#the hallow boy

[vinofworms]

Loosely inspired by this one bit from The Hallow Boy. I’m almost done with the book but I thought it was silly and wanted to draw them being cozy.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Can we talk about Harry having leadership thrust upon him in Deathly Hallows, please?

Like, I know he had a leadership role with the D.A. and with the Quidditch team to a lesser extent and he was always the leader of the Golden Trio, but I kinda want to talk about the flavor of leadership the wizarding population thrusts on him and how Harry is essentially the "promised king"/Jesus during DH. Like, there were 2 quotes specifically that really stood out to me, and I kinda wanted to talk about them even though I mentioned some of the points I bring up here before (if not in the same post in this way).

Like, I talked before about Harry's charisma and how others seem to see him, but there is something about the reverence he gets in DH, that makes me feel things.

I talked in the past about how Harry is the defacto leader of the Golden Trio when shit gets dangerous, and the D.A. treat him like the leader since fifth year:

“I think we ought to elect a leader,” said Hermione. “Harry’s leader,” said Cho at once, looking at Hermione as though she were mad, and Harry’s stomach did yet another back flip. “Yes, but I think we ought to vote on it properly,” said Hermione, unperturbed. “It makes it formal and it gives him authority. So — everyone who thinks Harry ought to be our leader?” Everybody put up their hands, even Zacharias Smith, though he did it very halfheartedly. “Er — right, thanks,” said Harry, who could feel his face burning.

(OotP, Ch18)

But, the rest of the WW kinda treat him like that too, even when he's a young child. Even in book 1, Harry isn't really seen as a person; he is a saviour, a public figure, a beacon:

Then there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, Harry found himself shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron. [...] Harry shook hands again and again — Doris Crockford kept coming back for more.

(PS, Ch5)

His time, his body, his existence isn't seen as his own — it's everyone's. It's why the Prophet keeps writing about him like they do, it's why everyone feels comfortable to stare and whisper about him to his face. It's why no one (in the wider population/school) is really concerned when Harry faces danger (like the tournament) — because he's Harry Potter. He isn't just some child, he's The Boy Who Lived.

And Scrimgeour and the Death Eaters all understand the political threat he could pose, if he was inclined to it, ad the asset he could be:

“It would give everyone a lift to think you were more involved, Harry,” said Scrimgeour, sounding relieved that Harry had cottoned on so quickly. “ ‘The Chosen One,’ you know . . . It’s all about giving people hope, the feeling that exciting things are happening. . . .” “But if I keep running in and out of the Ministry,” said Harry, still endeavoring to keep his voice friendly, “won’t that seem as though I approve of what the Ministry’s up to?” “Well,” said Scrimgeour, frowning slightly, “well, yes, that’s partly why we’d like —” “No, I don’t think that’ll work,” said Harry pleasantly. [...] “I don’t want to be used,” said Harry.

(HBP, Ch16) - I love how smart Harry is here. He has that Slytherin cunning when he wants to. He sees right through Scrimgeour and plays him so well.

“That’s certainly part of it,” said Lupin, “and it is a masterstroke. Now that Dumbledore is dead, you—the Boy Who Lived—were sure to be the symbol and rallying point for any resistance to Voldemort. But by suggesting that you had a hand in the old hero’s death, Voldemort has not only set a price upon your head, but sown doubt and fear amongst many who would have defended you.

(DH, Ch11)

And Dumbledore purposely set him up for this position. Everything Dumbledore did, giving Harry the credit for his misadventures at school, putting him through fifth year in the public's eye only to come out as the Chosen One the ministry prosecuted unrightfully (because Dumbledore planned for that. He positioned Harry with him and set the stage for when he lores Voldemort to show himself). Harry was set up to be seen as a saviour to the Wizarding World. To be the symbol and Dumbledore's successor in the public eye.

The instructions Dumbledore left for the Order to follow before his death fit this goal too (Remus implies it at least). He sets Harry as his successor, whether Harry wanted it or not:

Lupin hesitated. “I’ll understand if you can’t confirm this, Harry, but the Order is under the impression that Dumbledore left you a mission.”

(DH, Ch11)

“Romulus, do you maintain, as you have every time you’ve appeared on our program, that Harry Potter is still alive?” “I do,” said Lupin firmly. “There is no doubt at all in my mind that his death would be proclaimed as widely as possible by the Death Eaters if it had happened, because it would strike a deadly blow at the morale of those resisting the new regime. ’The Boy Who Lived’ remains a symbol of everything for which we are fighting: the triumph of good, the power of innocence, the need to keep resisting.” [...] “And what would you say to Harry if you knew he was listening, Romulus?” “I’d tell him we’re all with him in spirit,” said Lupin, then hesitated slightly, “And I’d tell him to follow his instincts, which are good and nearly always right.” Harry looked at Hermione, whose eyes were full of tears. “Nearly always right,” she repeated.

(DH, Ch22)

They back him up in spirit, they resist in small ways, but none of them is waging a war, not yet. Everyone, adults and teens, is waiting for Harry's order to start the real fight. They are waiting for Harry to lead them into battle. The Order is literally just focusing on hiding and keeping its members alive and hidden until Harry's orders:

“What are we going to do, then, Harry?” asked Seamus. “What’s the plan?” “Plan?” repeated Harry. He was exercising all his willpower to prevent himself succumbing again to Voldemort’s rage: His scar was still burning. “Well, there’s something we—Ron, Hermione, and I—need to do, and then we’ll get out of here.” Nobody was laughing or whooping anymore. Neville looked confused. “What d’you mean, ’get out of here’?” [...] “I sent for her,” said Neville, holding up the fake Galleon. “I promised her and Ginny that if you turned up I’d let them know. We all thought that if you came back, it would mean revolution. That we were going to overthrow Snape and the Carrows.” [...] “We’re fighting aren’t we?” said Dean, taking out his fake Galleon. “The message said Harry was back, and we were going to fight! I’ll have to get a wand, though—”

(DH, Ch29)

That's insane.

Like, all these people were readying for a fight, they were prepared for months. Neville led a whole underground resistance on his own, Kingsley led the Order in hiding and kept the idea of Harry alive, he goes on to become the next minister — but neither of them really does anything on their own. At least nothing big. They don't help the muggleborns in the Ministry, they can rally people, but not in their own right. Like with Hermione and the D.A., Kingsley and Neville are rallying people around Harry.

And all their preparations and machinations are just waiting for Haryr's word. Just waiting for the king to give his general (Neville) the word to rally the troops — because this is what happens at the end of DH.

I specifically want to talk about this quote:

The most recent of these, shining brightly over sixteen years’ worth of magical graffiti, all said similar things. Good luck, Harry wherever you are. If you read this, Harry, we’re all behind you! Long live Harry Potter.

(DH, Ch17) - Quote number 1 that really stood out to me.

"Long live Harry Potter"

Like, this line stood out to me. This is a "long live the king" sort of line that's so on the nose. And I know as a Fandom we call Harry a war symbol, but I don't think we really talk about it. and how much Harry is aware of it, and somewhat accepts it, because he has no choice.

About how the WW truly hinges their salvation on this 17-year-old kid. How Harry just being alive is a sign of resistance.

How when he arrives at Hogwarts, everyone is convinced he's there to lead a battle. Adults look to him to tell them what to do:

“Time’s running out, Voldemort’s getting nearer. Professor, I’m acting on Dumbledore’s orders, I must find what he wanted me to find! But we’ve got to get the students out while I’m searching the castle—It’s me Voldemort wants, but he won’t care about killing a few more or less, not now—”’ not now he knows I’m attacking Horcruxes. Harry finished the sentence in his head. “You’re acting on Dumbledore’s orders?” she repeated with a look of dawning wonder. Then she drew herself up to her fullest height. “We shall secure the school against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named while you search for this—this object.” “Is that possible?” “I think so,” said Professor McGonagall dryly, “we teachers are rather good at magic, you know. [...] “Harry, what’s happening?” said Lupin, meeting him at the foot of the stairs. [...] “They’re evacuating the younger kids and everyone’s meeting in the Great Hall to get organized,” Harry said. “We’re fighting.” There was a great roar and a surge toward the foot of the stairs, he was pressed back against the wall as they ran past him, the mingled members of the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore’s Army, and Harry’s old Quidditch team, all with their wands drawn, heading up into the main castle.

(DH, Ch30)

Everyone turns to Harry to tell them what's happening and what to do. McGonagall, Lupin, and everyone else who was called to the battle arrived because of Harry. They were ready to fight and die to end Voldemort, but they were only willing to take the risk because Harry told them they had a chance. Because they had faith in Harry.

If they believed they could do it without him, they wouldn't have waited. But they waited for Harry's order. He didn't even need to tell them anything beyond: get the innocents out and fight. He didn't force anyone to do anything; he didn't really order anyone — they are just willing to follow him to a crazy degree.

And Harry doesn't like it, but he knows how to lead people and stay calm under pressure; it's what he does because he never allows himself to show weakness. Harry is looked at by adults way more experienced than him because Dumbledore told them "Harry would know what to do". Harry was thrust into this position and is crumbling so badly but no one except Ron and Hermione see it... and even they don't see it all.

They try to help, and get him to get help from others:

Harry looked from Ron to Hermione, who murmured, “I think Ron’s right. We don’t even know what we’re looking for, we need them.” And when Harry looked unconvinced, “You don’t have to do everything alone, Harry.” Harry thought fast, his scar still prickling, his head threatening to split again. Dumbledore had warned against telling anyone but Ron and Hermione about the Horcruxes. Secrets and lies, that’s how we grew up, and Albus. . . he was a natural. . . Was he turning into Dumbledore, keeping his secrets clutched to his chest, afraid to trust? But Dumbledore had trusted Snape, and where had that led? To murder at the top of the highest tower. . .

(DH, Ch29)

The message is against Dumbledore's secrecy, that trusting and asking for help is good... But in the end, Harry is alone. He is much more similar to Dumbledore than he wants to be. He accepts the position Dumbledore set him up for. When he faces death, he leaves Neville with a mission, just like Dumbledore:

“No,” Harry lied easily. “’Course not . . . this is something else. But I might be out of sight for a while. You know Voldemort’s name, Neville? He’s got a huge snake. . . . Calls it Nagini . . . ” [...] But he pulled himself together again; This was crucial, he must be like Dumbledore, keep a cool head, make sure there were backups, others to carry on. Dumbledore had died knowing that three people still knew about the Horcruxes; now Neville will take Harry’s place. There would still be three in the secret.

(DH, Ch34)

This above section kills me. Because it is exactly what Dumbledore did (except Dumbledore chose the position, Harry didn't). Harry, as much as he dislikes it, is a leader; he knows people, he understands he can't show weakness, and that there are things he has to do alone. He knows he needs contingencies, that he needs to lie... He is a leader when push comes to shove, always was.

What's insane to me is that Harry is this wise, and has this understanding of sacrifice at 17! Sure, Dumbledore understood all of these things too, was as politically savvy as Harry (well, a bit more), as charismatic and as good of a liar, but we (and the Wizarding World) saw him like that when he was over 100 years old! Even when he fought Gridnlewald, he was 64 (he was born in 1881). Harry is so young for all of this. When Dumbledore chose to die for the mission, he was 115, Harry was 17.

I just... Harry, man. He's so mature because he never got to be a childhood in the first place.

(I think, like Dumbledore, if Harry asked to be Minister (which he would never), the WW would say yes)

And, like Dumbledore, Harry is alone in his position. The position of a figurehead is a lonely place. You keep secrets, you lie, you can't show weakness. And even if Harry had Ron and Hermione (which Dumbledore didn't), who cared for him and knew him and his struggles, and loved him as just Harry, at the end of the day, he is alone. The Wizarding World looked to him. When they arrived at the RoR, everyone looked to Harry. They were happy to see Ron & Hermione, but it was Harry who carried their hopes.

And when he walks to face death, he does it alone:

The castle was empty. He felt ghostly striding through it alone, as if he had already died. The portrait people were still missing from their frames; the whole place was eerily still, as if all its remaining lifeblood were concentrated in the Great Hall where the dead and the mourners were crammed. [...] The Resurrection Stone slipped from between his numb fingers, and out of the corner of his eyes he saw his parents, Sirius, and Lupin vanish as he stepped forward into the firelight. At that moment he felt that nobody mattered but Voldemort. It was just the two of them.

(DH, Ch34)

And then, again when he faced Voldemort after he came back from the dead:

“I don’t want anyone else to try to help.” Harry said loudly, and in the total silence his voice carried like a trumpet call. “It’s got to be like this. It’s got to be me.” [...] They were still moving sideways, both of them, in that perfect circle, maintaining the same distance from each other, and for Harry no face existed but Voldemort’s.

(DH, Ch36)

Harry's strength of character kills me. I love him, and he didn't deserve any of it. Nor did he ask for it. But he felt it was his responsibility — his duty. Dumbledore taught him that he can only count on himself and Dumbledore's plan, and this is what Harry does, regardless of all his doubts about Dumbledore — because he doesn't have a choice.

The other scene in Deathly Hallows really hits home the Jesus/"long live Harry Potter" bit for me, is this one:

Harry could not hear a word that anyone was shouting, nor tell whose hands were seizing him, pulling him, trying to hug some part of him, hundreds of them pressing in, all of them determined to touch the Boy Who Lived, the reason it was over at last—

(DH, Ch36) - Quote number 2 that really stood out to me.

I know he died and came back; there are plenty of religious allegories when it comes to Harry and his story, but I care more about the Wizarding World & Harry's reaction to it than the actual symbolism itself in this post.

Because this mirrors the first time Harry arrives at Diagon Alley. People flock to him (a saviour — not a person, the Boy Who Lived — not Harry), to try and touch him. Like just being in his proximity could be their salvation. Harry is someone who sacrificed everything (both unwillingly and willingly) for them — his childhood, his studies, his parents, his godfather, his happiness, his health, his life — but they don't see the sacrifice for the most part. They don't see Harry when he's tired or crying because Harry learned long before he arrived at Hogwarts to hide his pain, that no one cared if he cried.

I just love how empty "long live Harry Potter" is. He is their saviour, the promised king who would return to save them when they need him most. He is Jesus come back from the dead, he is King Arthur returned, he is the Boy Who Lived — he is everything except just Harry.

And Harry doesn't complain because when did that ever help him. He lets everyone try to reach out to him because he understands on some level (since he's 11) that he unfortunately isn't just his own. That he was never just Harry. (mentioned it a little here)

(One of the other things that bother me about the epilogue is that it ignores all of that. Like, I can't imagine the Wizarding World acting normal about Harry anytime soon after DH. They were never normal about Harry, and after he came back from the dead and defeated Voldemort again, you're telling me people would treat him like he's any other celebrity? Like, he is The Boy Who Lived Twice, and you're telling me people would be normal about that? After they practically worshipped this poor kid for a whole year, maybe more, depending on how you count?)

[hpseeker99]

Ginny: I love murder mysteries Harry, trying to impress Ginny: I've been a suspect in four murder cases

[vbused]

You know the movie’s going to be good when you see this

By the way, I start my Annual Tim Burton marathon this weekend

Happy Halloween.

[le-poofe]

Bringin' y'all some middle-aged Melo today! There’s a whole story arc that takes place in this time period! I won’t get there for a while, but I can at least show some design work 🐚🫧

[punk-in-docs]

🕸️ Pretty Girls Make Graves 🕸️

Eddie x Pencils - 🎃 Halloween 🎃one shot

2.7k words

Summary: pretty much what it says on the tin. Halloween one shot with our dearest Eddie x Pencils. Enjoy. Pure fluff. A tiny suggestion of smut at the end. Inspired by this lovely photo set & this prompt post that got me off my ass to write again.

Also another shoutout to the gorgeous @tvserie-s-world who made this amazing Eddie x Pencils edit that I’m still gooey over. 🖤

“So, what brings you to my dark and creepy neck of the woods?”Came a cocky taunt as soon as the trailer door swung open after your knock.

It’s usual rusty-screeching melody preceding its occupants flirty remark. The sound of the Smiths comes slithering out the creaking door behind him. The tape you bought that got lost in the avalanche of both your cassettes that slide and slip, congregate on his passenger seat.

He will not smile for anyone. And pretty girls make graves.

The lanky shadow of your boyfriend cuts across the warm yellow glow of the lights that slant out the doorway behind him. His costume makes you grin. Sheer moronic love.

You stood halfway up the steps. Candles flickering and throwing dozy pools orange in Jack-o-lanterns across the toes of your boots. They’re all wonky and have imperfect slanted mouths and jagged eyes. Loping together on the uneven porch steps. Fat orange gourds all drunk with gravity.

The very same pumpkins you’d helped him carve a week ago, after a misty morning weekend trip to Merill’s pumpkin farm. Eddie had the rather dastardly and determined habit of choosing pumpkins bigger and heavier than his actual van tires. You ended up with so many.

Your kitchen has smelt like squelchy pumpkin innards all week. You’re still finding seeds cropping up under the toaster or in the corner of the cabinets. As per Eddie’s way with most things, It wasn’t exactly a neat process.

You can’t help but laugh at his greeting too.

“I distinctly remember making plans to invade the spooky neck of your woods tonight, my little death trap.” You smile as you edge your way up the sloping steps. Holding a huge pumpkin shaped bucket of candy in your arms. The contents rustle as you move.

Everyone’s touting pumpkin buckets tonight. Driving in and even on the street back home, you saw a load of elementary kids walking around the park in their costumes. Ghosts in bedsheets. Aliens. Bats. One very ambitious papier maché pumpkin. Superhero’s. Clowns. Home made astronauts clad in crinkly tin foil and bulbous helmets. All wandering with an adult in tow and buckets clutched in their hands, ready to be filled.

You opted for a simple witch costume. Stripy tights and your dark thrifted docs. A black dress with a little cape tied around your shoulders and a witches hat. You applied dark purple-plum lipstick and dark smudgey grey eyeshadow, and liner. Your eyelids glitter like purple constellations. He finds stars to gaze at so often in those pretty eyes.

Eddie had gone for an Alice Cooper inspired look. Top hat. The dripping dark eye makeup that you’re amazed he managed all on his own. Hair it’s usual long rocker mess. Gothic black and lots of it. A huge goth belt with studs and buckles. You spy a cane grasped by his side too. A fake toy snake looped around his neck. Just like the man himself. He really does go all out.

The fringe benefit being he looks hot as hell to your eyes.

“You’ve got me under your spell, O’ bewitching one. How could I possibly resist.” He opened his arms out to you as you came to the last step.

“Bet you say that to every witch who shows up at your door on hallows eve.” You smile. Unashamedly grab the snake that’s looped around his neck and reel him in by it.

“Only ones who bought me jolly ranchers.” He preens. He can see the multi coloured hue of the wrapped candy in the huge bowl you’re carrying.

At the same time, he plucks the flimsy pointed witches hat off your head so the brim doesn’t get in his way. You unconsciously move towards the same goal together. It’s spooky. Sometimes it’s like you have the same brain. You’re one entity mashed together in a frenzy of melding hearts, music mania and relentless adolescent infatuation.

He lopes forwards and gladly slots his slanting smirk onto yours. Tasting of orange sweet candy corn and beer. His thumb and forefinger meet on your chin. Your hand slid for his neck. Fingertips along his jaw as you share a giddying kiss. You mouth at the plushness of his lips. He does the same to you.

You pull back before he makes you swoon dangerously down these steps. His kiss should come with a warning sign; dangerously addictive metal head. May possess body and soul.

You can tell already that you’ll have to wave goodbye to this lipstick. It’s now smeared all around your mouth and most of his. Now he looks like Alice Cooper doing nine to ten in Arkham Asylum.

“Hello.” You beam. Rubbing smudged purple off his lips. Vamptastic Plum the colour name.

“Hi.” He smirks like a lunatic. End of his nose rubbing into yours where he gazes at you.

He does it a lot. It’s honestly so lovesick you should be kinda nauseated.

When you’re studying. Watching a movie. Eating popcorn or pizza. Every now and again he’ll just rest his chin in his hand and smile all warm and stupid at you. Cheeks bunched and crows feet at his eyes. Even when you have paint flecked across your forehead. Or pizza cheese slung in a string across your chin. Or when you’re frowning at your fingers when you smear your nail drying polish. He loves watching you just be near him.

It always ends the same way. You’ll feel his eyes burning their fond cinnamon gaze into you. You’ll turn and meet his eyes. And that smile lopes even wider. He’ll loop a pinky though yours and kiss the back of your hand. Or your forehead.

“Permission to enter your lair?” You seek.

“Thought only vamps had to ask permission to come in?” He flirts with you. Eyes on your mouth again. Your lips all kiss bruised makes him ache. In fact, makes another sort of serpent twitch in his jeans.

“Misdirection. I am actually a vampire. The witch outfit is a clever disguise to work my cunning way into unsuspecting trailers.” You raise your brows naughtily.

He grins. “Clever subterfuge.”

He slips aside from the door to let you come in. Another kiss pressed to your lips before he lets you sidle on past him. He hangs your witches hat on the coat rack with his spare jacket and Wayne’s denim.

“Need me to park your broom?” He jests.

“Left it in the car with my black cat. You’re safe.”

“How many more witchy jokes could we stretch this out too?”

“I reckon I’ve a few left knocking around…” you guess. Placing the bucket of candy on the kitchen counter. Hopefully Eddie doesn’t pilfer the whole lot before Wayne’s home. You hope he leaves his uncle a treat or two. And doesn’t scarf the lot like a damn seagull.

This trailer hugs you any time you enter. You thought that when you and Eddie started dating. And you still think it now. Capital H home. This place. Filled with his and Wayne’s memorabilia. And a few more other things tonight;

You haven’t seen your boyfriend as much of late. He’s been out hitting the teenage party circuits with his metal lunchbox. Making a healthy chunk of change by the looks of it. He’s strung up plenty of decorations to help pep this place up with Halloween spirit.

There’s pumpkin paper garlands arced in loops up high. Orange and black twisting streamers over the mug shelves. Fake rubbery bats hanging down from the kitchen island cupboards. Dancing skeletons hanging on the little spare space the walls have to offer. The coffee table is cleared of its usual junk and absolutely heaped in candy and snacks.

Butterfingers. Butter popcorn. Pretzels. Red vines. Cheez balls. Mallomars. All of which happen to be your favourites. He has two cold beers side by side. And a fat tight joint sits waiting in the ashtray too.

He’s even bought those fake filmy cobwebs to spread in a few places with fake plastic spiders - to join in with the real ones dusted around in forgotten corners.

All your tensions melt down right to your toes. All is right with the world. Halloween night. No school tomorrow. And Eddie. And a whole uninterrupted night of movies and bliss. You’ve lost count of the amount of times a movie night has ended up getting dirty on his couch. Tape flicking to the end whilst you’re attached lip to lip with wandering hands.

You sigh gladly as you stand to toe off your shoes. Putting them aside. Heat slides into your stomach all squirly and scorching as he stands from behind you and his hand reach around and skilfully undo the cape around your shoulders.

“Let’s get you comfy my temptress of the night. Beer?” He seeks. Throwing your cape over his shoulder. It lands nowhere even near the coat rack.

“Yes please my lovable nightmare.” You sass. You walk over to the couch. Spying an absolute mound of VHS’s ready to go by the TV. The colour seemed to dip in and out sometimes. The set was old. Eddie had to whack the side sometimes to get it to behave. You find it more endearing than a set that worked seamlessly.

You pluck pieces of popcorn out the bowl and throw them onto your tongue. Crunch them down as you sit with your knees tucked under you.

Eddie kills the music and slings himself down next to you on the lumpy couch. Frame squeaking and rattling as he settles.

“Damn. You got a great selection, Munson. What did you do, bribe Harrington with your soul to score all this?” You remark as you peer at the videos on the coffee table.

1941 Wolfman. Christopher Lee’s Dracula. The Fog. Halloween. House on Haunted Hill. And Friday the 13th. You loved old school movies as much as he did. The old swelling suspense of a good black and white.

“Nothin major. Just a little selling of my body and charms. Deviant sexual acts. Just so you know I’ll have raw knees for a month.”

“Mm you filthy slut.” You hush. Impressed.

“Finest slut in the Midwest.”

“So I’ve heard.” You grin. Leaning in to kiss him. Seemed too infeasible not too. He cups the back of your head as you do. Keeping you close as he dares. Sweet kiss like icing sugar dusted across your lips.

He makes a small ‘mmm’ noise before you pull back.

“Besides. I consider The Fog a film that makes me think fondly of our very early courtship.” He remarks.

Snoopy bed shorts. A tin of Campbells. His lunatic escapades of climbing in your window late at night.

“And, well, only the best for you, Pencils.” He grins.

You tilt your head. A sigh caught in your throat.

“You must’ve busted your ass to get all this. You didn’t need too. You know I don’t need all this. I’m happy just to watch crappy reruns with you and order a pizza.” You tell him.

Concerned about the cash he would’ve laid out for tonight. The decor. The snacks. The primo shit from Rick. All must’ve cost a pretty penny.

“You’re worth every damn cent. When you’re dating a spooky awesome girl you gotta put in the ultimate spooky effort.” He tells you. Gripping his beer bottle and leaning back.

You clink your beer bottle to his.

“Please tell me you overcharged those meathead jocks for your product.”

“…. And then some.” He winks.

That’s my boy. You couldn’t be more proud.

“I’ll drink to that.” You murmur. Taking a pull on your cold beer. Cool heaven sliding down your throat.

“Thanks to Tina’s party last week, I mean, man, I scored big time. So many stoners invited. Walk in the park.” He smiled.

That deserved a kiss. Which you gladly give.

“Kinda love you for that.” You suppose. But there were no two ways about it - you were completly head over heels for him.

“Good to know.” He supplies. Hand rubbing your back.

“We better put a video on before I maul you.” You threaten with a great deal of flirt. Dragging your purple painted fingernails down the front of his top.

“Mmm kinky.” He grins. Leaning over to press a spitty kiss to your cheek. Before diving for the pile of VHS.

“Ok, roughly how long do you wanna argue about which one we watch first?” He seeks.

You narrow your eyes. Taking a sip back of your beer. “Depends if I win or not.” You look at him all cunning.

“House on haunted hill?” He bargains. Crouching and pointing the VHS at you.

“Don’t point that thing at me.” You smile. Stealing another handful of popcorn. Eating it with a grin.

Let the bickering commence…

~

The credits rolled to your third film of the night. Halloween the 1978 original. Orange twinkle lights flicker in the warm yellow lights near the kitchen. The rest of the trailer in dozy darkness. The sounds of kids trick or treating and laughing, batter against the trailer side in the night air.

You magnanimously let him pick the film. Maybe you’re growing soft in your old age.

This found you and Eddie slumped down together on the ratty couch. Limbs tangled. Joint smouldering in the ashtray. Verdant smoke in the air. Beer bottles empty. Only popcorn kernels left in the bottom of the bowl. The snacks had been pilfered and pinched at your leisure.

Eddie was pressed down onto you like a lanky weighted blanket. Snoozing happily with a belly full of beer and cheez balls. Socked feet hanging off the end of the couch. Hands slung all over you like a gangly octopus. He’s currently letting out content little breathy snores with his head cushioned against your boobs. A little spit of drool by the side of his mouth.

He’d nodded off sometime around Michael Myers fifth victim with the boyfriend and the blonde pigtails. You’d been carding your fingers through his hair. Scratching his scalp. Made his eyes flick back in his head.

You swear he was one step away from twitching his foot in contentment like a canine at the work of your hands. Made his brain short circuit.

More so when he was on Indica. Just the kinda hit he needed for a slow sleepy and spooky night in. You can’t deny you’re fighting the effects of it yourself.

A couple of puffs. Eyelids drowsy. Your limbs feeling like cotton stuffed pillows. Indolent and slow. And now you’ve got your perfect metal head keeping you pressed down.

“Guess the party circuit wiped you for six, huh babe?” You smile. Thumbing his cheek. He mumbled something incomprehensible.

You shift your leg up. Which tumbles his knee more into your lap. He snuffled. Nuzzling his head further onto you. His breath was all sugary red vines, and fruity weed.

You kept on stroking his hair. Leaning forward to nuzzle a kiss to the crown of his messy hair. Apple shampoo and that lost tang of American spirits.

“Edward?” You ask.

You get a sleepy, sticky gurgle from him.

“I’ve got a really nice bra and panties set on under this dress, y’know.” You whisper at him.

Another mumble. You smile and rest your cheek on his warm head.

“You’ll have to let me move to put the next movie in, babe.” You tell.

“No. S’comfy.”

Then you hear him grumble. “Boobs.”

“Great boobs.”

You chuckle. Honestly.

“Knock yourself out. Munson. You smile.

Shifting down to let sleep come and gently take you too.

“Oh, and Happy Halloween.” You add. Letting your eyes close. Letting the static at the end of the video ebb you softly into dreams. Along with the sound of wind kindly rattling the roof. Brushing along the walls outside. All the trick or treaters have been coerced indoors. Safe inside with their candy spoils.

Much later on. You hear the rustle of clothes and feel the heat of his breath. The warmth of his limbs leeches off you when he moves. Coldness sneaks in.

You wake with bleary-sticky eyes to those brown ones staring back at you. Cheeks all flushed. The tell-tale sign of a tented zipper bursting at his crotch.

That dripping eye make up looks smeared and downright dangerous. He looks absolutely ravishing and you suddenly shake off your tiredness to see him looking so good like this.

“You said something about a bra, Pencils…” he smiles. “Be a shame not to show it off now-“ He beams. Waggles his brows.

“Heard that did you?” Your brow crooks.

Happy Halloween, indeed.

This is for everyone; but especially for @tvserie-s-world @lunatictardis @heyndrix @callmeloverr @joequinnswhore @atabigail @thewrathoffemalerage @lurkingprincess @songforeddiemunson @palomahasenteredthechat @babybluebex

[your-neighbourhood-antisocial]

He wanted to be stopped, to be dragged back, to be sent back home.....but he was HOME. Hogwarts was the first and best home he had known, he and Voldemort and snape, the abandoned boys had all found home here

[eat-youll-feel-better]

you know, you know where you are with

you know where you are with

floor collapsing, floating, bouncing back

and one day, I am gonna grow wings 🪽

a chemical reaction

hysterical and useless, hysterical and

let down and hanging around. crushed like a bug in the ground

let down and hanging around

[just-two-blokes]

'The cloak. The stone. The elderwand. Together, they make the deathly hallows. Together, they make one master of death.'

Harry James Potter at the age of 17/18: Oh, I guess I can put master of death on the list as one of my many titles.

Ron: Wtf, mate?

Harry: It does sound way cooler than the boy who lived.

[tnbscans]

Megahouse Girls Hobby flyer featuring the Kotetsu and Barnaby Palmate figures.

[jam-showtoonz]

Locked Away- Again

(Several of my pens have died in the making on this-)

— ⚠️TW- Abuse!⚠️—

The first time Jack was locked in a closet it was almost 2 days before he got out- no one but Moon knew he was in there. Jack was terrified and banged on the door, hoping someone would let him out. What made it worse was that Moon had taken both his eyes out before hand.

It was so dark.

He hates the dark.

The twelfth time it happened he was found the next day by the Puppet- both Jacks arms were gone and he had been knocking the side of his head against the door.

Turns out Jack had been thrown in the closet because he dropped a drink when one of his arms fell off. Moon was not happy. Jack kept apologising, promising he didn’t mean to. Puppet promised him he did nothing wrong, he can’t believe that.

Puppet checks each closet in the PizzaPlex every day now and even gets their son Freddy to help- to the point Moon began trying to find new places (he gave up after awhile when it didn’t work)

Freddy was not happy to learn people he trusted were doing things like this- Sun is the only one allowed to watch Francine.

Jacks little pumpkin at the end of his hat it a little disguised light the Puppet gave him sometime after they first found Jack in the closet, they knew Moon or Lunar would take it if they knew it was a light, so- the pumpkin only lights up when it’s dark and Moon and Lunar aren’t around to see it. The light it produces also can’t be seen on camera.

Jack doesn’t beg to be let out when he’s locked up- he’s not looking to have his voice box removed, he will cry though. He stopped knocking on the door after the twentieth time- he just gave up.

The longest he’s been trapped for is a week. Sun found him passed out when he went to get cleaning supplies, Sun didn’t bother cleaning the Daycare after finding him- leaving it for Moon or Lunar or anyone else. Sun managed to convince Moon and Lunar to let Jack stay with him for a few days after that.

[unapologetically-horrible]

I can’t GIF it, but can somebody GIF Lucius Malfoy in the background holding his wand up while his wife checks on Harry to see if he’s alive. Like how husband is that of him.

So sweet.

He also holds his hand out when Voldemort pushes Bella away, like that’s still his family, ya know.

The tiny details in the background are everything to me.

[fast-andthe-curious]

GUYS MY ARTIST BLOCK FINALLY WENT AWAY AND I ACTUALLY HAVE MOTIVATION TO MAKE FANART- but one little problem, I’m insanely indecisive. I’m caught between two choices, please help T-T

[vbused]

Nothing encapsulates that vintage Halloween vibe like It’s the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown

[le-poofe]

Yar har fiddle dee dee

[wackyaussiegiraffes]

ehehehe😈