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Any Questions?: October 2021 Halloween-Themed Drabbles

Chapter Text

Heather walked Twyla to her car. "I had a nice time this evening."

Twyla smiled. Heather loved that smile, it made her feel safe and at home. "Me too. You have such friendly ghosts."

Heather froze. "What do you mean?"

"The ghosts in your house, they have a nice energy. Much nicer than the ones at my ex's place."

"Well, if you say they're friendly." She leaned in and kissed Twyla. 

Heather stood in the living room. "Okay ghosts, my girlfriend thinks you're all nice so please stay that way."

The only response was a faint flicker of the lights.

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"This is not nothing," David says quietly, the frame in his hands, looking up at Patrick.

Potential's simmering between them – but there's something Patrick's barely been able to admit, even though it's always been a part of him.

"David," he says. "I have to say something. And... it might be a surprise."

"Okay," David says gently. "Go ahead."

"I'm... a werewolf."

David's mouth opens, then closes. "Oh. I, um. I thought you were... coming out."

"Well, I am, David."

"Oh." For one agonizing moment, Patrick wonders if he's about to bolt – but then David smiles. "We can make that work."

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David narrows his eyes when Stevie comes in. He looks from the horns on her head to the halo hovering over Patrick’s.

“You two planned this, didn’t you?”

“Planned what, David?” Patrick asks innocently.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Stevie smirks and slings an arm over David’s left shoulder. “Now which way is the drinks table? We’re getting hammered tonight.”

Patrick leans an elbow on David’s right shoulder. “No, take it easy tonight, David. I can’t have you hungover when we’re opening the store tomorrow.”

“You’re both insufferable.”

They howl with laughter as he walks away.

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“I thought you said you’ve never done this before!” Patrick exclaims indignantly, looking at David’s masterful jack-o'-lantern.

“I thought you said you carved pumpkins every year with your family.” Stevie snickers.

“Don’t be mean,” Ruth chides. “I’m sure it's not that bad.”

“Not mean if it’s the truth.” Stevie shrugs.

Ruth peers around Stevie’s shoulder to examine Patrick’s pumpkin. “Oh.”

Stevie cackles while Patrick frowns at his failed jack-o'-lantern.

“It’s okay, honey,” David says. “We'll enter my pumpkin into the contest under your name. Ronnie will never know.”

There’s a flash as Stevie snaps a photo. “Oh, she’s gonna know.”

Chapter Text

Rachel’s not designing her Halloween costume with Heather in mind.

She’s not contemplating what her initial reaction might be while she pops into Elmdale to buy craft supplies at Fabric Spark.

She’s not concerned with whether or not Heather’s eyes will drop to the black stockings she decides to wear to complete her look. Not at all.

She doesn’t go out of her way to paint her butterfly wings aquamarine because it’s one of Heather’s favorite colors. It’s only for the aesthetic, as Alexis would say.

She’s not considering how being with Heather has brought her out of her chrysalis.

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She gets the same questions all the time: "Isn't it sad, still seeing her? Doesn't it make it harder?"

Twyla smiles, twisting her rings. Her favourite, a gleaming sapphire that Alexis had given her for their forty-fifth anniversary, glimmers.

"Yes." She doesn't have to turn to know who's touching her shoulder. She'd know her wife's aura anywhere, even in a crowd of spirits. "And no."

Mediumship is a curse, an unwanted responsibility, an inconvenience. But during mornings like these, when she can still faintly hear the rhythm of Alexis' voice as she stirs lemon into her tea, it's a blessing.

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"Right, next point on the agenda: the newcomers in town." Ronnie looked up at the five people sitting around her kitchen table.

"What about them?" Gwen blinked behind the steam of her tea.

"Do we extend an invitation? Don't tell me you didn't notice – they're Family."

Stevie sighed. "The mother, definitely. I suspect the son, too."

"They don't feel evil," Twyla added. "Just misguided."

"It's hard, being alone," Ray said, his tone belying the truth.

Jocelyn frowned slightly. "It would be the polite thing to do."

"All in favour of folding them into the Coven, say aye."

It was unanimous.

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Twyla flies out to the Quidditch pitch under midnight’s cover to practice her spell.

“Awfully stupid for such a clever witch.”

Hufflepuff’s destined for third at best in the House Cup, though, and she breaks so few rules anyway...

Twyla casts her own warning aside. One indiscretion won’t hurt.

Alexis’ bemused voice echoes in her head: “You wanna steal starlight, Twy? How are you gonna do that?”

She conjures the images from home--string lights, soft, in a cafe, the warm, gentle brightness that isn’t present in Hogwarts’ sconces and torches--twirls her wand in a slow, easy circle, and whispers, “Lucerna.”

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“I think we’re lost,” Twyla says, a frown clouding her face.

“We’re not lost,” Alexis tells her, even though she’s not sure that’s true.

They have been in the maze for a while and all the cornstalks look the same.

“Maybe we should have done the haunted house instead,” Twyla continues like Alexis hadn’t said anything at all. “Maybe then we wouldn’t be spending our night cold in a field.”

“Babe, you’re cold? You should have said something!” Alexis untwines the scarf from around her neck and wraps it around Twyla’s.

“But you’ll be cold!” Twyla protests.

“No I won’t,” Alexis replies, kissing Twyla lightly. “I’ll stay close to you.”

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“No!” Alexis throws a hand up as she walks into the library. “Don’t 'one girl in all the world' me again, for like the thousandth time.”

The exhausted expression on Ronnie’s face doesn’t change.

“I patrolled last night like I was supposed to,” Alexis defends. “And there was only one teeny vampire nest.”

Ronnie pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Literally nothing was said about not going to the Bronze afterward,” Alexis continues. “Slayer responsibilities weren’t being ignored.”

“Did you wear sensible shoes at least?” Ronnie finally asks.

“Oh my god! Yes, I wore sensible shoes this time.”

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“It’s just a business trip.”

“In what world is apple picking a business trip?”

Stevie ignores David’s pointed question, but he goes on.

“And isn’t there a pumpkin patch there, too? Are you and Ruth going to get one to carve together for your apartment?”

“Fuck off,” she mutters.

If she insists it’s not a date enough times, it won’t be a date.

Even if Ruth’s excitement at grabbing dinner at Twyla’s Tropical Cafe makes it feel like a date.

“All I’m saying is,” David’s voice turns gentle, understanding, “I know what it’s like to fall for a fellow entrepreneur.”

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The NYC VIP club, the costume-clad crowd, the house music--it’s a little unfamiliar, almost too much.

Until Alexis traces her thumb over Twyla’s wrist, a silent reminder.

I’ve got you.

One of the few rules for this Halloween party is posted outside--no glow, no go--next to a bucket of glow paint.

Alexis cocks her head. “Can we use our hands?”

An artist nods.

They draw stars, crescent moons, and cat faces on each other’s upper backs, shoulders, and arms.

Twyla writes her final message across Alexis’ collarbones, hears her gasp when she figures out the cursive: I belong to Twyla.

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Alexis is a very passionate person. That’s all. She feels things very deeply, and sometimes, maybe, she loses control. When a person comes between her and someone she cares about, she reacts on instinct. She protects the people she loves; is that really such a bad thing? She doesn’t think so.

She looks down at the body lying at her feet and the pool of blood slowly spreading across the floor. This is going to be a bitch to clean up.

Alexis grabs her phone and calls the person she loves the most — her soulmate.

“Twy? I need your help.”

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The dark passenger lingers in her dreams, whispers in her ear, twists her thoughts and clouds her vision until Twyla's seeing red. Her hands flex at her sides, craving the feeling of flesh between them. She should know better, be better.

She isn't better.

This is the best she can do. She finds criminals that slip through the system - rapists, murderers, abusers – and lures them into her web. She lines her kill room with plastic, always wears gloves, covers her tracks. She kisses her wife goodbye, wishing she could be the woman Alexis deserves, and slips out into the night.

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Well, hello, there.

Not every day that a family like yours comes around.

You’re all interesting, but you, with the designer dress, blue eyes that gloss over food options--we’ll have to fix that--and the “boyfriend” with the private plane: you’re exceptional. And you want people, even here, to know. Your body’s probably been currency in ritzy hotels. Sleazy clubs.

I get it. Your attractiveness is a call-back, an anchor to before. You’re desperate for someone, anyone, to notice.

I do.

I don’t know you yet, but I will. Starting now. With your name.

It’s so nice to meet you, Alexis.