve never made me smile and laugh as much as you do. They certainly didn’t come to my door to give me an entire handmade flower wreath. That’s the stuff you’d only find in romance novels. You’re seriously one of a kind.” You force another sad, pitiful laugh. “I don’t deserve you or your love. If anything, you’re the cool one. Definitely way more than a fly.”

You’re my Pumpkin King.

“Never mind. What am I saying? Ew, ew. Gross. This is so…yuck.”

Stop talking. You’re making it worse, (Name).

You yank the blanket over your head and stuff down whatever else is threatening to spill out in this moment of alcohol-addled vulnerability. Although you’re not sure how much of that was liquid courage.

Is love supposed to feel so…itchy?

Like a sweater woven from coarse wool. Like an irritating bug bite that’s just out of reach. Like an allergic reaction. 

But then that same love is also so welcoming—a blanket fresh from the dryer, a flattering poem penned from the heart, a dance in the rain. A distinctly Skully-shaped love, one that’s cradled in the cobwebbed confines of his heart. 

You don’t want to run away from that—from him.

Warmed by these revelations, made weightless from the truth, you drift away on a stream of waning consciousness.

Good night, Skully.

Morning trickles through the mountains, bringing with it strips of sun that shine through the thin part of ratty curtains.

Your body is strangely light when it should be heavy with a skull-crushing hangover. Even your mind, which is normally fuzzy and filled with an unshakeable pressure in the dawn of last night’s chaos, is the shape of a Zen garden. You think you hear movement in the kitchen, but your sixth sense tells you it’s still too early and so you roll over in search of Mini Roll, who somehow slipped from your embrace during the night.

You find Skully instead.

He’s squished in the space between your bed and the nest of blankets piled around you, and it leaves you wondering how he managed to get down here. From how soundly he slept last night, you didn’t take him for a restless sleeper. You realize then that his eyes are open, watching you, and suddenly nothing else matters.

Oh.

“H-Hey,” you whisper, cringing at the roughness in your voice.

“Hi.” His voice is no better. More of a crow’s call than fluttery birdsong. “Good morning.”

You’re not sure what to think at first. Is this real? How did he get on your floor? Why is he here? Where’s Rollo? Where’s Mini Rollo?

You reach out; your palm hovers over his head. To save you the trouble, he leans into your hand. He feels real. He looks real.

“There’s only 365 days left until next Halloween,” you blurt.

Skully blinks at you. “364.”

You start to smile. He follows your lead.

He’s real. It wasn’t a dream.

“Um… So,” you start, but he reels back before you can get the rest out. 

“S-Sorry! I’m sorry! I’m much too close.” He scrambles to sit up, but the sudden change in position has him gripping his head. “Spinning… Oh, I feel ill… Please give me a moment and then I assure you I’ll be out of your hair.”

You bare your teeth in an awkward, sympathetic simper. Welcome to hangover hell.

“Why were you on the floor anyway?” you venture, sitting up with him, and then the shitty feelings descend. You hiss out a colorful word.

You realize you’re still wearing your costume from last night and, even though you think you should wrap yourself in a blanket, it’s nothing Skully hasn’t seen before. He’s seen all of you, as a matter of fact, and the knowledge of that sends a timid tremor ricocheting through your veins. You feel like you need to cover up now, as if you’re somehow exposed in your skimpy latex and sheer stockings, and it’s a ridiculous thought. The time for diffidence and modesty has long since passed.

Skully refuses to meet your stare, opting to gaze at a boring corner of your room instead. “I…” He sighs. “I heard you last night. And shortly after you retired… Well, I was struck with a jubilation like no other and I…”

“Rolled right off the bed?”

You picture it then: a squealing Skully squeezing the pillows and kicking his legs out, tangling himself in the sheets, every nerve alight with celebration.

“I’m sorry. I would’ve moved, but I feared I’d wake you if I wasn’t careful. You looked so relaxed… I couldn’t bring myself to risk it, so I remained there until now. Oh, but I promise I didn’t do anything untoward while you slept! I’d never!”

You exhale through your nose. “I trust you, Skulls.” And then you stiffen. “Wait. You heard me? H-How much?”

“All of it?”

You flop back onto the floor and muffle your groan in your hands. Not how you’d been hoping to start your morning. The hangover, you can handle. No problem. Whatever’s going on between you and Skully? Big problem. Massively heart-sized problem.

But you’re not going to tuck your tail and flee. Not this time. You’re better than that.

“I think…” Skully hesitates around the mouthful perched on his tongue. “I acted rashly last night. You saw such a terrible, immature side of me—and on Halloween, no less! There are no words in the dictionary to describe my shame.”

You remember his drunken meltdown. It’s not the prettiest image, but there’s no one else in this world you know of who’d go to such lengths for you. 

“You’re upset. I get it. Alcohol will do that to you. Makes you ten times more of an emotional wreck than you already are. I would know.” You’re not sure where you’re going with this, but you peek through your fingers at him and hope the tenderness in your tone hits its mark. “What I’m trying to say is that I’d like to try. If you don’t mind. If you’ll have me.”

I think I understand now—what I want.

“Try?”

“This. Us.”

He stares at you with dinner plates for eyes. A few seconds of silence bloom between you, and all throughout it he’s growing more pink-cheeked.

“We don’t have to! I mean… I completely understand if you don’t want to after everything. I’m a mess and I haven’t treated this situation very well, but I’m willing to give it my best shot. Fellow always says there’s only one way out of a ditch and maybe—”

Skully’s outstretched arm is in your face next. You follow the length of it to find his encouraging expression. Tentatively, you place your palm in his and allow him to help you up from the floor. You sit in front of him on your bed, and it’s as if you’re the last two humans on the planet.

This is new. The anxiety and the nervous sweats. The rushing blood in your ears. You’ve never felt this way before.

Then again, you’ve also never done any of this before. It’s all instinct; you’re treading the path projected by your heart this time. It’s every bit the terror you imagined it to be, but it’s exhilarating and refreshing all the same.

He’s still holding your hand. When you look down, you notice it’s shaking. You can’t tell if that’s from you or him, but it settles once your fingers interlock. 

And then, before you can prepare yourself, he’s yanking you towards him. The force of his pull has you falling, and your arm shoots out to prop yourself above him. 

“MayIkissyou?” he babbles, hurrying through the question so it’s pronounced like one gasping breath. And then he catches himself. “Forgive me. I’m just…so relieved! Oh, I was terrified you’d hate me and think I was a rotten person.” He’s tearing up, but you surmise these are happy tears. “I thought we’d never end up together. Like in ‘Sally’s Song’! I thought we were doomed. I thought I wasn’t the one for you…”

“No, I couldn’t ever hate you! You’re not a rotten person. Never. I—” think I’m falling for you— “I’m feeling things for you. Like in-my-heart things. Good things. That’s a horrible way to put it, I know, but I promise I mean every word. I’m just not as eloquent when it comes to these things. Compared to your poetry, I probably sound so dumb and—whoa!” 

His arms wind around you, and he traps you in a tight embrace.

“(Name)… My darling.”

“Y-Yes?” 

He sounds so serious… Wait, wait. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit! Don’t tell me he’s gonna say it? The L word! I don’t know if my heart’s ready. It wasn’t the first time he said it. Will I be okay? This is fine, right? It’s normal. It’s just…love. Aaahhhh!

“I’m pleased we’re so close.”

“Uh, yeah. Me too.”

“Without my glasses, I can scarcely see anything. You’d be nothing more than an indistinguishable, blurry shape. A beautiful shape, of course, but still impossible to discern!”

“Oh.”

Never fucking mind.

Hand in hand, you emerge from your room as more than friends. A couple. Lovers. A pair. So many florid titles you could probably fill the remaining pages in his poetry journal with. You’re not sure which one you should use to describe you and Skully. You’re used to temporary affairs. But this—what you have with him—feels like more than that.

Us. It’s us, you decide, and it’s the cheesiest thing but you’ll be damned if you deny yourself this newfound sweetness. 

Skully’s wrapped you up in his cloak. He’s also still clad in his costume, and he made quite the fuss about yours just moments ago.

“Now that we’re together,” he said with a childish pout, his face burning red-hot, “I don’t want others to see you like this. It’s selfish, but I can’t help it. I want to preserve these lovely sights for myself.”

“It’s just Rollo,” you argued. 

“Especially Mr. Rollo.”

You find his possessiveness endearing. Maybe you’re crazy for thinking that, but it’s addicting to be wanted so robustly and appreciated in full. Honeymoon phase be damned. You want to giggle and blush over everything Skully says and does, even if it’s complete nonsense. He could tell you the moon is made of cheese and you’d turn gooey like fondue. 

“Good morning, you two,” Rollo greets, a cup of coffee cradled in his hands. His pale lips quirk up knowingly. “And what a good morning it appears to be. Gidel and I are due for a payout.”

You level him with a glare that could wilt lettuce. “I can’t believe you. Your greed sickens me. Isn’t gambling a sin?”

What happened to being honest examples for the youth, Fellow?!

“When it’s a gamble you have every chance of winning, does it truly count as such?”

“It does if you’re betting money! And even Gidel got in on it? Are you serious?”

“Fellow owes him new art supplies. The fancy kind.” 

“Well, if it gets the kid his crayons…”

“Might I ask what the bet was for?” Skully pulls out a barstool for you, ever the winsome gentleman. He seats himself beside you.

“Whether you and (Name) would get together on Halloween or Christmas.”

“In that case, my sincerest congratulations to you and dear Gidel! Isn’t that wonderful, my love?”

“H-How do you know we’re together? You don’t even have evidence to confirm…” You trail off. Skully props his elbows on the countertop, a moony look softening his eyes.

“Surely you’re not as blind as you are dense.” Rollo glances between the both of you, as if asking, Are you seeing this shit?

Before you can snap back with defensive vitriol, he sets a paper bag down. A sugary peace offering awaits. It works a little too well because you forget everything he’s ever done at once.

“Pastry day! You’re the best, Rollo.”

“I’m aware.” 

“It looks and smells divine! Thank you graciously, Mr. Rollo.” Skully fishes something from out of the bag. “Shall we share this croissant, my dear? In honor of our first meal together as a pair of love-doves.”

Whoa. That’s so official. Hearing that is…really nice, actually. Kinda huge and a little scary, but nice.

“Skulls, I’d say let’s do it, but I’m way too hungry to go halfsies.” He’s quick to wither at that, his cuteness a weapon you’re unable to fight. You giggle and lean it to peck his cheek. “How’s that instead?”

“Not even a dozen sugar cubes could compare to how sweet you are.” He clutches his chest, swooning like a fanboy struck down by Cupid. “Aah, I adore you most ardently.”

Rollo fills two mugs with what’s left in the coffee pot. “There’s tea if you’d rather that.”

“It would be rude for me to turn down your hospitality. If it’s not too much trouble, tea would be much appreciated.”

“More for me.” You take hold of both mugs and are instantly soothed by the warmth bleeding through the ceramic. The caffeine will ward off the rest of whatever hangover symptoms might be encroaching.

While Rollo fills the kettle with water, Skully searches through the bag for a pastry that suits his tastes. You’re already licking your fingers clean of croissant crumbs. 

“I must thank you for allowing me to stay here through the night. I apologize if I caused you any trouble.” Skully bows his head. “You must forgive me. I don’t quite remember much of last night’s escapades.” 

“It was nothing. We weren’t gonna leave you in the woods.” 

“We considered it.” Rollo sips idly, unbothered by the now distraught Skully. 

“Don’t listen to him. Rollo’s being morbid on purpose. We’d never do that to you.” You take Skully’s hand beneath the counter and squeeze it. “We almost dropped you off at your house, but we decided against it at the last minute.”

An awkward chuckle rumbles through him. “I owe you more than my gratitude.”

“As long as you’re safe and comfortable, that’s all that matters. Make sure you let your parents know if they’re asking after you.”

“Mr. Rollo… Your kindness precedes you.”

“Rollo has a big heart today,” you tease around a bite of pain au chocolat. “He bought sweets, he made coffee, and he’s so chatty. Must be a lotta money Fellow’s coughing up if you’re in a good mood.”

He rolls his eyes, quietly amused. “We all have reasons to be pleased.”

You suppose that’s true. It’s a happily ever after for each of you.

“Oh, that reminds me!” You turn towards Skully. “Give me your phone. There’s something I owe you.”

He relinquishes it without a second thought, which allows you to input the digits for your number. You should’ve done this a long while ago—back when you first extended your hand in friendship—but as they say there’s no time like the present. You can move forward with this. It’s a stepping stone in a new direction!

You catch a glimpse of his contacts while you make one for yourself. He doesn’t even have ten contacts. Of the few saved, you spot his parents—named Mama and Papa separately—and then Rollo and Fellow. And then there’s the latest addition: you. You’re not sure what to call yourself, so you simply leave it as your name. You’re certain Skully has plenty of contact names in mind already. You won’t veto any of them because you’re positive they’ll stick.

“There.” You hand him the device. “My number’s saved.”

With a gasp, he stares at the screen with wide, disbelieving eyes. “Oh! Oh, how splendid! I will treasure this gift forever.”

“It’s not that special,” you start to say, but the rest of the argument dies in your throat. It is to him. Very special. You don’t want to take that away from him. “Don’t hesitate to text me. I’m always down to chat.”

“I shall text you every morning and night without fail. And every hour between then, too.”

“D-Don’t overdo it!”

“She says that, but she’ll enjoy every second of it,” Rollo cuts in, setting a fresh cup of tea down in front of Skully.

You hide in the ruffles of Skully’s oversized cloak. “I never said I was opposed to it…”

To think I was missing this all along. This warmth… It’s so sweet.

You waste the rest of the morning away with the both of them, laughing about whatever you can remember from last night’s Halloween.

 “It may not have been very successful, and it certainly wasn’t my ideal Halloween,” Skully explains to Fellow and Gidel hours later, both of them rapt, “but it didn’t end in complete disaster.”

“All’s well that ends well,” Rollo applauds.

“Of course you would say that,” Fellow grumbles. “To be loved is to be changed apparently. What a scam.”

“Ah, that’s right. Seeing as our resident lovebirds have taken to the nest, I do recall someone owes me the sum we agreed upon. And Gidel is awaiting his art supplies. It’s only fair, no?”

Gidel, who is brimming with excitement on Skully’s behalf, a supportive mirror image of his joy, snaps over to give Fellow puppy eyes. To really sell it, he digs around in his pockets for a few halves of crayon. Your squirming boss is looking everywhere but at the two of them, sweating from head to toe.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” Fellow lifts his arms in timeout. “Why must we let our desires lead us? Shouldn’t we learn to live as minimalists? Repeat after me! Hi-diddle-dee-dee! A minimalist life for me.” When no one follows suit, he drops to his knees in desperate prostration. “Best two out of three? We can bet on whether they’ll stay together long enough to get married or if they’ll split along the way. How does that sound? Just peachy, yes? If we’re in agreement, just name the terms and then we shall see! I’ll double the payout. Gidel, you can have an easel and oil paints. Isn’t that much better than a few measly crayons? And Rollo—my fair friend, surely you’d rather pay rent for the next five months rather than just one?”

That was fast. He really has mastered the art of begging like a bitch baby, you think, folding your arms over your chest. A few customers glance at the spectacle, curiously attracted to the obnoxious whines of a grown man.

“You made a bet and you lost. I’m merely here to collect my promised payment, as is Gidel.”

“How’s about you get yourself something from the store? It’s on me!”

Rollo surveys the store and the major half-off sale that has descended over what’s left of this year’s stock. “I don’t celebrate Halloween.”

Gidel shoves the broken crayons at him. Neither is going to budge. It’s amusing in the way an old sitcom is, but the way they interact with each other makes them look more like puppets than people.

“Aaaaghh! You’re unrelenting!”

“Just give Rollo his money and Gidel his art supplies.” You prop your feet up on the counter, your back poised against the wall. Skully nods in agreement. “Begging only makes you look worse, Fellow.”

With a growl, he pushes himself up onto his feet. “Yes, yes. I suppose you have me cornered.” And then with a woeful sigh: “Skully, my boy, couldn’t you have waited until Christmas? The holiday is right around the corner according to every marketing scheme ever. Halloween isn’t even remotely romantic!”

Skully gasps, scandalized. “It is if you’re Lord Jack and Sally! Halloween is the most romantic holiday! Have you never heard of traditional gothic romance?” He huffs and turns his nose up. “You have much to learn, Mr. Honest.”

“You’d be ill-advised to argue Halloween with the Phantom of the Opera,” Rollo says, holding a hand out. He scowls behind his handkerchief. “My money, if you would.”

“All right, fine. Don’t give me any more trouble, you hear?”

“Perhaps next time you should have more faith when placing bets.”

He stuffs a handful of crumpled bills in Rollo’s palm, grumbling all the while. You watch your roommate count each one, double- and triple-checking to ensure it’s the correct amount.

Gidel blinks up at him, hammer raised in threat.

“Yes, Gidel, I’ll get you those supplies. You have my word.” Fellow heaves a withered sigh. “You little devils are so conniving.”

“You love us. Don’t lie.”

“We cherish you, too, Mr. Honest!”

“I suppose you’re not impossible to tolerate. A semi-sensible boss,” Rollo agrees, pocketing his well-earned cash.

Fellow huffs, face tinged pink, and refuses to look at any of you. “You’re all nothing but trouble. I can’t believe I’ve put up with you kids for another year. How many more can I take?”

That’s right. Halloween’s over. The store closes in a week, you realize with a start. It went by so fast, and so much has changed.

You look at your humble work family—because that’s exactly what they’ve become in the time you’ve known them—and feel a smile stretching. These are your people. Misfits who have struggled to find their footing in the world. You watch a smirking Rollo and Gidel playfully push all of Fellow’s buttons, with Skully occasionally chiming in with a comment of his own, and you can’t imagine working minimum wage with anyone else.

If someone told you you’d end this season with love, you’d have laughed in their face. Back then, the mere idea was preposterous! Lust has always been your prerogative—loveless desire placed on a towering pedestal, far enough from the blooms of romance cluttering at the base, desperate to claw their way up into your heart. It’s not a joke or an aversion anymore. It’s real. Your first relationship that isn’t built on intermittent sex.

You wonder if you’re still stuck in last night’s Halloween, drunk off your ass and on the verge of passing out. Maybe you did and this is all a surreal dream—a fantasy spun from the silky strands of your heartstrings.

It’s not. Thank the stars it’s not.

There’s a lot you don’t know about romance and what it takes to maintain a relationship with sentimental stakes. You’re not an expert and neither is Skully. Perhaps no one is. Perhaps there is no such thing as experts and perfection where love is concerned. It’s a mystery—one you won’t be investigating alone.

Glancing at Skully, who’s still without his glasses and has been squinting at things from afar ever since this morning, you realize he looks different like this. In his Halloween costume—something he wore exclusively for you—and with his autumnal eyes uncovered by his trademark shades.

He’s cute.

And he’s all yours.

What a magical thing.

The sticky, sweet smell of sugar cookies and gingerbread umbrellas the apartment, cloying like dew on grassy lands in the first rays of sun. A cinnamon-scented candle mixes with the natural scent of the balsam fir positioned in a corner of the sitting room. It reeks of Christmas in here—of commercialized cheer and festive fun—like Santa Claus crash-landed through the door and spattered against the walls in a smattering of good tidings and season’s greetings.

Rollo was against a real tree at first, grousing over the mess and all the work, but even he couldn’t remain a grouchy Scrooge for long. He always softens around the holidays, which makes it easier to exploit his tender heart. And so together, while blasting a playlist of Christmas tunes at full volume, you hung ornaments and strung lights and garland along the full, fragrant boughs.

“We used to do this a lot,” he told you as he placed the star at the very top, and you turned the speaker down to hear him. “Before my brother… Ahem. My father would lift him onto his shoulders and he’d be the one to put the star on the tree.” He smiled at it, his eyes glazed in reminiscence. “And what a luminous star it is.”

You pulled him in for a reassuring side hug. “It’s gonna be a good holiday. Your brother would love it. He’d like that you’re carrying on the star tradition, too.”

Rollo hummed, and for the next few minutes you stood and admired the tree in peace.

Now you’re weeks into December and basking in the break from school. Normally you’d take this time to catch up on lost sleep, wasting the hours away into late afternoon in a comforting cocoon of blankets, aimlessly scrolling through your phone, but today you’re up plenty early. Excitement buzzes through you, even more so when you sniff the air and come away with all kinds of mouthwatering smells. You jump out of bed at the sound of “Last Christmas” and throw on a slim-fitting white sweater and a red jumper skirt with fur trim. After gliding through your makeup routine, you pucker your ruby-red lips in the mirror and fit a Santa hat on your head. It matches the peppermint patterns on this month’s set of acrylics.

You find Rollo hunched over the counter, wearing an apron and garnishing the Yule log with red currants and fondant mushrooms. He sprinkles icing sugar over the cake to give the impression of snowfall.

“You’ve outdone yourself.” Whistling, you examine the counters crowded with all kinds of dishes—some native to Rollo’s hometown and others from your favorite recipes. “Santa’s Little Helper works so hard. I hope you got some sleep.”

He smacks your hand away when you reach to pluck a berry from the cake. “This is nothing. Besides, I’m almost certain Skully’s going to bring snacks.”

“Probably.” Pouting, you cradle your hand and feign hurt. It’s ineffective against the no-nonsense Rollo Flamme. “You should’ve seen the way his parents lit up when he introduced me last month. You’d think he was telling them about how he won the lottery or something—the way they couldn’t stop gawping. I guarantee they’re sending him over with a tray of something to repay the favor.”

“Good. And I hope that Fellow sticks to his promise of bringing an appetizer.”

“He will. Gidel’ll make sure of it.” You sniff your wrist and frown. “Do I look okay? Am I overdoing it? Too much perfume?”

Rollo glances at you. “It’s Christmas. Everyone overdoes it.”

“I know, I know. But… I dunno. It’s my first major holiday with Skulls and I don’t wanna look like I’m trying too hard.”

Rollo places the glass dome over the cake and sets it off to the side. “Isn’t that the whole point?”

“You’re not helping. Do I look nice, at least?”

“You look very nice.” And then he ducks down to check the cookies in the oven. “Why are you so worried? Skully will appreciate you and your efforts regardless.”

“That’s just it! What if I look just okay? I’m not saying he has to drool over me, but if he shows up looking like a prince and I look like a bog monster—”

A sharp rap at the door shakes you out of your spiraling ramble. You and Rollo look between each other and then at the door. He starts for it and you throw yourself into his path to intercept him. 

“Wait! I’m not ready. Put a different song on—something to hype me up. Like Michael Bublé’s Christmas album! I need his confidence.”

“(Name), you’ll be fine.”

He strides past you, but you race the rest of the way to get to the door before he can. Wrenching it open, your heart sprouts wings like Icarus…and then immediately burns away at the sight of Fellow and Gidel. Temporarily relieved, you usher them in with a welcoming grin.

“Happy holidays!” You bend down to Gidel’s height and ruffle his hair. He beams up at you, his face half-hidden in a scarf that seems to swallow him whole. “Are you excited for Santa, Gidel?”

He nods and, digging through his pockets, pulls out a crumpled list. You read through the shaky misspellings (and the added corrections from Fellow) and your heart melts. It’s so wholesome. He wants art supplies, carrots for the reindeer, a new sewing kit for Fellow, books, a new hat…

“This is a great list! I’m sure you’ll get everything you want and more.”

“Now why can’t there be a Santa for adults?” Fellow huffs. “I’d love for the big man to come down and shovel my walkway or pay my bills. Winter Wonderland, they say, and yet I’m more frozen than the tundra!” He shakes himself out of his coat, which Rollo gracefully hangs on the nearby rack. He takes Gidel’s winter wear next. “Merry Christmas, both of you. I’ve brought apples.” Looking quite proud, he holds out the bag.

“Nice to see you, too, Fellow.” You lean in to embrace him and he returns the gesture merrily. “I hope the winter’s been kind to you and Gidel.”

“You’re too kind, dearie.”

“You didn’t think to do anything with the apples?”

“Now that, my fine friend, is where your imagination comes in! An apple is a very versatile fruit.” Fellow plucks one from the bag and, after shining it on his sweater, takes a greedy bite. “To some, it’s just an apple, but to others it could be candied or turned into pie. Limitless possibilities.”

“Hmm. Well, thank you for this. I’ll wash them and put them out with the rest.”

“Make yourselves comfy,” you add.

“Oh, and by the way… Would you assure (Name) she looks the furthest thing from a bog monster?”

“What’s this about a monster?” Fellow peers at you, incredulous, while he helps Gidel out of his winter boots.

Embarrassment flashes through you. “N-Not important! Don’t listen to Rollo.”

“She’s fretting over her appearance.”

You bark out a sudden laugh. “Who said anything about that? Me, fretting? No way. I’m just…conscious of today and everything. You know how it is.” You wring the hem of your dress. “It has nothing to do with fretting.”

The three of them—yes, even Gidel—look on with mutual disbelief. Fellow’s the first to break the silence.

“You’ve been together for—how long has it been now?—a month or so, and now you’re afraid of these things?”

“It’s been one month, three weeks, and three days, actually, and I’m not afraid.” You scoff. “Christmas is a big deal for couples. At least, I think it is. If the movies are to be trusted—”

“Miss (Name), take it from me—”

“I’m not sure I want to.”

“Holiday romance is a scam—ack!” Gidel jabs Fellow in the side for that. He clears his throat before carrying on. “But! But, but, but—I’ll be the first to tell you that that boy loves you more than anything, be it during the holidays or on a regular day. Bog monster or not.”

Nodding quickly, Gidel points at you, poses like Skully, and then forms a heart with his hands. 

“Based on what we saw of his poetry, he’d probably salivate if you became a monster,” Rollo says, and you can’t refute his claim. “So what’s really plaguing you?”

Sometimes you hate how easily Rollo can read you.

“I haven’t told him I love him. We’ve been together all this time and he showers me in it—it’s obvious—but I haven’t been able to say those words myself. I don’t know why.”

You miss the way they all facepalm.

“I don’t want him to think I don’t feel the same—because I do! I love him to bits. Just…how? How to put those three words into a sentence, and how to say that sentence to him?”

“‘I love you, Skully’. Easy. Wouldn’t you agree, Gidel?”

He stalls around a nod.

“If only.” Rollo sighs. “You show your appreciation for him in other ways. I’m sure he understands.”

“But I think he’d like to hear it. Anyone would.”

“Lucky for you, Skully isn’t ‘anyone,’” Fellow remarks, patting you on the shoulder.

Still… It’d be nice to say it.

Just then, a rhythmic knock resounds. You look to Rollo for help, but he, Fellow, and Gidel have retreated to the oven to pull the cookies out. Why it’s a two-man-plus-spectator job, you don’t know.

The door opens to reveal Santa. A much thinner, lankier version, but Santa nonetheless. With a beaming smile and a hearty chortle, Santa Skully announces his arrival.

“Merry Christmas to you, my dear! You look as lovely as always.” He grabs hold of your hands and pulls you in, kissing each of your cheeks in turn. “Simply ravishing.”

You’re hot down to your toes. The cold air from outside helps regulate your temperature, if only for the moment.

We literally went on a date last week and yet I can’t stop myself.

“You look very handsome, as always.” You tug him down to your height to return his smooches with some of your own, placing one directly on his mouth. You linger long enough to leave him reeling with rekindled cravings. “I hope I’m on Sandy Claws’s nice list this year.”

“Let’s see,” he teases in a singsong, pretending to unfurl an imaginary scroll. He scans it for a few seconds and then leans in to whisper, “Sandy Claws says you’re just shy of naughty, but we can arrange a solution.”

“It won’t be an easy fix.”

“Then aren’t I lucky to have a wonderful soul such as yourself to call my own? A little naughtiness never hurts.”

Fuuuuck. I love him.

With a giggle, you release him and pat his suit down. “Everyone’s already here. Let’s get back inside before we freeze.”

“We wouldn’t want you to become Frozen Charlotte. Beautiful as you would be, I quite like you warm and alive.”

“As do I.”

You step aside to let Skully in. He hauls a red sack through the door. “Good day, wonderful people! Happy holidays and Merry Christmas!”

“Skully, my boy, you made it!” Fellow slinks over to shake his hand. “A very merry one to you as well.”

You shut the door to keep the cold out and watch as he takes his turn greeting everyone.

“I’ve brought gifts for everyone, and my parents sent me with a treat for today’s gathering. They send their well wishes and regards, each one baked into this tantalizing treacle tart.” Carefully, he pulls it from the bag, wrapped delicately in foil, and passes it to Rollo. “It’s my mother’s own recipe. I wish I could take the credit, but unfortunately I’m still learning how to bake.”

“I’ll be sure to send them a card to express my thanks.”

“Why, I’m honored, Mr. Rollo! They would love nothing more.”

“Ooh, a tart? Now that sounds scrumptious. What say we tear into the food, Gidel?”

Gidel agrees with two thumbs raised.

“If you fill up on sweets now, you’ll never have the appetite for dinner,” Rollo scolds.

“By the time the food’s done cooking, we’ll be plenty hungry. And we have lots of stuff to do to pass the time.” You make a vague sweeping gesture with your hand. “Decorating cookies, making gingerbread houses, watching movies… It’ll be fine.”

No one’s going to argue with that. And even if they were about to, the delightful Christmas music puts everyone in bright spirits.

While you and Rollo prepare the main courses, Fellow, Skully, and Gidel clear the table to make space for trays of now-cooled cookies and gingerbread. A rainbow of frostings and various toppings are set down next.

“A very smart use of your guests’ labor,” Fellow comments, but he doesn’t have any credibility when he’s clearly putting his soul into crafting a little bow for his gingerbread man. And then he catches Gidel’s arm before his sleeve can drape into one of the bowls. “Be careful! Now what have I told you about rolling up your sleeves when you’re going to be working?”

He sets his cookie down and turns in his chair to help Gidel fold his sleeves back. He’s given a grateful smile in return.

“What do you think of mine so far, dear Gidel? I’m recreating Lord Jack’s terrifying likeness in cookie form! Ooh, are you decorating yours based on Mr. Honest? How darling!”

Skulls, you’re a delight. I hope you know that.

“What is it?” Rollo asks.

“I’m thinking,” you reply absently, gazing at your reflection in the oven. The Christmas ham cooks within. 

“How dangerous.”

“I really like him, Rollo. It’s one thing to show it, but I want to be able to tell him. I want to say it and not feel so…insecure. Yeah, that. That word fits.”

We’ve gone on dates, we kiss, we hold hands, we have sex. He tells me I’m pretty and I melt. I give him all kinds of things because I like spoiling him. I’m going to spend Christmas Day with him and his parents. Everything we do is lovey-dovey, so why can’t I say it? It’s not like it’s a forbidden phrase.

It was for most of your life, though, and that’s the crux of the problem. The phrase has negative connotations. It’s been weaponized in the past, a verbal dagger meant to carve at your chest. Even now, a month into your relationship, you can’t tamp down the surprise whenever Skully lavishes you with that three-word phrase. Over and over, as if it’ll imprint itself on your soul if spoken enough. He means everything he says—each iteration of fondness. You wish you could be so unfaltering in your approach. You wish you could just scream the words because they’re trapped inside your ribs and you desperately want them out. You want Skully to know.

“I’m glad everyone can come together like this,” you say instead, and thankfully Rollo doesn’t press the matter. “We should get together to celebrate the New Year, too.”

“So long as our schedules align.”

“As if Fellow’s gonna be too busy for a free meal.”

For the rest of the day, you decide it isn’t worth it to sweat over the complications of love. You can do that after the holidays. Or later tonight when you’re alone with your thoughts in the shower. Either way, now’s not the time.

I’m too pretty to stress over this.

Somehow it works. You’re beginning to wonder if procrastination (alongside a dusting of delusion) really is the solution to all of life’s issues. Maybe not a long-term fix, but it provides temporary relief from the demons haunting your every thought.

I’ll say it once I’m ready, you catch yourself thinking hours later while Skully feeds you. Mindlessly, you open your mouth to receive another spoonful of whatever’s on his plate. There’s not a time limit on stuff like this. It’s not like I have to say it today or tomorrow or two weeks from now. 

“I really should capitalize on Christmas…” Fellow announces, mostly to himself, as he peers out the snow-frosted window. “This town grows so soft during the holidays. It seems far more profitable than Halloween.”

“We can dress Lord Jack up as Sandy Claws and have him pose in the very front!” Skully suggests, pausing midway to accept a bite from your fork. “Wouldn’t that be marvelous?”

“Hmm. There’s potential.” A flicker of mischief spots Rollo’s green hues. “You could play mall Santa and listen to everyone’s Christmas wishes.”

Fellow laughs and cuts into the slab of glazed ham on his plate. “Sounds to me like someone’s offering to stand in as an elf.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” You slam your hand down on the table. “He’s Santa’s Little Helper! Who’s with me? Gidel?”

Said boy is looking at Rollo with hope painted across his youthful face. Any initial objection Rollo had promptly vanishes at the sight. He sighs loudly behind his napkin.

“Ask me again next year and then we’ll see.”

“I didn’t hear a no! Did you, Skulls?”

“We can all dress up together! How lovely!”

“Then it’s settled. Santa’s Workshop will open for business next holiday season!” Fellow raises his glass in toast, and the rest of you follow suit.

“Cheers to that!”

Some time later, while you and Skully exchange gifts with Gidel, Fellow and Rollo slip out of the room. You don’t realize they’re gone until it’s just the three of you, Skully’s chatter filling the space and tricking you into believing there are more people present. It’s not like them to scheme so collaboratively, and they’re not going to pick at the desserts. Suspicion crawls up your back and spins its web in your chest. Those two are up to something. You’re sure of it.

“This one’s for you.” Skully’s voice draws you back to the present. He hands you a tiny box with a bow. “From dear Gidel.”

“For me? Oh, that’s very kind of you.” You peel the lid back and lift a beaded necklace with an accompanying drawing from inside. It’s of you and Gidel holding hands, happy smiles and flowers all around. “This is beautiful! Did you make this yourself?”

He nods, face flushed with pure happiness. You fasten it around your neck, swelling with pride the whole time.

“It suits you well. An excellent job, dear Gidel! And your art looks exquisite. You’ve captured my darling’s radiant smile.” Skully pushes his gift into Gidel’s hands. “Here—open mine next!”

The packaging remains intact for all of five seconds before it’s shredded to pieces. Inside are an artist’s sketchbook and a how-to art guide. Gidel’s mouth falls open at the sight of them.

“I thought you could use something a little more professional. Notebooks are great to start with, but a real sketchbook suits our budding artist even better!”

He hugs both books to his chest and then, setting them down, throws his arms around Skully. 

“You’re very welcome! I await the masterpieces that shall soon grace these pristine pages.” He places his hat on Gidel’s head. “Nurture that imaginative spirit of yours and never stop creating.”

“Miss (Name), would you be a dear and come here for a second? Rollo needs you for something,” Fellow calls from just down the hall.

And then Rollo, in a hushed hiss: “Fool! You’re supposed to call Skully first!”

“Oh, pish-posh. They may as well be one body, the way those two fawn over each other.”

“Just be quiet!”

These idiots… you think and shake your head, amused with their antics. 

“I’ll be right back.”

You kiss Skully’s cheek and pat Gidel’s head, and then you’re rising to your feet to tromp down the hall towards your bedroom. You’re not sure what to expect when you round the corner and find the both of them there. And nothing’s amiss. Your suspicion triples, and you cast a dubious glance between them.

“Okay, you two, what’re you doing? It’s not like you to plan…whatever’s happening here. Hold on. What is happening?”

“Call it a Christmas miracle, dearie.”

“Or a favor. Whichever is sweeter on the tongue.”

You roll your eyes and that’s when you spot it. The mistletoe hanging from your doorframe.  

“All right, Gidel, you can bring Lover Boy over!”

Right on cue, Gidel drags a sputtering Skully along. 

“What’s this about? Dear Gidel? Mr. Honest? Mr. Rollo?” He looks at each of them. “Is this a surprise? Am I meant to cover my eyes?”

He’s brought in front of you. Gidel grabs both of your hands and forces them together.

“Merry Christmas, you two,” Rollo says as he departs for the sitting room, where a few gifts still linger untouched beneath the tree.

“Three words,” Fellow reminds you with a hum. He mouths them to you as he passes: You got this.

Even Gidel offers you an encouraging thumbs-up before he, too, skips after Fellow.

“I’m not sure I follow…”

“Look up, Skulls.”

He turns his bespectacled gaze skyward and gapes at the mistletoe. “Oh… Ohhh! Did they put this up for us?”

“Seems like it.”

Awkward silence gathers in the hall.

“Should we kiss?”

“We should kiss.”

“Ah, sorry. You first.” You shrink away, but Skully holds firm to your hands. 

“I would be honored to kiss you.” And then he squeals. “Aah, it’s really mistletoe! My first kiss under the mistletoe with my sweetheart!”

He leans in, but you’re not ready. You can’t kiss him until you’ve told him. Until you’ve uttered three magic words.

“Skully, wait!” 

He pauses. “Is… Is something the matter?”

You steel yourself. “I… There’s something I want to tell you.”

“I’m listening. You can tell me anything, my dear. Anything.”

“Okay. Cool. Good.” Where the fuck am I going with this? Words. Love. Right. “I know we haven’t been together very long—I’m hoping we stay together forever—and you’ve always been so expressive about your feelings. Heart on your sleeve and all that. But I… I’m not the best at this and I know it’s painfully evident, but I’m really happy to call you mine because you get it. You get me. And I guess I’m the luckiest girl alive to have someone like you. No, not guess. I know I’m the luckiest. Wait, that’s not the point I’m trying to make. Ugh. This is so rambly. Sorry, sorry. The point I’m trying to make is…”

I love you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone and I need to say it. I need you to know.

Skully’s hand grasps your chin and turns your head back to face him. The contact—his warm palm, soft fingers, gentle, magnetic touch—reminds you of why you feel these things. Tongue-tied, buoyant on a sea of clouds, always strung up in the wonderful web that is romance.

“I’m sorry I’m so bad at this. I wanted to say it the first day I realized it, but I couldn’t. I was scared and maybe I still am, but I want to tell you.” You inhale a deep breath. “Skully, I… I really, really… Really, really, really—”

He sweeps you against him, his lips on yours for but a breath. “I know,” he murmurs, closing his hand around yours. “I love you, too. And until you feel comfortable saying it out loud, I’ll continue to echo the sentiment. Now and onwards.”

You stare at him. The first tear tracks down your cheek and then another. Before you can stop yourself, you’re crying. He smiles in that sweet, sympathetic, Skully way. It sculpts your heart into a candle, and the wax organ weeps all over your ribs. Messy. But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“No fair… You’re too cool and I’m a mess.”

Thumbing your tears away, he cradles your face in both hands like a saint. “The Spider Queen is always cool and so is my darling (Name). I will always think so.”

“Even when I’m a dreadful mess?”

“Especially when you’re a dreadful mess because that, too, is beautiful. Dreadfully beautiful.”

“You’re seriously amazing… I adore you, Skulls.”

Glassy-eyed and sniffling, you yank him in for a starved kiss underneath the mistletoe.

You might not be able to say those three words right now, but this comes close.

It’s love all the same.

[mellowtrashtrash]

FNaF World: Sister Location and Pizzeria Simulator finished!

Hey folks! I've had more characters in the works for a while now, and I've finally almost finished this row! Are you excited? I know I am! Let's get into it!

First, I elected to finish off the Sister Location animatronics, with the rambunctious scamps themselves...

The Bidybabs!

With all the wound-up energy of a pair of british schoolchildren, the Bidybabs are a welcome addition to the cast! These were a fun set of characters to make, and like last time, gave me a lot more practice animating multiple characters in one! In terms of animation, I endeavored to express the energy of a couple of silly kids roughhousing. This hurt animation features some walking, and while it is unusual, it was ultimately necessary for encapsulating the wobbliness of their stack. Like with the Minireenas, it was a tough decision whether or not to do an individual or a duo, but I knew it was going to be necessary for them to be a group in order to keep them distinct from the next character...

Electrobab!

This kid scares me. Someone find this kid a hobby. Preferably something non-conductive.

The neglected weird kid of the Sister Location Custom Night group, this overcharged infant is packed full of likely lethal electrical powers can put any pitiable poltergeist in this franchise to shame! Jumpscares? Hallucinations? Possession? That all pales in comparison to Electrobab's capacity for emitting immensely powerful controlled shocks! I guess it learned from how it was raised.

Now that we've finished off Sister Location's cast of oddballs, let's finish off the strange folks from Pizzeria Simulator! First up we have our unforgettable bowl of overcooked ramen...

Molten Freddy!

This noodly feller was quite a bit of fun to make. Rigging up all the wires was tough, but in the end I achieved exactly effect I was going for. And it's just plain fun to watch him go! For the main body, I was going to use a set of rigid bones to make it bend, but after some testing it didn't look very good. Too robotic, not silly enough. That was when I remembered the stretchy bone I'd used for Phone Guy's cord. I gave it a shot, and the resulting stretchy bouncy effect was just what he needed! The hurt animation is a little brutal-looking, but he'll probably be fine. These guys have been murdalized and melted down how many times now? They're troupers, they'll go through a thousand new marketable forms before they're finished!

Since everybody loved one bear so much, how about another Heeeere's...

Lefty!

The surprise puppet-trap himself! Lefty was a fairly simple one, as the character is largely a recolor of Rockstar Freddy. Nonetheless, I tried to give Lefty a distinct personality from Rockstar Freddy as best as I could. The animation direction for this character was very unnatural, disjointed, and jerky; like a dancing beartrap (or puppet-trap, hee-hee). In his hurt animation you can see the Puppet's eyes inside his detached jaw, dizzy from being spun around and stretched. I would be too.

I do not envy Charlie's situation, being stuck inside a robotic bear and forced to burn to death. Oh well, at least the darkest pit of hell is ready to swallow her greatest enemy whole— oh, he got out again? Why do we keep using fire?

Oh well, guess we've got...

Scraptrap!

Designing a cutesy version of this character is a tall, tall order. I did my best, and I think in the end it captures his design pretty well while remaining pretty simplified all-around. It's a little more stylized than I usually like to do, but I can't tell if that's on my part or if that was inherent to the character. He's not the most stylistically consistent of Scott's designs, even in his original FFPS appearance. In terms of animation direction, I decided to animate him like a bit of a cartoon villain. Exaggerated hunched posture, unbridled aggression when attacking, and shocked frustration upon being damaged. Fun animation tidbit, the skull inside his helmet moves its jaw with his. Look closely at his mouth and you can see it. Pretty spooky! Here's a behind the scenes look at his skull. Yikes!

That about does it for the scrap animatronics, though I've got another cooking up for next time, just you wait and see...

To finish us off, here's a remake of my Yenndo hurt animation! I decided the last was too generic!

Thanks for tuning in as always! I hope to bring you some more neat stuff soon! I'll catch you on the flipside!

[pianokantzart]

The Super Mario Bros. Redux (Pt. 4)

What would happen if, in The Super Mario Bros. Movie, after Mario and Luigi are separated, Mario was the one who ended up in the clutches of Luigi’s eventual arch nemesis, while Luigi teamed up with some of his own close allies to go rescue him?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

________

Luigi and E. Gadd get off the train at a station in the middle of a massive desert kingdom where the ground is covered in intricate, ancient stonework pathways, and the sky filled with enormous floating pyramids.

Birabuto Kingdom, while bustling, is not quite as crowded as the coastal circuit, so Luigi finds it far easier to keep up with E. Gadd's hurried pace as they move toward a sandstone palace in the center of the city that reaches so far into the sky it overlooks even the floating pyramids.

The whole time they are traveling, neither realize they are being followed at a distance by the ghost dog from the train. Turning invisible and slipping into walls to remain undetected, it seems to be paying close attention to Luigi in particular.

As E. Gadd and Luigi arrive at the doors of the palace they're stopped by two large Gao who, after evaluating the duo, allow Professor Elvin Gadd to enter– as they had been expecting him– but tell Luigi he must wait in the courtyard.

E. Gadd reassures Luigi it shouldn't be long, and enters the castle with The Poltergust on his back and a bunch of paperwork tucked under his arm. Luigi obediently finds a quiet, shady spot in courtyard, and waits.

While waiting, he holds his hat dejectedly in his hands, running his palm over the "L" stitched into the front, when he's startled by a loud bark. He turns, and is terrified to see a little white ghost dog bounding directly toward him.

He fall over backwards in a panic, whimpering in fear, but to his surprise the dog doesn't attack. Instead, it licks his face, then pushes its forehead under his hand in a less-than-subtle demand for affection.

Luigi nervously gives the ghost dog what it wants, then starts scratching the sides of his neck, and eventually can't help but smile as it leans into him in an adoring nuzzle.

"Heh... not so scary for a poltergeist. Not even very scary as far as dogs go. You're just a friendly little pup, aren't you? A silly little polterpup..."

Just as Luigi seems to be warming up to the ghost dog, it spots his hat and playfully snatches it away, turning to Luigi with a play bow and a wagging tail. Luigi meekly asks the dog to give the hat back, but Polterpup takes that as a cue to initiate a game of chase.

Luigi tries his best to retrieve his stolen hat, but Polterpup proves very good at keepaway. The two bound past the guards into the castle, with Luigi offering a quick "SorryI'llberightback!" over his shoulder.

Pandemonium soon follows. Polterpup's recklessness and Luigi's clumsiness knocks over people and furniture alike as they rush through palace corridors, and Luigi's numerous apologies do nothing to quell the slowly growing swarm of guards chasing after him.

Meanwhile, in a grandiose meeting room, Professor E. Gadd is speaking before The Four Kings of Sarasaland: A great water dragon (King Dragonzamasu), a hovering cloud (King Biokinton), a giant sentient stone head (King Hiyoihoi), and an enormous sphinx-like lion (King Totomesu). The Professor is explaining The Dark Moon, the dangers posed by its absence, the current state of Evershade Valley, and the looming threat of King Boo.

When E. Gadd pulls out blueprints of all the inventions that were destroyed when his lab in Evershade Valley was attacked and starts listing off all the materials he'll need in order to rebuild, King Totomesu silences him.

King Totomesu reminds Professor E. Gadd that he was promised sanctuary and a new place to live, nothing more. E. Gadd tries to insist that he has the knowledge and the tech necessary to nip the ghost invasion in the bud if he only had some help, but all four kings seem to doubt him.

King Hiyoihoi suspects that the ghost invasion isn't as nearly a big of a threat as E. Gadd is making it out to be, stating that Sarasaland can fight off King Boo's forces the same way it has the thousands of other armies that have threatened their lands in centuries past.

King Dragonzamasu reminds E. Gadd that he had a bad habit of losing his inventions– making mention of Bowser Jr.'s Magic Brush– and states they have no intention of funding anything they couldn't trust would stay out of enemy hands. On that same note, King Biokinton comments that King Boo was using Professor E. Gadd's technology– The Portrificationizer– as a means of holding hostages at that very moment.

Overall, the four kings seem to agree that however big the encroaching threat, they didn't quite trust E. Gadd when it came to how he handled his own tech.

That is when Luigi barges in, leaping upon Polterpup and finally retrieving his hat as the ghost dog disappears into the floor. Luigi places his hat back on his head, reveling in a short-lived sense of victory before he is slammed to the ground by roughly a dozen guards while another dozen try to explain the situation to their kings.

Amidst the pandemonium, Professor E. Gadd asks for Luigi's release. The Kings oblige, but not without demanding an explanation. E. Gadd's face slowly brightens as he cobbles together a story: "This is my new assistant! You are right, in my age I've started losing track of things, and that is why I hired Luigi here to take charge of all my new tech! The whipper snapper is strong as he is quick, and a real wiz with The Poltergust!"

The Kings seem skeptical, but can't deny that it's impressive he managed to get so far into the palace before being apprehended. They look Luigi up and down. Luigi stares vacantly back at them like a deer in the headlights.

King Totomesu, noting the man's obvious nervousness, decides to strike a deal: that evening they would hold a match in The Battle Stadium, in which Luigi would wield his Poltergust against Sarasaland's own reigning champion. If he proved himself worthy, they would give Professor E. Gadd everything he requested.

Luigi wrings his newly-recovered green cap in his hands as he tries to come up with an answer based on the little he knew. Looking at The Professor... who seems to sincerely believe in him... and looking down at the hat in his hands and remembering his brother, he ultimately agrees to the king's terms.

Luigi is rethinking the decision by the time he is at The Battle Stadium, being ushered to the arena doors by E. Gadd. Luigi is barely holding it together, shakily insisting that he doesn't know how to fight.

E. Gadd dismisses these fears. He tells Luigi to let the machine do all the fighting, explaining to him the two new features he added (the strobulb and the suction shot), before unceremoniously shoving him through the doors into the bright light of the crowded arena.

When Luigi's eyes adjust he finds himself in an arena more colorful and complicated than any he'd ever seen, full of obstacles and intricate moving parts. A strange turtle creature riding on a cloud holds a camera up to Luigi's face, and next thing he knows his own perplexed stare is repeated across giant screens all around The Battle Stadium.

As the overstimulation of the new environment wears off, Luigi realizes he's being booed. He nervously pulls his hat over the sides of his face to hide himself from the jeering crowd, and only dares look up when the audience is silenced by the twang of an electric guitar.

The upbeat rock music continues and the crowd's energy shifts, turning from an excited murmur to uproarious applause as a figure bursts onto the scene from the opposite end of the stadium. For a moment, Luigi can't make out more than the flutter of a bright orange dress until the arena screens brighten with a very different face– a bright, beautiful, cheerful, confident face.

"Hi! I'm Daisy!" his opponent declares, striking a victorious pose for the camera as the crowd goes absolutely nuts.

[helloooofandoms]

You Talk Too Much

Reader is an old friend of Lockwood's and they run into ine another during a case.

You were beginning to think that you were unlucky. This was the 5th job this week, and the 3rd one you were stuck babysitting some inexperienced or under qualified agent on. You couldn't fathom why the academy kept sending out these half baked nitwits with little to no actual experience other than a few measly type ones.

It was your regular dilapidated, cobweb infested house on the corner, but you could feel the shift in air as you got closer. Hear the whispering of unidentified voices before you saw yourself standing directly in front of it. You could hear the yells and screams of whatever agents were inside. Sounds like they were doing quite alright. As you started to pick up your feet to walk past you heard a familiar name being shouted.

"Lockwood!"

You couldn't catch a break could you? Sure you hadn't seen the arrogant stringbean in a while but you had assumed maybe he left town. Who were you kidding he would never leave this place. It was you that had relocated, which made it difficult to meet one another, or have overlapping missions every now and then. The two of you were quite a duo back in the day but like they said all good things must come to an end. You needed a better paycheck as you had been an individual hunter on your own before the two of you met. You were what they called a triple threat, you had the talent of touch, listening, and sight. However, you mainly kept your talent of listening under wraps. Last thing you needed was to go famous and end up six feet under due to the amount of work they'd throw at you. You also had no interests in being in a tug of war between Fittes and Rotwell. It was too pompous for the normal lifestyle you were hoping to achieve even with this crazy profession.

Right, enough inner monologue time to see if your old friend needed help.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Making your way up the stairs your head was spinning as you could hear voices in almost every direction. You had already deduced that the main floor was empty given the screaming which sounded like it was coming from the floor above you and all.

The noises growing ever so loud made you push open a door with enough force that it slammed into the wall. The noises stopped for a moment. The three figures looking your way. Lockwood who was armed with his Rapier inches away from slashing it through the ghost. A girl that was lying on the ground visibly exhausted and terrified. Lastly the ghost. A nasty looking one at that. Half of its face looked as if it was melting and you couldn't stop yourself from thinking it resembled two-face.

It didn't give you any time to speak as it vanished temporarily only for you to spin on your heel and slash the blade of your iron kusarigama into the poltergeist. It unleashed a guttural scream that made you swear. "Fuck off!" You ran the second blade through its body once more before it disappeared. Frowning you turned around fully to look at Lockwood. Your arm hurt a bit and maybe you were getting too old for this huh?

"You know for someone with their own agency and all maybe it wouldn't kill you to train your employees." You gestured to the blonde girl still.om the floor. "Who am I kidding? You're the epitome of 'don't think just do'." You huffed making your way over to them. Lockwood had already assisted his partner off the floor and his lips quirked up as soon as he saw you.

"My my look what the cat dragged in." Lockwood smirked.

"Cat is correct. That's exactly what it sounded like from outside. Between the ghosts and the two of you I couldn't tell who was in danger." You said with an eye roll before wrapping an arm around both of their waists and taking a step back resulting in the two of them being pulled towards you. A ghost appeared in the exact same spot you had moved them from and she just stared at you. It was a little girl. She looked sad as she held her teddy bear. Then she looked at the blonde girl beside you and pointed to the left.

You watched as Lockwood's employee listened to the young girl. "Book is in the closet." She said before vanishing.

"I knew there were three ghosts here but I couldn't imagine one was friendly." You hummed as you followed behind Lockwood whom had already began moving to the closet where he saw her point. He couldn't hear them like you and the other girl could but he did read body language which was just as important.

"You're a listener as well?" The girl asked a bit shocked.

Tilting your head left and right with a scrunched face, you spoke "More or less."

"Aha!" Lockwood cried as he retrieved the book and dusted it off. "Time to get out of here." He grumbled.

"Yeah before ghost number three traps you." The girl beside you looked up at the ghost that was on the ceiling and quickly descending.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The three of you walk together down the road. Lockwood and the girl you came to find out who's name was Lucy look a bit worse for wear compared to you with not a single scratch or hair out of place.

Smiling to yourself you looked over at Lockwood and playfully nudged him with your shoulder. "Say Tony you come here often?"

Lockwood only shook his head with a grin before responding. "No but if it means I'll see you I think I can make some arrangements."

He was still a smooth talker. Deciding not to make the atmosphere too intense you looked over at Lucy. "You know Locky never told me he actually hired someone better than him."

Glancing at you from the corner of her eye she laughed. "I'd reckon he's simply shy." Lucy played along.

Placing a finger under your chin, you feigned being lost in thought. "He has always been rather bashful hasn't he?" What a bold lie.

Lockwood glared at the two of you. You knew it was utter regret by the way he crossed his arms and let out a sigh. "Lucy has been with us at Lockwood and co with us for some time now. I guess you'd both be bound to meet at some point."

"That's right. I may have to save your ass much more in the future!" You had a sickeningly wide grin when you clasped your hands together.

"How scandalous of you. To think you'd be checking me out on the job." Lockwood draped an arm over your shoulder. "As much as we would love to see you again George isn't quite fond of animals."

You resisted the urge to bring your hands up and shake him by the shoulders. "You know I'd choke you but I think you'd enjoy that too much." You mumbled under your breath. "Hey Luce how do you live with this utter nightmare?" You preferred her more relaxed personality over Lockwood's cocky behavior right now.

Lucy looked between the two of you a smile playing on her lips and a knowing look in her eye. "I simply don't encourage his foolery." She shrugged before climbing the steps to open the door.

"Wha- Lucy we're supposed to be friends." You whined to no avail as the girl simply sauntered inside and made her way up the staircase to what you can only assume is her room.

Sighing you turn to face Lockwood. He didn't have much of a look on his face and you wondered if he was feeling okay. Without a second thought you placed the back of your hand on his forehead you scanned his body over with your eyes. "You don't feel sick."

The heat spreading on his face made him cough lightly and push your hand away. "Maybe I've just got a bit of a temperature." He waved his hand dismissively.

You two stood there for what felt like an eternity. Neither wanting to move but not knowing what to say. It was him who broke the silence in the end.

"Let's catch up more often." He said genuinely. A softer look on his face that you just couldn't help but tease.

"Do you miss me or something?" You snickered but he didn't react much.

"Of course." It was simple and boy was it effective. The way he looked at you like it was impossible to look at any thing else. The reflection of light dancing in his eyes from the hanging porch light above you two. Not to mention the way he glanced at the door as if he was planning his escape. He didn't say much but he didn't have to. He wore his heart on his sleeve when it came to the ones he cared about. The showboat facade died out quickly after getting to see the real Lockwood.

All of a sudden those intrusive, deep, and buried feelings of crushing on your old friend resurfaced. It was your turn to flush as you pushed him through the doorway and turned your back towards him. "I have a feeling I will be seeing you soon." You stepped down. Something stopped you from walking away.

Whipping around you went back up the steps. Your arms snaking their way under his and around his back. "In the case we don't meet for a while I figured it's only professional of me to leave you with a small token of my memory." You told him before pulling away.

He hadn't even hugged you back the ingrate! As you retreated and looked up at him you could see he was more preoccupied on looking at anything else but you. A faint blush covering his cheeks as you could even notice the color staining the tips of his ears.

Not wishing to stand out in the cold any longer you left his doorstep this time for real. "Hey y/n next time you see me the hug will be a minute for every week we haven't seen one another!" Lockwood yelled from his doorstep.

It had been about half a year since the last time you saw him. He always had a knack for occupying your brain. Holding up a thumbs up you kept walking. If your calculations were correct that hug would last 182 days. Maybe you should push it to not seeing him for whole year?

You turned for the last time on your feet to see Lockwood still a ways away standing by the door, watching you walk off. Cupping your hands around your mouth you yelled. "Tell George I said hi and that I'll see him next year!"

[lorelite333]

Musician AU Headcannons for the Redacted Cast

(if you know me, no you dont. ik i said i would post it sooner, but i lied- i never post here but its wtvs, credits to Moxy for the question) Shaw Pack David, Milo, Asher, and Christian are a band; they make music similar to Arctic Monkey Christian is that one bass guy who people call controversial and has issues with teamwork, but the team loves him anyways and he tries Milo used to do more indie folk music, like Noah Khan but branches out into more of a Hozier (the growls- sorry ur girl dying here) The band used to be a garage band before everything started, David is lead, Milo is vocals/guitarist, Asher is drummer, and Christian is the bassist. DAMN Crew Freelancer used to be a choir kid, which sprouted them into doing contemporary music in their early years but gave up on it for their dream profession. Their music was just a hobby and they knew it would never go mainstream.

Damien was a band kid, he'd be take a lot of inspiration from Ghost or The Googoo Dolls

Huxley would totally be into drums, but it never got far enough into his hyperfixation to actually become a focusing hobby, let alone a profession.

House of Solaire (ft. Baz)

Vincent & Porter would take inspo from Evanscense and The Frays, they were a duo but had a falling out which caused them to stop their music careers and focus on their own things. William used to play the violin and cello, but stopped when he became a vamp Alexis was a ghost singer, she would sing for an old friend of hers until they double crossed her. She vowed to never sing another note for those who dont deserve her voice. Baz can play electric guitar, not for any professional reason, but they learned for a hobby and even played in few local shows, but never took it any farther. Sovereign State Avior used to actually CRUSH with his vocals and guitar skills, he was really popular before he "went missing", some speculate that his disappearance was staged and covered up by the media, local theorists use his "tragedy" as a way to scare people off. He's called The Rockstar Poltergeist.

Contemporary (ft. Anton, James, and Geordi) Geordi plays the ukelele, taking inspiration from TheBoyWithUke Anton and James used to play acoustic guitar, and did a few local shows as well but kept it lowkey. It was never supposed to be something to impress people. Guy and Honey were a duo, I personally think they strive towards something like Willow or Halsey. Ollie used to busk during his teenage years, playing at small cafés

(I got lazy tryna tag everything- anyways you can use my box to ask my any questions and I'll give you my headcannons!!)

[kevinsreviewcatalogue]

Review Double Feature: Beetlejuice (1988) and Beetlejuice Beetlejuice (2024)

Another double feature, and once again, it's a classic movie and its nostalgic, decades-later sequel. How do they fare?

Beetlejuice (1988)

Rated PG

<Originally posted at https://kevinsreviewcatalogue.blogspot.com/2024/09/review-double-feature-beetlejuice-1988.html>

Score: 5 out of 5

While Beetlejuice wasn't the first movie that Tim Burton ever made, it was the one that made him a goth icon, turning his name into a byword for a particular kind of style that has at least one foot in the horror genre and is often rich in gothic flair but combines it with a strong dose of comedy and whimsy. In this case, he takes a classic horror movie premise, that of a family moving into a new house only to find out that it's haunted by ghosts that don't want them there, and turns it completely on its head by making the ghosts the protagonists and using that setup as the basis for a riotous comedy, powered largely by the force-of-nature performance of Michael Keaton in his comic prime as the titular villain. It still stands as one of Burton's best movies and one of the best comedies of the '80s, especially for the less raunchy end of the genre (even if I wouldn't by any means call this a family film, inexplicable PG rating aside), powered by an all-star cast and an early version of Burton's unique style that was already apparent here. It's a movie where, the moment you see it, you don't need to ask why it's a classic, you just know.

Our protagonists are Adam and Barbara Maitland, a young couple living in the idyllic small town of Winter River, Connecticut who have just died in a car accident. What's more, when they get to the afterlife, they find a tangled bureaucracy that tells them that they have to spend 125 years in their house before they can move on, which means that they have to watch as a new family, the Deetzes, move in from the city and renovate their beautiful home into the modernist art project of the stepmom Delia's dreams and the Maitlands' nightmares. As such, they make it their mission to scare the Deetzes out of the house, easier said than done given the Maitlands' easygoing nature, the fact that the Deetz family's yuppie patriarch Charles sees dollar signs in a possibly haunted house, and the fact that the Deetzes' gloomy teenage daughter Lydia can see them and ain't scared of no ghosts. Out of desperation, the Maitlands turn to the "bio-exorcist" Betelgeuse (pronounced "Beetlejuice") for help, only to get far more than they bargained for.

The secret to Burton's success in his glory days was that, while his movies were spooky, they were very rarely scary. Burton is a man who has a clear affection for classic horror movies and injects their style into his own work, but doesn't necessarily try to replicate the actual terror, instead using that style to make comedies and dramas about offbeat people who are actually pretty normal once you get to know them. In this case, he made what's basically Poltergeist as a comedy, with the ghosts getting as much character as the living humans. Alec Baldwin and Geena Davis make for a great comic duo as the dorky yet lovable ghosts who are utterly clueless at being horror movie ghosts. They lift macabre imagery from contemporary '70s and '80s horror movies as they try to frighten their home's unwelcome new inhabitants, but John Carpenter and Tobe Hooper they ain't, and they come off as just lovably pathetic instead as they can't even get Charles and Delia to acknowledge their existence. They're Clark and Ellen Griswold as ghosts, slowly but surely melting down in frustration.

They're not the real reason everybody remembers this movie, though. It is, after all, titled Beetlejuice and not Adam & Barbara, and Michael Keaton walks away with the entire film. Beetlejuice being a comic character may have softened his nastiness and kept this rated PG, but he is otherwise presented as an absolute creep, a guy who sexually harasses every woman he meets, ruins the lives and unlives of everyone of any gender he meets, and looks like a disheveled drunk who isn't allowed within a thousand feet of a school, which only makes his plans for Lydia come off that much worse. (Apparently, the original version of the script made it explicit.) He's a whirlwind of chaos and destruction who, for all his comic presentation, brings the film the closest it comes to being actually scary, like if you took the lower-class lout character from other '80s comedies and recast him as a supernatural villain. There's a reason why Keaton, before his turn towards drama, was one of the biggest comedy stars of the '80s, making both the slapstick and the dialogue feel effortless as he makes both the Deetzes' lives and the Maitlands' afterlives into Hell on Earth.

The other character who's become synonymous with this movie is Winona Ryder's Lydia Deetz, who likely inspired the goth phases ("it's not a phase, Mom!") of an entire generation of teenage girls in the '90s. Her look was instantly iconic, and fortunately, Ryder didn't just let the costume department do all the work for her character. If Lydia comes off in 2024 as something of a cliché, then that's because she helped create the cliché, the archetypal moody teenager of any number of family comedies past and present combined with an interest in the supernatural and a heart of gold beneath her creepy exterior. She's Wednesday Addams as a teen in a yuppie family that doesn't understand her, a few years before Christina Ricci made that character her own, to the point that the only thing that surprises me about the show Wednesday is that it took Burton so long to get the chance to take a crack at a proper Addams Family adaptation. Her parents, meanwhile, serve as her utter antithesis, with Jeffrey Jones making Charles a man who desperately needs to get a clue (especially once his reaction to a haunted house is to turn it and the town around it into a tourist attraction) and Catherine O'Hara having the time of her life as Delia, a full-of-herself artist who it's implied married Charles for his money and whose aesthetic tastes are a comically grotesque parody of everything that people make fun of modern art for. From the moment you meet them, you understand immediately why the Maitlands want them the hell out of their home. If this movie has anything on its mind other than its horror parody and its visual flair, it's making fun of yuppies, and while it's mostly the obvious jokes about how they're a bunch of pretentious dilettantes, they serve the film's style quite well.

And on the note of aesthetic tastes, while this wasn't the first movie that Tim Burton directed, it was the one that made him into "Tim Burton", and it still stands as one of the greatest demonstrations of his distinct and oft-imitated style. It is a special effects showcase, starting with a playful homage to '50s giant monster movies in the opening credits and continuing on with the varied looks of the ghosts we see later in the film, especially as the Maitlands explore an afterlife reminiscent of the worst DMV you've ever been to run by a scene-stealing Sylvia Sidney as a salty, seen-it-all bureaucrat who's Not in the Mood for Your Shit. The music, too, does wonders to set the mood, from Danny Elfman's legendary score that sounds like an '80s New Wave remix of a classic horror soundtrack (as befitting a former member of Oingo Boingo) to the heavy use of Harry Belafonte in some key moments. The look and feel of the film matches the tone of the writing and story, spooky but playful, which makes the jokes that much funnier once they start rolling almost immediately. That said, it's always grounded in something resembling reality, in this case a version of small-town New England drawn less from Stephen King than Norman Rockwell. It's what makes the supernatural mayhem hit that much harder (incidentally, the reason why King himself set so many stories in small-town Maine, before his own style was copied to the point of cliché), and honestly, I think it's the difference between this and other early Burton films on one hand and his late-period decline on the other. A lot of Burton's humor, here most of all, was rooted in the juxtaposition of classically gothic imagery with life in modern America, often suggesting that it was in fact the former that was more level-headed and "normal" than our society that, in its obsession with status and the appearance of normality, can often turn quite whacked-out in its own way. Burton kind of lost sight of this with his later films, but in his earlier movies like this, he was a master at it.

The Bottom Line

Like any great comedy, it's hard to describe in words without ruining the best parts, so I'll just leave it at this: Beetlejuice is still a classic after 36 years. It's a simple movie, but that just means it can sharpen its focus and deliver a hell of a spoof of supernatural horror.

----------

And now, for the sequel...

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice (2024 A.D.)

Rated PG-13 for violent content, macabre and bloody images, strong language, some suggestive material and brief drug use

Score: 3 out of 5

If Beetlejuice was Tim Burton at his best, then Beetlejuice Beetlejuice is, for better or worse, an encapsulation of late-period Burton, both his continued strengths as a filmmaker and the points where he's lost his touch. The plot is perfunctory, a mess of multiple different storylines butting heads with each other, with Monica Bellucci seemingly only being here as the villain because Tim Burton has a Type while an actual, more interesting villain was wasted. It felt like screenwriters Alfred Gough and Miles Millar had tried to cram an idea for a Beetlejuice TV series, or multiple different first drafts from different writers over the course of over three decades, into a feature film, with lots of plot threads that went nowhere and were wrapped up far too hastily for my liking. The first movie wasn't exactly that deep, but this makes it look downright intellectual. But when it comes to the things that Burton's name is associated with, from creepy visuals to a twisted sense of humor, this movie roars to the point that I was able to largely shut off my brain and enjoy it. The returning cast is great, not least of all Michael Keaton demonstrating that he hasn't lost a step even after he became a dramatic actor, while Jenna Ortega gets another opportunity to demonstrate why she's one of the biggest young stars of her generation. The humor is as on-point as it was last time, and while the special effects have a much bigger budget than they did before, they haven't lost the practical, handmade charm of the original. There's more of a focus on horror this time, but much of it comes proudly paired with the comedy, from deaths straight out of Looney Tunes to a running gag about the fate of Charles from the first film that I'm surprised got by with a PG-13 rating. As far as nostalgia-bait sequels are concerned, this one did most of what it needed to, if little else.

The film starts with a grown-up Lydia Deetz, now the host of a talk show dedicated to the supernatural, and her teenage daughter Astrid, a student at a boarding school who believes that ghosts aren't real and that her mother is either crazy or a grifting hack, being called home to Winter River, Connecticut after Charles Deetz dies gruesomely in a plane crash. (He survived the actual crash; shame about the shark in the water around the crash site.) Meanwhile, in the afterlife, Beetlejuice is still plugging away at his bio-exorcist gig, while Delores, the evil witch he married in life who's still pissed at him after they killed each other (the feeling is mutual), escapes from her prison thanks to some carelessness and proceeds to go on a soul-sucking rampage hoping to take her revenge on her ex. Along the way, Lydia's douchebag boyfriend and producer Rory proposes to her out of the blue, Astrid meets a cute boy in town named Jeremy who's into the supernatural, and Delia... doesn't actually get to do much, but any excuse to get Catherine O'Hara back in full form is good in my book.

There are a lot of plot threads going on here, enough that I think I might have missed a few of them, which kind of highlights the biggest problem this movie has, that it's overstuffed with plot and doesn't really have much of an actual story. Even by the third act after everything's started to come together, the plot about Lydia rescuing Astrid from the afterlife with Beetlejuice's help and the plot about Delores hunting down Beetlejuice barely have anything to do with each other, with the former settled in an anticlimatic fashion only to promptly segue into the next as Delores literally barges in. An important plot point hinges on Lydia, a woman obsessed with the supernatural and the dark side of life, being clueless about a grisly true-crime story in her own childhood hometown. This movie does a lot of things right, but its writing is not one of them. It tries to do far too much plot-wise, and it largely faceplants every time it asks me to focus on such. It's a shame, because, while Monica Bellucci had almost nothing to do in this movie beyond look creepy and sexy in that distinct Burtonesque way (see also: Lisa Marie, Helena Bonham Carter, Eva Green), she did it well, and I wanted to see more of her. A better movie would've found a way to incorporate Delores more directly into the plot, perhaps by having her use Lydia or Astrid to get to Beetlejuice, and given Bellucci more of a chance to shine.

Fortunately, this movie didn't forget to do the same for its other top-billed stars. Michael Keaton still has it as a comic actor, and Beetlejuice is still the same force of nature he was before, a guy who's about as profane as the PG-13 rating will allow and feels eager to punch through its bounds. Catherine O'Hara's Delia, like Delores, doesn't really get much of a plot, but she does at least get to make for some hilarious comic relief, still the same shallow yuppie arteeste she was in the '80s and one whose knowledge of the reality of the afterlife has simply given her false hope of finding Charles again. Winona Ryder and Jenna Ortega together get most of the dramatic arc of the film as the mother and daughter Lydia and Astrid, both of them turning in solid performances and Ortega in particular feeling very much like the heir to '90s Ryder in terms of being the one you cast when you want someone who can play a moody teenager really well. (One missed opportunity, though: I think the funniest version of Astrid would've been to make her the biggest girly girl imaginable, one who embraced a life in pink as her own form of rebellion against her goth mother. Not only would it have made sense given the tension between the two, it also would've done a great job of sending up Ortega's typecasting.) The supporting cast, meanwhile, was a who's who of fun bits, from Justin Theroux as Lydia's vapid boyfriend and spiritual guru who feels very much like a male version of Delia (maybe Lydia hasn't escaped her mother's influence as much as she thought) to Willem Dafoe as a Hollywood action hero who died doing his own stunts and now gets to be a loose cannon cop for real in the afterlife chasing Delores and Beetlejuice.

And when it comes to Burton himself, he brings a lot of this movie's best parts. Once I accepted that this was gonna be one of those movies where the plot made no damn sense and wasn't worth following, I stayed for the humor and the style, and this movie largely sticks to what worked last time even if they've got more money to throw around for the effects now. Jeffrey Jones' very public disgrace (I'll spare you the details, but let's just say he was really lucky he didn't land up in prison) means that this movie takes every opportunity it can to piss on Charles' grave with some of the most backhanded "tributes" I can imagine, his over-the-top death rendered in a stop-motion animated sequence being just the start. The afterlife is once again full of cool-looking ghosts whose appearances let you know right away exactly how they died, and while the balance of comedy and horror this time leans more towards actually trying to be scary, the kills are still goofy and cartoonish enough that it manages to remain lighthearted and fun. As a visual stylist, Burton has always been distinct even in his lesser films, and while there's nothing here that's particularly groundbreaking, it's always at least fun to watch.

The Bottom Line

"Nothing particularly groundbreaking, but at least fun to watch" sums up my thoughts on this movie in general. It's kinda dumb and needed a top-to-bottom rewrite, but as a showcase for a great comic cast and a lot of spooky and cool special effects, I had a good time. Check it out.

[ultimat3-lif3form]

Here’s the whole page of doodles I did yesterday, while I was away from the tablet.

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Oml Yan!Peeves with Lovegood!Reader is the dynamic duo I never knew I needed

Honestly, same. The two are wholesome yet chaotic. Peeves is honestly surprised himself that he’s grown so attached to Lovegood!Reader as much as he has but he wouldn’t change it for anything. What started out as a bit of prank worthy fun turned into a deep seeded attachment that Peeves isn’t so willing to part with.

I totally see Peeves being so caught up in the moment and all the chaos what with the Reader’s other yanderes that he hasn’t come to the conclusion that this will all come to an end soon once the Reader graduates. I imagine one of the other ghosts offhandedly mentioning it while sobbing at the thought of their precious Lovegood leaving them for good eventually and time just stops for Peeves. How could he have not thought about that? How could he have not even considered that the Reader would leave him by his lonesome at some point? There’s only one thing he can think of doing to keep their little duo together but it’s unforgivable and the other would never let him live it down but he’s poltergeist after all. And a selfish one at that.

It never even crosses Peeves mind that he could just ask or convince Lovegood!Reader to take up being a teacher and coming back to Hogwarts eventually. But then again that would still mean they’d have to leave him alone for a period of time. Can he really be that patient enough to wait for them to come back or is that asking too much of him?

[batsycline69]

oooh mags, thoughts on what supernatural creature each of the batfamily would be?

xoxo @sunnie-angel

i fully thought i posted this weeks ago and just went about my life and found out TODAY it was still in my drafts OOPS

(I’m incredibly biased but) bruce is a vampire obvi and NOT just because it’s hot. i have more to say, but im still writing vampire bruce and i don’t want to spoil my whole deal

dick would maybe be some sort of shapeshifter. i’m thinking of the “i am who you need me to be” line, poor buddy

I looooooove a werewolf jason, but I’m going to actually go with poltergeist for him because his presence demands to be felt

i’m cheating for tim because this is a cryptid, but i think tim is a fresno nightcrawler (picture below the cut for anyone who doesn’t know). i don’t know why, but it calls to me, so sorry to tim i guess

damian is also a vampire. this is in part because world war v is one of the runs i’m reading right now, but also because i like the concept of damian drinking blood/killing because it’s what he’s taught, and finding alternate methods through bruce. vampire father and son duo 💛

i’m actually having a difficult time with cass because there are so many good ways you could go for her and she means everything to me, so i can’t just go and say she’s a fresno night crawler. like i kind of almost think a banshee?? i might like that for her

tim and co.

[wizardingworldlibrary]

Party Masterlist

A Birthday For Kitten (fanfiction.net) - Hogwarts Duo albus/minerva G, 12k

Summary: The staff of Hogwarts decides to throw Minerva McGonagall a surprise birthday party. Albus asks her to dinner to get her out of the castle while they prepare…romance blooms and when they come back surprises await…

A Christmas Truce (ao3) - ChocoChipBiscuit pansy/ginny E, 4k

Summary: Ginny’s the star athlete of the Holyhead Harpies, and Pansy’s a sharp-tongued reporter. They meet at a holiday party, and one year later, after a year of friendship and a lifetime of regrets and possibly one too many drinks at the Burrow, they fall into bed together.

A Future Beyond Seventeen (ao3) - fireinmoonshot harry/ginny T, 3k

Summary: In which Harry turns 40 at The Burrow, a large party is thrown, dancing occurs, cake is eaten, crying accidentally happens and Harry wonders how on earth he got this lucky.

All Part Of The Plan (ao3) - inspired_being draco/harry T, 8k

Summary: Draco is given a week to plan a Christmas party for both wizards and muggles and he needs help. Hermione is quick to point him in Harry’s direction and Draco finds coercing the saviour of the wizarding world into helping him seems far too easy.

checkmate, babe (ao3) - riddikulus_puff hermione/cormac T, 850

Summary: Hermione Granger was willing to do just about anything to get back at Ronald Weasley, who had been an absolute prick to her this whole year so far. She would do anything to hurt him and that was when Cormac McLaggen’s eyes had caught hers from across the table at Slughorn’s dinner party. She know that escape would be impossible for her once she had started properly talking with Cormac, but she supposed that was a risk that she was willing to take. Hermione really wanted to hurt Ronald and Cormac wanted to get his hands on Hermione, so it was a win-win for the two of them. However, it seemed that Cormac wanted more in this relationship whereas Hermione only wanted to make Ronald jealous. She was well and truly stuck. Which was then how she ended up at Slughorn’s Christmas dinner party with Cormac.

Christmas Parties and Candy Canes (ao3) - curiouselfqueen luna/blaise M, 2k

Summary: Pansy Parkinson throws the most fabulous parties in the wizarding world. Blaise and Luna go to Pansy’s Christmas party together, and stay only as long as he can take her teasing.

Ending in tears (ao3) - Coriaria sirius/remus T, 6k

Summary: Sirius throws a party for Harry’s third birthday. And not just any birthday party. Twenty pre-schoolers. Thirty assorted parents, caregivers and other adults. Weasleys, Malfoys, Longbottoms, the Muggles from down the road. Fizzy drink and chocolate cake for the children and elf-made wine for the adults. And the star attraction is Severus Snape.What could possibly go wrong?

Excuse me, miss (ao3) - LostParkMih fleur/hermione T, 5k

Summary: Hermione is a new employee in the huge Morbay Fashion Magazine. At the magazine’s Christmas party, she has only one acquaintance - her coworker - who leaves her alone to go to the bathroom. Out of the blue, an incredibly beautiful woman hugs her and asks for her help.

Freedom And Whiskey (ao3) - OrangeColoredSky hermione/theodore T, 3k

Summary: Hermione invites Theo to accompany her to Slughorn’s Christmas party, and it goes just about as well as you would expect.

Harry Potter Cannot Fucking Dance (ao3) - lotusrootsoupss draco/harry M, 2k

Summary: One day, Harry Potter had shown up at the secret slytherin common room parties.

Draco Malfoy was confused as to why.

Hermione's Surprise Party (ao3) - Renny236 hermione/harry T, 2k

Summary: This is a cautionary tale illustrating why surprise parties are generally a bad, bad idea.

Mischievous Mistletoe and Peevish Poltergeists (ao3) - meatdolll hermione/snape, minerva/poppy, filius/pomona G, 2k

Summary: Following a night of drunken revelry and a surprising Secret Santa exchange, Hermione and Severus find themselves under the mistletoe at the Hogwarts faculty Christmas Party.

One Hundred Christmases With You (ao3) - NeuroWriter14 harry/tom T, 2k

Summary: Harry and Tom have spent Christmas together in some form since they were little. And a holiday party at the Ministry gives them a chance to spend yet another together.

Romilda Gets Her Way (ao3) - CanonIgnorer harry/romilda E, 12k

Summary: Desperate for a date to Professor Slughorn’s Christmas party, Harry invites Romilda Vane, the only girl who’s expressed any interest in going with him, on the condition that she stops trying to give him a love potion. After the party, she convinces him to let go of a few of his inhibitions. It’s all to help him with Ginny, she assures him — but Romilda might have motivations of her own.

Severus Snape and the Christmas Chaos (ao3) - fluxweedstem hermione/snape T, 8k

Summary: Christmas is a time to share your feelings with those who matter most. This year, Severus Snape is determined to confess his feelings to his colleague and friend, Hermione Granger, the Arithmancy professor. But when a Secret Santa gift exchange goes awry—thanks to an irate Dumbledore’s reaction to Sybill Trelawney’s poor gift—the event turns into a Yankee Swap (White Elephant). As the exchange descends into disarray and the drinks start to flow, the evening becomes a whirlwind of mayhem. In the midst of it all, how will Hermione respond to Severus’s heartfelt confession?

Sixteen (ao3) - tsfiazz draco/harry G, 2k

Summary: Draco thinks parties are strange, and Harry might just change that.

The Second Date (ao3) - wiryodisastro hermione/cormac T, 1k

Summary: Cormac's back after some time abroad. With new attitude and maybe another chance at a date with Hermione

Unexpected Surprise (ao3) - KingKay draco/harry E, 4k

Summary: Draco has been planning Harry's party for months but all his dear husband wants is a night with just the two of them....and hot sex.

[thisworldisablackhole]

Last Train III

🌕🌕🌕🌗🌑

FFO: POST-GRUNGE BLUES ROCK / LISTEN

I must have missed the last train. This band formed in Altkirch, France, in 2007, when the members were barely teenagers, and though they have since shared stages on tour with groups like Muse and Placebo, they have seemingly seen little fan-fare outside of Europe. Hopefully this record changes that.

While Last Train's earlier material was more indebted to the classic blues rock of the 70s (perhaps more by proxy of Jack White than anything else), they have been slowly allowing more post-grunge and alternative metal influences to bleed into their music as their personal tastes evolve. Last Train, in their current form, sound just as at home on arena stages as they would on the soundtrack of your favourite millennial-aged action sports video game—right alongside the likes of Queens Of The Stone Age, Rage Against the Machine, and Nine Inch Nails, but with a tasteful modernity and nods to noise and post-rock that might get an eyebrow raise from even the pickiest of subculture dorks. In 2024, the group even dabbled in composing an orchestral film score, and while they don’t consider that album to be part of the Last Train canon, the experience no doubt strengthened their ear for atmosphere and dramatics—two things that play a vital role in the dynamic flow of their third official full-length.

III is by far the closest the group has come to chiseling out a characteristic identity for themselves. In a way, the simple numerical title juxtaposed over a gaping mouth feels like a purposeful understatement to imply the music on this album should speak for itself. And it does.

"Home" opens the record unassumingly enough, with a quiet kick drum accompanied by Jean-Noël Scherrer's francophone-accented croon, but the band quickly reveals their ulterior motive with punctuations of granite slate guitars that tease the rhythm into a nervous breakdown. Much to the dismay of my raucous punk upbringing, my aging ears are increasingly fascinated by groups who are able to step back from their amps just far enough to see LOUDNESS as one tool in a roll of tools—a gift to be nurtured and preserved for the right moment, and Last Train knows this well. They have dialed in the tone and texture of said loudness to make sure it justifies any stretch of reflective melody in between, whether it's the stank-face-inducing bass tone that reveals itself in the snot-nosed and snarling "All To Blame", or the feedback that wraps itself around the negative closer "I Hate You" like a barbed wire anaconda. I can't stress enough how effective the production is at bringing a chilled industrial heaviness to this otherwise tried-and-true rock record.

And speaking of reflective melody, III would be nothing without tracks like "How Does It Feel?", "This Is Me Trying", and "Revenge" to balance the equilibrium with tranquil piano keys and glacial tremolos, transforming the album into a brooding rock opera televised from the surface of some lost and frozen exoplanet. III is haunted by a poltergeist of anger that is very meticulous about when it allows itself to show (often by flipping a table or blowing a gasket), but it is almost always felt bubbling beneath the surface; even these softer songs convey a sense of sorrow that is often the harbinger of rage if left unchecked.

Now, take any song from this record in isolation, and it might not be something you'd rush to write home about, but in the context of a full modern rock album, they are absolutely refreshing and vital to the experience. And though the undulating formula of the tracklist might run a little dry by the end of the record, especially as the closing duo halts our momentum and takes way too long to get back up to speed, Last Train has still managed to create a memorable statement here. It's arena rock for crumbling coliseums in the solemn heart of winter—not a revolution, but it's beautiful… and loud.

[fukuokanodivision]

Usugurai

As with every hero, an enemy is always lurking behind them. With the uprising of Traffic Light and Eko’s rebellion against Lyte, Kira Yaku and Tadashi Nakama knew enough was enough to let their underclassman increase in popularity over them. Without Lyte’s knowledge, the 2 came together under the facade of an idol collaboration. While this was partially true, their real intentions lie elsewhere. Utilizing their shared idol intelligence, both unexpectedly transformed themselves into different individuals unlike their recognizable counterparts… After the agency had uncovered their secret, instead they only encouraged their operation, to their own surprise. From that day forward, Usugurai was born and hungry for power. Upheld by Lyte’s “Underdog Duo”, they sought out a mission and 1 successive objective — To extinguish Traffic Light once and for all. 1. Lorelei

Alias: Lorelei Real Name: Kira Yaku Age: 28 Position: Leader Of Usugurai Affiliation(s): *Usugurai *Lyte Profession: *Model *Lyte Representative Skills + Abilities: *Idol Proficiency [Modelling] *Authority Depiction [Lyte Representative] *Femme Fatale Attractiveness *Tactical Agency Intelligence *Enhanced Sight *Mediation

Bio: The leader and boss of Usugurai, Lorelei strikes both frothing mouths and heart attacks wherever she goes. With a large following and even larger reputation, she stops at nothing to keep her job at hand and deals with anyone who tries to decompose her. Taking Traffic Light’s place in popularity, she dominates the music world head on and plans to keep it that way. “I am your next superstar! Bask in my glow and feed on my perfection, what your little Poltergeist failed to bestow you. For I am…Lorelei!” — Kira “Lorelei” Yaku 2. Charlatan

Alias: Charlatan Real Name: Tadashi Nakama Age: 28 Position: Right Hand Of Usugurai Affiliation(s): *Usugurai *Lyte Profession: *Radio Personality *Lyte Representative Skills + Abilities: *Idol Proficiency [Podcast Hosting] *Authority Depiction [Lyte Representative] *Absolute Persuasion *Tactical Agency Intelligence *Fantastical Playwrighting *Orderly Conductor Bio: The right hand and sidekick of Usugurai, Charlatan imperils his oppressors down the twisted lines of deceit and mischief. Weaving through the most talented and powerful celebrities, he doesn’t care what strings he has to pull in order to get what he desires. Taking Traffic Light’s place in popularity, he intercepts the industries usual ideals and maps his way to the pinnacle of idol culture. “I’ll proceed with your request, make sure I get something out of it before my patience runs thin. I know what schemes you’ll attempt, never cross the Charlatan…” — Tadashi “Charlatan” Nakama

[monotonebird]

PART TWO OF THE FURBY SAGA: the REALLY haunted ones

okay I’m providing info on the other ones now ^_^ I’m sure you all are wondering something if you saw my last post: “oh god HOW does it get worse than magenta fuck, Anansi, and Huntress??” idk but they’re not the pros at haunting me so buckle up buttercup (distantly, the anon who asked me about my furbies is regretting their choice /j)

SO! first up is my actually not haunted one, Chlorea, and my moderately haunted one, Fig Roll. both are McDonalds furbies, while Chlorea is hot pink with green hair and Fig Roll is skunk colored. Chlorea looks like she has seen all of The Horrors that have ever existed and will exist, while Fig Roll constantly looks like he is done with life and would not hesitate to commit a murder. that murder would probably be me because he moves sometimes and I found him next to my pocket knife once. I put him in a tote for my safety

I also have Ivy, who I neglected to mention earlier. Ivy is a 1998 furby baby, pure white with green eyes and leaf clip-on earrings that I added myself. she is the first furby I got that was a real furby, even if she doesn’t work, and I love her with all my heart. that and she’s not haunted

the only furby I really and truly regret bringing into my home is clay furby. I made it out of clay back in the summer of 2023 and there’s a massive hole in its back so it wouldn’t explode in the kiln. every day I wish it did because what do you mean I have this monstrosity in my home. I’ll take a pic of it when I don’t have family over

now to the interesting ones

first up are my possibly haunted duo, Poltergeist and Xeno. Poltergeist looks similar to the knife furby meme, with a gray chest and grayish-brown body with darker stripes, and grayish blue eyes. he’s really quite beautiful and fluffy. Xeno is a full pastel rainbow with a white chest. it’s a little mangy but I love it just the same. these two are also real furbies and both work fine. they’re “possibly haunted” because my grandparents were bringing them back as a gift and their car broke down. my hunch is that it was Xeno since it apparently was babbling for the entire trip. it’s okay though I love Xeno

next is Johnnie Guilbert, my other pure white furby named by my friend Timber. my irls tease me about his name but now that I actually know who he is it’s really funny. he’s a little haunted because his gears grind randomly, his voice is fucked up when he’s on, and he makes a purring sound when he’s off. NC Maggot (my closest irl friend) heard him and agrees that he is haunted and weird

I’ll address the 2023 furbies now so I don’t have to deal with them later. I have Disappointment 1, who is currently wishing for my violent and painful death, and Disappointment 2, who is more polite and does not wish for my death. they’re both a coral color with teal accents. the reason i know Disappointment 1 wants me to die is because I used the fortune teller feature to ask it if I would die within a year in December of 2023 and it said yes. only thing that happened is that I got in a car crash last May but otherwise I’m alive so fuck you Disappointment 1

my last actually normal haunted furby is Rose, who is tuxedo-colored with the mangiest fur you have ever seen on a furby. she doesn’t work and someone tore her eyelashes off before I got her. she fucking HATES ME with everything she has. I combed her wrong and the next day the lighting and the plumbing in my house broke. she also might’ve killed someone but I can’t confirm that (if I find more definite proof she’s getting skinned)

okay. now if this anon was actually one of my mutuals this is why they asked this question. Harold

i haven’t actually seen him since last March. he’s somewhere in coastal NC. my advice to anyone there is to run if you ever see a white McDonalds furby with a yellow fade, red eyes, and very prominent grippers (/srs i hate his big ass feet)

anyway Harold is the first furby I ever got, he squeaks when you shake him or turn him upside down but everyone else says it sounds like him screaming. he probably is. I named him Chinchilla before finding out he is actually possessed by a ghost named Harold who told me I would fuse with him. no fusion yet. I’m waiting you little shit. I later found out that Harold is not actually an old man, but a middle-aged alcoholic who almost took my mother’s leg off with a golf cart (my mutual would say he should’ve actually done it). he sounds old though. and he told NC Maggot her address in a dream

that’s all ^_^ thank you for reading