come and get me

she does - the nights, mornings, days like this have dwindled albeit very slowly over the course of the past year. killing michael myers had done nothing to help, contrary to what she thought what would happen. and it’d been disappointing, to say the least, when she’d come to that realization the first time. if anything, the boogeyman’s dead black eyes boring into her soul has joined the litany of terrible bad shit in her head. 

it’s not so bad with alana, who fits easily in the envelope of her long arms. such is the height difference between them that it’d be easy to put her chin on alana’s head, but she doesn’t, instead leaning down to lean her chin on her shoulder, brushing her hair back to kiss her temple. 

“can i interest you in coming back to bed?” she asks in the same way she'd ask to bargain, pads of her fingers brushing over her cheek as she follow’s alana’s gaze forward, into the dark morning. she's not sure what she has to trade for it, but she hopes it's a tempting offer.

allyson kills corey after he shows up at the strode house in the myers mask. gotta think abt how it happens more thoroughly but she shoots corey and michael finishes the job when she leaves at laurie’s behest to wait across the street for the police. they both laid out the trap for corey, not aware michael was soon to follow. 

still just don’t understand why we didn’t get a more emotional resolution between the two of them so this is my answer to this problem, lmao. could still have the scene where allyson cradles his head and cries in parallel to the scene at the halloween party, fr. also this scene was cut and i think it’s corey so.

laurie and michael have their fight in the kitchen, allyson comes in to save laurie when michael is about to land a killing blow on her by stabbing him in the back with the same knife she’d given laurie in the hospital room and the same knife she’d stabbed him with during the events of 2018, a direct parallel to her mother saving her. unlike her mother, though, she keeps stabbing. 

i understand it would be a copy of h20 but i personally think allyson and laurie should’ve beheaded michael in the style of this image.  

and allyson nelson beams at the contact. she's standing, and so is alana, and she's wearing doc martens so she's even taller than she normally is. she doesn't comment on the effort it'd take to lean up and kiss her cheek from alana's stature, but it's clear she's appreciative.

which she indicates by kissing alana on the cheek, too, and leaning down to press her forehead against hers with a smile. because she can do that, too.

a hand squeezes. gently. alana is tender as the dawn is light outside her front door in not but a few hours. when she smiles she’s unhaunted. when she smiles she’s alive.

“ i could definitely make worse decisions. ”

she doesn’t know the line she’s toeing when she speaks. she doesn’t know that she’s swaying from side to side and she could drop at any moment. madness is an overtaking thing, consuming, and the familiar touch of allyson’s hand is long-fingered, another familiar comfort she struggles to forget. so instead she keeps moving and steps down into the living room, the tremendous tv hung high above her fireplace. the dogs click click in the dark away from them. going to settle, seeking silence.

“ you’re welcome to laugh at me. i know i was wearing about thirty tons of black eyeliner. it was a thing. ”

she’s cycling through her television memory, seeking a file drive somewhere in there. when she clicks it, the screen is a blown-up series of glitchy pixels. they settle when her own voice cuts in, high-low, soft and hard at once, “ ed, put the fuckin’ camera down! ”

it’s a sight to behold. winter blue eyes, vibrant beyond measure, arresting on such a young face. a hoop encircles her lower lip, a shiny silver thing with a tiny black ball through it. her hair is long and messily thick, streaked bubblegum pink and swept over one bare shoulder. she’s wearing a dead kennedys crop-top, legitimately tearing back to kick the camera lens so hard it grinds to static right before eddie yells Y’BROKE IT! and right behind follows alana’s voice through the static, GOOD, FUCKO.

in her eyes is nothing but the sight of how much she wishes she could tell that person what it would be like, life, beyond that camera lens. how she wishes she could dissuade herself to be anyone else. to avoid so many things.

“ told you it was bad. ”

   i could definitely make worse decisions.  does alana know at all what she’s doing to her ?   she must not.  allyson hopes she doesn’t, anyway.  she allows alana to lead her further into the house.  alana bloom’s home seems sleek,  but not in the sterile doctor’s office sort of way.  it’s still warm,  from the dogs at their feet to the comfortable furniture to the fireplace.  allyson sits alongside alana,  long legs instinctively finding their way beneath the coffee table,  with her hand still in alana’s,  as she watches.  now that she’s been granted the opportunity to touch,  she thinks,  she won’t let go.  once she’s invited she’ll stay,  like some sort of vampire.  instead of blood,  it’s human contact,  something she’s unsurprised to find she’s needy for now that she’s granted the opportunity.  (  she hasn’t touched anyone like this,  hasn’t let anyone touch her like this,  since corey --   )   

her other hand,  laid at her side,  finds its way to alana’s arm,  rubbing up and down absently,  as she does laugh.  not at the young,  grungy alana,  but with her.  her mother had kept similar tapes of allyson,  herself,  and her father,  from all of the years leading up to her death.  somewhere on her old destroyed cell phone in haddonfield,  there’s a video of her national honors society induction,  taken the night before her mother and father had been murdered.  she hasn’t tried to watch it yet.  

after a moment,  she glances at alana.   then,  she lies her head against her shoulder,  mindful of the possibility of her own hair finding its way to alana’s mouth.